#I thought about too much today and now I’m just :/ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

orikixx · 2 days ago

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Blueprints & Heartbeats (9/?)

Part: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Featuring: Nanami Kento

Cw: fem reader, wc 2.8k words, not proofread

Summary: academic rivals to lovers! a mixup in the architecture group project forces you to team up with Nanami Kento, the serious and stoic student. But maybe, he isn’t as brooding as you thought?

Author's note: to the anon who motivated me to continue this.. thank you😭 I’ve been working on it for a while so I hope you guys like this💕

It’s almost 4 pm now, and Nanami is mentally beating himself up over whether he went too far, opening himself up like that to you. He’s pacing around his dorm, nervously eyeing his palette, colorful oil paints laid out in neat, deliberate swatches, a few small brushes and a glass of water waiting nearby.

You knock on his door, a little hesitant. It’s not as if you haven’t been here before, but this time, it feels… different. The air surrounding you is buzzing, barely able to contain your excitement as your foot impatiently taps against the pavement. “Wonder what’s taking him so long,” you murmur, raising your hand to knock again, yet this time, it lands on his broad chest.

“Good afternoon, y/n. Sorry for the wait.” The moment you look up at him, there’s a big smile plastered on your face, and you happily step inside. Nanami looks at you, dumbfounded, until he finally closes the door. “You’re such a dork, Kenny”. He sighs at that, trying to be as little awkward as possible when you hug him, your small frame lost in his.

Nanami feels like he’ll never get used to you, even as you sit on the stool he’s set in front of his own, looking like you belong exactly in his dorm room. “You’re staring so much, didn’t even start drawing me yet!” “I’m.. figuring out your proportions.” He mentally curses himself for that, knowing that with the amount of time he’s spent observing you, he remembers every single detail about your face.

Suddenly, you light up. “Do you need me to do any specific poses? I can think of a few.. interesting ones”. Nanami groans loudly, causing you to giggle.

“You’re so uptight again, is something wrong?” Your eyebrows furrowed, a small pout on your lips, as the man in front of you suddenly won’t take his eyes off the canvas.

Nanami feels blush creeping up his neck, and he remembers his conversation with Gojo, thinking about how maybe he should get over himself and ask you out today.

“I’m all good. You just look very captivating today, even more than usual.”

“You can’t just say that!”

Nanami is unsure of what to respond to that, having mustered up all his courage just to tell you that last sentence. He blushes furiously now, picking up his graphite pencil and starting to roughly sketch your features. When his eyes finally dart in your direction, he can tell you’re blushing as well.

You try relaxing your face from your former pout at his sternness, not wanting to make this assignment any harder for him. “So.. do you have any other friends, that I don’t know of?” You hear Nanami sucking in a breath, and try your hardest to keep a natural expression.

“Not really, no. You’re the only one who stayed long enough to make me open up.”

You smile at that, though it’s a rather sad statement. “Would you mind keeping that expression for me?” Nanami’s eyebrows are now furrowed, staring at your face with concentration.

“The smile?”

“Yes, it makes your eyes appear lighter.”

You smile harder at that, and when Nanami finally looks at the canvas, picking up a small brush, you can see a small smile forming on his lips as well.

Nanami feels like his heart might explode out of his chest. The girl he’s been wanting for… well, too long, is currently giving him fuck me eyes without even realizing it. He tries focusing on the drawing instead, soft oil strokes on white canvas, when you speak again.

“You think it’s time for another brainrot lesson?” Immediately, a loud groan follows, making you laugh. “Whatever you want, y/n. Just stay still.” “Whatever you say, Kenny.”

You ponder for a moment, thinking about which brainrot should you teach the poor man this time. “Alright kento, you got two options yeah? When John Pork is calling, do you pick up or not?” “Who is John Pork?” Nanami sounds so serious it scares you, and you hold your laugh in.

“I’ll show you later. Now, since we’ve got plenty of time, what do you know about low taper fade?” “As far as I’m concerned, it’s a haircut, correct?” “You sound terrified, Kento”. Nanami gets up from his stool, now towering over you.

“Such a bratty little thing.” His fingers come up to trace your cheek, almost, before he stops himself. “Stay just like this for a moment,” Nanami says, surprisingly soft. You, of course, obey, looking up at his face, body looming over yours.

Nanami observes your face, trying to etch it into his soul. “Can I..” he murmurs softly, rough fingers brushing against your jaw. You nod, and he gently traces your cheek. You can feel blush spreading all over your neck, surely dusting your cheeks pink.

“Kento?” You look up at him, heart thrumming so loud he must be able to hear it as well. “This is necessary for the process, y/n.” He whispers that, hazel eyes lingering on your lips as his fingers trace your temple.

Your face is on fire now, eyes gleaming as you try catching Nanami’s gaze, yet his eyes are glued to your lips. “You know, you could kiss me if you want to that bad,” you say softly.

In just a moment, his hands are off you, and he’s facing away. “Fuck, too far? I didn’t mean to Kento, I was just-“

“For the love of god y/n, you sit here looking like a fucking angel, and then you say these things..”

Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose, and you sit there, speechless, for the first time.

“You.. what?” Nanami sighs, finally turning back to look at you. “It would be so wrong of me, to kiss you without even asking you out first..” You stand up, feeling his warm body almost touching yours, and you sigh.

“Well then, you better ask me out Kento, we don’t have all day”. Nanami notices, of course, that although you put on a confident front, your fingers nervously twirl the edge of your tank top, and your eyes are somewhat worried, looking up at him.

He tries to stay composed, ears bright red when he takes your hand is his bigger one, bringing it to his chest.

“Would you like to go on a date with me, y/n? I would love to take you to out, if you would allow it.” He braces himself for rejection, even though he knows you feel the same, as your big, gleaming eyes now happily squint at him.

“Fuck yeah, took you long enough, silly boy,” you say happily, arms immediately wrapping around him. You smile so hard your face hurts, burying your face Nanami’s chest, squealing like a little girl until you feel his hands on your shoulders, gently prying you away. You pout at him, crossing your arms and huffing as he chuckles. “Now..” he murmurs, leaning down and finally kissing you.

You stay still for a second, caught by surprise, before your hands immediately tangle in his hair, latching onto his lips like your life depends on it. One of his hands cups your cheek, moving lower to trace your the curve of your jaw before settling at your nape, drawing you deeper into the kiss.

The kiss is slow, deliberate, a taste of something sweet, long desired. Nanami’s lips are firm and surprisingly soft, tasting of coffee and something that’s just uniquely him. You can’t help yourself but bite on his lower lip, making him gasp and let go of the kiss.

You whine at the loss of his warmth, hands moving from his blond locks to grip onto his broad shoulders. Standing on your toes, you whisper in his ear- “You’re so annoying, I barely got to taste you”. Nanami blushes furiously, his hand wandering down to squeeze your hips.

“How am I the annoying one, when you sit here, looking at me with these tantalizing eyes?”

It’s your turn to blush, burying your face in his chest again. “Ugh, you have to stop doing that Kento!” You whine, and he chuckles, kissing the crown of your head.

“Come on, I need to finish your portrait.” With a sigh, you slump back onto the stool, and Nanami sits down at his. He picks up the brush again, continuing the gentle strokes on the canvas before speaking again.

“I’m sorry if I have been.. harsh, with the kiss. It’s a little embarrassing, but I have been craving you for so long, I couldn’t help myself.”

You smile, using all your willpower to not get up and kiss him again. “It’s alright Kento, really, I wanted you for a while as well,” you say, happily watching his cheeks changing shades of red.

“I can’t focus when you tell me things like that y/n. It makes me want to.. never mind.”

“You’re so shy it’s almost funny,” you say with a giggle, making him groan. “Do me a favor, just this once, and talk about anything else, please?”

You can’t say no to his defeated face, so then Nanami quietly cleans his paint brush, listening to you ramble about some show you’ve started watching recently, and how you think he’d like it.

After about an hour of rambling on your side, and hums of agreement on his, the portrait is finished. Nanami carefully places the canvas aside, the oil paint still wet, sticking onto his fingers. It’s almost 6 pm now, and you remember promising Gojo you’d meet up later today. You get up from the stool, quietly walking to stand by Nanami as he washes his hands in the kitchen sink.

The smell of the paint lingers in air of his dorm room, and you sneakily wrap your hands around his waist, hugging him from behind. “Would you mind staying for a little while more?” “Can’t, I promised Satoru I’ll see him today,” you say, smiling when he turns around to look at you. You rest your chin on his chest, looking up at his chiseled face.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Will it be okay if I will pick you up at 7 pm for our date?” “Of course Kenny”. Nanami hums, and you let your body melt against his, his arms wrapping around your lower back as you savor the warmth.

“I can drop you off wherever you two are meeting, if you would like that.” “Awww, Kento you’re so mushy already, love that,” you say and giggle, laughing when he groans and buries his face in your hair. “Seriously though, I wouldn’t mind, thank you” and with that, you plant a small kiss on his cheek.

Still in his embrace, you pull out your phone, calling Gojo. You bicker for a couple minutes, eventually agreeing to meet up at some café downtown. When you hang up, Nanami is already there with his car keys in his hand.

“Are you ready to go? Or do you want to stop by your dorm first?”

“You’re too sweet Kento, and I’m good, we can head there now” you poke his nose before opening his dorm’s door, standing there as you wait for him to exit. “Ladies first,” you snicker with a small smile as he passes you, sighing and shaking his head disapprovingly. After he locks the door, he swiftly opens the passenger seat door for you, humming when you murmur a thank you.

Nanami gets in and starts the car, and once he’s on the highway, he puts his palm on your thigh, thumb brushing the soft skin. “I’m honestly surprised, I thought you’d only be driving in the 10 and 2 position,” you snicker and put your hand on top of his.

“Maybe I’m careful, but I can’t help myself when a beautiful woman is sitting right beside me.” You smile at that, stroking his palm as he stares at the road ahead. After a little while you get to the café, and Nanami pulls over just long enough for you to kiss him and say thanks. “Text me when you need pickup, okay?” “It’s okay, I’ll just walk ba-“ “Just text me.” You sigh, and with another kiss you part ways, as you see Gojo waiting for you at the entrance.

You sigh internally, knowing what’s about to come as you walk towards the white haired man. You approach him, and before even entering the place, he immediately jumps on you with a hug.

“What the fuck was that kiss? Girl you better tell me everything” Gojo almost yells that, and you quickly hush him down, walking inside.

After getting your matcha, and Gojo his overly sweet latte, you two sit down. “Okay so before I start you gotta promise not to yell again, I can’t have everyone here staring,” you say with an eye roll, and he eagerly nods. “Whatever you say, just fucking tell me already!”

You almost laugh at his whiney tone, before telling him about everything that happened with Nanami today. You can tell he’s having a hard time containing his excitement, and when you tell him that Nanami insisted on picking you up as well, he damn near cries.

“There’s no way, he’s definitely obsessed with you y/n” “Stop that, we just kissed!” You bury your face in your hands and whine, cheeks burning as you remember the feeling of Nanami’s lips on yours. “Either way, you clearly like him more than you let on,” Gojo says with a big grin.

“What’s up with that smile? You look creepy as fuck,” you snicker, watching him dramatically feign offense. “Can’t I be happy that my best friend finally got a normal boyfriend?” “He isn’t even my boyfriend yet!” You sigh, sipping on your matcha and leaning back in your chair.

“Oh you want him soooo bad, you’re just clueless to it idiot,” Gojo says, grinning again. You decide to stop fighting with him, and change the topic.

“Did you and Kento, like.. tell something to the professor? When you handled her?” You ask, your voice quieter now. “We did, I thought Nanami told you she won’t come near you again” you sigh, facepalming as you remember that night.

“He did, but we’re supposed to have a class with her tomorrow so I’m wondering how it’s gonna go..” Gojo sighs, grabbing his phone. “I’ll text him, we’ll find a way to handle it before class” he says reassuringly, shooting Nanami a quick text before putting the phone back down.

After another hour of the two of you yapping about absolutely everything, you decide it’s time to go. You send Nanami a text, asking if he’s still okay with picking you up, and he immediately replies that he’s on his way.

Gojo leans over the table, peeking over to read your texts. “Fucking lovebirds, I told you he’s obsessed!” Saying that grants him a smack on the head, making him huff and puff as you two walk outside, and he waits with you until Nanami gets there.

When his car pulls over, you both say goodbye with a quick hug, and you happily walk over to the car, getting in and landing a small kiss on Nanami’s cheek, much to Gojo’s delight, who’s still watching you and how flustered the man beside you gets.

“Thanks for coming Kento, you really didn’t have to,” you say softly, a big smile on your face. You feel like a kid, getting excited to see him when you’ve left his place only a couple hours ago, but you can’t help yourself.

“Of course y/n, it’s my pleasure. I want to make sure you get back safely.” He starts driving, and again puts his hand on your thigh. You don’t say anything this time, you simply play with his fingers for the entire drive. When he stops in front of your dorm, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn around in your seat, now facing him.

“Have a good night Ken, hope you have sweet dreams”. You lean in, and he cups your cheeks, warm lips enveloping yours, and you whine into the kiss. His tongue prods at the seam of your lips, asking for entrance, one that you grant him, moaning softly as the muscle invades your mouth.

Fingers gripping his hair, you break the kiss, panting, your eyes gleaming. Nanami blushes, his breath eventually slowing down. “You too, pretty girl. I’ll see you before class.” You nod and hug him, and then leave the car, entering the dorm building.

You can hear him driving off, and enter your dorm room. You take a deep breath, and finally allow yourself to happily jump around and squeal happily. You can’t believe this, that Nanami actually did all of this just for you. The way he’s changed, everything he said today, sounding all too poetic coming out of his pretty lips.

You sigh dreamily, getting into your pjs, and comfortably cuddle under the thick blankets of your bed, wishing you had asked him to stay over. You may miss him already, which you find slightly embarrassing, but you know you’ll see him tomorrow morning, and you just can’t wait.

Divider credit: @soulari

Taglist: @yourname-exee @realalpacorn @zayuriluvs @galactacium @queenofthekill @nuhahani @nanamineedstherapy @des-todoroki @linaaeatsfamilies @darkstudentsaladbakery @sttaejoon-blog @sosole

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rhyrhy · 21 hours ago

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Full Throttle

“I hope I was worth your time”

꒰ Warnings:꒱ Sexual content, Name-calling & language , oral in a bar bathroom (so classy, I know), Reader is bitchy, Mentioned height difference, Vi has a tongue piercing, Pet names. Angsty-ish.

꒰ A/n: ꒱ HAPPY 400!! (Someone grab the confetti!) Rockstar!Vi oneshot since she won the poll. Aka: a run-in with a face you don’t recognize… until the next morning. Around 5k words

“There she is,” the familiar warm tone said the moment you stepped into the building. she sat, gold eyeshadow reflecting over her eyelids as they opened a bit more to take you in. Growing up together, and still stuck like glue, Mel waved you over to her booth.

The fresh scent of espresso and warm pastries wafted through the air of the café as your shoes clicked across the floor. You couldn’t help but think how much more comfortable these were than last night’s.

“Here I am,” you confirmed, leaning down to hug her side before sitting across from her. “God, I’m starving. Can I?” You reached for the croissant on her small plate.

She pushed it toward you, laughing. “Besides the hair, you look suspiciously well-rested for somebody who said they had a ‘crazy night’ and promised details.” She mused, tapping her finger on the table.

You leaned back on the red-cushioned booth. “Oh, trust me. It was crazy.” You nodded, still chewing, covering your mouth as you spoke. Not missing the anticipation in her tone.

Outside the large windows, the city continued to spring to life. The occasional beep of a yellow taxi horn and incessant chatter seemed to fade into the background as you began to describe your night, with the occasional interruption from Mel trying to get way too many details. You jokingly told her you’d record it for her next time, and she seemed way too intrigued by the idea. But her burst of laughter after reassured you she was joking as always, insisting that you needed to loosen up.

Then, suddenly, you noticed her brown eyes flicker to something past your shoulder. It didn’t catch your attention at first; she was always nosy and hyper-aware of her surroundings. But when her eyes narrowed and her head tilted slowly back to you, your eyebrow raised, and you nodded for her to speak, stopping your previous conversation.

“Now, this might be a longshot,” she squinted slightly, lips pressing together in thought. “But what color did you say her hair was again?”

“Black with, like, highlights. Why?” You blinked. “And who are—” You tilted your head in curiosity, following her gaze to the decorative wall behind you.

A tour poster was plastered across the bulletin board near the café entrance, glossy and bold, listing cities and dates beneath an unmistakable face. Messy undercut. Sharp jawline. A cocky expression even in still laminated print.

Vi. Your hometown was listed for the 22nd to the 26th. Today was the last day. “Holy shit.” You let out a breathy laugh, half in disbelief, half in realization.

Mel’s eyes widened as she studied your reaction. No way. That’s not—”

“Yeah…” You exhaled, shaking your head as a ridiculous, almost nervous laugh bubbled out. “That is her.”

“Details. Now. Right. Now,” Mel demanded, her eyes gleaming as she set her tea down with a clink. Hands clasped.

You rolled your eyes, but the smirk on your lips gave you away. “Oh, settle down.”

“Don’t tell me to settle down, tell me what happened!” She shook her head and leaned forward.

“Okay , okay!” You sighed, as you drummed your fingers against the table. “Well, You had just called me about being late when…”

── ── ☆ That night, ☆ ── ──

The moonlight cast shadows behind you, cool air drifting over your arms as the clacking of your heels echoed down the sidewalk. As the clock ticked and the moon rose, you realized you were definitely going to be later than intended. Not that you wanted to go anyway—loud music, your friends dragging you around the reserved VIP section, and way too many pictures to pose for. You knew you were being a negative Nancy about it—at least, that’s what Mel had said over the phone.

“Where are you? Everyone is already here.”

Mel’s voice was almost drowned out by the bass on the other line, the party clearly in full swing. You held the phone up to your ear, your clutch in your other hand. You knew you should’ve gotten up earlier, but those extra minutes of sleep had been way too tempting. It was a mutual friend’s 21st, so naturally, everyone wanted to dress up and go out. In your defense, though, this was all last minute.

“I’m a few blocks away. There was absolutely no parking.” You replied.

One truth and a lie. Whoops. There wasn’t any parking, but you were definitely farther than just a few blocks. Pushing a few strands of hair out of your face, you glanced down at the blue lettering of the GPS on your dim phone screen—still a few minutes until you arrived. Downtown was always like this, even while the city slept.

Mel kept talking, trying to explain something about a potential shortcut, but you could barely make out a word she was saying. You jerked the phone away from your ear every time she yelled when you asked her to repeat herself. As much as you loved her, she was definitely the time police between the two of you—sometimes helpful, other times just plain annoying.

The neon glow of different bars, shops, even that overpriced café Mel had been begging you to go to, cast vibrant hues against the pavement behind you as you clicked your way around another corner.

The light on the crosswalk was just barely counting down before you’d have to wait for God knows how long. You quickly hung up on Mel, telling her you’d call her back later.

Glancing around, you saw only distant cars on the opposite street, the environment eerily quiet.

The point of your red heel rested flat as you stepped past the traffic light pole, walking onto the rigid, faded lines of the crosswalk. Not to be snobby, but the city could definitely use a small revamp. Potholes, cracked sidewalks, and worn street lines seemed to go unnoticed in a place like this.

You glanced down at your phone, momentarily blinded by a strand of hair falling into your face, causing you to involuntarily pause for a moment. Just a few more minutes on the GPS. But before you could continue down—A rumbling sound. Fast. Way too close for comfort. Your breath caught as the gleam of a shiny dark vehicle reflected your figure in the middle of the crosswalk.

A muffled shout bled out from underneath the helmet of the individual guiding it down the street. Panic shot through you as you jerked back onto the sidewalk, just in time.

“What the hell!?” you shouted, your bag slipping from your hands and your phone clattering flat against the pavement.

The sound of skidding tires, the slam of brakes. The figure, clad in leather, barely stopped short of colliding with you. The bike skidded to a stop just a few feet away, the scent of burnt rubber lingering as the rider kicked down the stand. as she swung a leg over and straightened up, pulling off her helmet with a huff.

“Yeah, what the hell is right,” she shot back, tucking the helmet under her arm. “You got a death wish?”

“Excuse me?” Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing.

“You heard me,” she said, rolling her shoulders back like she was shaking off the near miss. “Crosswalks exist for a reason.”

You scoffed, dusting off your bag. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I inconvenience your little joyride?” Frowning at the scratches.

She huffed a dry laugh, finally giving you a once-over. one that started irritated but lingered just a second too long. “Yeah. And people cross the road when they see the walking man on the sign.” She pointed at the sign across from you, the little white figure glowing mockingly. “Not randomly whenever the hell they feel like it.”

“Are you serious right now?—” you deadpanned, exasperated. Then, with a saccharine smile, you added, “Thanks, officer. I’ll keep note of that.” You nodded, dripping with sarcasm.

Her eyes rolled, patience growing thinner as your fake smile made her blood boil. Her free hand gripped the leather of her jacket, resisting the urge to grab you by the collar and—

“Oh, ha-ha. You’re really a comedian, sweet cheeks.” She scoffed, stepping forward. Only a foot or two of space separated you now. God, you were prissy. Slightly taller, dressed in expensive, clean-knit clothing. Your eyes barely brushed over hers, dismissive. Plus the way you smelled—how could she even notice that at a time like this?

“Mm You liked that? Thanks, I’ll be here all night. Just gotta stay clear of idiots on death traps,” you jabbed, rolling your eyes like it was a competition—who could do it the most? Then, with a huff, you turned back to dust yourself off.

“Aww, you’re all worked up.” She remarked nonchalantly, watching your expression as you turned away from her. Prissy as hell, sure. But damn if you weren’t kinda (extremely) … cute. “And those ‘death traps’ are a hell of a lot more convenient than walking.”

“The conversation was over like five minutes ago,” you brushed her off, barely paying attention as you glanced at the WAIT sign. Sighing, already knowing you’d have to wait to cross again. “Have fun with that, though.”

“Conversation’s over?” She smirked, shifting her weight on her boots, clearly amused by your obvious desire to be done with her. “You just walkin’ around town for fun or something?” Her gaze flickered downward, taking in your jewelry, your makeup, your hair—all of it. She was obviously sizing you up, and you could tell.

“Stranger danger. Mind yours, lady.” You chuckled, waving her off with a well-polished nail.

“Oh, I’m definitely minding mine, sweetheart.” She shot back, ignoring the smirk threatening her poker face. Her gaze dropped to your nails, interest slipping through her snarky demeanor. “Got a hot date tonight or something?”

You sighed deeply, the heels on your feet turning to face her fully. “Unless you wanna cough up an apology, all this—” you gestured toward her mouth, referring to her talking “—needs to stop. Like, now. Thanks.”

Her smirk faltered, almost turning into a frown. You were bitchy, sure, and definitely stubborn. But now you weren’t backing down? She had to give you credit for that. “Apologize?” She mocked, tilting her head with an amused glint in her eyes. “Relax,, you survived. Besides, technically, you were in the way.”

“I looked before I crossed. You came out of thin air.” You huffed, eyes flickering over her jacket, her piercings, her tattoos—all in contrast to yourself. Then, catching yourself, you quickly looked back at her face. “Whatever. It’s fine.”

She noticed your gaze linger, noting how your eyes moved over her. She didn’t need a mirror to know how drastically different you two looked. But there you were, still talking to her. Leaning forward slightly, she wasn’t even sure why she was keeping this conversation going. “Then we’re done here.”

“Fantastic.” You sighed, arms crossed, waiting for the light to change. The “wait” sign glowing, taunting you.

This felt like a standoff—closed mouths but wandering minds. Raging thoughts that you pushed down, catching the way she kept glancing at your exposed legs just below the hem of your dress. Your usual defenses weren’t working on her. She’s … still here? Her attention had turned back to her phone, her lock screen flashing. Herself. Of course. It looked like she was… singing? Or maybe at some kind of concert—you couldn’t quite make it out before looking back across the street.

The crosswalk glowed: walk. Your eyes scanned the sign, feeling almost… disappointed? You shifted your weight, glancing at it, but didn’t move right away. Your feet felt molded to the pavement below your René Caovilla’s—shoes Mel had gifted you, seeming useless now. This wasn’t a game of freeze tag, but you were definitely stilled.

“Took long enough,” you muttered, trying to act like you hadn’t just hesitated to leave her side. You didn’t even know her, but the flutter in your gut made you not care in the moment.

You had to go through with it, of course you did. You promised to show your face tonight, got dressed, did your makeup. Your leg shifted, about to take that step—threatening to break the bubble that had built between you. The whole situation was bizarre. You were supposed to go to the party, look your best, do your thing. But something had kept you here. You shifted your weight, ready to take that step, only to be stopped by a familiar waft of perfume. The scent was stronger now. lingering in the air like a trail behind you. She was still there.

You glanced down at your phone, a full 30 minutes late now. Mel was going to murder you, but that concern seemed to fade when you looked back at Vi. She was on the phone, sighing as she hung up, seemingly about to leave. Something in you snapped, and you blurted out the words before you could stop them.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

She stopped, her leg coming back down from the curb. “About…?”

“I do want an apology. For you almost flattening me.” You added.

She rolled her eyes, about to shoot back with some sarcastic remark, but you interrupted her before she could.

“Not like that,” you said, cutting her off with a wave of your hand. You pointed across the street to the bar, “I want you to walk over there, and buy me a drink. That’s the apology I’m accepting.”

Vi blinked for a beat, caught off guard. Then, after a long pause, her voice returned, though this time it was softer.

“What?..I…” she opened her mouth to say more, then her gaze drifted over you and that outfit. “You always this prissy and bossy?” A slow smile curled on her lips.

“Maybe I enjoy it part-time,” you shot back, chin tilted just slightly upwards.

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she stubbed out her cigarette with the heel of her boot. “Charming,” she muttered, pushing off her bike. Then, with a heavy sigh, like she was pretending this was some great inconvenience. she finally gave in.

“Fine. One drink.”

One drink turned into three maybe four, this part is still fuzzy even when recounting to Mel. then Maybe it was the way you kept seeing her glance at your frame, maybe it was you tracing your fingers on the ends of her jacket sleeve, but Somehow, between biting comments and lingering glances, you’d both ended up here—pressed against the cool tile of the bar’s single-stall bathroom, Vi’s leather jacket hanging off one shoulder, your own clothes disheveled from her rushed hands. The smell of her was intoxicating, something woody, yet sweet. You couldn’t place it.

Her lips finding home along your collarbones.You let out a breathy laugh, fingers grazing over her exposed tattooed back. “Oh, so you do have an apology in you.” your eyes found hers, as they searched yours. Beyond just the color.

Vi smirked, lips just barely brushing yours. “Eh, I just wanted to shut you up.” her teeth tugging at it slightly as she’d mind wondered, wanting to feel those killer legs around her waist.

Your head leaned back further. “Oh really? I’m that bad?” Eyes fluttering closed when she nuzzled closer.

“Mmhm.” She grinned against your jaw, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss there. “Just insufferable, really. Extremely bitchy” She was mocking you, clear as day.

You hummed, nails dragging lightly down her back. “Huh. Seemed like you liked it a second ago.” you challenged.

Vi let out a low chuckle, hands slipping under the hem of your top. “I have bad taste.”

“Oh yeah?” Your grin widened. “Is that why you almost ran me over?”

She laughed, fingers pressing into your waist as she pulled you. “You gonna bring that up forever?”

“Maybe,” you teased, tilting your head as she kissed along your throat. “What, you can dish it but you can’t take it?”

Vi exhaled against your skin, then pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes gleaming with amusement” “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, voice dripping with mischief. “I can take a hell of a lot more than this.”

“Plus, That was your fault,” she muttered, her lips curving into a smirk. Her hands roamed, fingers gently tracing the dip of your hip, her thumb lightly tugging the ends of your dress. Every touch was like electricity, the tension building between you. “Should’ve paid more attention.” Her head dipped down, mouth slowly trailing along the column of your neck. She paused every now and again to bite, nibble, kiss, suck—trying to draw out that whimper she so desperately wanted to hear.

You hummed in approval, a laugh slipping out at her sudden movement. Her hands found the back of your thighs, pulling your legs around her waist. Your back pressed against the stall, hips now flush against hers as you held onto her. “Look at you, short stuff,” you teased, resting your forehead against hers. She let out a soft huff at your words, her hands gripping you tighter as she brought your body closer. Feeling you pressed against her like this, the weight of you, it was almost too much. That damn laugh, your breath against her face—she knew you were teasing her about the height difference.

“Yeah? Keep talkin’, see what happens.” Her voice was low, a quiet challenge that sent a shiver down your spine. Her hands roamed, leaving small chills in their wake.

“Ooo, you gonna get mad, huh?” you teased, pulling her face closer, needing to kiss her again. Your lips found hers, claiming them.

She let out a low moan at the way you took control, your words barely processing as her lips crashed back into yours. The kiss was rough, hungry. She wanted you. Needed you. Her hands gripped your thighs tighter, fingers digging into the flesh as she pushed you back against the stall wall, the sudden shift pressing her body even more against yours.

You gasped slightly, feeling the press of her pelvis against you, heat jolting through your core at the sound of her small moan. Tilting your head, you deepened the kiss, your tongue finding hers, the warm muscle pressing and teasing. Her tongue immediately met yours, her soft whimpers filling the small space as her body shivered. She pulled you flush against her, wanting to be as close as possible. She’d always been impatient, but right now, she was downright desperate for you. One hand stayed on your thigh, anchoring you, while the other skimmed along your hip, gripping hard as she ground herself against you.

She let out an amused hum at the sound of your moan. Hearing you like this, knowing she had this effect on you, was almost too much. It drove her wild. The feeling of your hand on her undercut, the way you teased her, it was almost enough to make her knees buckle. Her lips grazed your skin as they traveled down your neck, pausing to nip at your collarbone, leaving more marks in their wake. When a groan of disapproval came from her throat, you pulled back from her.

“Wait—” “What… what was your name?” You asked.

Ragged breathing, your vision coming back to you as you scanned over her features, your mind still foggy from the intensity of the moment. You both paused momentarily. Feet hitting the ground once more, The woman’s icy eyes widened. Then, she spoke up, not even knowing how you two had gotten this far without something as simple as a first name.

She grinned, running a hand through her dark hair. “It’s Vi.”

You arched a brow. “Vi…” you repeated. “That short for something? Veronica? Vanessa? Vivian?” You listed off name options, trying to match one to her face. It didn’t matter but you couldn’t help but tease her further.

Her smirk deepened, a single brow lifting as if to challenge you. “Violet,” she corrected, shaking her head with a quiet chuckle. “But honestly? I thought we were past names at this point.” Gesturing between you two.

You sighed dramatically, rolling your eyes. “Okay, smartass. Just figured I’d ask before we—”

She didn’t let you finish. Your words were practically swallowed as Vi’s lips crashed back into yours, her hands gripping your waist as she tugged you down slightly. The cold metal of her lip piercing pressed against your lips, the last remnants of your gloss transferring onto hers.

Your hands found the sides of her face, melting back into the moment.

“All those little noises for me?” she murmured, her voice barely audible. Her hands roamed, fingers tracing along the hem of your dress, teasing the soft skin beneath. She wanted to hear you moan again. To be the cause of it. To know that she was the one making you feel this way, the one who had you coming undone beneath her touch.

You laughed breathlessly, nodding. “Yes. For you.”

Just that simple confirmation sent a rush of possessive desire through her. Every moan, every shudder, every whimper—she wanted it all. Her lips attached to your neck again, marking and biting as they traveled across the sensitive skin. She found that spot again, nipping and sucking, drawing out more of those beautiful noises she craved. A soft moan escaped you as your body leaned into her, hands moving to tug her jacket off the rest of the way. A muffled chuckle spilled from her lips as she felt you push the leather from her shoulders. She let it drop down her arms, the fabric hitting the floor with a dull thud. She didn’t care where it landed—her focus was solely on you. Fingers curled beneath the hem of your dress, tugging it upwards. She needed more. Needed to feel more of your skin against hers.

Your arms lifted, inviting her to remove it. Her blue eyes darkened as she slowly pulled the fabric up, baring more of you. The dress joined the growing pile on the floor, leaving you more exposed, her hands tracing slow patterns along your sides.

She caught the motion of your fingers reaching for your shoes. “No, leave those,” she said, her voice laced with something thick

You paused before nodding, leaving the red heels on, and turned to tug at the hem of her black shirt instead.

“Mm, need this off, then.” Her breath hitched as your fingers gripped the fabric. She was more than happy to. Lifting her arms, she let you pull it over her head, her tank top soon joining the mess on the floor. A simple black sports bra covered her chest, the only thing she had on top now. trailing a hand down her toned torso. Tracing the lines of her skin. “Damn, you always this easy?”

her muscles tensing slightly beneath your touch. You could feel the outline of her abs, firm and defined. “Easy?” she chuckled, her hands sliding to your waist, pulling you flush against her.

“I’m anything but easy,” she murmured, lips finding yours in a kiss that was hungry. She smirked against your mouth before pulling back just enough to say, “Now, you gonna let me have you, or are you just here to run your mouth?”

You grinned, fingers toying with her spiked belt. “Mmm, got this far. Might as well.”

A low chuckle rumbled from her chest, her head tilting slightly as she watched you. The way you played with her belt sent heat pooling in her stomach.

“That’s what I thought,” she murmured before her lips were back on your skin, nipping at your throat as one hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head to expose more of your neck to her. The other hand dipped lower, fingers teasing at the fabric of your underwear. A small sound escaped your throat at the tug in your hair, your skin already littered with purples and reds from her mouth. Your fingers flexed as you lifted the belt from its clasp, undoing it. Her teeth grazed your skin as she smiled against your throat. at the way your hands fidgeted slightly, just as eager. She made no move to stop you, only pressing you further against the wall, her tattooed arms keeping you caged in place.

The pile on the floor was beginning to build, the heel of Vi’s boots pressing the fabrics into the flooring. Too focused on how your body felt against hers.

A bar bathroom. Of all places. The kind of place that would usually make your nose scrunch, your skin crawl. The lighting was too harsh, the walls too cold, the bass from the speakers outside rattling against the door. And yet… you didn’t care. Not with the way Vi was looking at you. Not with the way she touched you—like she didn’t give a damn about the setting either, like she’d have you anywhere if it meant having you at all.

It only grew especially more difficult when her mouth began to trail lower, each kiss leaving a burning imprint on your skin. Heavy-lidded eyes followed her movements, watching as her lips dragged a slow, heated path down your sternum. Your breath hitched, fingers threading into the messy strands of her black-and-red hair, nails grazing her scalp.

She made her way down your body, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses in her wake. she kissed down your sternum, her hands firm on your waist. She was all-consuming, her presence overwhelming in the best way. Your hands continued to thread into her short locs, nails grazing her scalp as she moved. as she felt the way your fingers flexed, your grip tightening when her nose grazed your hip bone. Her lips continued their path downward.

Her jeans-covered knees found themselves Kneeling in front of you, still caught between your legs, her eyes lifted to yours, Her hands recurled in the waistband of your underwear, fingers teasing the fabric.

“Let’s take these off,” black-painted fingernails, tugging the elastic slightly. Needing your approval before continuing.

You nodded, breathless. “Please.” Releasing the grip on her hair.

Widened eyes, as the thin damped fabric of your underwear dragged down the soft flesh of your thighs. her eyes roaming over your newly exposed skin. Not missing the way you were practically soaked. The shine only exposed further when her finger

Her middle and index moved to the undeniable pooling slick to act as lube as she glides over your now uncovered clit.

“Look at that…Tell me again how you’re ‘not into the whole edgy thing’?” She asked. Pierced Tounge darting out to kitten lick over your glistening folds.

“Shut up— mmng!” a small whine ripping out when her wet muscle was buried to taste bit of your growing arousal.

With a to bite your bottom to suppress a sudden moan. The space between your shoes only widens are you spread your legs for her further. the pads of her fingers creating circles sending jolts of pressure upward through your body. Eyes fluttering shut once more.

The bathroom echoed with the sounds of soft moans, whispered encouragements, and the wet, slick sounds of her finger pushing inside of your velvety walls. until her knuckle is practically coated. arching your back, off the cold graffitied wall.

“Mmfuuk Violet!” Your fingers knitted right back into her soft stands. Tugging at them. Eyes squeezed shut, at her gentle laps to your cunt. Mewing like a virgin, not remembering the last time you had time to even have a causal hookup like well—this.

Her frim hands grabbing the mound of your thigh to keep you still. Her nose brushing into your cunt. Once you are (somewhat) steady she slides index out then right back into you, bottoming out. Earning another wail from you when she curls it exactly where you can’t reach alone.

“S’good, huh? Yeah, I can tell.”

Just as Vi’s hands started to roam again, the sound of a toilet flushing from one of the stalls cut through the heated haze.

Both of you froze. Then slush of the water draining out made your eyes snap open. Oh my god, neither one of you checked if anyone else was in here. With a tilt of your head Your eyes slowly met hers, wide with realization. Vi blinked once. Then twice. The unmistakable creak of a stall door opening followed.

Vi exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face “so…That just ruined it, right?”

You swallowed hard, face burning of embarrassment “..Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence. A shuffling noise from the stall. You really didn’t want to turn around. The bathroom now extremely quiet, faint music from the bar, seeping under the door.

“My place?” you offered, already reaching for your dress.

Vi’s lips twitched. “Yeah. Think we kinda have to now.”

“ Hope you’re okay with a little backseat action.” She smirked, stepping back slightly as she grabbed her belt from the floor. “Because Ya know, you’ll have to get on my bike for that.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Oh, so fun. Not dangerous at all.”heels clicking as you stepped closer. “I’m calling a car.”

Vi grinned, looping the belt back through her jeans. “Says the girl who was just half-naked in a bar bathroom.” She whispered.

You groaned, swatting at her shoulder as she laughed, slinging her jacket over her arm before leading you toward the exit.

You groaned, swatting at her shoulder, but she just laughed, reaching for your wrist and tugging you toward the exit. “C’mon, princess, let’s get outta here before we scar someone else for life.”

Behind you, the poor soul from the stall finally cleared their throat.

“Yeah,” a voice muttered. “Good call.” Vi snorted. You just buried your face in your hands as she dragged you toward the door.

The sun warmed your closed eyelids, pulling you from sleep. You shot up from your bed, hand instinctively drifting to the space next to you—only to be met with sheets.

Cold.

Of course she left. What were you thinking? That she’d stay? You didn’t even ask for her name until you were both half-undressed. With a disappointed sigh and slumped shoulders, you sat up, pushing your hair out of your face. Glancing over at the space next to you once more to confirm.

Yeah. Still empty.

Until you caught your reflection in something small, shiny. Silver rings, hers. When you finally got out of bed to toss them into your jewelry box, you figured at least you had a souvenir to remember her by. But as you approached your vanity, confusion twisted on your features. The cabinet was slightly open. And then you saw it. A number, written in red by one of your lipsticks on the corner of your mirror.

“Had to run, didn’t wanna wake Sleeping Beauty.

Figured I’d give you a reason to find me.

Call me, XXX-XX —Vi”

#x reader #vi x fem reader #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi fanfic #vi smut #vi angst #violet arcane #arcane smut #rhysoneshots #lesbian #arcane fanfic #arcane x reader #violet x reader #pit fighter vi #vi x y/n #vi x you #vi x female reader #vi arcane smut

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deswhomst · 1 day ago

Text

See You Again (Will I?) — @black-brothers-microfic — WC: 1366 | Warnings: implied (sacrificial) suicide

Hogwarts circa June, 1978.

“Regulus,” Sirius said, the name foreign on his tongue, the sound wrong in his ears.

The younger boy gave a short nod. “Sirius.”

Oh—his own name sounded wrong, too.

It was a well-established fact that Sirius hated the Blacks and that included the hollow shell of a brother he once knew—who was now staring back at him with a razor-sharp gaze.

Regulus used to be such a soft kid—annoying and snobbish, yes, but polite and sweet, too. It was like Sirius had blinked one day and Regulus had shattered into a mosaic of broken glass, all jagged edges that threatened to leave the deepest cuts. A part of Sirius knew that he had missed out on his brother’s life by his own choice but he couldn’t help the wound that opened up in his heart at thought.

Sirius decided to speak up. “I’m leaving.”

Regulus raised one perfectly arched eyebrow.

“I mean—” Sirius grimaced at the wording. “Hogwarts. Seventh Year done and whatnot.”

“A bit surprised, if I’m being honest,” Regulus said. “I always imagined that you would get expelled.”

Why did he speak like that? Absolutely zero emotion on his face. He had changed so much in the last two years—him arguing with Sirius and being a little bitch was much better than … whatever this was.

“Yeah, well,” Sirius shrugged, passing him a toothy grin. “Came close once. Or ten times.”

“I’m sure.”

Usually, Sirius would be mean to Regulus. He would look at him and turn away in pure contempt. Today, however, with all the goodbyes and a war looming ahead, Sirius found himself overcome with a fondness for his brother that hasn’t been there in … six years? Longer?

Sirius has heard the rumors about Regulus already becoming a Death Eater. He knew that even if it wasn’t true, yet, that was still the path Regulus was heading down. That has always been his big goal in life. The thought of it brought back some bitterness but the more prominent cloud in Sirius’ mind was a heavy reminder that he would be on opposite sides of a war with his own brother.

He had no confirmation that Regulus had actually taken the Dark Mark and as long as he didn’t, Sirius reasoned, he had one last chance to say the goodbye they had put off for two years.

Sirius didn’t think much about it. Words were failing him, anyways, and so he moved forward, bringing his arm around Regulus in a hug that neither of them were prepared for.

Regulus went rigid instantly, his entire body locking up as if he had been petrified. The hesitation, the instinctive recoil, it all vibrated through Sirius’ own body, but then—slowly, stiffly—Regulus started to return the embrace. In all honesty, it was not much at all. There was no warmth—in fact, even under the glare of the summer sun, Regulus felt colder than ice. But it was there, he was there, and Sirius decided that this would have to count. It would have to mean something, and it does.

Sirius exhaled through his nose, gripping the fabric of Regulus’ robes for just a second longer before pulling back. His hands lingered on his brother’s arms, giving them a brief squeeze before letting go entirely.

“This is the last time,” Sirius said, voice not as steady as he had intended.

Regulus blinked, something flickering across his face but it was gone before Sirius could place it. “Hmm?”

“This is the last time,” Sirius pressed more firmly, “we will ever see each other.”

Regulus did not argue. He only nodded, paused for one second, then promptly turned on his heel and walked away.

This time, Sirius watched Regulus leave.

Knockturn Alley circa August, 1979.

Regulus stepped out of Burkin and Burkes, the replica of Slytherin’s locket safely tucked into his pocket. Time was moving slowly for him tonight, which probably made sense since he was quite literally on his way to trade his life for the real locket.

For someone who was about to die at eighteen, Regulus didn’t have much that he wanted to do. He wished that things had been different but, honestly, even without the war, Regulus Black would not mean anything to anyone. That was his reality, it was his burden, and he will rot the water with it soon.

Perhaps the universe wasn’t done punishing Regulus, though, because as he turned down an alley, he came face to face with his brother. The estranged, disowned brother he hadn’t seen in a year. The brother who was actively fighting against him.

Where the light bled into the dark, where the flickering streetlamps didn’t reach, that’s where Regulus saw Sirius again.

One last time.

“I don’t want to fight,” Regulus found himself saying, immediately, voice small. He was exhausted—bone-deep and soul-deep. There was nothing left in him to give anymore. “Please, Sirius.”

Sirius was accessing him carefully, jaw clenched tightly, but Regulus caught the hint of concern in his unforgiving gaze. He must look like a special brand of shit for Sirius to put aside his hatred.

“You look like hell,” Sirius muttered, confirming that theory.

Regulus huffed. “Don’t we all?”

Sirius didn’t smile. Regulus hadn’t expected him to. With that, a silence settled over them, and calling it uncomfortable would not do it justice.

None of it mattered, anyways.

Regulus was already dying.

He was dying, and Sirius hated him.

He was dying, and no one loved him.

“I know we’re on opposite sides,” he admitted, keeping his gaze fixed on the cold stone wall behind Sirius’ shoulder. “And I know what that means.”

“Do you?” Sirius’ voice was sharp, edged with something dangerous. Something awful, something hateful. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be here.”

Regulus shook his head, a bit desperate. “I do,” he hesitated, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “I don’t expect you to understand, but this—this is something that I have to do.”

Sirius’ expression twisted, frustration flickering across his face. “You’ve never had to—”

“Listen,” Regulus cut in, digging crescents into his palm. “I meant what I said about not wanting to fight. Please, Sirius, don’t be mean to me today.”

It was unfair. It was pathetic, too, but again—Regulus was dying so nothing mattered. What was Sirius going to do? Leave him again? Kill him more?

None of it mattered.

Regulus didn’t matter. He never had, never will.

“Reggie—”

And maybe it was simply the fear of dying alone or maybe it was the use of the nickname the Regulus hadn’t heard in years that made him pull Sirius into a hug in that moment.

Regulus had never initiated an embrace with anyone before—and he never will after this. This had been his last chance to do so and he has done it. Now, at least, Regulus can claim that in the eighteen years he got, he had given one hug.

It was warm despite his own inherent coldness. Unlike Regulus, Sirius didn’t hesitate before retuning it, arms circling around his shoulders. It was then that Regulus realized that he had grown taller than Sirius. The older Black seemed to have come to the same conclusion, his response being a tight squeeze.

In another life, Regulus would have teased him about this. In another life, Sirius would have been annoyed by this.

Regulus didn’t let go of his brother for what felt like an eternity. He wished that Sirius would ask him to stay, but how could Sirius know where he was headed? Would it change anything, Regulus wondered? If Sirius knew that Regulus was going to give up his life to bring down the Dark Lord, would he stop him?

Will he mourn him?

Will anyone?

“Alright. Alright,” Sirius sighed. He was the first to pull away and it had to be him because Regulus wasn’t brave enough to face reality again. “Stupid question but … are you okay?”

Regulus supposed that’s something he hasn’t done yet. Be okay. He pulled back further, shrugging.

“You were wrong, Sirius,” Regulus muttered. “This is the last time we will ever see each other.”

Sirius had left once, so Regulus had to be the one who left at least twice.

And for good this time.

Edit: Moodboard I made inspired by this

#first micro did i do it right idk lmaoo #reg’s pov is less expressive because it became triggering to me lmao i’m sorry #it would be too heavy for this & too many words #also to be clear i don’t think this is how it would go in canon #black brothers angst #rereading and cringing 😭😭#black brothers #sirius and regulus #marauders microfic #black brothers microfic #sirius black #regulus black #jegulus #james potter #dead gay wizards from the 70s #starchaser #sunseeker #marauders #hp marauders

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mediocre-shark-tales · 3 days ago

Text

Racing Hearts, Fractured Bonds

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

The garage was eerily quiet as I lingered near the entrance. Above, the TV displayed the times from today’s FP1, and my stomach twisted as I saw that name paired with that time. Sure, I’d done decently again, but Jack—he was struggling. Alpine hadn’t been treating him the greatest, and with his contract situation hanging over him, I could only imagine the pressure that had to be weighing on him.

It was the third race of the season, and Jack hadn’t scored any points yet. The closest he’d come was 13th, and it was painful to watch from the sidelines. A few days ago, he called me, needing to vent, desperate for the support of his younger sister. I had to lie—pretend I was clueless about what was happening in F1. I spun some story about how my job was stressful, how I was so busy that I barely had time to catch my breath. He needed something to distract him, some reminder that he wasn’t alone in dealing with pressure, and I gave it to him.

I tried to weave in a little of what I dealt with in the garage, but twisted the details enough so he couldn’t catch on. He couldn’t know the truth—not yet. He couldn’t know that I was Ghost. This season wasn’t about me; it was about Jack, about what he could achieve. I couldn’t risk stealing his spotlight. It was too late to share my accomplishments with him anyway. The family had no idea that for the last five years, I’d been secretly racing. Thanks to my uncle, I had the chance to continue karting when our parents couldn’t afford to support both of our careers.

I had taken the fall back then for Jack. I played the part of the dutiful sister, stepping aside to make sure his dreams came first. So why not continue to do that now? He loved this sport, and I was determined not to let our family’s drama overshadow his passion. He deserved this chance, and I would help him get it. I could put my dreams on hold until I earned my own sponsorships.

My uncle had seen the favoritism, saw how my talent was being buried beneath it, and quickly stepped in to help me race in secret. With his guidance and support, I proved myself and managed to secure a sponsor in just one year of karting. It was my time to shine, but not yet. Not until Jack had his moment.

During the last race weekend, Jack had been asked about the growing friendship between him and Ghost. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched his quick, genuinely happy response on the screen. “I don’t know who he is behind that helmet, but he’s one hell of a driver. I’m just really happy to have this growing friendship between us. At first, I thought I was just going to learn that all the rumors about him were true, but after the first few minutes of talking to him? Ghost is someone worth the time and effort. He’s more than just racing talent behind that visor—he gives incredible advice and offers such a fresh perspective.”

Hearing Jack’s words felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders. Even though my real identity couldn’t be there for him in the way I wanted, at least my secret persona could offer him something—the support, the advice, the genuine connection that I couldn’t show as myself. It was bittersweet, but it was something.

Suddenly, the TV cut to the Alpine garage. I watched as Jack’s car was rolled into his pit, and he got out, helmet still on, but his face was already etched with frustration. The expression on his face was unmistakable—he was angry, likely at himself. I knew how hard he could be on himself, but in this moment, I also knew that the harshest voice in his head wasn’t coming from anyone else—it was coming from within.

I turned away from the screen, my heart aching for him, and walked toward my driver's room. Once inside, I locked the door and turned on my TV. I grabbed a couple of towels to plug up the cracks in the door, trying to soundproof the room as much as I could. It wasn’t a perfect setup, but it would have to do. I needed to call Jack, to find a way to lift his spirits, and maybe, just maybe, if he asked, I could offer him the real advice I knew he needed.

The memories of seeing his face change from disheartened to energized—his expression lighting up with that newfound motivation whenever I gave him advice in the past—pushed me into action. I couldn’t waste time. He needed something now, and I needed to figure out how to help him find his way back to the confidence that made him the talented driver he was.

I took a deep breath and dialed Jack’s number, my heart pounding a little faster than usual. The phone rang a few times before his voice crackled through the line, sounding more strained than I’d ever heard.

“Hey, you okay? I’m watching the Practice Session right now. ” I asked softly, trying to keep my voice steady despite the tightness in my chest.

Jack let out a heavy sigh on the other end. “I don’t know, honestly. Just… struggling. The car’s not right, the team’s on me, and I feel like I’m falling short. Every time I think I’m getting close, something goes wrong, and I don’t know how much more I can take of this."

His frustration was clear, and it made my stomach twist. I’d always known he had a tendency to be hard on himself, but hearing him speak like this… It was like hearing a piece of my heart crack.

“Jack,” I said, my voice more firm than I felt. “You’re not letting anyone down. Trust me, I know it feels like it’s all piling up right now, but this is just part of the journey. You can’t rush the process. It’s gonna be tough, but you have to keep pushing.”

There was a long pause, and I could almost feel him processing what I was saying. I knew he didn’t want to hear clichés, but I wasn’t going to let him spiral.

“I don’t know, y/n,” he muttered, sounding defeated. “The pressure just keeps getting to me, and it’s hard to stay focused when the results just aren’t there.”

I bit my lip, choosing my next words carefully. “Look, I get it. It’s easy to get caught up in the frustration, especially when you’re putting in everything you have and not seeing the results. But the setbacks? They’re just lessons. They’re gonna make you better. You’ve got to use them to push yourself forward, not let them hold you back."

He was quiet for a moment, and I heard the faint sound of a chuckle. It was a small sound, but it was enough to make me feel a little lighter.

“Yeah… I guess you’re right,” he said, his tone softening. “I’ve been letting everything get to me more than I should. I needed someone to remind me of that.”

I felt a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth. “Anytime, Jack. You don’t have to do this alone. You’ve got more people rooting for you than you realize.”

He was quiet again, and I could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. “Thanks, Y/n,” he finally said, sounding a little more like himself. “I’m gonna take a break, reset a bit. I’ll get back at it tomorrow. I’ll figure it out.”

I let out a quiet breath, feeling a weight lift off me. “You’ve got this. Just take it one step at a time. Don’t let the pressure eat at you. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” he said again, his voice lighter. “Talk soon, alright?”

“Yeah, talk soon,” I replied softly, a warm feeling settling in my chest.

I ended the call, staring at the screen for a moment, letting the relief wash over me. Jack was going to be fine. I knew he would be. He just needed time to sort things out in his own way.

I glanced around the small drivers room I’d been staying in and grabbed my bag, the weight of everything still pressing down on me. The call had gone well. I’d said what he needed to hear. But now it was time to move on, to get ready for the next race, the next step in all of this. I couldn’t dwell too long on this moment.

I threw my comfy clothes on and headed toward the door, the familiar sense of purpose settling back into my chest. I wasn’t just Ghost in the car. I could be someone Jack needed, too. Even if he didn’t know it yet. With my helmet pulled back over my head, I walked out of the room.

Returning to the track the next day, I felt a surge of energy running through me. It was a fresh day, and I was determined to finish FP3 strong and carry that momentum straight into Qualifying. As I walked through the entrance of the paddock, I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander, scanning the familiar surroundings. The excitement of race weekend always felt like a breath of fresh air.

My gaze quickly locked onto the unmistakable bright orange of McLaren team gear near their garage. And just like that, I spotted the one person I couldn’t help but feel a bit more drawn to than most. Oscar.

I quietly jogged over, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips beneath my helmet. Oscar spotted me almost instantly and without missing a beat, he made his way toward me, his own grin widening as our gaze met.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” Oscar teased, his voice light but his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

I gave a mock, dramatic sigh as I stopped in front of him, adjusting my gloves as if I were trying to appear serious. “I had to make sure you weren’t getting too cocky after all the hype from yesterday.”

He laughed, leaning in slightly as if to whisper a secret. “You’re just jealous. I’m the one people are talking about now. You’re just... mysterious."

I raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Mysterious? Oh please, you just wish you had my level of intrigue.”

Oscar chuckled and shook his head, clearly enjoying the banter. “I mean, it does give you a certain… allure, I’ll admit. But I think people would be more interested if you started hinting at who you were.”

I rolled my eyes beneath the visor but couldn’t hide the grin. “You know I’ve got my own idea of when that's happening. Besides, someone’s gotta keep the mystery alive, right?”

“Fair enough,” he said, giving a dramatic shrug. “I’ll just have to settle for the occasional secret chat when no one’s watching.”

We both laughed, and I felt the familiar warmth of friendship and camaraderie wash over me. Sure, we were competitors on the track, but off it, it felt easy. It was moments like this that reminded me why I loved being part of this world.

“Alright, alright,” I said, raising a gloved hand in mock surrender. “I’ll let you have your fun, but only because you’ve been so charming this morning.”

Oscar’s eyes twinkled, clearly enjoying the friendly banter as he patted me on the shoulder. “Just wait until you see me on the grid. I’ll be the one turning heads this time.”

I raised an eyebrow in challenge. “We’ll see about that. But good luck, anyway.”

“Luck? Who needs luck when you've got talent?” Oscar shot back with a grin, giving me a wink before turning to head toward the McLaren garage.

I stood there for a moment, watching him go, feeling lighter than I had in a while. Racing was intense, no doubt, but moments like these reminded me that it wasn’t all about the pressure—it was about the people you shared the track with.

I turned away from the McLaren garage, still feeling the lingering warmth of my conversation with Oscar. It was moments like those that reminded me I wasn’t entirely alone in this sport. But as I walked toward my own garage, that light feeling slowly faded, replaced by the usual tension that came with being in this space.

Stepping inside, I immediately noticed Franco standing near one of the engineers, engaged in a discussion about setup changes for FP3. Normally, I would have ignored it, heading straight to my driver’s room without a second thought. But something about him caught my attention today.

His expression.

It wasn’t sharp, wasn’t full of frustration or disdain like it usually was when our eyes happened to meet. Instead, there was… nothing. No irritation, no biting remarks waiting on the tip of his tongue. His face was calm—indifferent, even. It was such a stark contrast to what I had grown used to that it almost made me stop in my tracks.

For a brief second, I wondered if I should say something. A passing comment, a joke, maybe even a simple nod of acknowledgment. But just as quickly as the thought appeared, I shoved it away. Whatever had shifted in him, it wasn’t my concern.

Without a word, I walked past him, heading straight toward my driver’s room. I swore I felt his eyes on me as I passed, but I didn’t turn back to check.

Once inside, I shut the door behind me and exhaled. The quiet hum of the room wrapped around me, offering a brief sense of isolation from everything outside. I moved toward my locker, taking a moment to center myself before I started gearing up for FP3.

Whatever’s going on with Franco, it’s not my problem.

I had bigger things to focus on.

—

FP3 had been exactly what I needed—a confidence boost. The car felt dialed in, my times were consistent, and for the first time this weekend, I felt like I was fully in control. Every sector clicked, every adjustment I made felt natural, and by the end of the session, the data confirmed what I already knew.

I was fast.

Faster than I had been all weekend. Fast enough to believe that making it into Q3 wasn’t just a hope, but an expectation. My engineers were optimistic, the team was behind me, and even Diego had radioed in after the session, sounding genuinely excited about my pace.

"Keep this up, and you’ll be right in the fight today."

That was the goal. I was determined to deliver.

Now, sitting in my car during Q1, the world around me had faded into tunnel vision. My focus was razor-sharp, locked in on the track ahead as I pushed through my first flying lap. The tires were warming up well, grip levels felt solid, and every input I made was instinctual. The car responded exactly how I wanted, allowing me to carry more speed through the corners without hesitation.

This was it. The kind of feeling every driver chased—the harmony between man and machine.

But just as I was settling into that rhythm, my wandering thoughts were abruptly cut off.

Jack.

I spotted him in my mirrors first, then again just ahead as he threw his car aggressively into a corner. Too aggressively. His Alpine twitched under braking, barely catching itself before he powered out of the turn.

I frowned. That wasn’t like him.

Lap after lap, he was reckless, pushing way too hard, taking risks that didn’t make sense this early in qualifying. It wasn’t just a normal push for pace—there was an edge to it, a desperation woven into his driving. He wasn’t being smart about it, and that sent alarm bells ringing in my head.

And he wasn’t just fighting the track—he was fighting me.

I could see it in the way he defended, in the way he positioned his car in places that forced me to either back off or take the risk alongside him. Even when I wasn’t on a hot lap, he was making it difficult for me, as if he had something to prove.

To himself. To Alpine. To the entire grid.

And suddenly, I understood.

He was still chasing those first points. Three races in, and he hadn’t been able to put himself in a position to fight for them. Alpine had been struggling, his contract was in the air, and the pressure was mounting with each passing weekend.

He needed a result today, no matter what it took.

But if he kept this up? He was going to get himself into trouble.

Or worse—drag me into it with him.

"Diego, what’s Doohan doing? He’s driving like his life depends on this lap." My voice was calm, but there was an underlying concern I couldn’t shake.

There was a short pause before my engineer responded, his voice even. "We see it too. Just stay smart, you’re on a good time. Don’t get caught up in his mess."

Easier said than done.

I gritted my teeth as Jack lunged into the next turn, right as I was about to commit to the racing line. I had to adjust mid-corner, costing me a couple of tenths, and frustration flared in my chest.

"Come on, Jack…" I muttered under my breath.

I knew he was better than this. He didn’t need to drive like a man on the edge. He had the talent, the control—I’d seen it firsthand. But right now, that wasn’t what was driving him. It was something deeper, something clawing at him from inside.

I needed to be careful. If he kept up this aggressive approach, something was bound to go wrong.

And I couldn’t afford to be collateral damage.

Q1 wrapped up with a sigh of relief as my name remained above the cutoff line. I had made it through to Q2—barely. Jack had scraped through as well, his last-minute lap just quick enough to put him through. But the way he had fought for it? It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t calculated.

And it wasn’t over.

As Q2 began, I focused on my out lap, taking deep breaths to steady my mind. Jack had been reckless in Q1, but maybe now, with fewer cars on track and the pressure slightly eased, he would dial it back.

I was wrong.

The aggression was still there—worse, even.

Jack was everywhere. Blocking unnecessarily, moving unpredictably, throwing his car into corners as if I wasn’t even there. It was dangerous. He wasn’t just fighting for track position; he was fighting everything—the car, the circumstances, himself.

I was setting up for my push lap, giving myself space before the final sector when I saw him in my mirrors again. Too close. Too erratic.

"Ghost, be mindful of Doohan—he’s on a push lap." Diego’s voice was steady, but I could hear the edge of concern.

"Yeah, I know," I gritted out. "But he’s being a fucking menace right now."

I was about to back off slightly, let him go, when I saw the move coming—too late.

Jack dove down the inside at a speed that was never going to stick.

My heart jumped as my instincts took over. I tried to avoid him, turning wider to give space, but his rear snapped mid-corner. There was a split second of helplessness—nothing I could do, nowhere I could go.

The impact was violent.

The back of his Alpine clipped the front of my car, unsettling me at the worst possible moment. My tires lost all grip, and suddenly, I was a passenger. My car spun wildly, the world turning into a blur of colors and motion as I fought to regain control—but the speed was too high, and the barriers were too close.

I braced.

The moment of impact rattled my entire body. The left side of my car slammed into the Tecpro barrier, the force jarring through me. My head snapped forward against the restraints, my hands gripping the wheel instinctively even as the shock reverberated through my arms. Sparks flew, debris scattered, and the car jolted to a stop, leaving me pressed against the side of the cockpit, my heart pounding.

For a moment, all I could hear was my own breathing, harsh and uneven.

Then, Diego’s voice cut through. "Ghost, talk to me."

I pressed my head back against the seat, letting out a shaky breath.

I felt… okay. Nothing immediately hurt. Whether that was the adrenaline talking, I wasn’t sure, but I could move, I could think, and my vision wasn’t spinning. But I couldn’t speak—not yet. Not without risking the voice changer.

Instead, I used the failsafe we had set up.

My fingers found the pit confirm button on my steering wheel—two quick taps, a pause, then one more tap.

All okay.

There was a beat of silence before Diego responded. "Copy. Marshals are coming. Just sit tight."

I exhaled, trying to process everything. The replay was already playing on the big screens, and as I glanced up, I saw exactly what had happened.

Jack.

That fucking idiot.

He had completely ruined both of our laps. His car was limping in the runoff area, his best time now meaningless as yellow flags had been thrown in the final sector. My crash had messed up the track conditions, ensuring nobody else could improve before the session ended.

I was out. He was out.

And I was going to kill him.

I unclipped my harness as the marshals arrived, waving them off as they tried to help. I climbed out of the car myself, ignoring the stiffness in my muscles, and threw my arms up in frustration before stomping toward the escape road.

This was my chance. My first real shot at making it to Q3. And Jack had taken it from me.

I had sacrificed so much for him—so many years spent in the shadows so he could have the spotlight. And this was what I got in return?

By the time I reached the medical car, my hands were shaking—not from the crash, but from anger.

I didn’t care what bullshit excuse Jack had.

The moment I got back to the pit lane, I was going to let him have it.

The ride back to the pit lane was quiet.

I stared out the window, my arms folded across my chest, feeling the adrenaline slowly ebb away. The anger had dulled, no longer the white-hot fire it had been when I first climbed out of the wreckage. Now, all that remained was exhaustion and something else—something I hadn't noticed at first.

Pain.

At first, I thought it was just the stiffness that followed every big hit, but as I shifted in my seat, a sharp, pulsing ache spread through my side. Not just soreness. Something deeper.

Great.

Diego’s voice had already crackled over the radio, telling me to check in with the medical team the second I got back. I hadn't argued. I could walk fine, and I hadn't blacked out, but something definitely wasn’t right.

As soon as the car pulled into the paddock, I unbuckled and climbed out, biting down the wince as I straightened up. I took a deep breath and turned toward the medical tent, ignoring the curious looks from team members and journalists nearby.

I just needed to get through the checkup. Then I could deal with everything else.

But apparently, the universe had other plans.

I barely made it five steps before Jack Doohan was in front of me.

He wasn’t just walking toward me—he was storming.

His eyes were blazing, his jaw tight, and before I could brace for impact, he was right in my space.

"What the hell was that?!" he snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through the murmurs around us. "You completely ruined my lap! I had one shot to get through, and you—"

I closed my eyes for half a second, inhaling deeply.

"Jack." My voice was calm. Too calm. I wasn’t about to do this here, not when we were both still full of adrenaline and frustration. "We should talk later, when we’re actually thinking straight."

I tried to move past him, but he stepped in my way.

"Oh, so now you want to be rational?" he scoffed, arms thrown up. "After you wrecked and took me out with you? I needed that lap, Ghost!"

I clenched my jaw, rolling my shoulders in an attempt to keep myself from snapping.

"And you think I didn’t?" I asked, voice still steady. "Jack, I was on for Q3 today. This was my best shot at a points start, and now I’m out. But I’m not standing here blaming you, because—"

"Maybe you should." His voice was bitter. "Because I guarantee you, this was your fault. If you had just held your line, I—"

I let out a sharp laugh—one that wasn’t amused in the slightest.

"If I had held my line?" My calm shattered, fury creeping back in. I took a step forward, forcing him to meet my visor. "Jack, I saw what you were doing. I knew you were being reckless, and I gave you space because I didn’t want to crash. More than I didn’t want to ruin your lap, I didn’t want us both to end up in the wall. But guess what? You still managed to make that happen."

Jack’s mouth opened, but I didn’t let him speak.

"You think I don’t know what you’re going through?" My voice rose, frustration bubbling over. "You think I don’t understand what it’s like to fight for a seat, to feel the pressure of proving you deserve to be here? I do, Jack. More than you fucking know."

His expression flickered, something breaking through the anger for just a second. But I wasn’t done.

"I get it," I continued, shaking my head. "I get that Alpine has been screwing you over. I get that every race feels like a fight for survival. But this?" I gestured back toward the track. "This is not the way to prove yourself. Being reckless, making desperate moves—this isn’t going to convince anyone you deserve that seat. It’s only going to prove them right if they think you’re not ready."

Jack’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his anger still simmering, but there was doubt creeping into his eyes now.

"You don’t—"

"Yes, I do," I interrupted, my voice softer now, but no less intense. "You’re a damn good driver, Jack. But if you keep driving like this, you won’t just lose your seat—you’ll lose the respect of the people watching. You’ll lose the people who believe in you."

I took a steadying breath, my grip tightening at my sides.

"You think I don’t understand what it’s like to have people doubt you? I started in Formula E and IndyCar when I was barely more than a kid. Nobody thought I deserved those seats. They called me a risk, said I was too young, too inexperienced, that I was only there because of politics or sponsorships. But I didn’t prove them wrong by throwing myself into reckless moves. I didn’t try to force my way into respect—I earned it. I showed them that I belonged, that I had the skill to back up my place on the grid."

Jack’s expression wavered, the fire in his eyes dimming just slightly as my words sank in.

"That’s what you need to do," I continued, my voice unwavering. "Not by desperate lunges or risky blocks, but by proving to everyone—your team, the other drivers, the fans—that you deserve to be here. And you can’t do that if you’re too busy fighting the wrong battles."

For the first time since this argument started, he didn’t have a response.

He just stood there, staring at me, his chest rising and falling quickly.

I exhaled, the last of my fight leaving me, replaced once again by exhaustion. I adjusted my suit slightly, trying to ease the growing discomfort in my side.

"Look," I said, voice lower now. "I need to go get checked out. We can talk later, when we’re both thinking clearly."

Jack swallowed, still tense, but he gave a slow nod.

I didn’t wait for anything else. I turned and continued toward the medical tent, each step reminding me that something was definitely wrong.

But I had said what I needed to say.

And judging by the look on Jack’s face as I walked away, I knew it had hit exactly where it needed to.

The medical tent was colder than I expected, the harsh white lights overhead making everything feel too clinical, too still—like a place I shouldn’t be. I sat stiffly on the exam table, fingers gripping the edge as Nico stood at the entrance, arms crossed, his sharp gaze scanning for any unwanted intrusions. He had already made sure only one doctor would see me, someone willing to sign an NDA, ensuring that my identity remained a secret.

It wasn’t long before a nurse stepped in, clipboard in hand, a calm but no-nonsense expression on her face. “I’ll be your designated medical contact for the season,” she said, voice even, eyes flicking between me and Nico. “I’ve been briefed on the situation, and I’ve signed what’s needed. Now, let’s get this done.”

I gave a curt nod and let her do her job, staying silent as she pressed carefully along my ribs. Each touch sent sharp, burning pain through my side, and I had to fight to keep my expression neutral. When she reached the worst of it, I inhaled sharply through clenched teeth.

She sighed, setting down her clipboard. “Cracked ribs,” she confirmed, shaking her head. “Not the worst I’ve seen, but bad enough. I highly recommend you don’t drive for the rest of the weekend.”

I stiffened at that, already shaking my head before she could finish. “No.”

Her brows furrowed. “Ghost, be serious—”

“I am serious.” I met her gaze with unshakable resolve. “I can’t risk sitting out this early in the season. If it gets worse, I’ll deal with it then, but for now? Say nothing. Clear me.”

The nurse let out a long breath, clearly not thrilled with my stubbornness. But then she glanced at Nico, who remained silent, his expression unreadable, before looking back at me.

“Fine,” she relented. “But only under one condition.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Which is?”

“You follow a set of rules any time you’re off-track. No unnecessary movement, no overexertion, no lifting anything heavy. If I see you wincing or struggling outside of the car, we’re done. I will pull you.” She paused, voice softening just slightly. “I’m giving you a chance here, Ghost. Don’t make me regret it.”

I exhaled, biting back the protest that sat on my tongue. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a compromise I could live with.

“Alright,” I agreed. “Deal.”

The nurse nodded, scribbling something on the clipboard before stepping back. “Then you’re cleared. But don’t push your luck.”

Nico finally spoke up from his post by the door. “She’ll be careful,” he said, though there was an unmistakable edge to his voice that told me he wasn’t convinced.

I hopped off the table with only a slight wince, rolling my shoulders as I looked at him. “Come on, Rosberg. Let’s get out of here before someone starts asking too many questions.”

He gave me one last assessing look before nodding. “Let’s go.”

As Nico and I walked through the paddock, my thoughts drifted to Jack. What would he be like if he knew the truth? If he knew the driver he had just crashed into, the one he had stormed at in a rage, was actually his little sister?

I could picture it too easily—the hesitation, the guilt. Jack had always been protective, even when we were younger, even when he tried to act like he wasn’t. If he knew he was racing against me, he’d be too careful, too cautious. He’d hold back in battles, refuse to take risks, and in this sport, that was a death sentence. His chances at proving himself, at keeping his seat, would slip away. I couldn’t let that happen.

This was why he couldn’t know. Not yet.

When we finally made it back to my garage, I let myself wince as I moved, knowing that with my helmet still on, no one could see the pained grimace crossing my face. The adrenaline was fading now, and the ache in my ribs was creeping in, reminding me of the damage done.

One of the engineers came over, relaying what I already knew. “The crash put both you and Doohan in P14 and P15 for tomorrow. As long as nothing on your car needs replacing that would earn a penalty, that’s where you’ll start.”

I gave a small nod, unfazed. I had seen the aftermath on the screens before heading to medical—I knew where I was starting.

The garage buzzed with activity as people came and went, but eventually, I was left alone for a moment. I exhaled, letting my body relax ever so slightly, shutting my eyes behind the visor as I let the pain settle into something I could compartmentalize.

Then, the soft sound of something being placed in front of me pulled me out of it.

I opened my eyes and looked down. A small snack and a bottle of water sat on the table in front of me.

I frowned slightly and looked up, following the movement of the person who had left it there. Franco.

He was already turning away, walking off before I could say anything. But just before he disappeared from view, I caught the smallest shift in his expression—the slightest crease in his brows, the hint of something lingering in his eyes. Worry.

And then, just like that, he was gone. Not a word spoken.

I stared after him for a moment before shifting my gaze back to the water and snack, something unreadable settling in my chest. Then, without a word, I reached forward and picked them up.

Taglist: @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp

#x reader #driver!reader #f1 #f1 angst #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 grid x reader #f1 imagine #f1 driver!reader

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seonne · 3 days ago

Note

Hi hi! I hope this is good for your request. 🥰 💗

One second.

One single second is all it took for insecurity to come crashing down all around you, those feelings you’ve worked oh so hard to keep sheltered bursting at the seams. A ringing in your ears deafens your surroundings, all sounds cut from the world as you watch Uraraka catch the civilian in question, saving their life with moments to spare. Moments that you wasted being slow, taking too long to react properly and do your job. A hero shouldn’t carry their burdens into battle when they should be using that strength to save innocent lives.

“Hey,” a gruff voice calls from behind you. “Hey! Snap out of it.”

You turn and see Bakugo shouting at you, heavy footsteps breaking the silence in your mind as he approaches you. A firm hand lays on your shoulder and brings you back to reality, a shiver wracking your body.

“S’fine, Cheeks took care of it. Ya look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he says hurriedly. “Get back to the medic team, we’ll handle the rest.”

He knows that look, the swirl of doubt in your eyes when you quietly do as he ordered and make your way back to the medical heroes on standby. The commotion of the fight and rescue continues behind your back. It feels like a symbol more than anything. After a grueling number of hours, you finally are able to go home and shower in peace. Well, peace is a relative term. Your phone’s been turned to “Do Not Disturb,” all your social media deactivated temporarily to keep your friends at bay. The doubt of being a decent hero crawls up your spine and settles in your mind, joining the rest of your fleeting emotions of being too much for others. Your thoughts are racing at mach speed until a knock at your front door makes you jump, gradually getting heftier in weight. You shut the shower off and throw on your pajamas, sticking to your wet skin as you scuttle to the door.

Color yourself surprised when you see Bakugo standing there, jaw tightened and shoulders tensed.

“We’ve gotta talk.”

That’s never good.

“About?” You ask, head tilted until he pushes past you and into your apartment. “I—“

“No,” he cuts you off, harsher than he wanted but it gets the point across. “You’re not a fuckin’ coward. Why are you shuttin’ everyone out again? No one could get a hold of ya after today’s mission.”

You’re about to make an excuse when he groans in annoyance. “No, tell me what the hell is goin’ on with you?”

“I don’t wanna disappoint everyone and was giving them a break.” Your eyes begin to turn glassy, the corners gathering quiet tears. “It’s easier that way.”

Bakugo sighs, his shoulders shrinking as he takes a step forward, pulling you into his chest in one motion. His hand threads through thickened strands of wet hair, palming the back of your head to keep you close.

“Stop assumin’ everyone hates your dumbass. No one has ever said a damn word about you that was bad. Get that shit out of that head’a yours.”

You know he’s right, but goddamn, was it hard to accept.

“…okay. I’m sorry, Katsuki.”

His chest puffs and deflates against your cheek.

“Don’t be. If I catch ya doin’ it again though, I’ll stop cooking for you,” Bakugo jokes, letting his hand fall from the back of your head and walking into your kitchen. “Now what do ya want to feel better?”

Never realised this was in my ask box omfg. This is a response by @peachsukii to my request and honestly? I needed this after last month. I realised I haven't quite let go of the demons that aroused this request in the first place. So to anyone who may be feeling like you're a burden on your loved ones or that all you seem to achieve is disappointment for them, you're not. You're simply not. They're proud of you, they just don't say it as often as your brain would like. Even if you think no one deserves to be hurt by you, I swear you're not hurting them. It's just the doubt in your head talking, no one else feels that way. I hope we can all overcome our bad episodes more healthily going forth.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x indian!reader #bakugou smut #bnha #katsuki bakugou #kacchan

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ranunculussy · 16 hours ago

Text

enigma | part 06.

saturday

ꕥ part 01. | part 02. | part 03. | part 04. | part 05. ꕥ pair: Spencer Reid × BAU!fem!reader ꕥ warnings/tags: mentions of IKEA, awkwardness, somewhat oblivious Reid and reader, age gap, slow-burn, mutual pining, rivals to lovers, english isn't my first language so bear with me pls, idk about other warnings ꕥ word count: ~2.5k ꕥ summary: Spencer can't quite figure you, his rival out and this annoys him more than it should ꕥ a/n: hi guys! thank you so much for reading my work. i just wanted to apologise for the shorter chapter and that it took longer to update than usual. i was planning to post this originally around valentine's day but university started and things got a tiny bit busy. [this fanfic is also available on AO3 with the same title and username]

Pouring salt and lemon juice on an open wound would’ve felt like a walk in the park compared to asking for any kind of help or favour. You always handled everything independently and on your own way. You were ready to drop everything on the spot and lend a hand to those who asked but always made sure to deal with your problems by yourself. Among other things, this aspect of yours was a mixture of stubbornness and pride.

So, imagine how embarrassed you felt on that sunny Saturday morning, with your phone pressed to your ears as you anxiously waited for your call to be answered. It’s so dumb, they just got back from the case yesterday. I should hang…

“Hey pretty girl, what’s up?” Derek’s usual playful tone cut through your thoughts, stopping you from pressing the little red icon. You were relieved that you weren’t the one to wake him or at least judging by the lack of raspiness in his tone, he was already up.

“Are you perhaps… free today?” you asked as you quickly paced back and forth in your unusually empty bedroom. One of your cats, who was still very much a kitten, energetically chased after your feet, causing you to come across even less collected, since you had to look out for the little furball too if you didn’t want to accidentally step on him.

“For a woman like you, I’m always free.” Hummed the man at the other end of the line, immediately easing your nerves a bit. You rolled your eyes and let a playful smile spread across your face, which was wiped off just as quickly.

“Ah, for fuck’s sake Nick...!” before you could’ve said anything else, like probably an explanation for why you were calling your colleague, a low scream escaped your lips. “Sorry, my cat is just devil’s incarnate, and he decided it’d be fun to claw his way up on my bare legs.”

“For a moment I got scared that it wasn’t really me you were looking for.”

“Impossible, you know you’re always on my mind, handsome.”

You learned quite early on that Derek’s flirty demeanour was part of his personality and it was never serious when it came to the team. Even in amongst you, he knew that not everyone was open to suggestive comments or playful dirty talk. He made sure to never make anyone feel uncomfortable. Luckily, you were completely okay with this and even became a ‘partner in crime’.

“Okay, out with it. Why did you call?”

“Ah, I need a favour. I know you guys just came home yesterday and it’s totally okay if you say no…”

“Babygirl, I don’t even know what to say no to.”

“Yeah right, sorry. I need to buy a new bed because my last one was older than me and a few weeks ago it decided to end its life, which I can understand. So, I’ve been sleeping on the sofa. I mean, I wouldn’t exactly call it sleeping. And I know that I am even funnier when I’m sleep deprived but now that I’ll soon be back in action, it’d be nice to be well rested, you know. And yes, I could just walk into an IKEA, choose a bed and ask for a delivery, but…” You were definitely rambling and overexplaining yourself, as you did whenever you got flustered or felt awkward. Just like when you gave Reid a gift, you still haven’t recovered from that. The others quickly got used to this, given that they already had a yapper in their company. However, it didn’t mean you weren’t self-conscious if you noticed what you were doing.

“Let me stop you right there. You need help with taking home and putting together a bed, right?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll be there in an hour, but I’m bringing help. These muscles can do a hella lot of things but getting a whole bed to the 7th floor is different.”

“Of course. Thank you, Derek.”

After the call ended, you stood in one place in the middle of your room, trying to calm yourself down, contemplating your life. Asking for a favour shouldn’t make you feel like you’re being hunted for sport. But it did, especially since it included one of your co-workers.

Originally, you planned on getting this done with your brothers, but both were out of the country for two more weeks. You’ve read so many past case files where it later turned out that the UnSubs were previously in one of the BAU member’s homes as maintenance workers or something similar that it made you a tiny bit paranoid. This is one of the reasons why you preferred to fix everything you could by yourself. It was to avoid letting unknown people into your flat. You weren’t that worried about Morgan’s unfamiliar friend though, given that you completely trusted the profiler.

Well, colour you surprised when an hour later as you hopped into the backseat of the black Range Rover Autobiography, you were met with passenger princess Spencer Reid.

“Oh… Hi.” your voice got awkwardly high-pitched. You avoided looking at him both directly and through the rear-view mirror. You weren’t quite prepared for this scenario. It was bad enough that the anxiety caused by being afraid of becoming a nuisance for Derek filled your entire body, now Dr Asshole was there too. And you appreciated the help, you really did. But now this also meant that the man with whom you had an indefinable relationship will enter your home. The home, which was so obviously, undeniably you. It was almost like a piece of your bare soul on display both in a good and bad way.

“Hi.”

“So, IKEA?” clarified Derek before things could’ve gotten even more uncomfortable.

“Yes. I already chose which one I’d like so I won’t be taking up much of your time, promise,” you said and as proof, you held up your phone, with the website open and the specific furniture on the screen.

“Oh, Tonstad was mentioned in a travel brochure I’ve read a few years ago when I was looking for places to visit.” After Spencer took a glance at your phone, his eyes almost literally lit up. He enthusiastically explained what the name of the chosen bedframe and mattress meant. His hands were just as expressive as his mouth. It was sweet, how he probably wasn’t aware the constant movement of his fingers. “It’s a little Norwegian village and was the administrative centre of the old municipality of Tonstad from 1905 until its dissolution in 1960. In 1960, it became the part of Sirdal, and it continued to be the administrative centre there.”

Weirdly, his slightly rambling, lengthy explanation somewhat put you at ease. It was one of those rare moments when his facts weren’t undermining your professional ideas and theories. These facts were simply just facts, it was interesting listening to them, and he was able to keep your attention so much so, that you didn’t even notice how curiously you stared at him.

However, he did. Since you had no reason to use contact lenses on an early Saturday when you weren’t working, those damned glasses were on you again. The sight basically magnetized his gaze to your face through the rear-view mirror, automatically triggering the memory of his weird dream about you from a few weeks before.

For a quick, passing moment he became annoyed. The genius didn’t quite understand why a simple object, invented around the 13th century—with its precursors dated back to the Eastern Han Dynasty in China—had such an effect on him. Spectacles have been around for a few hundred years now, it was quite literally a basic, everyday necessity for almost half the population. At times even he himself had to wear it. So then, why in the hells did you have this weird, unexplainable effect on him? It wasn’t fair, how you were able to cause a ruckus in his extraordinary brain without even trying.

Much to his dismay, he was very well aware how you looked at him from behind. The way the Sun shined on your irises captivated him. All your attention was his. And he had to come to the unfortunate conclusion that he very much liked this.

×××

“Is it okay if I let out my cats now?” you asked the men in your bedroom that got cluttered and chaotic rather quickly. They were in the midst of putting your bed together, however, it didn’t go as smoothly as they planned. Derek wanted to use a simple thing, called common sense, and build the bedframe how it seemed right while Reid insisted on strictly following the manual which he already read and memorised word for word. On top of that, they didn’t let you help them, not even a tiny bit. The one thing that both agreed on was that you’re not going to do anything physically exhausting while you still have a healing wound on your side.

“You have cats?” asked the doctor and he even turned his precious attention from the wooden parts to you.

“No Reid, I just prefer to eat and drink from a bowl on the ground.” the sarcastic reaction came out before you could even register it and, in a way, you almost immediately felt guilty about it. He was there to help you. There was no need for hostility. But you were very much on edge, more than usually, since this was the first time they were in your home. You were aware of the fact that just by looking at the environment you created as a home, he was able to profile the shit out of you, and you didn’t like this at all.

You had various kinds of potted plants everywhere—all safe for your pets—, even on top of stacked books that were scattered around the living room. Your dish rack was filled with colourful mugs, plates and bowls, most of them had different patterns and shapes. You bought the majority of those from artisans who set up stands at different fairs. All of them were unique but the colour scheme matched nicely, making your kitchenware organised and fun at the same time. Some were made to look like a blooming flower, some had animal or geek features on them. Penelope was over the moon when she first saw it, so much so that it wouldn’t have surprised you if she sneaked a few out of your place at the end of the occasional get-togethers.

The bookshelf at the wall between your kitchen and living room immediately caught Reid’s attention, but assembling your furniture was the main priority, so he forced himself not to pay much attention to it. Secretly though, he hoped he could take a closer look at what you read and by what system you organised your books, just so he could possibly get to know you more without having to engage in your usual bickering.

Before the doctor could’ve answered your last sentence, you took a swift turn and left your bedroom. A few minutes later the sound of long, drawn-out meows filled the small flat.

“Yeaaah, I know, I know. I’m sorry.” you answered to your pets in a high-pitched tone. The first one to run out of the bathroom was an adult, slightly chubby black cat with deep, amber eyes. You found her and her brother—the sweetest little calico, who was still chilling in the cold sink, even though you opened the door for him to leave—on a hot summer’s night, during a storm that was one of the worsts you’ve ever seen or experienced a little more than two years ago. The kitten named Nick, is an entirely different story. You found him in a dumpster, near your apartment, squaring it up with a raccoon. He hasn’t calmed down ever since. “But I locked you up for your own sakes. And it was only for half an hour.” To this, another long meow was your answer, to which you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. They were dramatic, for sure.

“Should I consider my win on the last case as a result of you, not having a bed?” Reid’s voice almost made you jump; it was so sudden. He was leaning to the doorframe, curious eyes diligently taking in every single tiny detail of you and your surroundings. You were in the process of taking the sweetest little prince out of the sink. The long-haired calico was rather scaredy and hated unfamiliar people but was a total lovebug for those whom he knew. Unfortunately, the tall profiler wasn’t amongst these persons, so the cat’s instincts took over and, in a blink, he clawed his way out of your warm embrace to hide behind the washing machine.

“Shit! Daisy…” you yelped as you became more and more aware of the tingling, hot pain that spread across your upper and lower arms.

“Ah, I… Khm. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I knew he is afraid of strangers, I should’ve left him alone, but I felt guilty about locking them up for the time you got the bed to my room.” you explained the situation while you started to clean the shallow injuries with some warm water. There were only a few scratches, luckily, but they burned like hell. “The other two will be okay, though. Jordan usually sits on top of the cat tree and judges everyone while Nick brings doom and destruction to all things in existence.”

It didn’t require much brain power to put two and two together, Spencer almost immediately recognised the connection between the names of your cats, however, he didn’t mention a thing. He wasn’t sure how you’d react, and he didn’t want to start a fight. Up until now you’ve only met each other outside of work when the team went out for drinks and even then, you tended to avoid interacting with him. So, instead he silently reached for the soft, salmon-coloured towel and handed it to you, his watchful gaze never leaving your figure.

thank you again for reading my work, hope you're having an awesome day! i hope it isn't a problem that this fic is getting longer, i'm just taking slow burn seriously (only thing i can do lmao) taglist: @halfbloodwriter @starrystormwritings @kspencer34 @maisyyyyyy @theseerbetweenus @throwaway-things divider from @cafekitsune gif from @reidgif

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #cm #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #doctor spencer reid #ssa spencer reid #dr spencer reid #derek morgan #spencer reid enigma #enigma

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solarismoons · 2 days ago

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SPOILERS FOR S2 EP7 OF SCHOOL SPIRITS

Mr. Martin rowing away with Janet is so ominous…

His acting is SO great. His mannerisms and the way he speaks is so perfect. “We deserve this.”

“It makes me sad.. That we couldn’t have gone to any of these places together.” NO one can tell me Maddie doesn’t like Wally as much as he likes her. That girl is in love.

I genuinely didn’t expect everyone to be right about Yuri and Charley! They recreated that pottery making scene!! I did not expect them to get freaky, but i’m NOT complaining.

IM GONNA SCREAM. The way Wally hooked his finger in her bra strap??? My heart is actually beating so fast..I know i’ve said this before, but the tongue is INSANE.

I love how the ghosts are having sex with each other while the living kids are literally crashing out.

I really wish we saw Quinn going into her scar for the first time… I really wonder what it would’ve looked like.

IM ACTUALLY CRYING. I did NOT expect to see Milo’s bare ass today, but DAMN… My jaw dropped to the FLOOR.

“It’s kind of hard not to think about everything that’s waiting for me here.” Ugh, don’t make me cry today PLEASE.

I’m a little surprised there was no talk of Maddie begin a virgin, since that seemed fairly important to her in the first season. I’m not complaining at all though, because WOW..

“Oh, god! I’m gonna need to guys to peel yourselves off each other and come down to the library stat.” The way Maddie nor Wally didn’t even TRY to cover up is killing me. They genuinely don’t GAF.

They were planning on torturing the other ghosts?? This just keeps getting worse and worse the more we learn.

“I’m glad it was you, too.” Please don’t make me like these two together…

‘Notice of suspension’??? God, i feel so awful for Simon. I never even thought of how this affected him. He’s missed so many classes countless times.. What about his future? He flunked that one college admission interview, too. If anything bad happens to Simon, i’m throwing a tantrum.

Oh my god… Poor Rhonda. I love her so much. Knowing she was alone with Janet and Mr. Martin for so long is just so horrifying.

I didn’t expect Dawn to be so involved! I love how she’s really not stupid or airheaded. She’s just a little eccentric. I’m so glad we got another scene with her.

This show is honestly a horror movie at this point… ‘Mr. Anderson’ being soaking wet, covered in mud with his head gushing blood walking around with a fireplace poker is terrifying. My heart is beating so fast.

Mr. Martins manipulating Janet is infuriating. I don’t even have the words to express how much I hate him.

Poor Quinn! I feel so bad. “I died knowing that everyone was mad at me.” My baby 😞💔💔.

“You can’t just leave me now.” STOP. I love them so much it hurts so bad.

I really didn’t expect Simon and Maddie to argue but it was bound to happen.

“Is this because of Wally?” I called it. I fucking called it. I KNEW this was going to come up. Kristian’s acting always gets me. I love Simon so much.

Patrick Gilmores acting is amazing. He somehow even sounds like Mr. Martin and it’s terrifying. Also, he’s lowkey hot and i’m not sorry for saying that.

Mr. Martin forcing Janet into the hellscape made me sick to my stomach.

This fandom is so smart it blows my mind. Everyone said Mr. South must know more about the scars than we had thought. I kind of thought he was just being melodramatic, but the more we saw the scars I changed my mind.

Everyone was right about the scar being Mr. Martin’s. This makes a whole lot more sense. The woman could’ve been his finance, considering the fact that we haven’t seen her before.

This episode was genuinely insane. I still haven’t even fully processed anything.

#i’m still reeling #from that ass shot #school spirits #milo manheim #school spirits season 2 #wally clark #maddie nears #split river high #peyton list #charley school spirits #mally #spoilers #rhonda school spirits #quinn school spirits #yuri school spirits #patrick gilmore

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universefcb · 19 hours ago

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Hellooo!! Could you write something with Pau Cubarsí? Where he meets Y/N's family, and is terrified of her father and older brothers? But in the end everything turns out okay. Something fluffy and funny please hehe 🤭💓

↬❥ Mission impossible

Pau Cubarsí x Fem!Reader

sy: He meets his family for the first time, but his brothers are protectors.

a/n: Sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

warnings: No warning.

Today was a big day. Pau Cubarsí would finally meet his family. You were excited, but he... not so much.

“Baby, you’re freezing!” you said, holding his hands as you walked to your front door.

“I’m fine... just a little nervous,” Pau admitted, trying to hide it.

He had heard a lot about his family. His mother was a sweetheart, but his father and older brothers... well, they had a slight history of being overprotective. And Pau, despite being a fearless defender on the field, felt like this would be his toughest defense yet.

When they entered, their mother welcomed them with a warm hug.

“Dude! I finally meet you, darling! Y/N talks about you so much!” she said, smiling.

He smiled in relief. At least one positive point.

But then… they arrived.

His father and two older brothers walked into the room. Three tall men, arms crossed, with sharp gazes straight at Pau. The aura of intimidation was almost palpable.

“So you’re our sister’s boyfriend?” one of her brothers asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Yes, it’s me,” Pau replied, swallowing hard.

“You play for Barcelona, right?” his father asked, without looking away.

“That’s right, sir.”

“Good to know. Because if you do anything wrong with my daughter, we’ll mark you like a defender in a Champions League final.”

Pau almost choked on his own air. You had to hold back your laughter.

“Dad!” you complained, giving him a light shove.

But his brothers laughed, amused by the evident terror in their boyfriend's eyes.

“Relax, Cubarsí,” the other brother said, giving him a none-too-gentle pat on the back. “We just need to make sure you’re the right guy for our sister.”

Pau nodded quickly, trying to hide his panic.

“I promise I am. I like her a lot. I would never do anything to hurt her.”

His father and brothers looked at each other, as if they were considering his answer. You could have sworn they were holding back laughter.

After a few tense minutes, his father finally broke the silence.

“Well, then come eat with us. Let’s see if you can handle the family dinner.”

If Pau thought the worst was over, he was wrong.

During dinner, his brothers began a real interrogation.

“What is your intention with our sister?”

“Do you have any exes that still talk to you?”

“If my sister asked for your card, would you give it to her without hesitation?”

“Guys!!” you interjected, rolling your eyes. “You guys look like those annoying barbecue uncles!”

Pau smiled nervously and, with each successful answer, he received looks of approval. In the end, he was more relaxed and even laughing at some stories about his family.

When the night ended and you were leaving, your father finally gave a small smile and gave Pau a firm handshake.

“You passed the test, kid. But keep your eyes open.”

His brothers crossed their arms and nodded in sync.

Pau let out a sigh of relief and smiled.

“Thank you, sir. I promise to take good care of her.”

On the way back, you looked at him and laughed.

“See? It was peaceful.”

He stared at you in disbelief.

“Easy?! I thought I wasn’t going to get out of there alive!”

You laughed and grabbed his hand.

“Well, now they like you. Next time will be much better.”

Pau took a deep breath and smiled, finally relaxing.

“I hope so. Because honestly, I'd rather mark Real Madrid strikers than face your father again.”

You laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

“My hero.”

#barcelonafanfic #fc barcelona #pau cubarsi imagine #pau cubarsi #pau cubarsi x femeni!reader #pau cubarsí x reader #universefcb #pau cubarsi x reader #pau cubarsí #pau cubarsí x y/n #pau cubarsí x you #football x y/n #football x oc #football x reader #football imagine #football

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judenostopwaitkeepgoing · 5 hours ago

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A Class Analysis of the Crown Villains

Analyzing all of the EN-released Villains from who would be the most to least wealthy in 1890s Victorian England.

A/N: This is just for fun! These characters/stories are not that deep, and I don’t want them to be! I just find it fun and silly to think through what this world would actually look like in history, and maybe you do too! 😊 Spoilers for pretty much every villain on the EN server, so read at your own risk! Also I am not a historian or economist, just a gal with a computer, so take all of this with a grain of salt.

Also, I’m assuming that Ikémen Villains takes place sometime in the 1890s in London, England—the tail end of Queen Victoria’s rule. This estimated time frame is based mostly on Harry’s love of Arthur Conan Doyle and passing mentions of when “he has a new novel coming out.” Doyle was a prolific writer and wrote for a long time, but I wanted to keep the time period specific enough to really think through what the economics would be like.

Wealthiest - Jude Jazza

Originally I was going to put the villains who belong to the gentry (Elbert and William and ... Victor??? Maybe?? haha) at the top of the list, but the more I thought it through, the more it became clear that in order for Jude to realistically carry out some of the actions in his route (which I haven’t finished!) or various story events/collection events, he would need to be so fucking rich. Like stupid wealthy. Like not quite at Jeff Bezos level of wealth, but pretty up there.

And baby started from the bottom now he’s here, okay! The fact that Jude grew up in abject poverty then became a successful CEO of a trading company originally struck me as one of the more unrealistic things in the game (which I do not care about, he’s still daddy), but the more I looked into it, the more I got on board with it. The writers were smart to add a rich benefactor to his backstory, because in 1890s London, that was probably the only way for a poor kid from the slums to receive an education. Wealth disparity was bad in the 1890s, and people were mad about it! Jude’s hatred of the rich and powerful is in keeping with working class (and even some middle class) attitudes at the time. And with the rapid development and expansion of the Port of London (from the completion of the Royal Victoria Dock in 1855 to the Port of Tilbury in 1886), trading was the business to be in at the time. So it’s not impossible that Jude could have just lucked out in a few key ways and worked extremely hard to get to where he is (although he would still probably be considered a unicorn in this time period).

As for Raven Co.’s annual profit: who knows. I’m guessing it’s in the billions in today’s money. I’m unsure what Jude’s salary would be, he is explicitly characterized in his route as a fair boss who pays his workers a living wage, but he’s also like randomly really generous with like Ellis or Kate (i.e. giving Ellis a blank check for Xmas, giving Kate more than enough money to get a dress, etc.) so he’s probably taking home plenty. And considering how smart Jude is, he’s probably pretty savvy about saving and investing his money. He also makes a lot of deals and has a lot of involvement overseas, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he has bank accounts in several countries. The man is committed to building his rocket, okay! I’d say his annual income is in the hundred millions of dollars (in today’s money). But his net worth is probably in the billions.

Lord Elbert Greetia

Okay, now on to our first landed-gentry boy: Lord Elbert. Lord Elbert is most likely the wealthiest member of Crown in terms of generational wealth, with William coming in a close second.

Elbert is a member of the landed gentry or “peerage” and uses the title of “Lord,” which he inherited from his father. Being in this class means that he not only has significant wealth (in literal pounds and assets), but it also means that he has a rock-solid social standing and owns land. Land ownership is a big deal here because it means that Lord Elbert has the power to control anyone who might be living/working on property that he owns. And I’m not just talking servants/staff at his estate, I’m talking residents of any townships or villages on the likely acres and acres of land that he's in control of. So he has a passive income via taxing residents and laborers on his land(s)... forever! Being in this class also makes his wealth a lot more stable and immutable than say, Jude, who is a great businessman but whose income and assets are at the mercy of the market/demand.

Elbert’s character in the game is very stoic (until Kate shows up!), and he has deep trauma from his childhood home, so he doesn’t seem to exercise a ton of the privileges that would be available to him in terms of controlling the people who live on his properties. But, if we’re talking the 1890s here, he would probably have entire villages or even small towns under his economic purview. I think of him as a Mr. Darcy type, probably bringing in about £10,000 a year, or a little over £1.5 million/$2 million in today’s money. This combined with the cost of all of his assets or “beautiful things” that he compulsively collects (artwork, fine furniture, jewels, real estate, etc.) means I’d estimate his net worth to be about $70-100 million in today’s money.

Lord William Rex

I’m only putting William after Elbert because I do think Elbert has more non-cash assets, simply from the nature of his curse which causes him to be greedy. But let’s be clear: Lord William is also loaded. He, like Elbert, is a member of the peerage of the time and owns lots of land/real estate. He probably receives a pretty substantial passive income from all of his properties like Elbert.

I do think there’s one key difference between them: I have a feeling that William would either redistribute some of the income that he gets from any taxed residents/workers on his properties or lower their taxes—he just seems like the type to be about that. So that’s another reason why I think Elbert might have a higher net worth. Still, we find out that William paid for the construction of a hospital in his route, and for a man to do that in the 1890s, he’d have to be pretty freaking rich. I’d say that his net worth is probably somewhere between $50-100 million in today’s money.

Victor???

Big question mark around Victor! I’m putting him here just because he is so connected to the Queen, and unless we learn something different from his route, I’m pretty sure that means he’s at least upper class, if not a (former) member of the gentry/peerage. Or perhaps comes from a wealthier family. He also receives a salary and lodging from the Queen (as do all the members of Crown I think) so he’s certainly getting all of his needs met. He’s also the oldest member of Crown, which just makes me assume he’s had more time to accrue savings. But couldn’t tell you what his net worth is even if you held a gun to my head, this is all just vibes haha.

Liam Evans

Liam grew up comfortably upper class, basically wealthy despite not being a member of the landed gentry. His father owns an estate, or at least did when Liam was a child, and had staff and servants. Because of his mental illness and disfigurement, Liam’s father probably relied entirely on family money after a certain point.

As an adult, and considering he is a successful and popular leading actor at a major theater in London at the time, Liam is doing well for himself! He is now much better off than his father! Good riddance! Actors at the major theaters at the time were typically paid anywhere between 2-25 pounds per week, and Liam was likely on the upper end of that spectrum. Let’s say he takes home 20 pounds a week, which in today’s money would be about 3,200 pounds, or about 4,000 dollars. That’s 208,000 dollars a year before tax! Not bad at all! But, it’s worth noting, that at the time actors were definitely not seen as contributing members to society (especially women/actresses—they were essentially thrown into the same category as sex workers), so Liam’s social standing in the grand scheme of things is definitely lower as an actor than it was probably growing up in an upper-middle class house.

Ellis Twilight + Alfons Sylvatica

I’m throwing these two in here together because they are probably doing well for themselves, but only because they are attached to a super-rich person haha. Who knows what their salaries/wages are or what kind of deal they have with their respective sugar daddies (hehe) but suffice to say they don’t have to worry about money. Alfons is probably more irresponsible with his money, only because of his lifestyle, but even so he’s nowhere near as big of a spender as Elbert so it probably all ends up a wash. And I’m assuming that Jude pays Ellis pretty well because he loves him lol.

Harrison Gray

Okay, this one took some digging! Harry’s dad was a police officer, which in today’s world would mean that his family was pretty well-off and Harry had a comfortable upbringing. Not a member of the upper classes/gentry, but probably solidly middle class. This is also implied in the game, or at least Harry isn’t one of the characters that we know grew up poor.

But, it turns out, police officers weren’t paid super well in mid/late 1800s London! Harry’s dad would probably be on the better-paid side of the spectrum because he was a chief/high-ranking, but the police were a relatively new-ish phenomenon and weren’t considered “high-value” professionals. Harry’s dad likely only took home about 10 guineas a week, which in today’s money is about £1,400 or $1,700, so he was making about $88,000 a year in today’s money (before taxes). Which would be relatively comfortable for a single person today, but for a family in the 1800s would be pretty much living paycheck to paycheck with maybe a couple splurge purchases a year (like for Christmas or birthdays). So Harry’s family wasn’t anywhere near as poor as Jude or Alfons were growing up, but they likely lived quite modestly!

As an adult, Harry probably makes a healthy salary as an editor/proofreader. Publishing was booming in the 1890s, and writers were most often serialized in weekly publications, which meant a steady income for both writers and publishers. I’d say Harry is probably taking home a couple hundred pounds at the least per week, so something in the thousands of dollars in today’s terms. It’s unclear to me what the rules of living in Crown castle are. Like do they pay rent? I don’t think so? Let’s say they don’t, which means Harry gets to save/keep all his wages and only spends on personal stuff. He doesn’t seem like the biggest spender, if anything he reads as very sensible with money to me, haha. So he’s likely got a cozy little net worth building up but nothing crazy. Since wealth stratification is so extreme in this time period (the rich were very rich and the poor were very poor), Harry would probably be making enough to still be looked down on by the upper classes and enough to still be the object of contempt for the lower classes.

Poorest ? - Roger Barel

Doctors today are very well paid, but this was not the case in the late 1800s! Growing up, Roger’s dad probably had an annual salary of about 300-500 pounds a year, or roughly $45k-$80k in today’s money. Not a lot to live on for a whole family now, but this probably went further in the 1870s/80s when Roger was growing up. It’s implied that his family lived relatively comfortably, so I’m guessing that his dad had a good reputation and was sought after for his surgical expertise. He may have even gotten paid to teach in surgery ‘theatres’ of the time. (I haven’t read or looked much into Roger’s route so this might be wrong!)

I’m only ranking him last because he seems to not be formally employed haha. Since Roger is not a publicly practicing surgeon, he is relying on his income (?) and lodging from Crown for his day-to-day expenses. This could be any amount it seems, haha, depending on what he asks Victor/the Queen for. He doesn’t seem like a crazy spender, so he’s probably not complaining. I have no idea what his salary would be, though. It doesn’t seem like Crown bothers with all that, haha.

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arievir · 2 days ago

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Rock the boat

Sukuna x you

Warning: violence and blood mentioning

——————————————————————————

In a concealed corner of the vast city of Tokyo, a figure with pink hair kept to the shadows. Neither death nor pain could instill fear in him. What haunted him more than anything was the thought of dying without ever having taken his revenge.

He didn’t know his left hand, Kenta would betray him like this. As he pondered the endless possibilities, he listened intently to the men searching for him, their footsteps echoing through the city in pursuit.

The ruby liquid seeped through his abdomen from the knife. It was too challenging for him to move around recklessly.

One good thing was this hidden spot was still in a university area. Thus, they were unable to make things audible to draw attention from the police.

He looked at his broken phone and attempted to make a call to Uraume. Nonetheless, his vision was too blurred to make it possible.

Luck certainly wasn’t on your side today, as you failed your quiz in class. The sinking feeling deepened when you spotted the red stain on the ground, making you feel even more certain that heaven had it out for you.

You had a feeling something was wrong. Without hesitation, you turned and walked away, determined not to look back. You didn’t need to see the body, and you sure as hell didn’t want your own body discovered either.

“I don’t see things. I was delulu” you whispered softly.

2 steps ahead, you heard a low voice moan in pain.

“T-that was the voice in my head. I don’t hear anything” you told yourself.

“Lulu my ass” a man spoke.

“Let it go, let it go. Can't hold it back anymore” you sang quietly.

“Hey?”

You were about to run away.

CLICK

Your eyes widened as you slowly turned your head to face the man. “D-did you take a photo of me?”

“Mhm, so if I survive, I can kill you later, brat”

“Hey, I don’t wanna help you because I’m a bad person. Annnnnd I’m not an idiot to get myself involved in the mess. You should see yourself bleeding. I mean you gonna die for sure, no?”

He was silent. There was so much he wanted to say to you, but the wound ran too deep for him to speak anything at all.

“Help me and I’ll pay you”

“No, if you die, you enemy will kill me”

“E- either way your photo in my p-phone and you speak with me, s-so your luck is little n-now”

Shit, talking about luck, it was never on your side anyway.

“Hey old man, if you can talk this long, shouldn’t you can survive without me?”

You took out your cardigan and pressed it on his stomach. “Stay here ok? I’ll come back”

He shot you a furious glare. You didn’t say anything. Only thought that your head probably had a hole already.

You gave him your student ID. “Hold it as a token for my promise to come back and get it”

He took it and looked at you. You smeared some of his liquid onto your shirt. You tiptoed back to somewhere farther from him. Wore a mask and a cap while looking for a local minimart.

You asked for help from those elders and showed them the blood on your shirt. You asked them to call for the police.

You concealed yourself nearby, staying hidden until you were sure the bad men had left, the sound of the police siren fading into the distance. Slipping off your cap and mask, you pulled your hoodie tighter around you.

You ran back to where he lay, barely conscious, his eyes half-closed from losing blood. You took back your ID. “Hey! Hey!”

He breathed heavily and looked at you. “Y- back”

“The police are coming this way. Stay awake until then ok?”

At the hospital, the police questioned you a lot. You simply said that you just happened to see him a minute ago before the police arrived. Telling them a girl wearing a mask, a cap, approached you, asking for your help with him.

You didn't mean to lie to them. However, you were frightened that if bad men knew you saw their faces or were the one to ask for help, you would be in danger just like that old man.

The nurse asked if you knew the patient’s name. You let out a sigh and say “Pokki”.

The nurse glimpsed at you and you peeked back at her. “Yeah” you spoke.

“Are you sure it was his name?” The nurse raised a question.

“I don’t know. The woman told me this before leaving”

Well, you lied. You were irritated at how rude he was and threatened you.

You left the hospital after that.

Uraume arrived after you left 5 minutes later. Went to speak with the nurse. “Hello Miss, I’d like to visit Mr. Ryomen, Ryomen Sukuna”

The nurse was checking on her computer. “I apologize, but we don’t have a patient that name coming in today”

Uraume frowned. “Please check again. Was there a patient who got stabbed was brought in by the police?”

“Ahhh! Mr. Pokki!. He’s in room 1215” she smiled.

Uraume was confused, his chest burning like lava, but he still made his way toward the room. His master's life was more important than fixing the name.

He found Sukuna sleeping inside that room. He felt a sense of relief wash over him to know that his master was safe. He was thankful to the one who helped him.

He left the room and asked the nurse to change his master’s name before talking to the police.

Uraume came back from working on documents and police to investigate who tried to harm his master.

“Kenta was gone. I made sure he suffered from what he did to you. He was paid by the politician who wanted to take you down.”

“Why? Because I support another party?”

“Yes, master”

“I see. Did you find out the girl who helped me?”

“About that, there were 2 girls who helped you. The one who found you asked for help from another girl. I- well I heard she told another girl your name was Pokki”

His brown lifted and darted at his right man. He sighed. “Did you see her ID or her photo in my phone?”

“No ID has be found and the photo was not clear, only her back was seen. I believed you were hurt a lot, so was unable to focus when took a picture”

He closed his eyes. Of course, he was a bit annoyed about how the girl would let him die. He was actually more upset that he couldn't find a way to properly reward her. “It’s fine. Make sure you reward the girl who was with me and people who helped me then”

3 months had passed. He made sure his enemy paid for what they did to him. He made sure a man he chose got selected, so his business in the area would keep going smoothly.

He sat in the car that drove by the university area. The memory made him furious with his enemy. He looked outside the window. His brain was thinking about his business.

“Master, that the girl who sent you to the hospital. He annoyingly looked at the direction Uraume pointed.

He completely forgot about you. Somehow, he recalled the face clearly. He then grinned widely. “Smart brat, pretending to be someone else huh”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you

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temis-de-leon · 2 days ago

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Opposites attract - 500 F.C.

Characters: Asmo x gn!reader

Main Masterlist

500 followers masterlist

Requested by: Romance Anon

CW: established relationship and mentions of past sex. Very fluffy; MC loves Asmo very much

As far as you knew, the evening couldn’t be more perfect. The spot under the blankets wasn’t too hot or cold, both your phone and your laptop were almost fully charged up and the subtle drag of Asmo’s nails wasn’t overstimulating your skin, following the path of the veins in your arm without leaving any marks. Sometimes, he’d press the right amount and tickle you, making you shiver, and he’d let out a giggle that would die in the creases of your hoodie.

However, now that you actually thought about it, you hadn’t heard anything in a while. His weight was still right next to you and his scent filled the space inside the canopy bed, subtly blending with the roses’ aroma in a way Asmo surely had calculated; but there was no chuckle anymore.

You hoped he’d fallen asleep; because just thinking about your day together drained you. After all, your beautiful boyfriend had woken you up that morning at the crack of dawn only to spend hours dragging you from one point of town to another while stopping at the mall in between. Visiting all the different hot spots doing no more than shopping, eating the trendiest snacks and taking pictures of absolutely everything, you felt as if your body was finally falling apart piece by piece. Your muscles were sore and your joints ached, surely even a demon would be tired from all of that as well?

But of course, you were wrong.

“You know…” a soft voice said from under your chin. Apprehension twisted your guts in a knot. Nothing calm or relaxing ever came from those words. “If you wanted to play dress up, I could’ve shown you what I bought today”

“I already saw what you bought today. I was there”

“I know you were there, silly!” he laughed, not bothering to hide the sultriness in his amused tone. The mattress rustled under his movements and soon you had him kneeling by your side, looking down at you and cupping your face with both hands.

His skin was much softer than yours; always had been. And so was his hair and the edge of his fingernails. Yours had only gotten better after you started dating him and even then he still had to beg on his knees for you to accept his help. What could you say? You didn’t really understand the appeal of wasting time and money to look prim and proper.

Also, you were already attractive without any of that.

“But store light is not the same as daylight or nightlight and certainly not the same as my room light or your room light” Asmo continued talking as he climbed over you to hop off the bed but stopped with a purr when you grabbed his waist to take him right back to his previous position. “Oh, this is nice too!”

You didn’t bother to fight the impulse to roll your eyes, instead tilting the laptop’s screen urgently. At the sight of it, Asmo let out a dramatic cry and fell face-first into his silk pillow.

“MC…!”

“Honey, this is important” you argued without a hint of humour. The half-naked girl in the saturated game menu stared at the both of you with an empty-minded smile. “Our girl here needs to wear chic and glamorous for the show and we don’t have enough gems for that chiffon dress. I’m getting stressed”

“You’re getting stressed? I’m the one having a bad time here! I just offered to do a private catwalk in the comfort of my beautiful room and you just said no in favour of some ill-proportioned virtual girl!”

His voice waved, threatening to spill real tears, but you really couldn’t risk the possibility of him getting naked in front of you.

While his powers didn’t have any effect on your mind, you loved your boyfriend too much not to find him attractive at any moment. He could be wearing the most horrendous outfit and it would probably still work against you, although Asmo probably wouldn’t believe that statement. When he took care of himself it made you feel dizzy; and when he was naked?

Absolute malfunction.

“Baby, I’m being honest with you, the moment you get out of your clothes I'm gonna lose my grip on reality and if we have sex right now like we had last week I’m gonna need three to five business days to start working properly again and you know perfectly well Lucifer is not going to let me skip classes tomorrow”

That caused a few seconds of silence. You could see how your words slowly eased Asmo's hurt feelings, gently forcing a flattered smile out of him while the shimmer in his eyes went from watery to magical.

Once again you tilted the laptop's screen, leaning over to kiss the tip of the demon's nose before quickly retreating.

“Chic and glamorous, baby” you said in a singing tone while smiling coyly.

After what felt like forever, Asmo finally rolled his eyes and resumed his place under your chin, knowingly manoeuvring his body so your hand would grasp his waist in a seductive pose. With a judgemental tone, he pointed at the half-naked girl.

“And you’re going with that?”

Some things would never change, you guessed.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

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umi-adxhira · 1 day ago

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ᝰ.ᐟ SERENITY | 036

MANHWA: TWTPTFLOB

WARNINGS: Swearing, mentions of harassment

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I wrote this chapter while playing HSR chat am I goated

Also this is during Chapter 19 of the manhwa

TAGLIST: @evaxmisu, @00hellohello00, @welpthisisboring, @hsrvl264, @flyingpansaurus

◄ PREVIOUS CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ►

It has been four days since you were dismissed as Cassis’ master.

You sit on your bed, your back pressed against the wooden headboard, as your fingers absentmindedly card through Dion’s hair. He lies beside you, head resting on your lap, his arms lazily wrapped around your waist, holding you close as if you were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

A small sigh escapes your lips as you twist a lock of his hair between your fingers, watching how the strands curl and uncurl with each absentminded motion. “I wonder how Cassis will escape Agriche,” you muse, more to yourself than to him. You shift slightly, getting more comfortable. “Roxana used her illusion butterflies to make it seem like he was dead in the novel.”

Dion hums in response, a noncommittal noise. He presses his face further against your legs, his grip around you tightening slightly as if trying to fuse himself to your warmth. His silence is comfortable, familiar, but something about it feels heavier tonight. Perhaps it’s him. After all, he is quite muscular. Not that I’m complaining though.

You scratch lightly at the back of his head, feeling the way he shivers slightly under your touch. “Perhaps… she’ll use a doll. The ones that Vertium has.” You glance down at him, expecting some sort of response, but he remains silent. Too silent. As if ignoring you entirely. “Are you okay?” you ask after a moment, your voice softer this time. You don’t like it when he withdraws into himself like this. “You’ve been quiet for a while now. Did everything from the Karantul territory turn out okay?”

In the novel, it was Jeremy who had opened the doors to the breeding grounds. His punishment had been severe - locked away in the punishment room, left to endure whatever horrors Lante deemed fit. But this time… it was Dion.

You wonder if he had done it out of jealousy. Perhaps out of something darker, something more insidious. Either way, his punishment had been different. Instead of the same suffering Jeremy had endured, Dion had been sent to Karantul territory at dawn. It was a pathetic attempt at discipline, really - nothing more than an excuse for Lante to remove him from the estate for a while.

It was favoritism at its most obvious, and you couldn’t help but find it laughable.

Dion finally shifts, the movement sluggish. “Yes,” he answers simply.

But you frown. “You sound upset,” you press, narrowing your eyes slightly as you continue threading your fingers through his hair.

“I’m not.”

“Then what is it?”

A pause.

Then, almost lazily, he murmurs, “Your hand… it feels good.”

Oh.

A small giggle escapes you before you can stop it. You ruffle his hair affectionately, feeling his body relax just a fraction more against you. “You know,” you start, tilting your head slightly in thought. “Your mother gave me a gift today.” You watch his reaction carefully, gauging whether or not he’s actually listening. “She also gave me a letter, saying she wishes to see Cassis at her next gathering. I don’t think she knows that Cassis isn’t mine anymore.”

Dion doesn’t move for a moment, and then he simply mutters, “What was the gift?”

You nudge him slightly away, just enough to lean over him and reach for the small bedside table beside him. You pull open the drawer and retrieve a small, clear bottle filled with an unfamiliar beige liquid.

Holding it up between your fingers, you turn it slightly, watching how the liquid sloshes inside. “This.”

Dion shifts, sitting up slightly as he plucks the bottle from your grasp. He turns it over in his hand, eyes scanning it with that same unreadable expression he always wears. Then, without much fanfare, he removes the stopper and sniffs it. His nose wrinkles just the slightest bit before he tosses it onto the table without a care.

He settles back into your lap as if nothing had happened.

I know that it’s an aphrodisiac. Maria gave the same bottle to Roxana in the novel. But I swear to GOD, Dion, if you lie to me-

“Aphrodisiac,” he says flatly.

Your stomach drops slightly. “O-oh…”

Dion exhales, face half-buried in your lap. Turns out he didn’t lie to me. “You had a look on your face that said you’d kill me if I lied to you again,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your thighs. Then, without warning, he grabs your hand and slaps it onto the top of his head, a silent plea for you to continue your ministrations.

You blink down at him, then let out a small, amused breath. “You’re so spoiled,” you mutter, though your fingers resume their slow, methodical movements through his hair.

He hums in response, content.

A comfortable silence settles between the two of you, broken only by the occasional sound of his breathing and the quiet rustling of fabric whenever he shifts slightly. It’s peaceful in a way that very few things are in this estate.

Then, so softly you almost miss it, he murmurs, “Besides… I still have to take you on that date.”

Your fingers still for a fraction of a second before resuming their movements. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

“I look forward to it, Didi.”

After a while, your hand absentmindedly trails down his back, fingertips tracing each dip and curve of muscle as you go. Eventually, it finds its destination - his ass. Without hesitation, you give it a pinch, expecting some kind of reaction. Nothing.

So you pinch again. Harder. And then even harder, until you can feel your nails slightly digging into his skin.

“Do you not feel pain or something?” you ask, your brows furrowing in disbelief.

“Yeah,” he mutters, one hand lazily unwinding from your waist to grab the offending hand on his ass and pry it away. “Try harder next time.” His voice is muffled against your thighs, but you just know he’s smirking.

“Oh, I will,” you declare, as if accepting some sort of grand challenge.

Dion chuckles, his grip on your wrist lingering for just a second longer before he lets go. “I’d expect nothing less.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the amused smile creeping onto your lips. The fucking audacity of this man.

For a moment, silence stretches between you, save for the occasional lazy movement of your fingers running through his hair. His body is warm against yours, his breath slow and even. It’s peaceful - until an idea pops into your head.

Without warning, you pinch his side.

Dion tenses slightly. “Hnn.”

You grin. “Oh? So you do feel something?”

He lifts his head slightly, peering up at you with a deadpan stare. “Are you seriously going to spend your night harassing me?”

“Harassment? Didi, I’m merely conducting an experiment.” You feign innocence, pressing a hand dramatically to your chest.

He stares at you for a beat before lowering his head back onto your lap. “Fine. Continue, then. Let’s see where this goes.”

“Oh, I plan to.” You wiggle your fingers ominously, but before you can strike again, Dion grabs your hand and laces his fingers through yours, effectively trapping you.

“You’re getting too cocky.” His voice is slow, teasing. “Maybe I should remind you who you’re dealing with.”

Your grin widens. “Oh? Should I be scared?”

Dion sighs, shaking his head slightly. “No, but you should be prepared.”

You narrow your eyes at him but decide to let him have this one - for now. Instead, you shift back into a more comfortable position, your hand still caught in his grasp. The warmth of his palm against yours is oddly comforting.

“I’ll get you next time,” you whisper, playful but determined.

Dion chuckles, squeezing your hand lightly. “Sure,”

#the way to protect the female lead’s older brother #twtptflob #dion agriche #jeremy agriche #roxana agriche #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #lante agriche #cassis pedelian #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere #x female reader #female x reader #x reader

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nerdieforpedro · 2 days ago

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Not made of Glass

Part Seven of A Safe Place for Us Series

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Summary: Decisions about where to live are made and Dieter starts the “daddy” jokes. Sort of. The pair discuss states of health.

Warnings: Domestic conversations, various dirty talk (utter filth - I’m only 20% sorry), talk of children, talk of health conditions and disparities, feelings, unprotected p in v, aftercare

Word Count: about 2.1k

Notes: The daddy and momma thing won’t be that much of a thing. I tried it, it was funny but won’t be a recurring joke. I promise though I do think if Dieter did stick to it, he would be insufferable 😩 The horror.

Main Masterlist/ Dieter Bravo Masterlist/ AO3 Link

A small bodega serves coffee, bagels, sandwiches and assording baked goods based on the day of the week. It’s near a top floor condo that Dieter and Aisha are looking at today. It’s two days after finding out the life changing news, the expectant parents are still looking at different places on Aisha’s insistence. She made sure that the OBGYN she saw sent her tests and information to her home doctor, though she was considering moving here. The writer is curious about living in New York most of the time and being in Los Angeles when needed. She enjoys the thought of just taking the subway to a broadway show or the museum. Dieter is already talking about a house outside of the city, something he hasn’t mentioned before. The realtor is as confused as Aisha is but they both look through some listings until Dieter says it was the one he dreamed about. The home in question is a brick with a white roof and a yellow mailbox out front.

“It’s cute but it’s not in the city.” That’s Aisha’s response but Bravo convinces her to sleep on it and that they can talk about it tomorrow. The small meal consisting and sandwiches, water, tea and two pieces of chocolate cake makes her want this condo more.

Even when they get back to the hotel and attempt to relax, she still thinks about the high ceilings that would be excellent for natural light, working on some drafts and maybe watching Dee paint. That night, despite knowing that she’s only two or three months along at best, Dieter insists on laying his head on her belly. It’s in a series of moments that he never thought would come to pass. Humming ‘twinkle twinkle little star,’ he hears laughter that he’s become accustomed to hearing much more often.

“I liked the place near the little bodega. You could paint there and I can watch while I write. Plus I don’t know about maintaining a yard Dee.” Aisha’s fingertips massage his scalp while he lets a a short purr inturrpting his song. “We’ll go see this brick house though, it might be too much room.”

“Not too much room if we decide to have more children. Plus there will need to be room for Cookie.” He looks up and she knows he’s referring to his goat but he treats the pet like any dog or cat. Giggling, Aisha nods until she fully processes what he’s said, ‘more children.’ It was written in the contract they both signed. She’d never pictured herself with more than one. It led to her next question,

“Dieter how many children do you want to have? You know I’m-“ Bravo slides up the bed, shirtless and in his favorite Hugo Boss boxer briefs.

“I know, and it’s your fault. Now I’m a father and think about giving our current bun other future buns to play with.” The scruff of his patchy beard tickles her neck and then cheek as he peppers her neck and chest with kisses. “Now I get to call you sexy mama.”

“Dieter you’re so goofy.” Aisha’s hands runs along Dieter’s soft sides, feeling his warm skin. “I don’t hate you calling me mama though. I’m not sure if I’ll get used to calling you daddy. It feels like a weird fanfic prompt.” She releases a moan as Dieter moves between her legs and grinds his hips into hers.

“Let me hear it. Say, ‘give it to me daddy.’ Just for me.” He grins while he watches’s her eyebrows furrow from lifting her hips off the bed. His next line is cooed into her ear, “Tell me that you want daddy to fuck you sexy mama. Feel how wet your for me with my baby inside of you.” Dieter reaches down to slip out of his boxers and then raises the hem of Aisha’s nightgown. He catches her scent and when he runs the head of his cock along her folds, she’s already soaked. “I’ll keep the mother of my child wet, stuffed and happy. It’s what daddy’s supposed to do, aren’t I?” Aisha’s response isn’t with words, she reached down and guides the head of Dieter’s cock to her entrance and slides him in.

“You’re right Dee. That is daddy’s job. Give me daddy’s thick dick so mama can milk it since I want my walls painted.” Bravo doesn’t move his hips yet, he lets Aisha keep griding upward.

“Fuck baby…so damn good. Definitely at least one more kid after this one. I won’t be able to stay out of this pussy.” He interlocks his hands with hers and gives slow shallow thrusts. There’s no call times, no early appointments, just the two of them in their hotel room enjoying each other’s bodies. There’s no rush at all. “You only want the one or you open to more Aisha?” He presses his chest to hers, not set on forcing her into the mattress yet. Her eyes flutter and she looks up at him. Dieter’s watching her like he always does whenever they have sex, though recently there had been more slow sessions like this. Making love - that much Aisha is sure of.

“I’m open to having another one, but let’s see how this one goes. I’m not even past the first trimester. W-Wait, there Dee…again!” She widens her legs to allow him deeper, he’d found that extra sensitive spot within her fleshy canal and was hitting it with each slow stroke. She knew he wouldn’t go any faster, not right now. Bravo smirks a hits again twice before purposefully changing the angle to miss it and hear her hiss. He kisses her lips and ensure to hit it again to have her whine into his mouth.

“That’s fair Ai, and I think despite it being outside the city, you’ll like those house. We’ll have room to grow into it.” The smirk remains on his face as he waiting her out, he wants her to ask him to speed up, be rougher. It’s a game he may have started a few weeks ago. Dieter notes that Aisha is trying to release his hands and putting her feet flat into the matress to have him go deeper with his cock.

“You enjoy making me ask. It’s mean, but fine. I want it harder Dee. You’re supposed to be keeping mama satisfied aren’t you daddy?” The giggle is from this wordplay he started, it isn’t bad just weird as he releases her hands and wraps the around the back of his neck.

“Of course sexy mama. Your wish is my command.” Dieter winks as he takes a handful each of her ample hips beginning to piston into her, now with his goal of dipping her into the mattress. Her previous soft moans were replaced by deep groans and his grunts. They both climaxed quickly from their slow buildup and after washing up afterward laid in bed naked, facing each other under the blankets.

“Think we can put a pause on the mama and daddy thing? I gotta get used to that. It was weird.” Aisha admits and Dieter agrees. She snuggles up next to him and he wraps his arms around her.

“I didn’t think you’d play into it so hard.”

“I’m just glad you weren’t too serious about it.”

“You know what I am serious about though?” Aisha looks up as Dieter draws some circles into her back. She tilts her head and hums waiting for an answer.

“Because you’re worried about how this pregnancy can go and I’m worried about you, no matter where we live, we’re having a certified midwife checking in on you in addition to your follow up appointments. It’s non-negotiable.” It’s a stipulation that Dieter had mentioned before as well. It isn’t that Aisha didn’t appreciate it, she did immensely. That he cared about her being healthy along with the baby, but to be watched in her own home. Well soon to be their home, it would be a bit much for her.

“They’ll come for visits right? It won’t be like a live in nurse, someone watching me 24/7 is too much Dee.” Aisha attempts to get up and out of the bed to wash up but Dieter quickly rises with her and sits on the bed next to her.

“You know it’s not just because I have the money to do so right? It’s not a flex or something Aisha. We’re both older, and even though I know you have a clean bill of health and so do I, so many things can go wrong. It’s dangerous.” Aisha stands and walks to the bathroom and begins to wash up with Bravo nearly on her heels. “Are you listening to me?”

“I hear you dammit!” Her yell has her looking at Dieter surprised, both at him and herself. She didn’t expect to get so worked up over it. More than anyone, Aisha knows due to her research and appointments how dangerous pregnancy can be for any woman, let alone, a black woman and her first pregnancy is at age 35. It’s what she was cautioned against even though the only unhealthy thing about her was her weight. No other lifestyle risk factors. She finishes washing and cleans her hands before leaning against the counter, she can’t look at Dieter’s face in the mirror, he looks hurt.

“I didn’t mean to yell Dee. I know that despite everything, my age and race puts me in the high risk category. I just….” She pulls him close and lays her head on his chest. “Just want to enjoy the pregnancy. It might be my only one, we don’t know. So just stay in the moment with me okay? I know there’s things we need to watch out for and I do love that you’re being this protective of me.” She kisses his chest before rubbing his back, more to soothed herself than him while he cups the back of her head. “Please let’s just enjoy it.”

“Okay. I’ll still worry though. I want to have you and the kid you know?” Dieter kisses her forehead and they lay back down in bed to sleep for the night. Aisha is awake long after Dieter’s called asleep still holding her, he’d brought up fears that she was hoping she’d buried. They’re still creeping in the edge of her mind when the drive out to the brick house Dieter had found.

It’s large, six bedrooms and five and a half bathrooms with a large room downstairs with plenty of light that Aisha says would make a good mini-atelier for Dieter to paint in. She found herself an office next to the master bedroom which is the size of her current apartment. Dieter describes making it a comfy place for her to sleep and nest. He read about nesting online and figured it might be fun for Aisha to try in a few months. She laughs and shakes her head but between the beautiful yard with landscaping and a small garden she can try and not kill plants in and it being in a gated community with the neighbors spread out but not too far away. She agrees to buy the house, with Dieter putting both their names on it.

Driving back into the city and eating at a small outdoor cafe, Aisha asks something else that’s been on her mind, after Dieter settles next to her at the small table. He brought a shawl despite her already wearing a thick red sweater with her navy skirt and red converses. She wanted to wear them while she still could. Dieter is comfy in one of his rainbow sweaters, purple lakers shirts and jeans. He kisses her cheek while they’re handed menus. “Um, how should we tell our families the news? There’s a lot.” Bravo laughs and so does Aisha knowing it’s going to be an entire mess to sort after being seen out in the open like this.

“We’ll tell them together and one piece at a time.” Is Dieter’s answer after they order the soup of the day: French Onion with extra cheese and plenty of bread to dip.

Their joy makes for a beautiful picture that pops up all over social media and the news. The headline: Oscar Winner Dieter Bravo and his longtime friend writer Aisha Smith seen out and about in New York? Are the rumors true? Have they crossed the line between friends?

It seems neither of them has to break the initial news to their families, the world did that. Dieter and Aisha only had to answer the specifics of to what extend had their relationship changed, which they agree would be done when they were comfortable with doing so.

Part Six Part Eight

Tagged peeps: @readingiskeepingmegoing @megamindsecretlair @soft-persephone @pedrostories @littlemisspascal @baronessvonglitter @nathanbatemanfucker

#A Nerdie fic #A Nerdie series #fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo x oc #chapter seven #black oc

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