#Second prettier version | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cheftsunoda · 3 days ago

Note

Okay hear me out: we have a Leclerc reader who is a teenage (15 or 16) and she's always struggled with mental health with the pressure of school and being charles's little sister so she thinks she has to be up to his level and he finds out? like he see's the I am sober app on her phone or see's the s-h scars on her wrists??

i got you— cl16

charles leclerc x !younger sister reader

written blurbs

being charles leclerc’s little sister was never easy. not because he made it hard — he never did. charles loved you like the sun loved the sea—endlessly, naturally, without question. but the world… the world had its expectations. and they pressed down on you like gravity. at sixteen, you were already tired. of school, of whispers, of always being almost enough. the grief for your father sat heavy in your chest, a quiet echo no one talked about anymore. and while charles raced across continents, worshipped by millions, you were quietly falling apart. this is the story of how he came home. how you broke. and how, piece by piece, he helped you find your way back. not to perfection. not to the old you. but to something softer. something true. to the version of yourself that still wanted to live.

(a/n) : hi my love. i hope you are doing okay. if anyone out there is struggling, just know that you are not alone. i am here and as long as i am here — each and everyone of you will have someone who loves and cares for you. reach out if you need, my messages are always open:)

obvious warnings of sh (not explicit), grief and depression.

—

You knew the moment you stepped into school this morning that it was going to be a hard day. You could feel it in the way your limbs dragged, like gravity had grown stronger overnight just to pull you under. The halls felt too loud, every laugh a little too sharp, every glance a little too lingering. You kept your head down.

It’s always the same, isn’t it? You walk through the corridors like a ghost, existing more in other people’s whispers than in your own skin.

“Charles Leclerc’s sister.”

“Bet she thinks she’s better than everyone.”

“You’d think she’d be prettier. Or smarter.”

They don’t even try to be quiet anymore. You’re used to the weight of expectation — not just theirs, but your own. The constant, impossible pressure to be enough. To live up to a name that feels too big for you. You’re sixteen and already tired of trying to be someone you’re not sure you ever could be.

You get a math test back in second period. 72%. The number circles your mind like a shark. You can barely focus on the rest of the class because all you can hear is the dull throb of failure. You should have done better. You should always do better. Because if you don’t, then who are you, really?

Not him. Not Charles. He wins Grand Prix. He speaks five languages. He makes people cry with national anthems and overtakes. You just… exist. Quietly. An echo of someone more important.

By the time you make it home, the house is too silent. It’s always silent lately. Maman is keeping her salon open late. Arthur’s busy. Charles is—well, he’s somewhere on the other side of the world, racing. Smiling for cameras. Waving to crowds. And you want to be happy for him, you really do, but sometimes you wish he’d see you.

Just once. See how much you’re slipping.

You drop your backpack at the door and collapse onto the couch for a moment before dragging yourself to your room. You sit at your desk and pull out your journal. It’s the one Charles gave you when you turned fifteen, with soft leather and your initials stamped into the cover. He said you had too many thoughts to keep inside. Said writing might help. You try. You write a sentence. Then cross it out. Then another. Rip out the page.

You can’t get it right. The words won’t come the way you feel them, and even your sadness feels like a failure.

The walls start to press in, then.

A thick kind of loneliness settles over you — the kind that feels like it could swallow you whole and no one would even notice. You press your hands into your lap, try to breathe. Try to be strong.

But you don’t feel strong. You feel like glass. You get up quietly, like you’re underwater. Like you already know where this is going. The drawer slides open with a soft hiss. You hesitate. Just for a second.

But then the noise in your mind wins out.

You just want it to stop — the pressure, the noise, the constant sense that no matter what you do, it’s not enough. You’re not enough. You’re the girl behind the driver, the afterthought, the kid sister who smiles in photos and disappears afterward.

It’s not about pain. It’s about silence. About needing something real to remind yourself that you’re still here. That you’re not completely invisible.

Afterward, you sit curled on the bathroom floor, your sleeves pulled back down, your journal beside you like a witness you never wanted.

You want to tell someone. You want someone to see you. But you don’t know how to ask. So instead, you cry quietly into the crook of your arm, trying not to make a sound. As if even now, you’re trying not to be a burden. And outside your window, the sun sets softly over Monaco, like it doesn’t even know you’re breaking.

—

You must have fallen asleep at some point, head resting against the wall, the journal open but blank on your lap. But when the door clicks open downstairs, your heart stutters. Maman.

You wipe your face quickly, instinctively, as if you haven’t been crying for the past hour in silence. As if she won’t know the moment she sees you. You’ve always been soft in her hands — too transparent to hide anything for long.

You hear her heels on the floorboards, her purse dropping onto the kitchen counter, keys jangling against the door. Then quiet. You hold your breath. But then, soft footsteps on the stairs. Not rushed. Not loud. Just… steady. Measured. Like she knows.

Your door opens without a knock. And she stands there — tired eyes, hair pinned back messily. She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes flick over you quickly. The red around your eyes. The tremble in your shoulders. The way you’re still trying to pretend you’re fine.

“Ma chérie,” she says, voice a whisper.

You look away. Your throat burns. It would be easier if she was angry. If she demanded answers or told you you were being dramatic. But she doesn’t. She just kneels beside your bed and reaches out.

You let her take your hand.

“I didn’t mean to—” you start, but your voice breaks, and the tears come again — hot and slow, running down your cheeks like they’ve been waiting for this moment to fall.

“I know,” she says gently, brushing hair back from your face. “You don’t have to explain right now.”

She guides you up with a soft tug, and you follow her without thinking. The hallway is dark, the house quiet. You pass Charles’ empty room — the door still open from the last time he stayed — and then you’re in her bedroom.

She helps you into bed like she did when you were little, like you were six years old with a fever and needed her there just to breathe right. She doesn’t ask about the journal. She doesn’t ask why your sleeves are so long. She just lies down beside you, pulling you close with one arm wrapped firmly around your shoulders.

Her heartbeat becomes your rhythm. Steady. Unmoving.

“You don’t have to be anything more than who you are,” she whispers against your hair. “And you are enough, ma petite. Even when it doesn’t feel like it.”

You don’t answer, but your hand curls into the fabric of her blouse, clutching it like a lifeline.There’s a silence between you, but it’s not heavy this time. Not full of guilt or shame. Just quiet. Gentle. And after a while, your breathing slows. Your muscles ease. The tears stop.

You fall asleep to the sound of her humming a lullaby you haven’t heard in years — something she used to sing to Charles when he couldn’t sleep before races. Tonight, it’s for you. And for the first time in days, you don’t feel so alone.

—

The light filters in through the pale curtains, casting a soft glow over your mother’s bedroom. For a moment, you’re not sure where you are. You blink up at the ceiling, unfamiliar and familiar all at once — the scent of lavender, the quiet hum of traffic outside, the weight of warmth beside you.

Then you feel it. Fingers in your hair. Gentle, looping around strands and brushing them back.

You turn your head slowly and find Arthur lying on top of the covers next to you, sideways, his cheek resting on a pillow, his hand still tangled in your hair.

He offers a crooked little smile. His eyes are tired too, but kind. Always kind.

“Maman had some errands,” he murmurs. “She asked me to stay with you. So I did.”

You swallow, throat dry, blinking the sleep from your eyes. Your body feels heavy, like it’s been fighting all night in your dreams.

Arthur lets his fingers fall away, folding his hands beneath his chin.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asks gently.

You nod before you can stop yourself. “Yeah. Fine.”

His brows lift just slightly, the way they always do when he knows you’re not being honest.

“Really?”

You force a smile. “I’m just tired. That’s all.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Just watches you for a long moment, his eyes searching your face. He’s always been quiet, always the observer — the one who notices even when you think no one’s looking. Maybe it’s a Leclerc thing, you think. The ability to see too much.

“You don’t have to say you’re fine if you’re not,” he says softly. “Not to me.”

Your chest tightens. You look up at the ceiling again, the morning light suddenly feeling too bright.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

You hear the slight shift of the mattress as he turns onto his back, lying beside you the way he did when you were younger and afraid of thunderstorms. He doesn’t push.

Instead, he says quietly, “I used to lie too, you know. When I was your age. When Papa died.”

You blink hard.

“I told everyone I was okay because Charles was already holding too much. And Maman cried every night. I thought if I just smiled through it, maybe it would go away.”

Your breath catches.

“It doesn’t,” he continues. “But it gets lighter when you let someone carry it with you.”

You turn your head to face him again. His eyes are on the ceiling now, fingers resting between you, not quite touching but close enough that all you’d have to do is reach.

“I’m scared,” you whisper, before you can take it back. It slips out like a secret that’s been clawing at your throat for days.

Arthur finally looks at you again. “I know.”

He doesn’t ask what you’re scared of. He doesn’t need to. He just shifts closer and tugs the blanket higher over both of you. Then he links your pinkies together under the covers, like a silent promise.

“I’ll stay as long as you need,” he murmurs.

And for the first time that morning, you let yourself breathe.

—

You hear the front door open before you even leave your room. The unmistakable thump of Charles’ suitcase being dragged inside, the jingle of keys, and then his voice — soft, lighter than usual.

“Bonjour?” he calls out into the quiet house.

Your heart lurches.

You haven’t seen him in almost three weeks. Three weeks of pretending you were okay through texts and rushed phone calls, of sending him little thumbs-up emojis when he asked how school was going. Of telling him you were “tired” and “just busy.” Of lying — not because you wanted to, but because you didn’t know how to let him see the truth.

Now he’s here. And suddenly, you don’t know where to put your hands.

You step out into the hallway slowly, pulling the sleeves of your jumper down further even though the air in the apartment is warm. Too warm. Your palms feel damp.

Charles rounds the corner just as you reach the top of the stairs, a soft smile already on his face. He opens his arms immediately.

“Ma petite.”

You let him hug you, burying your face into his shoulder. He smells like travel — cologne and airport air — but under it is something familiar. Something safe.

He holds you for longer than usual.

“I missed you,” he says into your hair, voice low.

You nod against him. You don’t trust your voice not to crack.

When he finally pulls back, he holds you at arm’s length. His eyes scan your face — the quiet exhaustion around your eyes, the stiffness in your shoulders. You’re still smiling. You think it looks convincing enough. It usually is.

But his gaze flickers down to your sleeves.

He doesn’t say anything.

Not yet.

Instead, he gives you a soft nudge toward the kitchen. “Come on. I brought croissants. The good kind. Not the sad airport ones.”

You follow him, trying to push down the anxiety bubbling in your chest.

The kitchen smells like orange peel and sunlight, like Maman had been burning a candle again. Arthur’s gone — probably out running errands or giving you space. Charles sets the bag of pastries on the counter and opens the fridge.

“Want juice?” he asks casually.

You nod.

He pours two glasses, then hands you one and leans against the counter across from you. For a moment, you both just eat in silence. The kind of silence that feels full — not awkward, not rushed. But you know Charles. You know when he’s watching.

When you glance up, he’s already looking at you.

“You’re quiet,” he says gently.

You shrug. “Just tired.”

He nods. But his eyes don’t leave yours. There’s something different in them now. Something cautious. Careful. Like he’s trying not to startle you.

“I saw Maman this morning,” he says. “She looked worried.”

You take another bite of croissant to avoid responding. Your hands tremble slightly as you set it down.

“She didn’t say much,” he continues. “Just asked me to spend time with you today. Said you could use your big brother.”

He’s fishing — but gently. Not accusing. Not pushing.

You offer a small smile. “I always need my big brother.”

Charles smiles back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s quiet for a long moment before speaking again, voice low.

“You know I’ll always be here, right?” he says. “Even if I’m not always… here.”

Your chest tightens. The words are too kind. Too understanding.

“I know,” you whisper.

His eyes flicker once more to your sleeves, but he still doesn’t say anything. Instead, he reaches out, gently resting a hand over yours on the table.

“I’m not going anywhere today,” he says. “Just you and me.”

And for the first time in a while, you feel like maybe you don’t have to hold it all in forever.

—

third person pov

Charles closes the door to his apartment with a quiet click, exhaling slowly as he drops his keys in the bowl near the entryway. The weight of the day settles into his shoulders — not from the flight, or the media duties, or the late night debriefs from earlier in the week, but from something heavier. Something more complicated.

Something he doesn’t yet know how to name.

“Mon cœur?” Alexandra’s voice calls from the living room, light and expectant.

He finds her curled up on the couch with a blanket over her legs, glasses perched on her nose and a book open in her lap. Her face softens when she sees him. She sets the book down immediately.

“You’re back early,” she says, rising to her feet. “Everything okay?”

Charles nods, but the gesture lacks conviction. He steps forward and wraps his arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I saw her,” he says quietly.

Alexandra’s hands move to his chest instinctively. She doesn’t need to ask who he means. “How is she?”

Charles exhales again — slower this time. “I don’t know.”

He pulls away slightly, just enough to look her in the eye. His voice drops, heavy with something tight and aching.

“She’s not herself. Quiet. Closed off. Wearing long sleeves even though it’s twenty-six degrees.” He runs a hand through his hair. “She smiled, but it didn’t feel real. You know when someone’s smiling just so you won’t ask questions?”

Alexandra nods, the crease between her brows deepening.

“I offered her croissants,” he continues, trying to chuckle but failing. “She barely ate half of one. She kept looking at the table like she didn’t want to be there.”

Alexandra leans against the arm of the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. “She’s been distant with me too,” she admits quietly. “I thought maybe it was just me. I texted her a few days ago to come shopping — you know, our usual little girls’ day — and she turned me down.”

Charles looks up sharply. “She never turns you down.”

“I know.” Alexandra swallows, her voice suddenly softer. “She said she wasn’t feeling well. That she had schoolwork. But it didn’t sound like her. She didn’t even use emojis.”

Charles lets out a low breath, sinking onto the couch beside her. “I hate this.”

“She loves you, Charles,” Alexandra says gently. “She’s just hurting. And whatever it is… she doesn’t know how to bring it to you yet.”

He nods slowly, staring ahead at nothing. “I keep thinking—what if I missed something earlier? What if she’s been like this for months and I’ve been too busy giving interviews and chasing podiums to notice?”

“You’re doing your best,” Alexandra says firmly, reaching for his hand. “You’ve always loved her more than anything. That’s never been the problem.”

Charles finally looks at her, eyes a little glassy now. “She’s my little sister. I’m supposed to protect her.”

“And you still can,” Alexandra whispers. “You still will. But you can’t fix something she hasn’t shown you yet. You just need to keep showing up.”

Charles swallows hard and nods, squeezing her hand.

“I’ll try,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep trying until she lets me in.”

And Alexandra leans her head on his shoulder, heart breaking a little — for him, for YN, for the weight she’s carrying in silence.

They sit there quietly, wrapped in the kind of love that doesn’t fix things right away — but waits patiently outside the door, hoping it will be opened.

—

back to 2nd

It’s just past noon when your name is called over the classroom speaker. Heads turn. You keep yours down as you pack your bag, already bracing for the whispers and stares. Your stomach twists — no one said you were being picked up early. No one tells you why. You step out into the sun and blink against the brightness. And then you see her.

Leaning against the school’s front gate, sunglasses perched in her hair, arms crossed casually — Alexandra. Smiling like this is the most normal thing in the world.

“Hi, love,” she says, voice soft, like she already knows to be gentle with you. “Hope I’m not pulling you out of anything too thrilling.”

You blink in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs like it’s nothing. “I called Maman this morning. Got permission to borrow you for the afternoon. Thought we could use a little break.”

Her eyes scan you quickly. Noticing the sleeves. The weight in your shoulders.

“Nails?” she offers. “And pastries after?”

You almost say no. The idea of trying to hold a conversation, of pretending you’re okay for hours — it feels like too much. But then there’s something in her face. Something quiet and kind. She’s not asking for smiles. She’s just… here.

You nod, barely. “Okay.”

The nail salon she takes you to is tucked into a quiet side street. It smells like citrus and lavender and something clean. The chairs are soft and the lights are warm and low, not too harsh.

Alexandra picks a pale lavender shade for herself. You scan the shelves and choose a soft, muted blue. Something calm.

“Good choice,” she says. “It reminds me of that cardigan you wore in Milan. You remember? The one Charles hated because it had tiny clouds on the buttons?”

You almost smile. Almost.

You sit side by side in silence while the technicians begin. She talks a little — about one of her heels snapping mid paddock walk, about a stray cat that keeps showing up on her terrace, about how Charles nearly fell asleep standing up at a media day.

She doesn’t ask anything heavy. Just lets the air fill with soft things. You don’t say much, but you don’t pull away either. Your shoulders loosen, barely, and you rest your hands in the warm water when she motions for you to relax.

It’s not peace, but it’s close.

Afterward, she drives you to a little patisserie near the harbor. You’ve been here before, but today it feels different — quieter, like the world has been turned down a few notches just for you.

You choose a raspberry tart. Alexandra gets two madeleines and a tiny espresso. You sit by the window, watching people pass with their sunglasses and shopping bags and lives that seem light.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just breaks off a piece of her pastry and nudges the plate toward you, even though you have your own.

Then, finally, her voice comes — soft, like it doesn’t want to spook whatever part of you is barely holding it together.

“You doing okay, sweetheart?”

You stare at the spoon in your hand. You want to lie — it’s easier. You’ve done it a hundred times already. But the way she says it — sweetheart — makes your chest ache.

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

She hums, stirring her espresso with one of those tiny spoons you’ve always liked. She doesn’t push. Doesn’t prod. She just lets the silence be soft.

“I miss you,” she says, after a moment. “The real you. Haven’t seen her in a little while.”

You swallow hard. Your eyes sting a little, but you blink it away.

“I’m still here,” you whisper.

“I know,” she replies. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And you believe her. Even if you don’t say everything — even if the hurt is still sitting heavy in your chest — for a little while, sitting across from her with raspberry on your tongue and sunlight on your hands, you feel like maybe you’re still reachable. Like maybe someone is holding a light for you. Just until you can find your way back.

—

The air is too heavy in your bedroom. Too still.

Even with the window cracked and your favorite playlist humming quietly in the background, the walls feel like they’re pressing in, like they know all your secrets and they’re tired of holding them.

So you slip on your sneakers, grab a hoodie, and step outside without telling anyone.

Monaco at night is quieter than people expect — empty streets lit by golden lamps, a kind of soft glamour lingering in the rain-washed pavement. You walk without thinking. Past shuttered cafés and quiet fountains, past the old bookstore where Charles used to buy your Christmas gifts. Your sleeves are pulled over your hands, head down. The hood shadows your face.

It starts to rain slowly. First just mist, then light droplets that cling to your eyelashes and dampen your sweater. You don’t turn back.

Some part of you thinks: Maybe this is what I deserve.

Another part whispers: No. You’re just tired.

The sky is dark, the kind of navy that swallows stars. A car turns the corner down the street — quiet, expensive, too familiar.

You barely glance up until the headlights flicker, and then a familiar voice cuts through the silence.

“YN?”

You freeze.

The car pulls over fast. The window rolls down. It’s Charles.

He’s in a hoodie, hair messy like he’s been running his hand through it, worry written all over his face. His eyes are wide when they meet yours.

“What are you doing?” he says — not harsh, not angry. Just… scared.

You don’t answer. You don’t know how to. The rain picks up, drizzling down the back of your neck, cold against your skin. You feel your breath hitch, your throat tighten.

Charles is already out of the car.

He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t scold.

He just moves to you, quick but careful, and holds his hand out. Palm up. Open.

“Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s go home.”

You stand there for a second, rain dripping off your sleeves, chest full of something tangled and aching. But then — you take his hand.

He wraps his arm around your shoulders instantly, like he’s afraid you might vanish if he doesn’t hold on.

The passenger door swings open and you slide inside, shivering.

Back behind the wheel, Charles glances at you. The rain is tapping on the windshield, steady and slow.

“I couldn’t find you earlier,” he says quietly. “Maman said you went for a walk. But it was dark. I just… I had this feeling.”

You stare down at your hands.

“I wasn’t running away,” you whisper. “I just needed to breathe.”

He nods slowly. “I get that.”

Neither of you says anything for a long time. The sound of the engine hums beneath the storm, the city lights painting golden streaks across the wet roads.

Then, just before he pulls back onto the street, Charles speaks again — barely louder than the rain.

“You can always come to me, you know.”

You don’t respond. But you reach over, just slightly, and your pinky brushes against his on the center console. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say another word — but he lets it stay there. And somehow, even in silence, you feel like you’re not so alone anymore.

—

By the time Charles pulls into the underground garage, the rain has slowed to a mist. It still clings to your sleeves, your hair, the corners of your thoughts. You don’t say much as he walks beside you, but he keeps a hand lightly on your back — not to push, not to control. Just to remind you…I’m here.

You expected him to take you home. But instead, he swipes his key card and leads you into his building.

“I thought… maybe a change of scenery would help,” he says, voice hesitant. “Somewhere quieter. Somewhere safe.”

You blink at him, unsure of what to say, but you nod. You’re too tired to protest. Too tired to fight the softness he’s offering you. When the elevator doors open, the smell of cinnamon and chamomile greets you first.

Then Alexandra — standing just inside the apartment, barefoot in one of Charles’ hoodies, her hair tied loosely back. The moment she sees you, something in her face melts with quiet relief.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she says gently, stepping forward.

You shift awkwardly, rain still dripping off your sleeves, chilled to the bone — but she doesn’t hesitate. She wraps her arms around you, warm and steady.

“I made you some tea,” she murmurs against your damp shoulder. “And I laid out some clothes for you. I didn’t know what you’d want, so I put options.”

Her kindness wraps around you like the blanket you didn’t know you needed.

You nod into her. “Thank you.”

Charles disappears into the kitchen, giving the two of you space as Alexandra guides you down the hallway, her hand gentle at the small of your back.

“I put everything in the guest room,” she says, her voice light but careful. “You can shower, or just change if you want. No pressure.”

The room smells like lavender and clean cotton. On the bed lies an oversized sweater, a pair of leggings, fuzzy socks, and a folded towel. Your favorite tea sits on the nightstand, still steaming.

You swallow the lump in your throat.

“Take your time,” Alexandra says. “We’re just out here. No questions, okay?”

You nod again. And this time, you mean it. When you re-emerge twenty minutes later, dry and warm and tucked into her clothes, you find them both on the couch. Alexandra looks up first and smiles. She pats the space between her and Charles. You sit. Not quite leaning into him. Not quite pulling away.

“Better?” he asks softly.

You give the smallest shrug.

“Different.”

He smiles faintly. “Different is a start.”

Alexandra tucks her legs beneath her, watching you both with eyes full of something quiet and protective.

“We can just sit,” she says. “You don’t have to talk. Not unless you want to.”

And so you sit. The tea is warm. The lights are low. Charles stays close enough that you can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing beside you, and Alexandra’s hand rests near yours on the blanket — not touching, just there. And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you don’t have to carry everything alone. Just for tonight, it’s okay to rest.

—

The next night, Charles wakes you gently just after dinner, voice quiet and warm.

“Come with me,” he says. “I want to show you something.”

You don’t ask where. You just nod, pull on a hoodie and sneakers, and follow him out into the Monaco evening. The rain has passed, leaving the streets damp and glimmering beneath the streetlights. The air smells like salt and stone.

You drive for a while in silence. He plays soft music — nothing distracting, just background to the hum of the tires and the thoughts neither of you say out loud. When he turns off onto an old road near the cliffs, you know where you’re going before he even parks.

You haven’t been here in years.

The overlook isn’t anything special to anyone else — just a narrow gravel path with a wooden bench, half-overgrown with ivy. But to you and Charles, it’s sacred. The place Papa used to take you both on Sunday mornings. Where he’d sit with a thermos of coffee and hum old songs, pointing out boats and clouds and the kinds of things that don’t matter to most people but meant everything to him.

And to you.

Charles kills the engine. He doesn’t move to get out right away.

“I come here sometimes,” he says, still staring out the windshield. “When I feel like I’m losing him.”

You look at him — really look at him — and something in your chest cracks.

“I feel like he’s already gone,” you whisper. “More and more every year. Like I forget what he sounded like. Or how his hands felt.”

Charles doesn’t say anything. He just reaches for your hand.

You sit on the bench together, wind cool on your face. The sea stretches endlessly below, dark and alive. Monaco twinkles behind you, but it feels far away here. Safe. Still.

“I’m not okay,” you say suddenly, voice sharp in the quiet.

He turns toward you, brows drawing together — not in confusion, but readiness. He’s been waiting for this. Letting you come to it yourself. You take a shaky breath.

“I miss him so much, Charles. I still can’t believe he’s gone. I think about him all the time and no one talks about it anymore, and I’m still stuck there. I feel like I’ve been frozen since he died.”

Tears start to fall, quiet at first.

“And then there’s you,” you go on, a sob catching in your throat. “You’re so good. Everyone loves you. Everyone expects you to win, and you do. You’re everything they want, and I’m just—”

You stop. Gasp a breath. The words press harder now, rising to your lips like they’ve waited long enough.

“I hurt myself,” you say suddenly. “I didn’t even mean for it to happen at first. I just… I needed something. Something I could control.”

Charles stills. His entire body goes quiet beside you, like the wind itself has paused to listen. But his hand doesn’t let go of yours. He just tightens his grip.

“I thought maybe if I could feel something else, I could stop feeling everything,” you whisper. “It’s not… it’s not a cry for attention. I don’t even want anyone to see. That’s why I hide it. I hate that I even did it.”

Your voice breaks. “But I did. I did. And I hate myself for it.”

Charles doesn’t speak for a moment. You think maybe he’s frozen. Maybe you’ve ruined everything. But then— He pulls you into his arms. And you break.

You scream into his chest. Loud, guttural, the kind of sound that doesn’t care who hears. It’s not graceful or controlled. It’s rage and grief and heartbreak. You feel your whole body shake, your fists gripping his hoodie like it’s the only thing tethering you to earth. He holds you tighter.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers over and over again. “Let it out. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

You don’t know how long you cry. It feels endless. Like years of pain pouring out of you, all at once. Your throat is raw, your lungs burn, your hands ache from clenching. And still — Charles holds you.

When you finally go quiet, chest hiccupping with shallow breaths, he leans back just enough to brush your hair out of your eyes. His own are shining with tears, but he doesn’t let them fall.

“You are not a failure,” he says firmly. “And you are not ruining anything. Do you hear me?”

You nod, barely.

“You’re allowed to feel this way. You’re allowed to grieve. You’re allowed to not have it all figured out. You’re sixteen, YN. You don’t have to be perfect.”

You look at him through blurry eyes. “But everyone expects me to be.”

“Well,” he says, voice soft and sure, “they’re wrong.”

He rests his forehead against yours. “You’re the bravest person I know. And you don’t have to carry this alone anymore. Not the grief. Not the pain. Not the scars.”

You shake your head, tears falling again, softer now. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You don’t have to,” he says. “You just have to let us help.”

And in that moment — on a quiet cliffside, above the sleeping sea and under a wide-open sky — you believe him. For the first time in a long time, you believe him.

—

It still feels strange, sometimes — walking into that softly lit room, sitting on the couch with the box of tissues always slightly too close, and knowing you’re supposed to talk about the hardest parts of yourself. But lately… it’s been getting easier. You don’t cry every time. You don’t flinch when you speak your truth. You don’t hide your hands anymore.

The weight’s still there, but it doesn’t crush you the way it used to. It sits beside you now. Familiar, but manageable. And that — that’s progress.

Today, you arrive a little early. You know Charles will call in any minute. Even with it being a race weekend, even with his schedule bursting at the seams, he hasn’t missed a single session since you asked him to come.

The first time you whispered, “Will you be there?” he said yes so fast it nearly knocked the breath out of you.

And he’s kept that promise every single time. Your therapist smiles at you gently as she sets her notepad down, just as the screen of her tablet lights up.

Your heart softens at the sight of it.

When his face appears, he’s wearing his race suit, zipped down just a little, his hair damp like he’s just come from a meeting or a track walk. His background is chaotic — PR people walking behind him, someone calling his name — but his eyes are only on you.

“Salut, ma fille,” he says, that gentle voice that always feels like home. “You okay?”

You nod, tucking your legs up on the couch. “Yeah. I think I am.”

He smiles — a real one. The kind that reaches all the way to his eyes.

Your therapist asks how the past week has been, and you talk. Not because you feel like you have to, but because you want to. Because little by little, you’re starting to understand yourself. Starting to forgive yourself. Starting to heal.

You talk about sleeping better. About journaling again. About the day Alexandra took you shopping and you didn’t feel like a burden. About how you caught yourself smiling in the mirror and didn’t immediately look away.

Charles doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, his image flickering a little on the screen but his focus never shifting.

When the session ends, your therapist thanks you both and signs off, but Charles stays on for a moment longer.

“You’re doing so well,” he says softly. “I’m so proud of you, YN.”

You swallow hard, blinking back tears — the good kind, the kind that come from being seen.

“I’m starting to feel better,” you whisper. “Not all the way. But… I don’t hate being here anymore. I don’t hate being me so much.”

Charles presses a hand to his heart on the screen.

“I’ve missed you,” he says. “Not just being around you. You. The real you.”

And you smile — small, a little shaky, but real. “She’s coming back.”

He nods, eyes a little glassy now. “Tell her I said welcome home.”

You laugh under your breath, and for the first time in months, you believe the worst may truly be behind you.

—

You haven’t been to a race weekend since before everything broke. Back when you were still pretending well enough for it to fool people. Before the long sleeves. Before the silence. Before the weight in your chest made the world feel like it was closing in.

But now—now it’s different. It’s not perfect. You’re not cured, or whatever people like to think when the crying stops. But your feet feel steadier. Your breath comes easier. Your thoughts are quieter.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you want to show up for someone else. You want to show up for him.

So when Alexandra asks gently, “Would you want to come with me to Austria this weekend?” you don’t hesitate.

You say yes. Not because you owe him anything. But because you remember the way he held you at the cliff. The way he sat through every therapy session — even if he was halfway across the world, squeezed into a media pen with earbuds tucked beneath his race suit. The way he never once made you feel like you were too much.

He was there. Always. And now, you want to be too.

The paddock is loud, alive with color and movement. Engines rumble in the distance. Journalists, engineers, VIPs — all buzzing around like clockwork. You grip Alexandra’s hand a little tighter as you walk through the gates, your badge swinging gently from your lanyard.

No one really notices you — you’ve made sure of that. Hat low, hoodie up, sleeves pushed up now without fear. You didn’t want the cameras, the noise. Just him. Just Charles. He doesn’t know you’re here.

You’re tucked behind one of the hospitality walls when he walks by — completely in race mode, jaw set, focused. Alexandra nudges you gently.

“Go,” she whispers. “He’s going to lose his mind.”

Your heart pounds. You take a few steps forward, just past the edge of the McLaren garage, and call out —

“Charles?”

He turns immediately. And freezes. His face goes still in a way that almost breaks you. His eyes widen, disbelieving. He doesn’t move for a second, like he’s afraid he imagined you. Then he’s running. Straight to you.

He pulls you into a hug so tight you almost lose your breath, your face buried into his chest, his hands trembling slightly where they hold the back of your head.

“You’re here,” he says, voice already thick with emotion. “You’re really here.”

You nod, tears already burning behind your eyes. “I wanted to surprise you. And to say… thank you. For everything.”

He pulls back, but only just — enough to look you in the face, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek.

“I didn’t do anything,” he whispers.

“Yes, you did,” you breathe. “You stayed. You listened. You held me when I couldn’t hold myself. You sat through every session, even when you were in a different country. You never made me feel like I was a burden. You made me believe I could come back.”

His eyes shimmer. He’s not trying to hide it.

“I meant it,” he says. “Every word. I’d do it all again.”

You manage a shaky smile. “I’m doing better. I promise.”

He hugs you again, even tighter. “You’re not just doing better. You’re incredible.”

You laugh against him. “You’re going to mess up your suit before quali.”

“I don’t care,” he says immediately. “Let it wrinkle. Let them fine me. This—” He pulls back to look at you again. “This is everything.”

Alexandra snaps a quiet photo behind you — the two of you wrapped up in each other, tears on your cheeks, Charles’ smile cracked wide with love and pride. Later, after qualifying, he’ll post it. And the world will love it. But this moment — this one right now — is just for you. For the sibling who never stopped loving you, even when you couldn’t love yourself. For the girl who almost didn’t make it — and now stands, whole and healing, at the edge of the grid.

—

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yunsound · 4 months ago

Text

For any Ne Zha 2 fans and especially Oubing fans, may I recommend: Shangmei Oubing

Oubing (Ne Zha x Ao Bing) is probably the biggest ship in China right now. I'm sure we can all understand why. Soulmates, red blue, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, angst, hurt, comfort, THE WHOLE PACKAGE DEAL.

Oubing is generally a very sweet, vanilla and heartwarming ship. For those of us that like the darker stuff, though, I have something for you: 上美藕饼, or Shangmei Oubing.

What TF is a Shangmei? Shang-mei is an abbreviation for Shanghai Animation Studio, a company that made many beloved animated childhood films in the 60s-90s. They made the most iconic Ne Zha film, which is the 1979 Ne Zha Nao Hai (Ne Zha Conquers the Sea).

In the 1979 version, Ne Zha and Ao Bing are definitely not friends. Ne Zha plucks out Ao Bing's tendons and skins and kills him, and Ao Bing eats children. Ao Bing 1979 is also kind of really ugly (his dragon form is really pretty though!)

This doesn't exactly seem like ship material right? You're correct.

BUT!

Shanghai released a short promotional video to celebrate a collaboration. The promotional video featured Ne Zha and Ao Bing from the 1979 version. In the video, Ne Zha didn't kill Ao Bing. No. In this video, Ne Zha and Ao Bing have a bit of a... scary dynamic.

You can probably find the video on Douyin or XHS, but in it, Ao Bing appears in a familiar-looking red wheelchair. He looks very different from his 1979 design- he looks more human, and he's in a half-dragon half-human form. Generally much prettier than his 1979 design.

Throughout the video, he wears a slightly terrified and miserable expression on his face. His phone screen is a selfie with him and Ne Zha in which he's smiling VERY awkwardly. Ne Zha, in fact, has opened up a seafood shop for the two of them.

Probably the biggest thing is that Ne Zha in this promotional video calls Ao Bing "Bingbing". Ao Bing also calls Ne Zha "Zhazha." So cute, right? Seems normal?

Well, in Ao Bing's phone screen saver, the selfie with him and Ne Zha involves him sitting on the wheelchair, smiling a pained smile. Ne Zha is hovering over his shoulder, smiling a very THREATENING smile.

Oh, and the wheelchair? The wheelchair isn't a wheelchair. It's Ne Zha's flying red sash, the Huntianling. Remember this sash obeys Ne Zha's will.

You can interpret this two ways.

Ao Bing has had a change of heart but is a little depressed because he's disabled now. He and Ne Zha are just good friends, and Ne Zha is taking care of him while also keeping a close eye on him to make sure he's not doing anything bad.

2. The popular interpretation.

Ne Zha, out of trauma (remember his dad is a huge asshole and he had to commit suicide very, very painfully) has formed an inappropriate attachment to Ao Bing, who is terrified out of his mind of Ne Zha, but is essentially prisoner because he can't even walk and is trapped within the red sash at all times.

Ne Zha forces Ao Bing to call him by a cutesy nickname, pretend that he loves Ne Zha, and essentially is speedrunning Stockholm Syndrome.

VERY toxic and very dark. Remember that Shangmei's Ao Bing is not a good innocent baby dragon- he eats children. Ne Zha is a protagonist who believes in justice, but he's also a kid who's been through a LOT of trauma and has never had a good family, whereas Ao Bing grew up cherished and loved.

For Ne Zha, this twisted love may be all he knows. For Ao Bing, he's terrified out of his mind, but knows he "deserves" this treatment- doomed to play happy family with his enemy, the enemy that crippled him.

I am NGL, I kind of like this dynamic. Being part of a big fandom is so satisfying. Whenever I'm full on sweet happy Oubing content I can switch to dark Shangmei Oubing content.

Shangmei Oubing is now one of the most popular ships in Ne Zha fandom. It's second only to regular Oubing. People also ship Ne Zha and Ao Bing in the 2021 New Gods Reborn movie: that ship is also really yummy. Oubing in general is yummy.

The dynamic I've seen the most often is as follows, with minor alterations depending on the specific fanwork:

After beating Ao Bing's ass, Ne Zha leaves him alive, but the rest of the myth and story proceed as usual (for the actual myth, see my Ne Zha post linked here). After Ne Zha commits suicide and is reborn in a body made of lotus roots, he ascends to godhood.

Ne Zha, traumatised and brimming with hate for his "father" Li Jing, searches for any source of love and affection he can find. He settles on Ao Bing, his old enemy- the little white dragon who was once so arrogant. He doesn't know exactly why: half jealousy that someone as evil as Ao Bing can have a better family than him, and half a desire for revenge since Ao Bing's death was what led him to have to commit suicide.

He kidnaps Ao Bing and keeps him captive on the red sash wheelchair. Ao Bing's father can't help him- he's already lost to Ne Zha multiple times, so Ao Bing can only resign himself to being Ne Zha's plaything.

Ne Zha, seeking love in any way he can get it, essentially begins to play house with Ao Bing- pretending they're best friends, calling each other cute nicknames (in some versions forcing Ao Bing to share a bed with him) and generally being very affectionate.

Ao Bing, terrified of Ne Zha, goes along and essentially lives a life of misery.

Ne Zha technically treats Ao Bing very well if he doesn't misbehave. If he does, however, well then...Ne Zha sometimes tortures Ao Bing emotionally (his trauma has made him ruthless and somewhat cruel) and humiliates him by making him crawl, since Ao Bing is now crippled. When Ao Bing cries or gets upset, Ne Zha tells him it's his penance for eating children.

Mpreg is a common tag, but more commonly it's Ao Bing finding some way to either commit suicide or he goes completely insane after years of living in fear. Ne Zha panics after seeing Ao Bing break down, and realises he's come to truly care for Ao Bing.

Toxicity adds flavour, everyone. Shangmei Oubing is actually so delicious.

#nezha 2025 #nezha 2019 #chinese animation #oubing #ao bing #ne zha #ship dynamics

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bunny-jpeg · 11 months ago

Text

show-off (simon's version)

simon 'ghost' riley

cw: smut/pwp, size difference/kink, unprotected sex, outdoor sex, dirty talk, filthy, missionary, rough sex, mask kink, clothed sex, crying kink

price's version | johnny's version | kyle's version

simon loved his precious girl. he had been calling your "the missus" for months now. the task force was honestly surprised that simon managed to find someone. especially someone so.... cute? innocent? sweet?

the boys remembered one time you went all the way to base with a container full of homemade cookies because simon would be on base during his birthday. you somehow made your way onto base with no proper identification that would allow you on base. somehow you figured it out and ended up surprising simon with it.

so to get a video message in the group chat on a sunny afternoon was a bit of a surprise to price, johnny and kyle. simon never sent videos, he barely sent messages that were more than a word long.

so a lengthy video made the rest of the task force very interested.

"there's the pretty bird." simon cooed. you were all giggles as you tried to shield your face from the camera.

"si, stop it!" you giggled as you felt your cheeks grow hot under the lens of the camera. you were both outside in the backyard.

the task force knew about the high fence that protected the property you called home. even if someone could hear the both of you, it would take a lot for them to see it. the camera panned down to the sight of the skirt of your sundress pushed up to your waist and your panties were around your left ankle.

wasn't simon a gentleman letting you lie out on a checkered blanket. you had a smile on your face as the camera was pointed to you. the sound of simon undoing his belt, it was dropped by your head soon after.

your expression made it clear that simon had taken his cock out, your eyes went wide and the movement of your throat as you swallowed.

"tell the boys what you're lookin' at right now, birdie?" he asked, he let out a soft groan as he started to stroke his lengthy cock. he was situated at about seven and a half inches, almost eight if he was painfully hard.

you replied, "um.. hi, captain price, sergeants mactavish and garrick! i hope you're liking this video!" god you sounded so painfully cute. (by this point johnny had always came once, but he was working himself for a second round). you looked at simon, "it's embarrassing!"

"c'mon. it's nothing they haven't seen before." simon chuckled.

you made a face, "what are you doing when i'm not around?"

simon reached for you with his free hand and rubbed your soft cheek, "i mean in the showers, lovie. no one is takin' me from you."

you pouted, "good."

"now tell the boys what you see. give them a nice visual before i fuck you." simon's voice was soft. soft in a way that the rest of the team didn't even know if it was possible.

you looked up at the camera and held onto the bottom of your dress skirt that was bunched up around your waist. you looked embarrassed as you said, "si is wearing a green t-shirt and camo pants, he has his gloves with the bones on them, and his mask."

"do i look good, lovie?"

you nodded meekly, "you look very good, si!" you blushed more and smiled up at him. he used his free hand to put around your neck delicately, he wasn't choking you, just holding you. you leaned into his touch lovingly.

"but you're prettier, lovin' a dog like me." he laughed as he grabbed you by one hip and shifted your hips up. your cunt rested in his lap up against his cock. he tilted the camera down to get a good look at your glossy pussy.

he rubbed his impressive cock up against your pussy. how could something so big fit inside something so small. it was nothing short of a miracle.

"like that, lovie? like when i film ya for the boys?" simon chuckled as he stroked his cock and tapped it against the top of your pussy, "make ya open up for me."

you whined, "simon!!"

he chuckled lowly before he pressed his cock into your waiting hole. you made a low groaning noise as you clutched into the blanket under you. the wet noises sounded like a dream as you whimpered loudly.

simon kept the camera on your face and bouncing tits as he thrusted against you. the sounds of sex rang through the video as simon pleasured you. of course you looked like a sex goddess, your rightful throne on his cock.

you rolled your hips as he filmed you, his free hand on your bent knee as he moved against you. your cheeks looked warm as you panted heavily. the pleasure coursed through you.

"like what you see, boys?" he asked as he got a close up of your face as it was twisted with pleasure, "pretty little thing." he chuckled.

"si! please!' you whimpered, as you met his thrusts. they weren't extremely fast but they carried power that made your breath get caught in your throat. like he was moving your organs up with each thrust.

simon looked down at you, you couldn't read his expression due to the mask. you hated to admit but the thing was very attractive. it left him so mysterious as he rubbed your knee and held the camera in your face. he watched you with a knowing gaze, he knew what his teammates were thinking right now.

price was probably watching this with his morning coffee, johnny was stroking his cock like it was a lifeline, and kyle was casually watching it, monitoring your every facial expression. regardless the video would be in steady rotation in the task force 141's spank bank.

simon felt a surge of pride in his gut as he continued to fuck your sweet pussy, earning more sweet noises from you. it was adorable, you sounded like a dream to him. you were just the cutest thing ever, he couldn't even put into words how adorable he thought you were.

"pretty girl." his tongue was filthy, "everyone thinks you're the sweetest thing since sugar. but i've seen the damage you can do.' you love how big i am. you always said the bigger the better, even when it stretches your little cunny." you covered your face once more and he chuckled, "show me your face, lovie."

you slowly pulled your hands away and looked at the camera. he made a pleased noise as he continued to fuck you. you felt amazing wrapped around his cock. like a sexual fantasy come to life, it was arousing.

sometimes the arousal in you was so intense that you ended up tearing up. your bottom lip wobbled as he buried his cock into you, his balls gazed your ass as you took every last inch. you wiped your tears but simon only put the camera further in your face to get the best view of his crying little angel.

"poor girl, poor mrs. riley." he purred, "gettin' bullied by her hubby's fat cock."

you whimpered, "please, si." you felt your back arch as your heart thumped in your chest. the back of your sundress stuck to your sweaty back.

simon was a hungry man, a greedy, hungry man. he loved that his teammates are going to get off to the sounds of him fucking you. it wasn't long before the video's stabilization became a little off because simon was nearing his orgasm.

your clothed breasts bounced with each thrust, them almost tumbling out of the front of your sundress, and your tongue peeked out from your mouth as you panted heavily. it was arousing to the point where simon could feel his cock twitch inside of you.

"most beautiful thing ya ever seen." he said as his pace staggered and with a few thrusts, he pushed his cock all the way inside of you.

simon afterwards too his cock out, it was growing soft as he pulled out, a dribble of leftover cum came out.the camera for a brief moment showed your used cunt.

then the video ended. and there was an additional message from simon that read, "this isn't me sharing. i was just showin' off."

#bunny writes #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #reader insert #bunny speaks #call of duty smut #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley fanfiction #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #simon ghost smut #ghost smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader

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nhmkhnh · 13 days ago

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SERIES 08 ─────── CHAPTER I.

PAIRINGS: VIOLET “VI” X FEM!READER

WARNINGS(S): lowercase, explicit content (minors & men dni)

TAGS: fratgirl!vi ;; college!au ;; arcane

CHAPTER INDEX. || NAVIGATION.

vi didn’t even see you the first time—it was the guy’s laugh that made her head snap up. loud. confident. way too close to you.

you were at the quad, leaning just slightly toward him, grinning with that sly little smile she used to think was hers. he said something stupid, probably, and you laughed—not politely, but openly. the kind of laugh vi hadn’t earned in weeks.

she blinked once. then again.

you were wearing your hoodie. not hers. not the one she left at your place with her initials on the tag and a faint smell of weed and sex. you’d given that back—folded, too. no note. just clean rejection.

her fists clenched.

vi stood under the frat house awning, flanked by two of her brothers who were already watching the scene like it was a damn show.

“bro. ain’t that your girl?” one of them asked.

“nah,” vi muttered, teeth grit. “that’s my ex.”

but the possessiveness in her voice said otherwise.

she hadn’t just lost you. you hadn’t just blocked her on everything—her number, her burner, her twitch. you didn’t even leave a trail. just cold silence and a bag of things that used to live in your apartment: boxers, phone charger, that stupid lighter you always stole. her shit, returned. your hoodies, reclaimed. like you were erasing her.

and now?

now you were laughing at men.

fucking men.

the audacity.

her jaw tightened. “you seein’ this shit?” she mumbled to herself, not even hearing the reply. her gaze didn’t move. couldn’t. she was locked in.

you tossed your hair over your shoulder, clearly sensing her watching. you didn’t look her way though. didn’t give her the time of day.

vi’s breath left sharp through her nose. she could feel the rage curling in her gut—white-hot, possessive, unfiltered rage.

she pulled out her phone.

blocked or not, she knew you still checked that second insta account.

fine.

two can play petty.

you didn’t reply.

of course you didn’t.

vi refreshed the fake account three times. nothing. no story views, no like backs, no “read” on her last message. you hadn’t even opened it. you were busy. smiling at some other guy’s joke on the campus lawn, your legs crossed like you were royalty and these boys were lining up to kiss the ring.

and maybe they were.

vi stood by the bike racks, hoodie over her head, fists in her pockets like some delinquent on parole. she’d been here twenty minutes, pretending not to care, pretending she didn’t skip her group project just to catch a glimpse of you.

you leaned against the table, phone in hand, scrolling like nothing was wrong. like you didn’t know her eyes were burning holes into the curve of your waist. like you hadn’t just yesterday had some guy’s hand hovering dangerously close to your thigh while you threw your head back laughing.

vi’s jaw tensed.

she hated this.

not just the jealousy—but the you. this version of you. all soft skin and sharp apathy. cold. dismissive. you didn’t cry. you didn’t post vague quotes. you didn’t beg her back like she thought you would.

no. you iced her out.

unbothered. untouched. unfazed.

and fuck, you were so hot like that.

vi gritted her teeth and muttered to herself. “she wants me to lose it.”

but you weren’t even looking her way.

you didn’t care.

and that made her seethe.

she pulled her phone out again, typed something angry, deleted it. again. again. then finally:

you done playing yet?

nothing.

you didn’t even glance at your phone.

she was losing.

you weren’t sulking. you weren’t mourning. you were glowing—getting prettier, smugger, bolder by the damn minute. wearing shorts that showed off your legs and laughing like you’d never been under her, arching your back, crying her name like it was gospel.

“fuck this,” vi hissed and started walking.

her boots hit the pavement with purpose.

you didn’t see her coming. not yet.

but you would.

oh, you would.

and when she had you alone, when she pinned you against the wall and made you remember exactly who ruined you first—then you’d stop pretending she didn’t matter.

the call came in at 1:03 am.

your phone buzzed twice on the nightstand before going silent, the screen flashing that familiar contact photo—vi, grinning stupidly in a backward cap, her arm slung over your shoulder like she belonged there.

you let it ring out.

again, a minute later.

then again.

by the fourth time, you picked up. not because you missed her voice. but because you were tired of her not getting the message.

you didn’t even greet her. just let the silence drag out.

vi was breathing heavy. not panting—furious.

“pick up your fucking texts,” she snapped. “what the hell’s your problem, huh? you think ignoring me’s cute?”

your voice was cool. unmoved. “didn’t ask you to call.”

vi laughed bitterly. “you’re out here flirting with every guy who blinks at you like you’re single.”

“i am single.”

that shut her up for half a beat.

“i see you, y’know,” she said, lower now. “acting like you don’t remember who had you drooling on my strap not even a month ago—”

you cut her off.

“uh-huh. and i remember you pushing up on every girl at your stupid frat party the night before that.”

vi scoffed. “they didn’t mean shit.”

“oh no, i’m sure they didn’t. just like i didn’t, right?”

silence.

you leaned back, cool as ever. “what, they get boring already? thought you had options. what happened to that brunette in the cheer skirt? she finally realize you moan my name when you’re drunk?”

that hit.

you could hear the shift in her breath.

she growled, “i didn’t call to fight.”

“no, you called because none of them hit like i did. or maybe they don’t beg the way i used to, huh?”

“don’t fuckin’ do that—”

“you miss me?” you asked, mock sweet.

vi exhaled sharply. “you know i do.”

you smiled. cold. cutting.

“well that’s your problem,” you said. “nobody told you to call me.”

then, twisting the knife:

“should’ve stuck with the girls who were lining up for you. oh wait—none of them could take it like i could, huh?”

click.

you hung up.

and vi? vi stood in the middle of her room, phone still pressed to her ear like she hadn’t just been destroyed. she stared into nothing, pulse hammering, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

she deserved that.

didn’t mean it didn’t burn.

#CALLIN MY PHONE.#vi x reader #violet x reader #vi arcane #arcane

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mclqren · 1 year ago

Text

LADY KILLER ★ LN4

PAIRING ✦ lando norris x fem!influencer!reader SUMMARY ✦ you're a famous influencer, and you manage to catch the eye of a certain formula one driver. [ SMAU ]

WARNINGS ✦ cursing

NOTES ✦ my first smau! the fc i've used is maria isabel, but feel free to picture whoever you want! my requests are open so feel free to leave a request :)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

liked by landonorris, tarayummyy, and 803,960 others

yourusername getaway to the maldives was so needed ✈️

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user1 omg you're glowinggg!!

user2 prettiest girl everr 💘

tarayummyyy wifeee!

yourusername the one and onlyyy! 😉

user3 omg i was in the maldives!! wish i could've seen you :(

user4 her style is everything to me

landonorris 🔥🔥

liked by yourusername

user5 does anyone else see lando in the likes AND comments?

user6 lando norizz back with a vengeance 🔥🔥

user7 he's been liking her posts for a whileeee now, this is the first one he's commented on though!

user8 most perfect girl ever

liked by landonorris, nessabarrett, and 857,564 others

yourusername new phone, who’s this? ��

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user13 HOW ARE YOU THIS PERFECT

user14 oh to live the y/n lifestyle

landonorris professional chef 👩‍🍳

yourusername you know it! 😉

user15 lando got a reply??

user16 PROGRESS IN MY EYES 🔥

user17 i’d literally do anything for you

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 822,784 others

landonorris new helmet. 2024 season has started 🏎️

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user18 RAHHH HES BACK 🦅🦅🦅

user19 he literally makes me go feral

oscarpiastri let’s gooo 🤝

liked by landonorris

yourusername oh ur a f1 driver? you’ve never mentioned! 😊

landonorris u sure u didn’t already know? 🤷

user20 the way they match each others energiesss just get together!

user21 y/n is his likes and comments?? can he pls drop the manifestation method 🙏

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liked by landonorris, lilymhe, and 901,562 others

yourusername these are a few of my favorite things! 🤍

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user22 miss girl gets prettier each day!

user23 real question is which version of the song is in her caption

yourusername the sound of music version! one of my fav movies ❤️

user23 AH YOU REPLIEDDD!!

lilymhe you are stunninggg!

yourusername right back at you!! 🤍

user24 THE WAGS HAVE REACHED HER??

user25 oh so it’s SERIOUS

landonorris how many heels do you need

yourusername these aren’t even all of them

yourusername

( caption one: officially on the move ✈️❤️ | caption two: 📍Bahrain )

liked by landonorris, charlesleclerc, and 1,021,320 others

yourusername this f1 thing is kinda cool idk

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user34 THE FERRARI SHIRT LMAOOO SHE'S MESSY

user35 who is the man in the second pic? 👀👀

user36 LANDOOO (let's hope!!)

landonorris who gave you that shirt...

yourusername carlosss!! 😇😇

landonorris oh!... @/carlossainz55 we'll be having words later 😊

carlossainz55 not my fault she switched sides 🤷‍♂️

user37 Y/N WITH TEAM FERRARI IM CREASINGGG

oscarpiastri so you acc did switch sides :(

yourusername IT'S NOT BECAUSE OF YOU OSC DW blame lando

landonorris huh why me??

oscarpiastri she doesn't need a reason you're just annoying

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 1,329,875 others

tagged yourusername

landnorris so...surprise? 😁

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yourusername ARE YOU SILLYYY YOU RUINED MY SOFT LAUNCH

yourusername LANDO NORRIS I ACC HATE YOU KYS

landonorris you don't mean that 😊😊

user41 WE DID IT LADSSSS 🔥🔥🔥

user42 the secret wasn't very well kept now was it!

user43 PARENTS TOGETHER AT LAST WOOHOO

lilyzneimer ah finally!! now we double date.

yourusername oh absolutely.

oscarpiastri so do we have a say in this orrr?

landonorris i think this might just be our lives now.

user44 i am grinning from ear to ear they are so cute.

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tagged landnorris

yourusername after my oh so lovely boyfriend SPOILED my soft launch, i have no choice but to post this now 😔 happy 8 months you dork.

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landonorris the dork was a low blow

landonorris no one was expecting the 8 months now were they🔥🔥

yourusername WE WIN

user45 I BEG YOUR PARDON EIGHT MONTHSSSS??

user46 so yall weren't lying when you said you kept the secret well.

user47 i am sleeping on the highway tonight.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

#f1 imagines #formula 1 #f1 x reader #smau #lando norris #f1 fanfic #f1 smau #f1 social media au #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #formula one x reader #formula one x you #f1 x female reader #f1 x you #formula one x y/n #lando norris x y/n #mclqren

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cutielando · 3 months ago

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she's all i wanna be 2.0 | lando norris

synopsis: in which you need some reassurance from your boyfriend

a/n: based on this request! this is basically another version of she's all i wanna be, but more focused on their conversation and Lando reassuring reader. it can be read as a standalone. i don't know if this what you had in mind, but i hope you still like it!!

pairing: lando norris x insecure!reader

my masterlist

The Monaco lights were shining brightly over the sleeping city, casting a cold glow on Lando's apartment.

He was yet to arrive home, having gone out with his team to a dinner bash with their sponsors.

Which meant that she was also there, while you were wallowing in your sweats and Lando's hoodie, wrapped up in your thoughts.

It was late, pushing almost 10:30 pm, and you were curled up on the couch with your arms wrapped tightly around your knees, a fluffy blanket draped over your shoulders.

You were staring at the floor, not taking in anything that was happening around you as the same thoughts swirled around in your mind over and over again.

She's so much better than me.

She's so much prettier than I could ever be.

She fits into his world much better than I ever would.

You deserve to be with someone like her, not someone like me.

We should break up.

She was effortless. Her perfect hair, her perfect body, her perfect confidence in herself. She fit right in Lando's world, right in with the people that Lando surrounded himself with, the kind of woman who would never doubt her place in his life.

You, on the other hand, felt like an outsider. A girl who somehow stumbled upon him and found herself in his orbit, unsure if you truly had a place in his life.

You didn't know where these thoughts were coming from. Lando had never given you a reason to think that he might be unfaithful or that he might want someone else other than you.

But how could you possibly believe that when people like her existed? How could believe that Lando would continue to choose you over anyone else when he was surrounded by women like her?

No, it wasn't possible. No matter how much you wanted to convince yourself that your thoughts were only that, thoughts.

You were so wrapped up in your own head that you hadn't even heard your phone go off with a message from Lando saying that he was on his way home, you didn't even hear the front door unlock and Lando getting home.

You were zoned out, somewhere far away from the place you currently were.

"Babe?" Lando called out as soon as he hung his coat in the hall and put his keys in the bowl next to the entrance door.

When he didn't hear anything, he started looking around the apartment, ultimately finding you in the living room, seemingly staring off into space.

"Y/N?" he called out once again, now much closer to you than he had been before.

No response.

Lando furrowed his eyebrows, concern slowly seeping into his body. He put down his phone and slowly kneeled in front of you, putting his hands on your knees and squeezing lightly.

"Y/N, love" he said, his voice now much quieter and careful.

You suddenly jerked back and came back to reality, your eyes looking around you confusedly for a second before landing on Lando, who was now rubbing soft and soothing circles on the skin of your knees.

"Hey, love. Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes desperately searching yours for an answer, an indication as to what was going on inside your head.

You swallowed, quickly contemplating whether it was worth bringing up the subject at all, but ultimately decided against it.

"Yeah, I'm fine" you said, attempting to give him a reassuring smile, but judging by the look on his face, you had failed miserably.

Lando sighed, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

He knew you oftentimes tended to get lost inside of your own mind, and nothing good ever came of those times, but he knew better than to let the the issues go unspoken about.

Lando exhaled softly, shifting himself so he was sitting on the couch next to you. He took one of your hands in his, his grip tightening while his fingers weaved through yours.

"Love, you know you can talk to me about anything. What's going on with you?" he asked, his voice and tone still soft and kind.

You hated it when he would be like this, coaxing every trouble out of you almost naturally. He could read you like an open book, always being able to understand what you were feeling better than you could.

It sometimes scared you how well he knew you, but other times you loved him even more for it.

You exhaled loudly, squeezing your eyes tightly willing yourself not to break down and cry in front of him.

But your brain had other plans, and the words slip out anyway before you could even register what was happening.

"Why me, Lando?" the question was simple, yet it bare so much pain and self-doubt.

There is a brief pause in which neither of you spoke. You were holding your breath in anticipation, the burden of the question hanging gravely in the air, pressing against your chest heavily.

Meanwhile, Lando didn't know how to react or what to say. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to answer a question he didn't even understand whence it was coming from, but a question that seemed like it meant everything to you?

How?

"What do you mean, love?" he asked, his voice no louder than a whisper, but you could clearly hear the confusion behind his words.

Your throat tightened, your brain working overtime in order to find the right words to describe what you were feeling.

"I mean, there are so many girls out there," you started with a shaky breath, feeling the weight of every single insecurity settle over your body like a blanket. "Prettier girls, skinnier girls. Girls who fit into your world, who know how to properly handle all of this," you motioned vaguely towards the luxurious apartment in which you were currently residing, to the lifestyle that feels worlds away from what you're used to. "Girls who don't feel like they're constantly competing with someone else for your attention"

Lando's face softens instantly, his concern briefly replaced with a knowing of what was going on.

His grip on your hand tightened slightly, like he's afraid you might slip away from him at any moment.

"Competing?" he repeats, like the world itself physically pains him. "Baby, you don't ever have to compete with anyone"

"It doesn't feel that way" you said, letting out a humorless laugh while also shaking your head.

Lando shifts on the couch so that he's fully facing you, his hands sliding up to cup your face. His touch is impossibly gentle, thumbs stroking your cheekbones.

"You are it for me, Y/N. You are the only one I will ever want to share my life with" he murmurs, his voice full of so much sincerity it made your chest ache and tears fall down your cheeks.

"She's everything I'm not, Lando" you said, your lip wobbling and your voice cracking.

Lando lets out a soft breath, shaking his head.

"Good, because I don't want her. I only want you" he said, his tone so firm that, for a second, it caught you off guard.

You try to look away, but he wouldn't let you. His fingers lifted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, his green-ish eyes filled with nothing but love and adoration for you.

"I love you because you're not like everyone else, Y/N" he continues, his voice unwavering. "I love that you get nervous before my races and play with my bracelets when you're overthinking. I love the way your nose scrunches up when you don't like something, or the way you always make fun of me when I mess up on Tarkov" a small smile tugged at his lips, like he was remembering every moment as he spoke. "I love that you laugh at my dumb jokes when nobody else does. I love that you make me feel normal when the rest of my world is, well, insane"

A tear slipped down your cheek, but he caught it with thumb before it could fall too far.

"I love you" he murmured, like it's the easiest thing in the world for him. "Just you, always you. Just the way you are"

You let out a shaky breath, and his smile softens at that, if it could be possible.

"I love you too" you whispered, your voice soft and broken.

"Can you do something for me?" he asked, his voice now a soft whisper.

You hesitated for a second before ultimately nodding, albeit hesitantly.

"Stop comparing yourself to her, or anyone else for that matter. You don't see yourself the way I see you" he said gently.

"And how do you see me?" you asked, swallowing hard.

"As the best thing that's ever happened to me" he said, leaning in and pressing his forehead against yours.

A fresh wave of tears pricked at your eyes, but this time, they were not from doubt or sadness. They were from something much warmer, something softer that felt like love wrapping around your heart and squeezing you tightly.

Your arms looped around his neck, pulling him close to you. His scent, familiar and comforting, surrounded you as his arms wrapped around your waist, holding onto you like you were the most precious thing in the worls.

Which to him, you were.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily, you know. You're stuck with me forever, whether you like it or not, might as well get used to it" he teased you, his voice muffled against your shoulder.

You huffed out a little laugh, the first real laugh of the night and in a very long time.

"Forever? You promise?" you asked, your voice small as your heart needed to hear it coming from his mouth, a vow that would bind himself to you for the rest of time.

"Forever" he confirmed, squeezing you even tighter against him. "And I'll spend every single second of it reminding you just how much I love and appreciate you"

And for the first time in what felt like a long time, you believed him.

Because you loved him more than anything, just like he loved you.

And maybe that was enough.

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dollyfiles · 2 months ago

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confronting exbf!rafe at a beach party

cw: angst, abandonment, cussing, insecurities

the night air was full of salt and sweat, the flames of the bonfire crackling over the chatter of drunk teens and the sound of a music box. figure eight always looked prettier with a little kook chaos, while you stood barefoot in the sand, as your friends danced around you in a blur.

this was your first real night out in weeks. after what felt like months of bed rotting, crying into your pillow, and convincing yourself you were healing while replaying the last conversation with rafe over and over again, you finally said yes to a party. just to feel something other than the ache in your chest. but of course, because you couldn’t catch a damn break and the universe loved to mess with you, he was there.

rafe cameron.

the boy who ruined you and walked away like it was nothing. like you were nothing. of course he was here. it was his kind of party, loud music, red solo cups, girls in bikinis clinging to him like gum on the sidewalk. you spotted him across the flames, laughing like nothing could ever touch him. like you hadn’t burned for him for the last two years of your life.

he looked good, which pissed you off more than it should’ve. a little tanner. that damn cocky smirk still carved into his face like he never lost sleep over anything. his arm hung around some girl with too much lip gloss. you didn’t know her name. didn’t care to.

you kept your distance, but your eyes found him anyway. “don’t,” your best friend ellie warned, “you promised you weren’t gonna spiral tonight.” she shot you another glare. “i’m not spiraling,” you replied, voice clipped. “just.. hydrating.” you wiggled your half-finished drink in her face, that you’d been sipping on for the past hour.

ellie rolled her eyes but let it go. you took a slow sip and turned away from him. the drink it was too sweet. you didn’t care. you just needed something to drown out the sound of your own pulse when you felt his eyes on you. and then…

“y/n.”

you froze. god, his voice. that low and familiar rasp, filled with the kind of regret you weren’t sure was real or just something you’d hoped for. you turned slowly, sunglasses still on despite the fact that the sun had dipped below the horizon hours ago.

“rafe,” you said coolly. like his name didn’t feel like a curse on your tongue. he hadn’t expected you to come. and maybe that was why his heart cracked open the moment he saw you. standing barefoot in the sand, your hair catching the firelight, a bright smile plastered on your face.

you looked… god, you looked like the version of you he used to dream about when he was sober enough to miss you, and high enough to forget what he lost. “you look…” he trailed off.

don’t say it.

“…good.”

don’t you dare.

you smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “thanks. you too. guess being a dick suits you.” his jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. of course he didn’t. what else could he do? fight you about it? argue that he hadn’t meant to destroy you? it wouldn’t change anything.

“i didn’t think you’d come,” he tried. “didn’t think you’d care.” you shrugged. “i do.” he admitted, totally honest for the first time. you laughed, a bitter sound. “bullshit, rafe.”

he blinked, like the word physically hit him. maybe it did. you hoped they did. because you’d spent weeks replaying the sound of his voice as he said you two weren’t working anymore. as he blamed you for loving too hard, for needing too much. meanwhile, he was out playing pretty boy on yachts, getting his ego stroked by girls who didn’t know the kind of mess he left behind.

“you’ve been good?” he asked, like an idiot, like that mattered. you sighed, then took a sip of your drink, and stared at him through your lashes. “yeah. actually, i have.” it was almost true. you wanted it to be. you deserved it. “you moved on?” he asked. “shouldn’t you be glad?” you replied. he didn’t answer. cause for a few seconds, rafe forgot how to exist.

you took another sip, holding his gaze over the rim. “you don’t get to ask me questions like that, rafe. not after everything.” your voice was strained. “i just…” he started, throat dry. “i think about you.” he looked shattered. good. let him taste it.

“yeah?” your voice cracked. “think about me when, exactly? before or after the parties? when you’re lying next to someone else, do you think about me then, asshole?” his silence said everything you needed to know. although deep down he did. every goddamn time. but it never brought you back.

you shook your head and took a step back, the sting in your heart burning. you clenched your jaw. “don’t do this. don’t come up to me and try to stir things up just because you’re suddenly lonely. you had me. you ruined it.” for a second his arm reached out and he was going to touch you, to pull you back to him, but he was terrified. terrified that even if he won you back, he’d just ruin you again.

but you stepped back before he could, “you don’t get to miss me, rafe,” you sighed. “you don’t get to talk about what we were, like it wasn’t you who killed all of it.” his eyes darkened. “i never stopped—” you immediately cut him off again. “no. don’t you dare say it. whatever it is you think you feel now, it’s far too late.”

“i wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he muttered helplessly. you laughed, cold and bitter. “that’s the problem. you didn’t try at all.” the fire popped loudly behind you, sending sparks into the sky. as you turned away panic gripped him. rafe caught your wrist, hand shaking with the desperation he’d buried under months of bad decisions.

“i’m sorry,” he said. you looked at him then, and for a second, you saw the boy you fell for. the boy who kissed you under the pier lights, who said he’d never leave like the others did. but that boy was long gone. “keep that to yourself,” you said one last time, waves crashing nearby. and then you walked away.

this time, for real.

tags: @inbred-eater @dearapril @rafecami @isasweetie @beausling @rafesheaven @rafesbowbunny @rafesangelita @drewsephrry @rafessecret @littlelamy @sturn777 @bradshawed @cherrygirlfriend @trusweethrt @inspiredangel @whinyangel @et6rnalsun @luckycrys @bluemerakis @rafeysbangs @f4dedtouch @nemesyaaa @bruisedfig @tinythebunni @rcsbabydoll @rafestoothbrush

#dollys playroom 🐇#rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe x reader #exbf!rafe

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marie-swriting · 3 days ago

Text

Three Years - Emily Prentiss

Masterlist

Summary : Three times Emily flirts with you but you don't notice and one time you do.

Warnings : alcohol consumption (please, be careful with your alcohol consumption), being embarrassed, fluff, happy ending, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 3.6k

French version (will be published 29/06/2025 at 9pm)

Request : made by @mrsines here's the link to the request. Thank you for your request, I loved writing it and sorry for taking so long to write it. Promise, I will be writing your other requests very soon. In the meantime, I hope you'll like this one 🫶

Your arms are holding a box filled with your personal belongings while there is a bag on both of your shoulders; all of this weight is starting to be heavy, you don’t pay attention to it, though. You stare at your reflection in the mirror of the elevator very closely. Today is your first day at the BAU and you have to make a good impression.

You struggle to smooth your blouse and then, you check your make up. Your inspection stops when you hear a ding and the elevator doors opening. A woman with black hair and bangs comes in and stands next to you. You stay silent at first, quickly admiring her beauty while she greets you and presses the button of a floor, you don’t notice she is going to the same one as you. You stop staring at her, not wanting to embarrass her. Discreetly, you keep checking your reflection while the bag on your left shoulder slowly falls. You try to move as a way to keep it in place but it just quickens its fall and it finds its way on the crook on your arm. You sigh loudly, accepting your fate.

“I’ll help you,” the woman says with sympathy, putting your bag back on your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you smile.

You look away, however the woman keeps her eyes on you. She admires every inch of your skin, on top of your beauty, she sees your nervousness. She also perceives your annoyance as soon as you realize your necklace is not sitting correctly on your neck, the clasp is in front of it, instead of behind your neck. Full of hope, you try to hold your box on one hand, yet the second you feel it titling, you quickly bring back your hand in its initial place to stabilize it. Noticing your distress, the woman catches your attention.

“May I?” she asks, pointing at your neck.

“Yes, please.”

You gaze at her fingers getting closer to you and delicately, she turns your chain. You hold back your breath until the clasp is in its rightful place. Gazing up, you notice how close her face is to yours, her eyes looking deeply in yours. You can make out her floral perfume, making her even prettier. You clear your throat, trying not to show the effect she has on you before talking.

“Thank you very much, you’re a lifesaver!”

“Don’t mention it. You seem stressed,” she remarks without a trace of judgment.

“It’s my first day and I want to make sure I’m perfect.”

“You are,” she genuinely affirms. “Don’t worry, I’m sure everything will be alright.”

“We’ll see.”

The ding can be heard again, indicating you’ve reached the correct floor. You sigh in relief, happy to get rid of all of this weight from your body. The woman lets you walk out first and you thank her. You’re about to walk through the glass doors, but turn around to the woman to ask her a question.

“Could you show me where Agent Hotchner’s office is, please?”

“Sure. Wait,” she adds, understanding who you are, “you’re the new profiler?”

“That’s me, yeah,” you confirm with joy while your right shoulder is hurting you.

“I’m Emily Prentiss, nice to meet you. Come with me,” she tells you, taking the box from your hands which you’re grateful for. “You’ll see, the team is nice, there’s a good atmosphere. You’ll fit right in, I’m sure. You can put your stuff on my desk in the meantime, you’ll feel lighter.”

Once you’re rid of your bags and your box, you keep following Emily until you read on a door with a plaque with the inscription ‘A. Hotchner’ on it. Automatically, you smooth your blouse.

“Your outfit is perfect, don’t worry,” Emily repeats, hoping to ease your nerves.

“I hope, I spent a whole hour to find the right one,” you explain, laughing nervously. “I want to be taken seriously.”

“And you will. Hotch might look stern but he isn’t,” she informs you. “See you later, Y/N. I can’t wait to get to know you better.”

Emily gives a crooked smile and leaves you at the door. You knock and wait for Hotch to allow you in. From her desk, Emily gazes at you and she can’t help but be excited to work with you and discover who you truly are. She hopes that once you’re more at ease, you’ll pay more attention to her flirty looks.

Mics in hands, JJ and Penelope are singing … Baby One More Time by Britney Spears while the lyrics are rolling on the screen in front of them and also on the ones on both sides of the makeshift stage. You stare at them performing and chuckle, the alcohol they drank clearly influencing their singing skills. You shout encouragement and Penelope points at you with a big smile while she sings, or rather screams, “when I’m not with you, I lose you my mind.” A bartender comes to your table and sets a sex on the beach in front of you, interrupting your entertainment.

“I didn’t order anything,” you state, frowning.

“Someone is offering you a drink.”

“Who?” you sigh, expecting he’ll be showing a random man who only wants to hit on you.

“Her,” he replies, pointing at Emily who is sitting in one of the barstools.

“Oh,” you say, surprised yet reassured, “very well, thank you.”

You jokingly roll your eyes while Emily gets closer to you, a cocky expression on her face. She sits next to you and leans at the same time, you're mixing your drink with your straw.

“For a second, I thought it was one of those lame guys who wanted to flirt with me,” you laugh.

“It’s only me,” she affirms with eyes full of innuendos which go over your head.

“You know you don’t have to offer me a drink, right? I can pay for a round.”

“I just wanted to do it,” Emily admits, hoping you’ll understand her flirty attitude.

“Anyway, you didn’t have to do it like that,” you insist, taking a sip of your drink.

“It was worth it, the smile that was on your face when you understood it was from me was pretty.”

“You know,” you start, not paying attention to her compliment, “I’m glad I agreed on coming tonight when you asked me.”

“I’m glad you agreed, too, after all these months of asking,” she says before adding with a tone that’s supposed to be light, “and also that you told JJ and Penelope about it, clearly they need to relax as well.”

In truth, Emily thought this night out would be a one-on-one moment, nevertheless she wasn’t explicit enough apparently when she asked you out for a drink. As soon as you accepted, you turned to your two colleagues and asked them if they were also coming to which they said ‘yes’ in a heartbeat. Penelope is always willing to hang after work and JJ needs a break from cases and her personal life.

“Actually, you might need it more than the rest of us,” Emily adds, “You work too much and coming from me, it says a lot! You’re a real workaholic.”

“I know, I’m working on it, ironically,” you joke, realizing your improvised pun. “Anyway, you’ve all helped me to let go more often. I’m so happy I got into this team, particularly with you,” you specify, making Emily’s heart miss a beat, “you’re a really good friend.”

Upon hearing those words leaving your mouth, Emily feels her soul leaving her body. She had hoped the drink and the way she’s leaning toward you would make you understand she is flirting with you, but it seems like you still haven’t figured it out.

At first, she thought you weren’t being reactive to her flirty comments because you were in a professional context, that’s why she bet everything on tonight the minute you finally said yes to her, and yet, it wasn’t enough.

“That, I am!” she states, hiding her pain with a pinched smile. “You like what I ordered you?” Emily asks as she sees you drinking again.

“I love it, you made the right choice.”

Emily is about to add something when Penelope interrupts your moment by joining you.

“Stop looking at each other with puppy-dog eyes and come with us!”

Without giving you the time to protest, Penelope takes your hands and forces you to leave your chairs. She drags you both to the stage where JJ has already found the song you’re about to sing. The bar employee gives you the last mic, you have to share it with Emily, while the first note of Dancing Queen by Abba begins.

You need some time before humming the lyrics, as for JJ and Penelope they are focusing on every single word. Emily takes your hand and forces you to look at her while singing, the mic between your faces. Your eyes gazing deeply in hers, you find the courage to sing more loudly, Emily encouraging you by making you dance.

Emily makes the most of this improvised karaoke to get closer to you, however as every time she makes advances, it goes over your head. Regardless, Emily won’t give up yet, she needs to be more direct, that’s all. One day, you’ll finally notice she wants to be more than just a ‘really good friend.’

You violently drop your pen on your desk and shake your hand as a way to ease the pain. You sigh and throw your head back. You wish you could rub your eyes who are stinging but your make up stops you from doing it so you just massage your temples. You can’t see the end of this paperwork. It really is the part of the job you hate the most! You’ve been focused on this file for so long you can’t even read yourself anymore. You have to correct several mistakes and you struggle to find the right way to form your sentences. You need at least ten seconds to figure out how to write it.

Bringing your head back again, you see Emily at her desk, yawning, instinctively you do the same.

“It’s almost been three years since I've been here and I’ll never get used to it. This paperwork will kill me,” you complain.

“Tell me about it! I only want to jump in my bed and snuggle with Sergio.”

“Same.”

“We should stop for tonight, it’s getting late,” Emily states, glancing at her watch.

“If I don’t finish it now, I won’t be able to do it later,” you reply as she begins to put her stuff away.

“If you want to give a file full of mistakes, be my guest, but I’m telling you, we should stop.”

You mentally weigh the pros and the cons while Emily stands up from her chair, you glance one last time at the sheet in front of you then close the file.

“You’re right.”

“I’m always right. This is what we’ll do,” Emily continues walking to your desk. “We go home and we rest like we deserve and tomorrow night, you come to my place to eat. Promise, I’ll order food.”

“Yes, that’s better, I wouldn’t want to die,” you joke, putting your belongings in your bag. “Although,” you resume after thinking, “that’d prevent me from finishing this file and you’ll be charged with murder and so you wouldn’t have to do paperwork anymore. On second thought, you should cook, it’d solve all of our problems.”

“I’d like it if I could avoid your death, especially if I’m the cause of it,” Emily retorts, laughing. “I wouldn’t be able to do this without you,” she adds, looking deeply in your eyes.

“You managed just fine before me,” you say, avoiding her eyes, overwhelmed by your proximity.

“Yeah, but it’s different now. Anyway, you come to my place tomorrow night and like this, our brains will be rested and we will be able to work on the file correctly.”

“Works for me,” you smile.

The following day, you go to Emily’s apartment, a bottle of red wine in hand. As soon as she opens the door, you find her beautifully dressed. She is wearing a black loose-fitting shirt and pants, her hair is curled — though you like all of her hairstyles, this one is your favorite — and her make up is natural nevertheless it still makes her face even more breathtaking. You forget how to respire for a second, not expecting to find an Emily this stunning.

“You…” you start, clearing your throat, “you’re beautiful.”

“So are you.”

“You’re kidding, right? I put on the first pieces of clothing I found.”

“I still stand by what I said,” she insists before stepping aside. “Come in. I ordered Chinese food, it should be here anytime now.”

“Perfect. I've brought this,” you say, giving her the bottle.

“You didn’t have to! I’m gonna open it. Go sit on the couch.”

Emily walks in her kitchen to grab a corkscrew. She opens the bottle and pours two glasses before going to find you in the living-room, a big smile on her face, thinking about the night you’re about to spend together. Though, her smile vanishes the second she sees the file from yesterday on the coffee table.

“Do you want to work before or after eating ? I only have a few things left to write,” you inform her.

“Oh, huh… I’m almost done, too.”

“We’ll do that after eating, then.”

“Works for me,” Emily states, pretending to not be disappointed.

You thank Emily when she hands you the glass of wine. You take a sip and so does she. Emily is disconcerted. She thought you understood she simply wanted to eat with you, one-on-one. She hadn’t planned to work while you were there. Clearly, she should have been more direct.

Fortunately, during the meal, you don’t talk about work, though the file watches you eat from the coffee table. Emily enjoys learning a bit more about you and the few times you return the questions, she avoids the subject. You quickly understand she does not like to talk about her life before the BAU so you don’t insist.

While you’re eating noodles, you struggle to bring a portion to your mouth, lightly staining your face. Emily chuckles as she watches you moving your head to swallow the rebellious noodles.

“I have it all over my face, don’t I?”

“A bit,” she replies, mocking you nicely. “Wait,” Emily adds before taking a napkin.

She gets closer to you, her knee touching yours. Her left hand delicately grabs your chin to make sure you don’t move while her right hand approaches the corner of your mouth. After Emily wiped everything, she does not back off. You gaze at each other, time standing still, and slowly, your faces get closer. Her lips are only a few inches away from yours when your phone rings, indicating a new text. Instinctively, you back off and grab your phone on the coffee table. Emily, as for her, is cursing whoever dared to interrupt your moment. Sure, you didn’t understand this was more than a random dinner between two colleagues, but she managed to sort it out; until a few seconds ago.

Upon opening your texts, you discover it’s from Penelope. She sent you a picture of a saucer she crocheted with a message.

Message from Penelope to you, 9:50 P.M.:

[1 picture]

Look at this beauty I just finished! I’m gonna crochet one for you, too!! Xx ❤️

“Look at what Penelope made,” you tell her, showing her the picture.

“Very cute. It’s going to go perfectly with her cups,” Emily exclaims, trying to seem interested.

“It will!” you reply, writing back to Penelope. “Anyway, we should work now,” you resume, grabbing the file, “it’s almost ten.”

“You’re right, I’m gonna go grab mine.”

With an awkward expression on her face, Emily stands up from the couch and goes to search for her work which is on the kitchen table. This moment definitely did not go as planned. Emily is getting desperate. She doesn't know how to flirt with you. Either, you don’t see her making moves or you’re too polite to turn her down. Yet, she’s sure you have a special bond, however maybe it’s only from her side…

The following months, Emily preferred to flirt less with you, undoubtedly, it’s not working so she has to understand what it means. Therefore, she keeps talking to you, but she stops implying things you’ll never catch.

During one of the rare aftertoons you have free, you ask Emily to go drink a coffee and go to a park which she accepted with joy. For once, you’re the one who is making plans! That is how you find yourselves sitting on a bench under a tree with a take-away cup in your hands. As usual, Emily hangs on your every word, half of her body turned toward you. Without realizing, you both started talking about your past relationships.

“My ex didn’t understand why I was working so hard,” you explain to her. “It was one of the main reasons why we used to argue. I mean, I’m not going to pretend I’m all innocent. I know I should have done better and found the right balance between my work life and my personal one, but she didn’t even try to understand me.”

“Now, it’s easier to find this balance, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is, mostly thanks to you!”

“Which is ironic considering I’m like you,” Emily giggles.

“Seems like we needed to meet so we could understand how to do it. Anyway, it wasn’t the only thing,” you resume, sighing. “We broke up because we were together out of habit, not out of love. We stopped going on dates, gifting each other random things. There wasn’t only one problem.”

“You deserve better, someone who will give you the attention you need, who understands you,” Emily affirms with a determined expression on her face. “You know, I would never do what she did. If I was lucky enough to be your girlfriend, I wouldn’t let you slip through my fingers, especially that way.”

Following her sentence, you stay silent, your brain going a thousand miles an hour. The way Emily is turned toward you, what she just said… ‘Is she flirting with me?’ you wonder. You open and close your mouth several times, not knowing what to say. You feel like you’re reading too much between the lines. Emily cannot be flirting with you. It’s impossible. Surely you misunderstood the situation.

“This sounds like you’re flirting with me.”

“I have been trying to do that for three years now.” she replies with a mocking smile.

“What do you mean three years?” you ask, frowning.

“From the moment I met you in the elevator, I tried flirting with you, you were too nervous to notice, though.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Nope!” Emily confirms, emphasizing the last syllable. “But I’m glad you finally noticed.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t see anything until today!” you complain, putting your head in your hands. “How many times did I miss it?”

“Oh, I stopped counting!” she laughs while you sink in the bench. “I even thought you were being oblivious on purpose, however considering your current reaction, you really are just oblivious. The most recent moment was four months ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I invited you over so we could see each other outside of work and get closer and not to work,” Emily informs and your eyes are wide open.

“And I brought the file! I want to slap myself! Why didn’t you say anything? I’m so embarrassed, you have no idea! At least, I understand better why you were all dressed up that night,” you specify after having an epiphany. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re always beautiful but that night! God, I was struggling to act normally, in particular when we were close before Pen texted me. I wanted to kiss you so much at that moment.”

“Me too,” Emily announces, tenderly gazing at you.

“And I ruined everything…”

“Don’t feel bad, I could have been more direct,” she reassures you, putting her hand on your shoulder.

“Oh, no, all of this is my fault! I’m supposed to be a profiler and I didn’t notice you were hitting on me for three years… Fortunately, I’m better with UnSubs. For my defense, I’m not used to people flirting with me,” you inform, avoiding her eyes.

“I got that. You’re embarrassed, it’s cute,” Emily states with a smile you find adorable.

“It’s not cute, I’m stupid!” you correct, rolling your eyes. “Especially because I’ve been attracted to you since we first met, too,” you add, looking deeply in her eyes.

“I’m happy to know it wasn’t only me. Does that mean you want to go eat together sometime?” Emily asks before adding with a humorous tone, “it’s a date, by the way, in case you hadn’t understood.”

“Ha ha. Very funny,” you retort, deadpan.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it,” she laughs. “So what do you say?”

“I’d love to go on a date with you,” you say, taking her hand in yours. “Promise, this time I won’t bring work.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

Emily squeezes your hand and brings you closer to her. She wants to kiss you so bad, more than usual, except she doesn’t move. You probably want to wait until your first date. Besides, you finally noticed she was flirting with you, she can’t push her luck and ask to get even closer. Though, for the first time, you perfectly guess what she thinks and decide to lean toward her and finally press your lips on hers, breaking three years of romantic tension.

Masterlist

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how2loa · 11 months ago

Note

can I change my appearance and genetics completely if yes how do? Recently I’ve experienced a lot of passing events that has caused me to hate what I look like and how I feel and my genetics as a whole i’m starting school this Friday and I want to do anything in my power to look different before school starts and feel comfortable with how I appear I have heard LOA and manifestation can change anything so I’m wondering if it works for this as well

HOW2LOA : manifest an appearance change !

shortened version: create your new desired story and stick to it no matter what. as with any other manifestation. but for those that want a more detailed explanation keep reading :)

manifesting an appearance change is just as easy as manifesting a car or manifesting money. here are some steps i’ve been taking to manifest my desired appearance

# 1 — identify what you would like to look like

find what you would like to change about your appearance. let’s say you want to change the look of your eyes. get detailed. do you want to change your eye shape? your eye color? the size? decide on the details. in the case that you want to change multiple features for example your nose, eyes and height, do the same for all features.

# 2 — think from the end

imagine you got your desire. you look in the mirror and you see that you look exactly as you wanted to. your feature(s) finally changed and now you have your ideal appearance. what would be your initial reaction looking at the feature(s) that changed. “wow, i love my button nose”, “my skin is so smooth”, “i’m in love with my blue eyes”. make affirmations that sound like YOU. there’s no magic affirmation, the best one is the one that actually sounds like an ordinary thought of yours.

# 3 — stick to the end

now that you have figured out how you would react mentally if you saw a reflection that you are satisfied with, stick to that story. mental diet is everything! persist until it materializes. remind yourself constantly about your new look for quick results. embody this new character that looks exactly as you want to. because you are them and they are you. once you make the decision it is done, you have your desired look.

# 4 — avoid the mirror

if you are good at ignoring circumstances and not wavering you can skip this step, but i encourage you to avoid the mirror. do not dwell on the reflection if you catch it as it will bring you back to the old story. it doesn’t matter what you see in the mirror. it can change in an second. if you decided that you look a certain way then that is true now end of story. you have it therefor you know it is yours. checking the mirror for changes and not finding any might discourage you. a good rule of thumb is, if you’re looking for it its probably not there. your manifestation won’t miss you.

# 5 — use placebos

another good way to get your appearance changes fast is to use placebos. you can pick small actions that people often use to glow up like drinking water, brushing your teeth, getting better quality sleep. you can also use habits of yours that you don’t even think about to your advantage like licking your lips or even blinking. “every time i drink water i lose weight”, “every time i sleep i get prettier”, “every time i blink my eyelashes get longer and curlier”.

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astraljedi · 19 days ago

Text

Begin Again (Miss Americana - Joaquin Torres)

President's Daughter AU Series | Joaquin Torres x Female Reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, light language, emotional vulnerability, brief injury mention (past trauma), soft angst

Word Count: 3.5K

Song: Begin Again by Taylor Swift

A/N: I decided to add a little something before every part, something like a little gossip podcast/social media account just for fun and to keep things interesting. Also, I read the lorax for this part specifically and I haven't read that book in YEARS HAHAHA. Masterlist | Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

- Chief of Shade PodcastDM from Anon says: A journalist friend told me Miss Americana was spotted a few weeks ago at the White House gala—dancing all night with some guy, looking pretty close and laughing. Do you have an idea of who it was? Well, anon, I’ve gotten a few messages saying the night was definitely eventful for the First Daughter. I might have a guess who it is, but I’m not jumping to conclusions just yet. Let’s wait and see.

Spring in D.C. is gorgeous.

The light pink shade of cherry blossoms flourishes, the air is crisp, and the sun beams alone in the blue sky—no cloud overshadowing the golden star.

The White House garden is even prettier, this season already showing off the flowers blooming in the colors of the rainbow. I take in my surroundings as I sit on the fresh green grass, legs crossed, surrounded by a group of seven- and eight-year-olds dressed up from our medieval lunch party.

Today’s agenda started with one of my favorite pastimes—hosting an event for the foster group organization I work with. The goal is to get the kids out for a day, teach them a little about the environment, and let them just be kids through fun activities. It’s a small group today; they've gotten smaller over the months, which is a good thing. They're finding loving families.

Halle, a bright seven-year-old, sits on my lap with her head resting on my shoulder, her eyes slowly shutting as we’re halfway through The Lorax. I lower my voice, imitating the Once-ler, causing the kids to laugh. And I try to shove my own giggles down, staying in character for the rest of the story.

The White House doesn’t always let me host events like this here, but this weather was too perfect to waste. A beautiful spring day like this needed to be spent in the garden while reading with the kids.

“Grow a forest. Protect it from axes that hack. Then the Lorax and all of his friends may come back.”

I close the hardcover book and set it on the ground. “What did you think of the story?” I ask, brushing Halle’s hair out of her sleeping face.

“Are the trees real?” Dean asks, glancing around the garden like he’s searching for them and I smile.

“I wish. They’re so colorful and fun to look at. But we have our own and different kinds of trees all over the world. Trees are important because they give us shade, oxygen, and fruit; and they’re home to so many animals.”

“Like monkeys?!” Wes perks up.

“That’s right, Wes,” I chuckle. “Monkeys, birds, and all sorts of animals need trees to survive. We may not live in them, but we still need them to keep the environment safe and healthy. So it’s our job to protect them an—”

The kids gasp, eyes wide.

“That’s Captain America!” Wes says, pointing behind me, his face lighting up.

Halle stirs on my lap, eyes fluttering open at the name.

I glance over my shoulder and sure enough, the President walks beside Sam, who’s dressed in a navy suit and headed straight toward us. I smile at the sight of them, the kids are going to love Sam and—no, this can’t be happening right now.

My eyes drift to the strong-framed body walking next to Sam, his laugh echoing through the garden, and my heart forgets to function properly for more than a second.

Joaquin.

Aviators cover his rich brown eyes, the same eyes I spent an entire evening staring into a month ago and haven’t stopped thinking about since. He looked good at the gala, but this version: sunkissed, casual with his shirt sleeves rolled up? It makes my heart practically jump out of my chest and take off running across the White House lawn.

My cheeks heat up and my palms begin to sweat. I can’t help but think of the clipped photo of him in uniform that I’ve stared at for hours after Carmen handed me the navy file.

But I wasn’t expecting to see him again. Especially not like this and not today.

I gently help Halle up before rising myself, smoothing out my dress with shaking, sweaty hands.

“I hope we’re not interrupting,” the President says warmly. “I just wanted to stop by and say hello with some friends for our special guests today.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and presses a kiss to my temple.

“The more the merrier,” I chuckle nervously. My eyes find Carmen, who is doing a terrible job hiding the smug grin on her lips.

She knew.

“Hi, Sam,” I say, giving him a quick hug as my dad moves to greet each kid.

“I like your crown,” Sam laughs, nodding at the flimsy gold piece on my head—something I completely forgot about. Shit.

“We had a medieval party for lunch,” I say, shrugging off the crown and placing it on Halle’s head as she pops up beside me. Her small hands grip my waist, hiding behind me, too shy to face Sam. “Captain, I want you to meet my friend, Halle.”

She steps forward just a bit, still clinging to my dress.

“Hi, Halle. It’s nice to meet you,” Sam says, crouching to her level and offering his hand.

Instead of shaking it, Halle giggles and throws her arms around his neck in a hug. Sam laughs, nearly losing his balance.

“Let’s play! I want to show you my castle!” she exclaims, tugging him toward the cardboard castle setup.

I snort a laugh, biting my nail, trying to hide the smile as I watch Halle break out of her shell. I step back to give them space, but I bump into Joaquin, not realizing he was closer than I thought. I inhale, my eyes fluttering close when the familiar touch lands on my back, steadying me.

“Sorry,” I murmur, looking everywhere but at him. The birds are signing, the mix of children laughing and screaming echoes the usually quiet garden.

Joaquin and I stand there awkwardly, watching the chaos of knights and dragons unfold before us. Sam wields a tiny plastic shield as he protects Halle from two roaring “dragons” trying to storm her cardboard castle.

I laugh, watching my dad join the group playing as a knight.

“Joaquin,” I say, testing the waters. “It’s a beautiful day, right?” I immediately cringe inside. The weather? Really?

I’ve spent weeks imagining our next conversation, rehearsing a dozen different scenarios. And I start with the damn weather?

“It’s nice,” Joaquin says, smirking. “You organized this for the kids?”

“We usually go to an interactive museum, a park or a library. But the weather has been so nice this season that I managed to persuade them to let me do it here.” I say, scooting closer to him. “It’s the one thing I’m always looking forward to doing with the organization I work with, but sometimes I wish I could do more for them.”

“Even if it's for a few hours, it’s a memory they will take with them forever. Especially today, nothing tops playing dragons and knights with Captain America to save the princess.” He says.

I laugh and agree.

“The night at the gala was nice, too,” I change the subject. I look at him and immediately regret it. He lifts his aviators off his eyes and our gazes lock.

“It was,” he says, his smile growing. “Then you had to leave me stranded in the middle of the dance floor.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could’ve stayed.”

“No worries. You had First Daughter duties.” He shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d remember me.”

“Joaquin,” I say, stepping closer. Our shoulders brush, and I feel him tense, though he doesn’t move away. “Trust me, that night, that dance, you—are embedded in my brain permanently.”

“So I’m not a fool for not being able to stop thinking about you, the President’s daughter?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we’re both fools.” I smile.

“I’ve never done this. I’m not someone who makes the first move or any move, really. But if you want, my agent can give you my secure line. Because I haven’t stopped beating myself up for not doing this that night. And I’d really like to see you again. if that’s something you want.”

“One month and you’re already turning rebellious.” Hee chuckles, shaking his head a little.

“Back up! Where’s my backup, Torres?” Sam yells from the castle setup. The kids have taken Halle hostage, and Sam is on his knees, trying to “save” her from the knight’s lair. “The princess has been captured!”

“Duty calls,” Joaquin says, mimicking the words I told him that night. I laugh and watch him take off, joining Sam in the medieval chaos.

iMessage 8:42PM Joaquin:Hey 8:45PM Joaquin:When can I see you again?

The moment Joaquin texted me a week ago, Carmen and I screamed at the top of our lungs when my phone chimed later that night. It was such a relief that I hadn’t made a complete fool of myself by basically admitting I hadn’t stopped thinking about him, all after one night of us dancing.

I stare at my reflection in the tall mirror in my living room. The short navy dress hugs my waist perfectly, and the cropped cream cardigan matches the cream lining of the dress. From what Joaquin told me, tonight is supposed to be quiet and private, something I didn’t think he’d actually be able to pull off.

I glance at the clock on the wall, my stomach twisting with nerves as the seconds tick by. Then, a knock at the door pulls me out of thoughts. I straighten my posture and walk to the door, my heels clacking against the wooden floor.

“Hey,” Joaquin says, a little breathless. His hair is slicked back, just like it was the night of the gala, and he’s holding a stunning bouquet of white tulips and pinkish lilies close to his chest. “I’m a few minutes early, I thought getting through your security would’ve taken longer.”

Usually, I have to give Carmen and the rest of the agents the full name and contact info of anyone who’s planning to see me. No surprise visits, ever. Everyone who comes up to my apartment has to be cleared. But with Joaquin, I already knew it wouldn’t be a problem. I’d bet anything Carmen cleared him before I even told her about our date.

To be fair, no one ever comes to visit me. Not like this.

“It’s okay, I’m pretty much ready.” I chuckle, a little nervous.

“These are for you.” He hands me the bouquet, and I take them with a smile, stepping aside to let him in.

“Want to come in? I want to put these in water before we leave.” He nods, and I close the door behind us. Joaquin lingers awkwardly near the sofa, his eyes following me as I head to the kitchen.

“These are so beautiful, thank you.” Tulips and lilies—my favorites. I told him that just a few days ago when we FaceTimed for the first time. He was out of town visiting family, but somehow we ended up talking for hours, him lying in his childhood bedroom while I curled up in my bed after a long day of work.

“I remembered,” he says, smiling as he steps farther into the room. “Took note of it when you mentioned it over FaceTime.” His gaze moves to my gallery wall: photos from my university years, my childhood dog, and a portrait of our old house in California. “Is this your old house?”

“Yeah. I took that photo the day we emptied it out before moving to Virginia. I remember being so heartbroken when they finally sold it.” I walk past him and place the vase of flowers on the center of the coffee table.

“What do you miss most about it?”

I grab my purse and step closer. “The huge bay window in the living room. My mom had this massive bookcase built there, and I used to sit on the bench reading while the sunlight streamed in. It was my dog’s favorite sunbathing spot too.” I laugh, remembering the lab mix who used to hog my blankets at night.

I glance at Joaquin—and that’s my first mistake. Because when I turn to him, his eyes are already on me. His hand gently finds the small of my back, pulling me closer.

“Ready?” he asks, leading me toward the door after I nod, my words caught in my throat. The moment he touched me, I was done for.

The whole car ride is silent. Marcus, my usual driver, sits behind the wheel while Carmen rides up front. Joaquin watches the city pass by through the window as I steal glances at his side profile.

He’s wearing a nice white shirt, just one or two buttons undone, paired with dark pants. And God, he even smells good. Even better than the last time we saw each other in the garden.

I didn’t even notice we made a stop and arrived at our destination. Carmen stands by the open door, and Joaquin is already halfway out of the car when he catches me staring. His hand finds mine, pulling me out of my trance.

My cheeks burn. I take his hand as he helps me out of the black-tinted SUV. I glance around—we’re parked in an alleyway—and Carmen opens a door that leads into a building. She walks ahead of us, and another agent follows quietly behind.

Joaquin keeps my hand in his, guiding me through a spotless restaurant kitchen. The scent of food hits me immediately. The smell of something sweet in an oven makes my mouth water. Two chefs stand straight against a metal rack, as if the president himself just walked in.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” I say with a smile. The two chefs blush and mumble their polite greetings.

I look around, but I don’t recognize the restaurant at all. The whole place has been cleared out. Only a single table for two sits in the center, covered in a white tablecloth, set with candles and elegant dinnerware.

Joaquin pulls out a chair for me, and I sit down with a small smile. “How did you manage this?” I whisper, leaning in across the table once he sits down. Carmen gives the room one last look before disappearing to the far corner.

“I have my connections,” he laughs. “No, but really—Sam knows the owner, and I coordinated everything with your security to make sure it went smoothly.”

“Thank you. I don’t think you know how much this means to me.”

His lips part like he’s about to respond, but a waiter steps up beside us.

“Good evening, my name is Sydney and I’ll be serving you tonight. Would you like a moment to look over the menu, or can I get you started with some drinks?”

“I think we can start with some wine, yeah?” Joaquin says, glancing at me over the wine list.

I nod, letting him choose.

After what feels like hours, our plates are almost licked clean, our wine glasses are nearly empty, and the only sounds filling the empty restaurant are our laughter and the low-tempo music.

“You know, that night at the gala, Sam found me after you left,” Joaquin says, holding his glass close to his lips.

“What did he say? That your ballroom dancing needs some cleaning?” I chuckle, setting my now empty glass on the table. Joaquin grabs the bottle from the metal ice bucket beside us and pours the rest into my glass.

“Don’t act like my moves weren’t key to your escape from that old politician,” he mocks, placing the empty bottle back into the ice. “But that night, I was about to go after you until Sam stopped me—told me that if I liked my arm and didn’t want the Secret Service to knock me off my feet, I shouldn’t go after the president’s daughter. That’s when I realized who you were.”

“Does that scare you?”

“No,” he says immediately. “I’ve been shot out of the sky unconscious. Nothing scares me.”

“Joaquin,” I say, my voice laced with concern. I reach for his hand across the table, my thumb tracing the skin along his knuckles. He doesn’t look at me—just stares at our hands.

“I remember seeing the news. I didn’t realize it was you until Carmen mentioned you being the Falcon a while back.”

“Oh, so you talked about me,” he teases, though his eyes stay focused at our hands.

“We don’t have to talk about it. Forget I mentioned anything.” I start to pull my hand away, but he stops me, gently catching it back in his.

“It was rough. I had to go through a lot—physical therapy, training with the new suit, and talking to an actual therapist about going back into service. What happened that day doesn’t define who I am, in or out of the suit. I take it home with me and use it to push myself to become a better Falcon.”

And for the first time, I don’t know what to say to him. I just smile softly and squeeze his hand.

“Does that scare you?” he asks, finally looking at me.

“No,” I admit. “It just makes me admire you even more. It shows your love and dedication for all of it.”

He brings my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles, my whole body almost melting onto my seat.

The ride back to my apartment is quiet, but it feels different this time. I’m tucked closer to him, our fingers laced together, my head resting on his shoulder. Carmen glances over her shoulder at one point, catches our joined hands, and smirks before turning back around.

Thankfully, my apartment building has a private garage underneath, which makes sneaking in easier without paparazzi trying to snap a photo. My loft is on the top floor, sharing the floor with only one other tenant I rarely see.

I slide my key into the lock and open the door, but I don’t step inside. Not yet.

“Thank you. I had a lot of fun tonight.”

“Me too. My cheeks hurt from all the laughing,” he admits, one hand on the doorframe, his body hovering close to mine. I could kiss him, no one’s watching. But I’m too paranoid that my neighbor is watching us from the peephole.

Instead, I pull him into the apartment and shut the door behind us, catching him off guard.

“If you’re going to kiss me, I’d rather you do it here,” I whisper, my hands fisting the front of his shirt.

His hands find my waist, his thumbs pressing into my hip bones. He spins me suddenly, and my back hits the door with a soft thud. A gasp escapes me.

I didn’t expect him to push me against the door.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I first saw you tonight,” he murmurs, leaning in. My grip on his shirt loosens, and my fingers trail up his chest until they reach his shoulder.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the moment you pulled me to the dance floor and stepped on my feet.”

“I did not step on your fee—” I don’t get to finish because his lips crash into mine.

My whole body relaxes as I let him take the lead our first kiss. One of my hands squeezes his shoulder, trying to pull him even closer, if that was possible. He cups my jaw, tilting my face just right, and I part my lips for him. His tongue brushes mine, hot but not desperate. He wants to take his time, and I whimper against him, my fingers curling into his hair and tugging him deeper.

When he finally pulls back, he curses under his breath. I whine from the loss, yearning for more. My lips are swollen, my breath uneven. He presses his forehead to mine, still cupping my face like he can’t bear another second of us being apart.

My heart pounds in my ears. When I open my eyes, I find him already looking at me.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, brushing my hair behind my ear.

I lean in, stealing a few more kisses—soft, lingering ones—before I finally force myself to let him go.

“Text me when you get back to your hotel,” I say between kisses. He nods, smiling against my lips.

When I finally pull away, his hair is a mess, his shirt wrinkled, and his lips are parted as he breathes heavily.

God, the look on his face has me fighting the urge to pull him back in. To kiss him until my lungs beg for air. To kiss him until I feel him melt into me and his whimper when I bite his lip.

But I can’t. Not tonight.

I open the door, giving him a flirty smile. “Good night, Joaquin.”

“Good night,” he says, smirking as he steps into the hallway. I close the door behind him and lean back against it, exhaling hard. My fingers hover over my tingling lips as I catch sight of the flowers on my coffee table.

Yeah, I’m fucked.

iMessage 11:22PM Joaquin: Just got to the hotel. That kiss is gonna live in my head until I see you again 11:25PM Joaquin: When can I see you again?

#joaquin torres smut #joaquin torres x reader #captain america: brave new world #the falcon #joaquin torres fic #danny ramirez x reader #danny ramirez fic #danny ramirez imagines #the falcon imagines #joaquin torres #Joaquin Torres Fanfic #joaquin torres imagine #joaquin torres fanfiction #joaquin torres x you #Joaquin Torres Imagines #Marvel smut

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pennyserenade · 1 month ago

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money (that's what i want) | tom (the party) x reader

summary | tom and reader are pragmatic about their situation. rating | (explicit) tags/warnings | post the party, power dynamics, power imbalance, age gap (a little bit of a sugar baby/sugar daddy ordeal), pinv, fingering, greed of slightly biblical proportions, money hungry tom (as per usual), unprotected sex, mentions of drugs and alcohol, she doesn't make him better, capitalism jump scare, no use of y/n or you. word count | 3.0k+ a/n | week two of cillian murphy's beatles birthday bash celebration. this week's song is money (that's what i want) from the beatles second 1963 album, with the beatles.

Tom liked these work mandated “cultural outings” best when the art part was blotted out by extravagance opulence, and tonight it certainly was: an arthouse gallery full of his money-hungry co-workers dressed in their most expensive apparel, looking at the pieces peppered throughout the gallery with distracted focus. He relished in the moneyed sounds of their champagne flutes being clacked against by their one million dollar bracelets and rings as they talked politely of all they intended to spend, obtain, and offer.

Money was the language he spoke best of all, and this made these places familiar territory to him. It was somewhat curious, then, that the only person in the museum actually paying attention to the art pieces as she passed by them was the one that he had come to, as of late, tentatively refer to as his partner. He knew this, but he couldn’t bring himself to really care.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, Tom pulled her gently back into him as he stood behind her. He was happy to see that the perfume he’d given her months ago was finally on her skin, luxurious and smelling of vanilla. “Hey,” he told her, kissing up her neck. Patently ignoring those who turned to look at them, he added, words muffled against her skin, “What happened to not leaving my side, eh?”

She turned in his arms to look at him, smirking already. “Your company was boring. That’s what happened.”

The dark lipstick she wore on her lips tonight made him feel insatiable. He wanted to kiss it all off right then and there, but knew better than to act on the impulse; he figured his co-workers could only take so much. While they all openly admired and envied his ability to date someone like her—younger by half, prettier by miles—Tom had long suspected that they all thought this relationship was some midlife crisis that would sort itself out in time.

And perhaps they were right. Theirs was an odd relationship and they both knew it. It was a thing borne of her necessity and his stupidity—or, his necessity and her stupidity, depending on who you asked.

Months ago he had met her at one of their mutual friend’s book readings, and they had slept together that night because she had been introduced to him as “a budding writer.” He, having been made a cuck by a creative woman a year before, had been long craving a sort of revenge and when he saw the girl, hardly out of university then, he thought about what his ex-wife would think if she found out that he had fucked the younger, flashier version of herself. When he imagined the upset it might cause, how broken up to pieces she’d be to know he could fuck other people too, Tom felt good. So he did it.

It was meant to be a one night fling, but Tom came to pity the girl because she was poor the way all budding writers her age tended to be. It began as a little thing: paying for the breakfast in the morning and the taxi home, and later, when he asked if she might like to meet up again sometime, the taxi back. Then, quietly - but obvious to anyone who knew them for more than an hour - Tom had begun to pay for a good deal of her expenses: her rent, her phone bill, the red satin dress that hugged her body beneath her leather jacket tonight. Hell, probably even the lipstick, too. If she was using him for simply money and he was using her simply for sex, it would be a considerably less complicated endeavor for them both.

Tom rolled his eyes at her, but his lips curled up into an undeniable grin. “They probably wouldn’t like you too much, either, you know?”

“Oh, I’d certainly hope not,” she teased, moving out of his arms and on to the next painting. Tom lingered close behind her. He could sense that she was happy, even if she didn’t particularly like the people at the event, and he liked seeing her happy. It made him feel good. It was funny, how little effort it took on her part to make him feel that way.

“We could skip the dinner,” he told her, just to see the faint lines around her mouth crease again. “I know you don’t want to go.”

“I was really hoping you were going to say that. It’s Becca’s turn to cook tonight and I really wanted to see what she’s making. She’s gotten quite good at it ever since she started taking classes at the university.” Catching Tom’s lip curl up in distaste, she added, “What? Have you no regard at all for the proletariat anymore?”

“It’s got nothing to do with being poor,” he said humorlessly, “I just don’t want to hang out with your flatmates.”

She had told him once—when he’d asked her about her flatmates’ often dismissive attitudes towards him—that they didn’t like what he stood for, or what he believed in. When he had pointed out the fact that what he believed in—money, any way you put it—had benefited all in some form or the other, and that they never objected to his own when he bought them dinners or drugs, she’d shrugged. The conversation had begun and ended there. Tom knew the score, though: they were all okay with him being rich when he bought them shit, but besides in those specific instances, it was an offense.

In truth, he didn’t like them either, and never had. Even at first glance, he could tell they were the self-important artistic types that had marred his life when he’d been married to his ex-wife.

“Let’s just go to mine, yeah? Order chinese.” He could hear the whine in his voice, but didn’t mind it, as it always seemed to soften her. One of his hands moved down lower on her back as he turned to look at the painting with her. Purposefully, he brushed his fingers over the top of her ass. She leaned her body into his. “I don’t understand how you can stand here and look at this shit all night. It all looks the same to me,” he told her.

“That’s how I feel about your…people. I couldn’t stand listening to them for more than five fucking minutes. It was like watching the wild-life channel,” she replied. She didn’t sound disgruntled, though. She never did. “I don’t really want chinese.”

“What do you want?” he probed.

“Oh–” She considered it for a moment, her bottom lip jutting out. Then she grinned. “Hm…everything you’ve got, and the very best of it too.”

He liked the way he wasn’t quite sure she was being serious or not. “So you’re coming over, then?”

“I’ll have to think about it. I’m no class traitor, as you know.”

He smiled a fool back at her, forgetting for a moment the type of man he thought he wanted to be.

——

Her lace underwear was on his kitchen floor and her dress was up around her waist. Sat on the edge of his kitchen table, with his body between her legs, Tom had her just where he’d been wanting her.

“Tell me you want my money,” he murmured against her cheek. It amazed her at how gruff and demanding his voice could sound when he willed it. It was like a hidden power he stored away for moments just like these.

She dug crescent shaped indents into biceps, uncaring of the way it creased the expensive fabric of his suit. There was nothing she would not tell him when he asked for it like that. “I want your money,” she drawled, rubbing her nose against his. The quiet desperation etched into her voice was specific only to him, only to this.

“I know you do, baby,” he teased. His fingers slipped beneath the band of her underwear. They both breathed in together as his fingers reached down and grazed along her clit. “My greedy, greedy money hungry girl. What would your friends think?”

“Fuck,” she gasped, arching up into him. Her ass drew nearer to the edge—nearer to his body. Against her thigh, she could feel his erection beginning to strain against the fabric of his suit. Her fingers twisted up in the lapel of his coat jacket and she watched him.

Tom’s eyebrows drew together. He looked solemn, but he wasn’t; it was how his face set, his natural way of being when he didn’t think about it. She liked it. It was far more genuine than whatever he put on around his fucking evil co-workers.

He rubbed two fingers along her cunt, eyes flickering up to catch hers as he did. The tease of his touch made her ache. “You didn’t answer me,” he said. He leaned down and kissed her shoulder as his fingers teased his fingers against her again. “Do you tell them you’re with me for money? Do you say you fuck me because I pay for your rent half the time? Do you tell them—“ He teased over her hole with his finger. His voice caught for a moment. “Do you tell them I’ve got a nice house to myself, and that I never say no? Do you tell them you need me to survive so they don’t hate you? Do you believe that, too?”

He slid a finger inside of her. The stretch of it was overwhelming, but also not enough. Tom prodded the tip of it in and out of her, watching her carefully, proud to be in control. But there was not a hint of malice in his eyes, or in his voice. He did not care what she did, what she said, who she aimed to please, because he knew the truth. He was happy to be her moral qualm, the piece of complexity she and all of her self-righteous friends chewed on and made sense of in their myriad of self-righteous ways.

He wanted to tell them money didn’t just make the world turn, money built the world. It was in their favorite pieces of art, in the theater they watched, in the universities where they learned to be so self-important and pompous.

“Yes,” she whimpered, hoping it would encourage him to go faster—or to do more with his finger. It didn’t. He stilled his single finger inside of her and let her pulse achingly around it as if to prove the depth of her want.

Aggravated, she reached between them and unlatched his belt. He let her as he kissed her, vaguely aware of the earthy sweetness on her tongue from the wine. He sighed against her. “You know, you drink 300 dollar wines carelessly when you’re with me.” He was so hard, he was surprised he could speak at all, let alone so clearly. His words became measured, slow. “You even taste like money right now, your dirty little thing.”

She pulled his underwear down only enough to take his cock out. He watched wordlessly as she began undulating her hips, fucking herself on his finger as she had him in her hand. His composure began to slip when she nibbled at his bottom lip.

At times hated himself for how much her cleverness turned him on. Once he’d gotten hard reading one of her stories, not because it was erotic, or even because he understood it — he hadn’t. It was the simple fact that she’d thought it up. The idea of her sitting there, laboring over her laptop as he’d seen her do on the rare occasion he’d stayed at hers, whispering her own words back to herself, drove him crazy. Everything had all been too much for him.

Tom withdrew his finger from her cunt. Before she could say anything in protest, he brought it up to her mouth. She wrapped her lips around it, her eyes connecting with his as her cheeks hallowed as she sucked. She swirled her tongue around him, tasting her own self, her eyes dark and proud as they fixed on him. How pathetic he must’ve looked, watching her.

She was not like his ex-wife, as much as he’d thrilled about the idea of it when he met her; Marianne had been pragmatic, posh, not the sort to fuck older men until much later in her life. She’d always had a leg up in everything, from her career as an artist, to her relationship with him, to her general position in life. People loved her: loved to hear her talk, to see her move, to see her smile. The world was Marianne’s to take. Tom felt on equal footing with this woman, only out of his depth in ways that didn’t matter very much to him.

Not that it meant she was worse than Marianne. She wasn’t. Not at all.

She guided his cock inside of her, both of them conveniently forgetting that he wasn’t wearing any protection—a fire they both liked to play with. She hummed around his finger as his cock stretched at her entrance. When he jutted forward, easing the rest of himself inside of her, the table groaned beneath them, unable to take the strain.

They felt intertwined, one of her legs wrapped around his ass, his finger sat, heavy, on her tongue, their bodies pushed so close together that he could feel her hardened nipple through the fabric of his dress shirt. She gripped onto his suit jacket and he began to thrust inside of her, his hips focused on making her emit the delightful little moans she could never seem to stop, even with a finger in her mouth.

The heat of his suit was becoming a bit much, but it paled in comparison to the pleasure he was getting from driving himself, unsheathed, into her. She was the wettest she’d ever been and she seemed nearly as reluctant to let him go as he was to let her go. Tom buried his head into her neck, and let his finger slip from her mouth in favor of clenching up the fabric of her dress around her waist. He laid his head against her chest and watched as his cock plunged in and out of her cunt. She clenched around him again.

“So good at being money hungry,” he purred against the dampening skin on her chest. She tasted like salt. The words were coming out of his mouth before they were thought now, things deep inside of him. “So fucking wet and horny just from admitting it. Because you like fuckin’--” He clenched his jaw as she began to match his pace, pushing herself down onto him. “You like winners. You like to be taken care of.”

“Fuck,” she panted. One of her hands ran through his hair, uncaring of the way sweat was beginning to bead through the dark locks. She held the back of his neck, fingers burying just beneath the collar of his shirt. Tom lifted his head to kiss her on the mouth and caught the words, “I’d be anything for you,” against his top lip.

He gripped onto her hips with bruising intensity. His mouth began to go dry as his thrust became shorter and more sporadic. “Touch yourself,” he demanded. She did as he told her, her hand wedging between their bodies.

He attempted to delay his thrusts, hoping to stop his quickly rising orgasm, but it didn’t help. Seeing her reach between them and take what was hers without any sort of shame or delay, seeing the way the pleasure etched across her face, her chest, her whole body, feeling the way it traveled through her as she tightened around him…it was one of the finest drugs he’d ever been on. Irreplaceable. Devastating. He didn’t care about anything at that moment but her, but what they were when together: A blaze of desire, two bodies and people who understood what they wanted and needed, and then took it.

“Tom,” she whimpered, “Oh, fuck. Tom, you feel so…Oh. Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“Fuck. Yes.” He clenched his eyes shut. All he could feel was her: the wetness, the warmth, the clench of her cunt around him as he began to pull out. His fingers wrapped around the back of her neck as his cock twitched and his cum drippled down the inside of her thighs, dangerously close to her cunt. He dipped his head, and accidentally kissed her teeth, catching her mid-moan. He didn’t care, though; every part of him was in a state of unbridled ecstasy.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Tom laid his head against her chest, listening to her heart pound in her chest. His free hand rubbed soothingly over the hip he’d been gripping viciously at.

“And they say the best things in life are free,” he joked against her lips.

“Mm,” she laughed, running her fingers through his unruly, sweat-damped hair. “I think sometimes two things can be true at once.”

His nose nudged against hers affectionately. Kissing her on the lips again, he said, “No you don’t. But that’s okay, because I wouldn’t want you to.”

“No?” Her eyebrows furrowed. “You wouldn’t want me to want you even if you were poor?”

“No, because then you wouldn’t be very clever.”

“But I’m poor, and you like me.”

He laughed, swiping his thumb against her cheek. “I consider you an investment. In my line of work, those are just as good when the stock is promising.”

She shook her head, grinning. He kissed her again, once, twice, three times, liking the way he could feel her smile curve his lips. “You’re odd, Tom,” she said. “Which is why I like you only for your money.”

He laughed too, his finger sliding the thin strap of her gown down her shoulder. His eyes flashed down as her breast became exposed. “Mm,” he hummed, arousal forming already in his groin. “Just as I expected. Think we should fuck again in a little, just so we can both get our worth.”

She nodded in agreement, guiding his hand down to her nipple. “Yeah, and then you’ll order us an expensive dinner and snort your worth in coke, I’m sure.”

His eyes darkened, the blue of them drowned out by his pupils. “And you’ll like it, because money is what you want.”

“Because money is what I want,” she echoed.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x y/n #tom the party #the party 2017 #cillian murphy the party #the party #the party fanfic #tom x reader #tom x you #cillian murphy fanfic

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italoniponic · 5 months ago

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Dear Freckles | Rook Hunt

Synopsis: When you have to help Rook clean his face, you finally discover that he has freckles underneath his foundation. It was simple but also a very nice little detail about him. One of a lot of reasons why you loved him.

Rook Hunt x gender neutral reader / established relationship / fluff / mention of science club / 750 words / use of “you” pronouns

Notes: The problem when some mutuals love a character is that you slowly understand why that character torments them night and day. In this specific case, I'm looking directly at you @pandoa dear! Dedicated to you <3 Hope you all enjoy this short story!

Dear Freckles

“How are you, lovely Trickster? I hope you don’t mind but this humble hunter is seeking your services at the moment. How can I say this? I’m in trouble,” Rook said, his chuckle soft like the song of a nightingale in the morning.

You would’ve laughed along if he wasn’t covered head to toe by a strange and unknown liquid, recently dismissed from the Science Club day’s activities. It was by chance that you met your boyfriend in the hallway.

But, maybe, it was actually really fate. Probably because he was at risk of being attacked in Pomefiore before he could step foot in the dorm state — and you couldn’t even blame them for this. In that moment, Rook was the stamp face of dirtiness, despite his own good humor.

As you two took shelter in a bathroom that was rarely used in the castle’s tower, Rook told you about the experience he was conducting at the club and the fantastic yellow explosion it caused.

He went on a narration detailed enough that you could almost see the scene as if you were there. Though, honestly, that was making it difficult to help clean his clothes and face without you constantly breaking into chuckles. And Rook didn’t even understand why you wanted to stay stoic-ish like that.

Were you trying to reprimand him for being a dreamy scientist? He was just a little curious by nature. Science knows no limits to the imagination. And, last but not least, you looked much prettier with a free, big smile playing on your lips.

At one point, you both sat down on the floor — shiny and clean, just like the room around — and you continued with the hour-long task of running wet cloth over Rook’s face to remove the yellow liquid remains.

Surprise surely hit you when a bit of his skin foundation came off along with it. Lucky for you, he kept his eyes closed, leaving you alone to enjoy the fascination of the moment.

Underneath the yellow liquid and hidden by one of Twisted Wonderland’s best skincare products were some freckles. You swallowed hard to complete your work until his face was completely clean. Every passing second you discovered new spots in Rook’s cheekbones that were splattered with the natural ink of the Hunt family’s genes.

Nothing but small freckles, yet it gave Rook a special touch that you had never imagined he could have. And you already thought him to be the most handsome man in the whole world.

You were brave enough to throw hands with a combo attack of Vil and Neige’s fans if you had to!

Perhaps the discovery was the greatest advocate for the intensity of your fascination. You wondered how long it would take before you found out that Rook had other secrets beneath his surface. At the same time, taking things slow seemed more fun and productive. You would have more time to enjoy each little revelation as if it were the most important thing of your day.

You could play around comparing and imagining two or more versions of Rook in your head, all to come to the inevitable conclusion that you loved him in every possible way. Any and every Rook was your Rook.

“Trickster? Any problem?,” the boy in question suddenly inquired, still with his eyes closed.

However, you had a feeling that Rook could see better beyond your momentary pause than if he was with his eyes wide open.

“Nothing, mon cher,” you replied, glad the use of French had melted and distracted him soon enough. Always worked just fine. “Um, actually... Rook?”

“Oui?,” Rook opened his eyes and smiled.

But his gaze grew in surprise when you suddenly held his face in your hands. A delicate and careful gesture, full of devotion. It no longer seemed right for any of you to simply act as if all that was nothing.

“I just want to say that… you’re very handsome. In any way and shape. I’m glad the Beautiful Queen is dead, or I would have to duel with her to have your heart, o’ handsomest of all,” you declared, gallantly.

You felt a little embarrassed to put those thoughts into words, but Rook’s smile didn’t fail to elicit in you a giggle. He held your hand and kissed the back of your palm, invigorated by your sudden surge of romanticism, feeling a little warm in his freckled face himself.

“And you’re all that I’ve been wishing most, my amour.”

Special Notes: I’m wishing~ for the one I love~ my trickster~ my dear~ Ok Rook. Now get out of my head!! And remember, Savana Rook and Pome Rook are just two sides of the same coin. It’s just a matter of outfits at this point, so pls love him dearly. If not for him, for me!

#twisted wonderland #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #rook x reader #twst x reader #gender neutral reader #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twst fanfic #fluff #freckle rook! freckle rook!#this has been sitting in my doc folder finished and untouched since rook's savanaclaw card released #AND NOW IT'S ALIVE!#HE'S ALIVEEEEE #cherry's writing #cherry's mumbling about twst

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rosquinn · 8 months ago

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One of my Dorian Gray hot takes is that there was absolutely nothing in Dorian and Basil's relationship that was healthy. I keep seeing posts like "Basil's love for Dorian was so pure, that's why the portrait was so pretty and the real villain of the story is Wotton because he corrupted it"

As I see it, yes, Wotton did corrupt him, but saying Basil's feelings for Dorian were pure is simply inaccurate to the story. Basil says himself he merely sees Dorian as an artistic ideal [Dorian Gray is to me simply a motive in art. I find him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and subtleties of certain colours. That is all; ch1] and admitted he (a 10 year older man, who had power over him) tried to isolate him from other people and "keep him to himself". Furthermore, Basil also plays a big role in the way Dorian sees himself and his beauty, by painting him everyday and not maintaining any conversation with him, he's indirectly reaffirming what Wotton tells him: people only care about you because you're pretty and young. There is also this scene from the second chapter:

Dorian Gray turned and looked at him. "I believe you would, Basil. You like your art better than your friends. I am no more to you than a green bronze figure. Hardly as much, I dare say.

The painter stared in amazement. It was so unlike Dorian to speak like that. What had happened? He seemed quite angry. His face was flushed and his cheeksburning.

"Yes," he continued, "I am less to you than your ivory Hermes or your silver Faun. You will like them always. How long will you like me? Till I have my first wrinkle, I suppose. I know, now, that when one loses one's good looks, whatever they may be, one loses everything. Your picture has taught me that. Lord Henry Wotton is perfectly right. Youth is the only thing worth having. When I find that I am growing old, I shall kill myself."

Hallward turned pale and caught his hand. "Dorian! Dorian!" he cried, "don't talk like that. I have never had such a friend as you, and I shall never have suchanother. You are not jealous of material things, are you?-you who are finer than any of them!"

Dorian is even dealing with a suicidal ideation over what Wotton has told him and the way Basil sees him, he needs emotional validation, he's asking to be told there's more than him than that, and Basil's reaction is just─ no. You're prettier than any other object (indirectly comparing him to one, too).

Basil's view of Dorian influences how he sees people as much as Wotton's. For example, to Dorian Sybil was only what she pretended to be, he loved her performance, her acting, how she did exactly what the public wanted (which can apply to Dorian himself), not the real her. She was only an artistic ideal to him, she meant to him exactly what Dorian meant to Basil. He ignored her desires, pain and everything not related to what he wanted to see, since that's what he's been taught he must appreciate.

I also disagree with the interpretation of the portrait as a "pure" reflection of Basil's love (I would personally rather describe it as an obsession, though) and Dorians soul because it's not. At least not entirely. Part of the point of the book is that everyone only saw the part of Dorian they wanted: the portrait represents Basil's idolized version of him, what he wanted to see and how he refused to see Dorian as a person instead of an artistic ideal. That's why he tried to make him redeem himself, because he hated seeing his version of Dorian shatter into pieces. It was never Dorian entirely, not even after aging terribly because that's the result of Basil and Wotton's influence. The portrait was not his real soul, it was a modified version of it other people played with because nobody cared about the whole thing, and the influence was so big those parts became his whole being. It was just an idolized, molded version at first but turned into his real self with the time and the sins. Dorian's soul (the portrait) was constructed upon what others appreciated about him, so when Wotton motivated him to sin, because Dorian's potential to be terrible was what mattered to him, it became ugly and terrible. There was absolutely nothing pure about that portrait since day 1.

#Another ross tpodg post has hit tumblr.this is just my interpretation👍#tpodg #the picture of dorian gray #dorian gray #basil hallward #henry wotton #roscaposting #analysis

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meazalykov · 6 months ago

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siblings or dating?

mary fowler x mancity!reader

summary: people never knew what your relationship was like with your doppelgänger

it’s always been something people noticed first. the resemblance.

you still remember the first time you met mary, both of you showing up early to manchester city’s preseason camp. its weird wearing blue, since you were used to the pink you wore for portland.

the first person you spotted was mary. you spotted her across the field and froze for half a second—she looked like you. same sharp jawline, matching cheekbones, eyes that crinkled the same way when she laughed.

she must’ve felt it too because when her gaze landed on you, she blinked, tilted her head, and gave you the same crooked grin you wore when you were confused.

“weird,” she’d said when you finally introduced yourselves, shaking hands, studying each other like you were staring into a mirror.

“yeah.. uh.. it’s a little weird,” you agreed, trying to suppress the laugh that bubbled in your throat.

it wasn’t until months later that you realized how much weirder it would get. teammates made jokes almost immediately, calling you “twins” when you sat next to each other on the team bus, making you pair up for drills because “you’re basically the same person.”

you and mary laughed it off at first. then it started becoming a thing. fans pointing it out on social media. commentators stumbling over how to describe you when you lined up next to each other on the pitch.

your own families were raising eyebrows when you brought mary home over the holidays. it’s impossible not to see it: you look alike.

so when you and mary fell into a relationship—a slow burn that neither of you expected but both of you welcomed—you wondered how the hell you were going to explain it to anyone outside the locker room.

“we’re not sisters,” mary said once, teasing you after a particularly brutal “twin” joke from the team.

“i promise. i’m just the prettier version of you.”

you rolled your eyes but smiled anyway because, well, you thought mary was beautiful. it didn’t matter that she looked like you; she wasn’t you. she was stubborn and fierce and australian and always knew when to crack a joke to lighten the mood.

she wasn’t your mirror—she was your partner.

it didn’t stop the world from noticing, though. the viral moment happened on an ordinary saturday afternoon, city up by a single goal against arsenal. you were desperate to close the game out, sprinting into the box as the minutes ticked down. laia sent a pass your way, and you didn’t think—just struck the ball cleanly, sending it past the keeper into the far corner.

the stadium erupted. you spun around, pumping your fists in celebration, and then mary was there, arms wrapping around you from behind, lifting you off the ground.

“yes, y/n!” she shouted into your ear, her voice breaking through the roar of the crowd.

you laughed, leaning back against her, letting the moment settle over you. you could feel her grinning against your shoulder, her excitement bleeding into yours.

for a second, you forgot that you were on a pitch in front of thousands of people—it was just you and mary, a girl who loved you and who you loved right back.

the moment exploded on social media.

fans who followed you closely were thrilled, posting screenshots of mary’s arms around you, captions calling it the sweetest thing they’d ever seen. but casual viewers, the ones who didn’t know your story, were confused.

“are they sisters or girlfriends?”

“this is so weird. they look identical.”

“is anyone going to talk about how she’s dating her doppelgänger?”

you and mary laughed about it later, scrolling through twitter together on the couch. mary leaned her head on your shoulder, smirking as she read a particularly unhinged comment aloud.

“it’s strange, isn’t it?” you murmured, setting your phone down.

mary hummed, thoughtful for a beat.

“maybe. but we don’t have to explain anything to anyone, do we?”

she was right. you didn’t owe anyone an explanation. you didn’t owe them the story of how you met,and how you fell in love. you’d found someone who made you feel seen and loved and whole—someone who just happened to look like you.

“besides,” mary added, nudging you playfully,

“you’re lucky. not everyone gets to date someone as beautiful as me.”

you rolled your eyes, laughing softly as you kissed her temple.

“you’re right. i’m lucky.”

and you were.

you didn’t care what anyone else thought. mary was yours, and you were hers, and that was all that mattered.

masterlist

#mary fowler #manchester city #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #australia #auswnt #vivianne miedema

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dia-souls · 11 months ago

Text

DIABOLIK LOVERS Imajin Tokuten Drama CD “Kawaii Plushie, Fanboys' Confusion!!!”

Original title: かわいいぬいぐるみ、ファンボーイの混乱

Source: Fanmade Tokuten Drama CD

Story by: Admin Afra

Seiyuu: Suegara rie, Midorikawa Hikaru, Toriumi Kousuke, Katsuyuki Konishi, Takashi Kondou, Tomoaki Maeno, Hirakawa Daisuke, Kaji Yuki,

Admin's note: Hey guys Finally, after a long time, a new drama CD by me Admin Afra. Who misses me??? Lol... Although I can't write comedy CDs and scenarios as well as Admin Irsa. But recently, my headcanon for plushie Yui has been very much noticed. That's why I decided to try this CD for this headcanon. If you like it, I will write Mukami and Tsukinami versions soon. This Sakamaki version is presented to you. I hope you like it. Don't forget to review and comment.

_This scene begins in the living room of the Sakamaki mansion. The triplets are watching Kou on a TV show.

Ayato: Why is that stupid idol in all the shows? I'm getting bored.

_Ayato changes the channel.

*Tap Tap*

Kanato: Ayato... can you please choose a channel and let us all watch it?

Ayato: Shut up!!!! Do not order Ore-sama. Ore-sama will watch whatever he likes. I don't want to see the face of that stupid idol on all channels.

_Ayato changes the channel again.

*Tap Tap*

Laito: You are right, Ayato-kun. I am much prettier. If I were an idol, I would have more fans than him. They probably showed me on more channels.

Ayato: If I saw you on TV, then I would blow up the TV.

Kanato: Me too...

Laito: Heeh... don't be so cruel. I'm sure more girls would be my fans.

_Ayato turns off the TV.

Ayato: I don't understand why there are so many channels and TV shows for girls. Why don't they make a TV show for boys? For example, the takoyaki eating contest.

Kanato: Ayato, no boy wants to watch such a show. Only you like it.

Laito: Hmmmmm. I don't like to see some boys with big mouths eating takoyaki. Even thinking about it makes me sick. I prefer to see cute and beautiful girls.

Kanato: There are idol girls too, Laito.

Laito: I know, but none of them can make my heart beat fast like Bitch-chan.

_Ayato swears under his breath.

Ayato: Chhh... Stupid pervert...

_Laito takes the TV remote from Ayato's side and turns the TV back on.

*Tap Tap*

_Laito changes several channels to a plushie advertisement.

Laito: Is that plushie... bitch-chan's plushie???

_Both Ayato and Kanato stare at the TV after hearing this. The TV is promoting the popular school club girl named Komori Yui.

Ayato: What the hell. Chichinashi???? Since when has Chichinashi been famous?

Laito: School club??? Ahhh, now I remember. A few months ago, bitch-chan said she wanted to join a school club. Hmmm, apparently, she is very popular among the boys in the club.

Kanato: IT'S UNFORGIVABLE. How dare that girl participate in the club without my permission? *SOB*.... I.... won't forgive her... *SOB*...

Ayato: That idiot... how dare she go out with other boys without Ore-sama's permission? When I see her, I will punish her.

Laito: Hmmmmm... I'm very sad to see that my dear bitch-chan has become popular with all these boys. She just needs to pay attention to me.

Shu: Pwaahhhhhhh.... can you shut up. Didn't you say just a few seconds ago that you want a TV show for boys? So why are you complaining now?

_Ayato, Kanato, and Laito flinched at Shu's voice.

Ayato: Waaahhhhh... Shu what the hell. What the hell are you doing here? When did you come here?

_Shu was lying on the couch and yawned.

*Rustle Rustle*

Shu: I was here from the beginning. You three idiots did not notice my presence.

Ayato: Shut up. You are always like this. Wherever you go, you sleep without talking to anyone. Obviously, no one will notice your presence.

Shu: Shut up... it's too loud. My ear hurt.

Ayato: Bastard...

_Shu opened one of his eyes and looked at the TV advertisement that was playing.

Shu: Hmmm... interesting... maybe I'll buy one for myself.

Ayato: Hahaha... don't tell me you like this ugly doll.

Shu: What's the problem with it? I can use it as a pillow. This way, when she is not with me, I can have her by my side.

Ayato: ...

Laito: ....

Kanato: ... I can't believe that this lazy man came up with such a good idea.

Laito: Nfu... that's a good idea. I would really like to have another version of Yui-chan too. In this way, I can do whatever I want with it.

Kanato: Fufu... Yes, Teddy will also be happy to have a new friend. Ne teddy I can dress up it like dolls to make it the most beautiful doll in the world.

Ayato: Tch... you two are very childish.

Laito: Come on Ayato. Wouldn't you like to have a small version of Bitch-Chan? Whenever Yui-chan is not with you, she can make takoyaki for you.

Ayato: Huh??? Can it really do that?

Shu: You are so stupid.

Ayato: Shut up. I have to try it myself, otherwise I don't believe it.

Laito: Nfu~ So let's go to that store and buy this cute plushie.

*TIMESKIP*

_Ayato, Laito and Kanato are walking in the store.

Ayato: Shit... why is it so crowded here?

Kanato: I can't stand people's noise. It's so noisy.

Laito: You two are very impatient. Nfu~ Be patient and then we'll go home with that cute plushie.

???: Oh my... KarlHeinz's sons are in the fanboy store. Hahaha... what a funny subject.

*click click*

_The triplets look behind them when they hear a familiar voice.

Ayato: Haaaaa..... Kino!!!! what are you doing here?

Kino: Isn't it obvious? I came looking for my dear princess. She is not with you?

Ayato: Who said she's yours? She is only my prey. Chichinashi is not with us.

Kino: Huh? what a pity I wanted to go like a lovely couple and buy that cute plushie.

Kanato: Did you come here for the plushie?

Kino: Of course. She is my lovely princess and I am her prince.

Ayato: Don't talk nonsense.

Kino: I myself encouraged her to participate in this club. They were looking for cute and beautiful girls to support animals. My dear princess was so cute and tried for animals that she quickly became popular among the boys. I'm thinking that my princess should have become a famous idol instead that Mukami.

Laito: Although I don't like you, I agree with you. But I don't want to share my beloved Bitch-chan with other boys.

Kino: In any case, this promotion is for promoting this club and because of Yui's new popularity. In addition to boys, she has become very popular among girls.

_A person with a black cape, hat, mask and glasses that completely covers his face enters the store.

Ayato: Hah... Thief...

Laito: Nfu~ He isn't a thief. He is only a shy fanboy who doesn’t like to be known at all.

Kino: Scary. Some fans are very scary.

_The suspicious man buys a plushie and quickly leaves the store.

Kanato: Heyyyyyyyy. I want to leave this store faster.

Kino: I also don't like to see other boys buy my dear princess plushie.

_Ayato goes in front of Kino and grabs his collar tightly in his fist.

*Rustle Rustle*

Ayato: Listen, bastard. I will not let you buy that plushie at all. Chichinashi is only my prey.

Kino: Fufu Ayato-kun, if you think like that... you should stop all those boys who are standing in front of the cash register buying plushies.

_Kino points to the counter and Ayato turns his head to look there. A group of boys lined up in front of the cash register to buy plushies.

Ayato: Chhh... you bastards...

_Ayato quickly releases Kino's collar and goes to stand in front of the cash register in front of all the boys.

Ayato: Everyone listen.

_Ayato takes the speaker from the vendor and speaks through it.

Ayato: Ore-sama is speaking. Get out of the store, you bastards. This girl is my prey and no one but me has the right to buy this plushie.

_All the boys and vendors stare at Ayato.

Ayato: Did you hear what I said? Ore-sama will give you orders. Hurry up and get out of the store

Kanato: Is he serious?

Laito: Oh, oh. I think we are going to be in trouble.

Kino: Pffff.... Hahahahaha.... Your brother is so stupid.

Kanato: Laito. Let's buy the plushie and go before it causes us trouble.

_Laito and Kanato go to the group of boys so that the seller won't notice that they are with Ayato.

Ayato: Oi, Kanato, Laito, why did you go to them? Let's help me get rid of these bastards.

Kino: Hmmmm. Things are getting interesting.

*TIMESKIP*

Ayato: Chhh... Ahhhhh... How is the security of that store so strong? The place where he kicked me still hurts.

Kanato: You are so stupid, Ayato.

Ayato: Shut up. It's your fault that you didn't help me, otherwise we would have kicked out all those bastards.

Laito: Shame on you, Ayato-kun... I don't like being beaten by security at all. My beautiful face becomes scarred and I become ugly.

Ayato: You are so pathetic Laito...

_Kino walks behind them while laughing under his breath.

Ayato: You bastard... why are you laughing at us? You got what you wanted. Why are you following us?

Kino: Oh... Ayato-kun don't be so mean. I would like to see my dear princess.

Ayato: Shut up. I won't let you see her.

Laito: At least we could all buy plushies.

Kino: Too bad. I wanted to see my dear princess. But I think it doesn't matter. I will call her when I get home. I can't wait to take a picture of myself and this plushie and send it to her. Her reaction must be very cute... Fufu... Goodbye. I hope to see you very soon.

_Kino moves away from the triplets while waving his hand.

Ayato: Haha... in hell...

*TIMESKIP*

_Ayato, Kanato and Laito enter the mansion.

Ayato: Chhch... My body hurts.

Shu: Pwaahh... So you are finally back.

_Shu is lying on the couch while yawning and Yui's plushie is on the pillow next to his head.

Laito: ....

Kanato: ...

Ayato: ...... How???? Oi lazy man, how did you get that plushie without coming to the store?

Shu: Huh? It's... so easy. I ordered online.

Ayato: ....

Kanato: Haaaaaaa???? WHAT DO YOU MEAN? WE COULD ORDER IT INSTEAD OF GOING TO THAT ANNOYING STORE, SHU WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US? I WON'T FORGIVE YOU. I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU...

Shu: I was surprised why the three of you took so much trouble to go to that store. Well, this is not my problem. Now please be quiet. I want to sleep You are very noisy.

Ayato: You bastard...

Laito: Nfu~ I can't wait anymore. I want to do many things with this plushie. Ahhh, even thinking about it makes me hot.

Kanato: I would like to try different clothes on her. My new and beautiful doll is going to be very beautiful.

Ayato: Both of you shut up. This is going to be very interesting. Ahemm... Ahemm... Chichinashi, go make me some takoyaki.

_Laito and Kanato stare at Ayato and Shu smirks.

Kanato: ...

Laito: ....

Shu: Pffffff... you are so stupid.

Ayato: What?

Laito: Did you really expect a plushie to be able to move and make takoyaki for you?

Ayato: Huh? It can't? So why did we try so hard to buy it?

Shu: I am satisfied. It smells like that woman. It is a good pillow. At least when Yui is not here, this plushie will help me.

Kanato: You don't understand how precious dolls are.

Laito: I can also try interesting fantasies on it.

_Yui rushes into the room.

Yui: Ayato-kun, Reiji-san is very angry with you. He said that you in the store___

_The triplets stare at Yui.

Yui: What the..... !!!!!

Ayato: Oi Chichinashi. This ridiculous doll can't make takoyaki for me. Hurry up, make me takoyaki.

Yui: ...

_Meanwhile in Subaru's room.

Subaru: Hah... hah... I did it. I really i did it.

_Subaru enters his room while wearing a black coat, glasses and a mask and quickly goes to his coffin and puts Yui plushie in it and looks at it.

Subaru: I did it...

_Subaru blushes while staring at Yui plushie.

Subaru: Damn it... this is so cute...

_Subaru hugs Plushie and sleeps inside the coffin.

Subaru: Yui, please always stay with me...

_Meanwhile in Reiji's room. Reiji is sitting on a chair and brushing the plushie hair that was pre-ordered a few days ago.

Reiji: Good grief... these things are not for me.

_Reiji covered his face with his hand to hide his embarrassment.

Reiji: No one should know about this. NO ONE.

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #yui komori #komori yui #sakamaki shu #shu sakamaki #reiji sakamaki #sakamaki reiji #ayato sakamaki #sakamaki ayato #kanato sakamaki #sakamaki kanato #subaru sakamaki #sakamaki subaru #diabolik lovers drama cd #drama cd

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