#can you tell I like giving characters halos | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saffusthings · 5 months ago

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Baby I Can Feel Your Halo

oscar piastri x personal assistant! reader

summary: the one where the world gets to become familiar with a new name: Y/N L/N. word count: 8.4k warnings: awkwardness, my attempt and poetic writing, poor understanding of how film and media works, Lando as a bit of a side character, poorly edited writing a/n: i can't tell whether this is half decent or nonsensical. inspired by That Viral Interview. i have a soft spot for this part of the story, so i hope you guys are able to like it too.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

She’s going to kill him.

Clicking her phone on to check the time for the umpteenth time as if it will make this stupid elevator go any faster, she lets out a huff. The tapping of her shoe acts as a placebo, perhaps. Or maybe this elevator is actually getting slower-

When the metal gates finally part, she bolts. As gracefully as one can, she awkwardly half-run, half power walks past the hall of doors until she reaches Room 307.

She doesn’t even pretend to knock. Glancing at her phone one more time - 27 calls - she slips a plastic card from the lanyard around her neck. When it beeps, flashing green, the door opens with a click, allowing her to storm in.

To her credit, she at least waits for the door to close before she yells.

“Oscar Jack Piastri!”

Oscar wakes to a fire. Or at least that’s what he has to assume is happening, considering someone is screaming his name at full volume. Eyelids barely open, he immediately sits up in bed. “M’awake! Jesus, give me a second,” he mumbles, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Tossing him his pants that had been hanging in his closet, she goes around, picking up any stray items. “Put some pants on,” she grumbles. “C’mon get up, we’re already-”

“-running late,” he says defeatedly, eyes landing on the bedside alarm clock.

When he finally steps out of the bathroom, his brows are scrunched in confusion. She’s typing something on her phone, and definitely not trying not to look at him.

It’s been over a week since their almost-kiss in her office. She’s no rookie, she’s been more than professional since, knowing she can’t risk this. But a small part of her can’t help but think of how close his lips had been to her anytime she’s standing close enough to smell his familiar cologne.

She’s interrupted from her thoughts by the sound of Oscar’s voice, her thumb still hovering over her phone from her long forgotten text.

Trying to get the swoop of his hair to land in some sane looking way, he gestures to the pine green sweater spread out for him on the bed, the one she insisted he wear. “You sure about this?”

He watches her as she knits her eyebrows together as she gives him the once over. “Yes. You look good in green,” she explains, still entirely absorbed in sending an e-mail to their media liaison.

It’s only once he’s finally dressed that she gets up and gives him a look over. Her lips purse before she motions for him to stand closer. “C’mere.”

She aligns the seams that are supposed to trace along his shoulder, before using her hands to smooth out any wrinkles in the soft fabric. She stands back for a moment, before coming closer again, and pulling his sleeves up just a bit in a way that exposes some of his forearm. Assessing it one more, and seeming content with how it looks, before doing the same to his other sleeve.

Entirely unaware of the chaos his cardiovascular system seems to be undergoing, she gives him one last look over, and wipes a bit of excess moisturizer that had been left on his nose.

“There we go,” she says with a small smile.

Grabbing her things, she stands at the door before looking back for him. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, patting his pockets and searching the hastily made bed. “Just…”

“Good to go,” he announces, swiping his phone off the bedside table, and tucking into his pocket before following her into the hall. “Where are we headed?”

“They’ve set up in one of the conference rooms near the swimming pool” she says from over her shoulder as they make their way down. “It’s some Australian channel looking to do a segment on their hometown hero, so it should be a safe set. Of course, if they veer off course, let me know and I’ll take care of it. ”

“Will you be there? Or are you headed back to the office?” Oscar asks. His tone makes it difficult to differentiate whether he's nervous, wary, or doesn’t want her to be there, but he hopes she understands anyway.

“Yep,” she replies, smiling. Oscar wonders why his chest feels warm.

“That’s my job, remember?”

When he gets to hair and make-up, he can’t help but feel more than a little lost. Not because of the makeup, certainly - god knows Hattie has tested more than enough ‘smokey eyes’ on him - but rather because when he sits in the chair, the woman immediately asks what kind of look he wants to go for.

Huh?

He looks over to Y/N with desperate eyes.

Help me, please.

She’s quick to walk over and greet Lindsay, his stylist for today, with a warm smile. Once she’s sure that the stylist is okay with taking recommendations, the rest of it comes easily.

“We’ll wanna do some powder to counter the glare from the studio lights,’ she suggests, glancing at the woman for approval. Tilting Oscar’s face, the two women survey him analytically.

“It’s up to you if you want to add a little warmth, but no blush or color corrector or anything like that. And then his hair looks good like this, so we don’t need to do anything there. How does that sound?”

The elder woman nods in agreement before pointing at different parts of Oscar’s face and mumbling somethings to Y/N who nods along thoughtfully.

Finally, he’s left at the mercy of his stylist, as Y/N walks away.

Once the mic checks are complete and the people behind the large lights give the go ahead, one of the employees counts off the seconds before the cameras start recording.

Oscar spends those seconds looking over to wherever she is. She’s stood by one of the people carrying a large white panel, watching on to make sure everything runs smoothly. They’ve done this dance probably dozens of times, but the buzzing lessens once he assures himself that she’s still in the vicinity.

He watches her nod, giving him a reassuring smile, and then, Oscar is ready.

“And cameras are rolling 5… 4… 3… 2… 1.”

“We’re here now with Oscar Piastri,” the host says with a warm smile, “now in his second year of representing Australia in the highest level of motorsport - Formula One. Thank you so much for joining us, Oscar.”

“Of course, thank you for having me,” Oscar smiles, that polite cat smile that’s become associated with his name. “Just Oscar, is usually fine though,” he jokes, never one to feel too comfortable with high praise. The host laughs good naturedly, “Oh, the boy’s got jokes now, does he?“ Oscar seems to glow in the spotlight. Something about him, even in front of the cameras, seems to radiate comfort, familiarity. Even on TV, even with his rising stardom, his laidback posture and the crinkle around his eyes when he smiles suggests that he could be the boy next door, that he could be your boy next door. The cameras are not the only thing focused on him. “So Oscar, not sure if you remember, but you did a sit-down with us last year as well.” “Of course. I don’t forget that easily, Mick,” the driver replies easily. “I’m not that old.” “No, no, in fact, you’re quite young aren’t you? Only 23 and already in your second year of Formula 1.” “Yeah, feels a bit strange when you say it like that,” Oscar chuckles, “but yeah. It’s been a bit of a wild ride.” Mickie smiles. “One year closer to retirement, I imagine?”

“God no,” Oscar scoffs, shifting in his seat to get a bit more comfortable. He looks more relaxed this way, more open. “I’m not leaving without a championship, so you’ll be seeing me around for a while. Sorry to disappoint.” Laughing good naturedly, the older man shakes his head. “Far from it. You’re a hometown hero. You’ve got everyone here rooting for you,” he tells him, gesturing to the crew around them.” Smiling gratefully, Oscar nods. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty lucky with all the support. That always makes a difference.” “I’m sure it does. Who would you say are your biggest supporters?” “My parents, for sure. I’m sure there’s a clip of my mom talking about my… let's call them oddities, as a child,” Oscar laughs, referring to his habit of make-believing as a car around the house, or how he wanted car magazines read to him instead of bedtime stories. “If they hadn’t put up with me through that, there’s no way I’d be here now.” It’s clear as day that beneath the thin film of humor, there’s a chasm of sincerity. He really does love his family - always making time to call them during long trips away or even just because. Working on media with Oscar is (usually) pleasant for that same reason - you don’t have to give him PR-written responses or pre-plan his anecdotes to make the audience fall in love with him. He tells the truth, and they can’t help but fall in love all on their own. “I’ve also got other supporters too. Silent supporters, I guess you could call them, since you all don’t see their faces as much. But my sisters, my team, Y/N, the fans - they are the reasons I get to live my dream everyday.” Mickie nods in acknowledgement. “Of course. Though I see we’re name dropping now,” he teases. Oscar looks up at him, mild panic hidden behind his eyes. He’s only just about to adjust his cap - a predetermined signal to Y/N that he needs her to intervene somehow - when Mickie interrupts his train of thought. “You mentioned Y/N as one of your supporters. Could you tell us a bit more about that?” When Oscar looks at the man with the salt and pepper hair, he doesn’t see the usual malice or hunger that many reporters would have if they had been in the same position. Mickie has been good to him and his team in the past - not coming off as a dog with a bone, but instead as an easy conversationalist who happens to be genuinely curious about Oscar and his life. The young driver recovers easily from his momentary scare. “Oh, yeah. Y/N’s definitely one of my greatest supports. I’d tell you all that she works for me, but I think she might poison my coffee if I did that.” The two share a laugh, easing Oscar’s nerves a little. He subtly adjusts his watch instead.

It’s alright, I got it.

From behind the cameras, Y/N takes a small breath of relief. Though she’s pleased the conversation didn’t take a turn for the rumor mill, she’ll still be a little on edge anytime her driver is in the media’s playpen.

“Alright then. Without risking your coffee, what can you tell us then? That’s not a name we’ve heard too often around the paddock.”

“Yeah, I mean. It’s a shame too - she’s supposed to be my assistant, but with how much she’s involved in everything, we might have to come up with a better title for her,” Oscar smiles easily. Mickie gives him a smile, straightening his notecards into a neat stack. “Is that so? Must be high praise, coming from a big-shot like yourself.” The air is pleasant, the conversation flowing naturally. Even as an observer, the scene could almost be mistaken for a casual chat in a living room somewhere. Oscar shakes his head. “Not enough, actually. When I say I wouldn’t be here without her, I mean it literally. If she hadn’t come to my rescue this morning, I’d probably still be in bed!” Mick leans over, laughing. “Glad to see how much you value our time here together, Oscar!” “Even if I did, I value my sleep more,” Oscar deadpans, a sly smile on his face. “I don’t envy her job, not in the slightest.” “Fair enough, fair enough.” The conversation makes its own way from there - Oscar’s goals for this year, what people can expect from the team this season, how the new car has been.

“So what I’m hearing is that we have a promising season ahead?”

“I mean, every season looks promising at the start really, but yeah, I have a good feeling about this one. Cautiously optimistic, we’ll call it.” “Well I’m sure I’m not the only one when I say that I can’t wait to see what you have in store for us this season, Oscar.” “Wow, no pressure there. Thanks, though.”

The two share a laugh. It’s getting closer to the end of the segment, but with some time remaining. Mickie decides to take the conversation in a different direction. “Now that we’re done with all the shop talk.” he starts. “I was wondering if you could tell us what Formula 1 has been like for you personally. Last time around, during your rookie season, you mentioned that the intensity of the training and the magnitude of the races were some of the things that took some getting used to. Would you say the same is true now, or have you gotten used to it?” Oscar nods, thoughtful. “Yeah, I mean, your rookie season is always an adjustment. It took me some time to get used to that stuff, and I’d say I’m better at it now,” he answers honestly. “But that doesn't mean there aren’t still things I’m learning to get used to.” “What kind of things?” “As you can probably tell, the time zones are one thing,” he laughs, animatedly gesturing to where his eye bags would be. For a second, there’s silence as he’s given a moment to think, before he finally speaks again. “I’d say the people, too.”

“The drivers, the teams, or the fans?” Mick asks curiously. “The fans are pretty great,” he tells him. “But I think I meant like the drivers and their teams?” Oscar tries to explain. “Like, you have to understand that there’s so many people in this complex machine that is Formula 1. And every single person that’s there, is because they’ve got this insane drive to win - that includes the drivers, of course, but the engineers, and the strategists, and the trainers too.”

“Tell me a bit more about that.”

“I mean, like, even in Formula 2, with Prema, there was a certain level of friendship and camaraderie that gets overshadowed in Formula 1, because of just how competitive everything is,” he explains, gesturing with his hands. “It’s crazy how the drivers flip a switch for lights out or the chequered flag, because that’s what comes with competing at the highest level.”

The host nods, making an effort to understand.

“Would you say it strains relationships then? This sort of… dual personality that you and the other drivers have to have?”

“Honestly. To some degree, I imagine it has to. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly with one another.”

“You’d mentioned earlier this year, in an interview with your company Quadlock, actually, where they asked you if you had any mates on the grid, and you replied with…” Oscar chuckles shyly, recalling the moment. “No friends, only enemies,” he quotes himself. “Exactly,” the older man chuckles. “Would you say the same is true for you now?” “The honest answer would be yes and no.” The man sitting across from Oscar raises an eyebrow at this, intrigued. “When you live in that bubble with people that are, at their core, just as competitive as you are..” he trails off, contemplating how to phrase it. “Let’s just say it has an interesting way of showing you who your friends and your enemies are.”

“And has it?” Mick asks genuinely. “Shown you your friends, I mean?” Oscar takes a breath before replying. “I mean, of course. There’s Lando, y’know - as my teammate, he’s always my greatest competitor but also the only one who can kind of understand where I’m coming from. Logan, also - you know we grew up through the lower Formulas together. He and I have been teammates in the past too, so it’s nice to have an old friend on the grid. Y/N too, y’know - we’re pretty close in age, and she’s really been there for the highs and the lows.”

“We’ve seen you interact with Logan and with Lando, but what would you say your friendship with Y/N is like?”

“I mean, we work together, so a lot of it comes from that,” he shrugs, not wanting to slip up and say the wrong thing. He signed up for the spotlight, but putting his assistant, his friend there without discussing it with her would be unfair.

“We work in tandem, you see - she takes care of everything outside the car, while I take care of everything in it.”

The interviewer hums thoughtfully. “That sounds like a dynamic that requires a lot of trust, I’d say.”

“Maybe, but she hasn’t let me down even once in two years.” For a moment, for a fraction of a second it feels like Oscar’s eyes glance in the direction of where she’s standing with the tech crew, but it must be a trick of her imagination. They’re standing in the shadows, and it’d be a stretch for her to think that he could even see her in the first place. “Not even once.”

“Would you say your friendship complicates this dynamic, or simplifies it?”

“Helps, definitely. Easier to get out of media duties that way,” Oscar jokes. Mickie laughs easily at that, before focusing on the subject once again.

“Really? You two don’t face any challenges with that? I’d imagine with the other drivers that that boundary is a bit more clear, what with them being your competitors and all.” Oscar lips press together, his tongue subtly running over his lower lip to soothe the pressure. “I think maybe if it were someone else, then it would be. But not with her.“

Looking over to the armchair, he can see that the other man looks surprised.

“You seem quite confident in saying that.”

“I am,” he says bluntly. Why wouldn’t he be?

“And what inspires that confidence?”

“Just who she is, really, “ Oscar answers with a shrug. On the other side of the room, Y/N waits for a signal that never comes.

What the hell is he doing?

This was most definitely not one of the agreed topics for tonight’s show.

“How do you mean?” Mickie can’t help but inquire.

“I mean the obvious thing to say here would be to say that we’re close in age,” Oscar starts, gesturing. “But it really is more than that. I’m lucky to work with an immensely talented team, especially with all the fresh talent McLaren’s brought on board this year.”

“Of course.”

“But as for her in particular…” The blonde seems to think for a minute. “I think, that in order for someone to understand how we work, they’d have to understand how she works,” he muses.

“And how’s that?”

“She’s like the light you need in order to see. With her perspective, her input, the fundamental way in which she operates - things make sense. She makes things make sense, really - whether that’s logistically, or with the car, and especially with me.”

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can even know what he’s thinking. The tricky thing about this cozy lounge setup that he’s seated in is that, from her, it looks nothing like the studios and press conferences and media pens that they’re used to. Here, there are no clambering reporters, no flashing cameras, no microphones shoved in his face.

It’s easier to forget that the world is watching.

“It’s a bit unfortunate that the fans watching this don’t get to see her as we do,” he says with a serious expression. “Because it’s hard to describe her personality, or even just her role if you haven’t existed in her orbit. There’s this… this spark that ignites with everything she interacts with.”

Oscar finds himself thinking of everything that happened on the road so far, every step that led them here. All he knows for certain is that his confidence is not unfounded. Sure, things were… less than ideal at the moment, but they’d go back to normal. He knew they would, he was sure of it.

Not so much because Oscar had a plan, but rather because he didn’t know what to do if they didn’t. They’d figure it out - that was their thing, after all.

He’s disturbed from his thoughts by the voice of another.

“A spark?” the older man prompts with a smile.

It’s almost frustrating when the words don’t come fast enough to keep up with his mind.

“When you’re expected to function at the highest levels, there’s a lot of moving parts underneath the shiny cover that no one really tells you about. Y/N has this intuitive sense and this unlearnable skill to take apart the most challenging complexities and put them back together into something wonderful.”

The studio falls silent.

“She sounds lucky,” Mick offers sincerely.

Oscar laughs dryly. “The way I see it, I’m the lucky one. McLaren certainly is.”

Mickie’s expression is open, leaving the silence available for him to fill.

Oscar, on the other hand, isn’t quite sure how they ended up here. Talking about Y/N wasn’t a preplanned part of the segment, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s surprisingly nice to talk about something besides how hot it is in the car or the rabbit food athletes have to eat or his opinions on the championship standings.

And it probably doesn’t hurt that talking about her is really quite easy.

“It’s an incredible gift to meet someone who complements each of your strengths and your weaknesses completely. And if that person happens to be someone who can somehow challenge you and support you simultaneously, then there’s nothing more that I need.”

The boom mic edges closer to the stage setup, careful not to enter the cameras’ parameters of visibility. There’s a shift in tone that’s apparent, something curious and authentic that seems to wash across the studio and everyone in it.

“Will we be seeing this dynamic duo in action anytime soon then?” the interviewer asks, charismatically guiding the conversation towards its conclusion.

“I sure hope so. Maybe you guys can finally convince her to do some of those McLaren challenges with us,” Oscar smiles widely, that dorky, lopsided smile of his. “Trust me, I tried, but somehow she won’t let me drive her around for a Hot Lap. Wonder why that is,” he shrugs, before both men share a laugh.

A hand in the dark silently signals for them to wrap up, indicating that the segment must come to an end.

“Well then, Oscar I see we’re being told to wrap,” he smiles, glancing over in the direction of the crew. Both men begin to go to stand up, extending their arms for a friendly handshake.

“Thank you so much for joining us once again. As always, it was a pleasure, and I know I speak for everyone here at Down Under Daily when I say that we can’t wait to see what the future has in store for you.”

Oscar nods, smiling, giving the man a firm handshake. “Thank you.”

Once the segment wraps up and the overhead lights come back on, the studio buzzes with the hum of activity. Uniformed crew members unpack and disassemble various machines and setups, beginning to clear out the studio. Oscar glances around, but his gaze keeps drifting back to Y/N, who stands a few feet away, chatting with one of the technicians. Her laughter cuts through the noise, bright and genuine, making something warm unfurl in his chest.

“Hey,” he calls out, a casual attempt to draw her attention. When she turns, their eyes lock, and for a moment, the world around them blurs. There’s something in her expression that sends a jolt through him, a flicker of recognition and a hint of something deeper.

“Hey,” she replies, her smile easy but layered, like they’re sharing some inside joke that only they understand. He shifts slightly, suddenly a bit squirmish under her undivided attention.

Not that he gets squirmish, of course. Oscar is the picture of cool and collected.

As her eyes scan him, she notes the slight flush of his skin, the way the muscles of his face are tense ever so slightly. It’s honestly a bit refreshing to see someone who isn’t always unfazed by it all, she thinks. She does her best to offer him a reassuring smile.

“That went well,” she comments, her voice carrying a lightness that contrasts with the tension simmering beneath the surface. It’s the kind of praise that makes him feel seen, but also a bit exposed.

“Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without you,” he responds, his tone sincere. Oscar isn’t one of those fools who thinks the whole orchestra runs around him. Even if it did, his mother didn’t raise him to be any bit unappreciative to everyone who works behind the scenes for his successes. He knows she’s more than just an assistant; she’s the one who keeps everything in motion, the anchor in the chaos.

Her gaze lingers on him, and for a moment, the air between them thickens. He’s acutely aware of the distance that’s very much there, yet it feels charged, like static before a storm. “I just do what I can,” she says softly, brushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear—an action so simple, yet watching it feels intimate.

Oscar looks away.

The moment stretches, and he senses a shift, a palpable tension that neither of them is ready to address. Memories of their almost-kiss hang between them, unacknowledged yet ever-present. He wonders if she feels it too, this strange blend of familiarity and hesitation.

The silence is uncomfortable in a familiar way, like the awkward pause that occurs when you can’t decide who should speak first. Oscar even opens his mouth to try to say something - though he’s not sure what - Y/N beats him to it.

“How’re you feeling?” she asks, her tone casual, but he detects a deeper curiosity behind her question.

“I guess just… figuring things out,” he replies, glancing down for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. There’s moments in the midst of the whirlwind of fame and fortune where it all truly feels surreal. Young Oscar always aspired to go fast, to push himself to the limit, to win, but this?

The spotlight, the admiration , the respect, the expectations? It was almost overwhelming, a heavy medal hanging around his neck that he’s still not used to wearing. Especially with the number of people that work day and night to give him a fighting chance at making his childhood dreams into reality, there’s no greater expectation than the one Oscar places on himself.

“Trying to get it right still, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, nodding, her eyes searching his. There’s an intensity in her gaze that makes his heart race, as if she’s peering into the part of him he keeps to himself. Briefly, he wonders if she can read his thoughts sometimes.

Like on one of those teleprompters they use for broadcasts and award shows.

He wants to say more, to delve into this strange thing swirling between them, but the words feel stuck, caught in a web. The awkwardness between them might as well be a loose screw in his car - keeping him at the edge of his seat as he navigates the clunkiness that replaces the flow he’s used to. “I keep waiting to get used to it, but it never seems to happen,” he says finally, hoping to keep the conversation light.

“True,” she agrees, her smile faint but genuine. “But you manage.”

“Most of the time,” he admits, letting out a soft laugh that feels half-hearted, both playful and tinged with something meaningful. Oscar may have grown into this suave, clever, mature personality that he’s recognized for, but there are times when he still feels like the lanky teen with the acne and the too-short hair that climbed into a Formula car that very first time.

As the crew clears the set, Y/N steps back, her focus shifting to the flurry of activity around them. Oscar feels the space between them widen, the moment suddenly dissipating like a whisk of smoke. He wants to reach out, to anchor her back to him, but the tide of reality keeps them away.

“Ready to head out?” she asks, her voice interrupting the stream 0f his personal thoughts.

“Yeah,” he replies, an uncharacteristic hesitation slipping into his tone. He can feel the warmth radiating off her, and the longing rises within him, a familiar ache that refuses to fade. He elects to ignore it, in favor of using long strides to catch up with her quick ones to follow her out into the hall.

Oscar steals a glance at Y/N, her profile illuminated by the fluorescent lights, and he wonders what it would be like to bridge that gap. He recalls what it had been like the last time he'd been in such proximity to her - felt the warmth of body, the coolness of her breath, the ghost of her lips. For now, though, he settles into the silence, allowing the moment to hang between them.

Y/N leans against the small counter in her hotel room, the yellow light from the lamp seeming to warm the place. She stares at her phone, buzzing with a handful of messages, but her mind is tangled in thoughts of today’s interview. Hearing him casually mention her, smiling as he spoke, had left her feeling a mix of pride and confusion.

As she pours herself a cup of hot tea, she replays the almost-kiss in her mind - the way his breath had caught for just a moment. It felt like a line had been crossed, but they hadn’t addressed it. It hung in the air between them like an uninvited guest, and the last thing she wanted was to ruin the good thing they had.

Her phone buzzes again, the sixth time in the last half hour. This time, however, the contact name reads: Oscar. “How’s your evening?”

“Trying to figure out the chaos that is my notes,” she replies, glancing down at loose pages, and spiral books that are splattered across the coffee table.

“You always have chaos in your notes. It’s part of your charm.” His teases, knowing full well that no matter how chaotic her notes were, they were somehow still always loads better than his hurried scrawl.

The tone of the conversation feels light, teasing, friendly - but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t feel like something more—an unspoken understanding that neither of them wants to acknowledge.

“Charm, huh? I prefer to think of it as organized chaos.” She takes a sip of the warm herbal tea, now having cooled down to the temperature of her liking. It’s grounding these little rituals - which reminds her that she still needs to change out of her work clothes, maybe shower and do some skincare…

“Sure, if that makes you feel better,” he replies easily. Even just reading the words, she can practically hear the laughter in his voice.

A moment later, he decides to add, “I was just about to put something on the TV. You in?”

In a hotel room just a ways down the hall, Oscar’s heart rate increases. What the hell are you doing? He chides himself. He feels stupid - things were already weird, and now he probably just made them even weirder.

Relax, he has to tell himself. This isn’t new - in fact, this is normal. Like before - friends, just relaxing together after a long day of work. Airplane games of monopoly, friday happy hours, movie nights - all of this was perfectly normal. Right?

Thumbs still hovering over her keyboard, she hesitates. The idea of sitting together, sharing popcorn and laughter, sounded nice, but there was the lingering possibility that things would be strange instead.

Instead she types out, “Maybe. What are you watching?”

She could use a night off, after all.

“Something mindless, one of those cable shows they have on this thing. You know, to balance all the brainpower we exert during the week.”

She had to admit, he did make it sound inviting.

“Mindless does sound good. I’ll join you.”Oscar props himself up a bit better, leaning back on his elbow. The smile on his face is lit up by the blue light of his phone screen as he reads her reply. Forcing himself out of the unexpectedly comfortable position he’d evolved into, he gets up, phone in hand, before starting to work to make his hotel room look a tad more presentable.

He was not having a repeat of this morning.

He types out a reply. “Great. I’ll set it up.”

There is a brief pause, and he wonders if he should clear the air, just in case. He really does just want to have a relaxing evening with her - it had been a long time since they last had the chance. Conjuring up some courage, he types out another message to her. “So, about the interview…”

Reading that, Y/N’s heart races. She didn’t want to overanalyze his words, but it was impossible not to. She decides to go for the safe answer. “You did well. Really.” So maybe he was just overthinking it. The praise lifts some of the weight off his chest.

“Thanks. Felt good to share some insights. And the part about you… well, it was true.”

Had he really meant all of it?

There’s a fluttering sensation in her stomach. “Just doing my job.”

“No, really. It means a lot to me. You’ve been here through so much of it.”

The sincerity of his words has her forgetting this tension for a moment, allowing it to slip into the back of her mind. They had a rhythm, a friendship built on shared experiences, but now it felt precarious.

“I just want you to succeed, Oscar,” she tells him, words honest. “That’s all.”

“And you’re doing your part brilliantly. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His words hang in the air, thick with unspoken feelings. He’s said those same words a thousand times before, but for some reason, this one makes her heart skip. She shifts her weight, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks.

“So, movie?” she suggested, wanting to steer the conversation away before she can get too caught up in her own messy thoughts..

“Right. I’ll get it ready.”

Rustling the duvet to make it appear slightly less misshapen. One of his hands seeks the remote to see what’s on at this time, and tries to pick the most tolerable option. Happy with his choice, he stalk over to the other side of his room, the show in the background acting as welcome background noise.

He then pulls out two packets of microwaveable popcorn from the welcome basket that had greeted him when he checked into the room, popping each of them into the microwave so the snack would be warm by the time she arrived.

Y/N stands outside the door to Oscar’s hotel room, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. Sure, she could use her emergency key card, but she decides that knocking feels less criminal. She knocks, and immediately the door creaks back to reveal his familiar face. His hair is mussed up, loose locks flopping to one side or the other. Her eyes are fogging with sleep, but the smile he wears is warm and sweet.

“Hey! Look who made it,” Oscar teases, stepping aside to let her in.

“Thought I’d save you from another night of mediocre cable,” she replied, a playful smile on her lips.

She hopes it comes less nervous than she feels.

“Trust me, you’re in for a treat. It’s ‘Chef’s Disaster’ tonight. Guaranteed chaos,” he says, leading her to the couch.

When she glances at the television that’s playing, she finds scenes of various chefs - forgetting ingredients, leaving the stove on too high, accidentally dropping their dishes.

“Ah, the best kind of TV,” she laughs, settling in beside him. The pair of them end up on opposite sides of a generously-sized, two-seater couch. Her mind begins to whir, trying to figure out if she’s sitting too far, if it’s too late to scoot a bit closer, would that make things weirder? But when she looks over to Oscar, his relaxed figure sprawled across his side of the couch, the knot in her chest loosens a little. She allows herself to get more comfortable, curling up on her seat. Finally breathing a little bit easier, she allows herself to lean back against the cushioning.

The show flickers on, and they immediately fall into a comfortable rhythm. Y/N reaches for the bowl of popcorn he’d prepared, gathering a handful of pieces to then to slip into her mouth.

They watch as the chefs try to organize their chaos into something presentable, laughing as they watch one of the younger contestants put an unseasoned chicken into the oven.

What happened to salt? Pepper? Common sense?

In the darkness of the room, their faces are lit up only by the glow of the changing scenes flickering across the TV screen. With a subtly yawn, Oscar stretches his arms, before one coincidently drapes itself across the back of the couch, right behind Y/N’s shoulders. He can feel how her hair tickles the skin of his forearm, but it only makes him smile. He’d missed this - time together, the two of them. Life had a funny way of making people feel so close and so far all at once.

When she can’t help but giggle at someone who’d forgotten to put the lid on their blending before powering it on, Oscar can’t help but look at her.

Even at this awkward distance, even with her too far to touch - he feels lucky. He’d be happy to stay like this - to only hear her laugh instead of causing it, to watch her smile from the sidelines - just to get to be in her orbit at all.

He wonders if the world might stop spinning on its axis if that wasn’t the case.

His certainly would.

“Okay, chef,” Oscar said, nudging her. “What’s your go-to dish?”

Turning to glance at him, she can’t help but smile. Oscar’s smile is contagious like that, she supposes.

She hums, thinking over his question for a moment.

“Honestly? I make a pretty decent chicken alfredo. You’d be impressed,” she replied, a hint of pride in her voice.

“Pasta, huh? Fancy,” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows at her. His heart does a strange fluttery thing when she laughs. “The only thing I can make reliably is scrambled eggs,” he admits, chuckling.

“Hey, scrambled eggs are a classic! Hell, all the eggs I make end up scrambled. But you should branch out,” Y/N says with mock seriousness, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I should give you cooking lessons sometime.”

“Deal,” he says, his tone shifting slightly. Raising his hands defensively, he adds, “But no promises on the outcome.”

As they watch the chefs struggle with absurd challenges, the initial awkwardness begins to fade. They exchange jokes about the contestants, their laughter echoing off the walls. They laugh until their stomachs hurt, adding in their own commentary until there are tears in their eyes and their cheeks hurt from laughing. “I actually hate you,” she wheezes, throwing her couch cushion at him. “My nonexistent abs hurt, you asshole. Can’t you be a little more considerate?”

He catches her projectile weapon with an exaggerated ‘oof’, defending himself. “I was just providing valuable insights, really.”

The silence that settles thereafter as they try to catch their breaths is comfortable in the way that graceful snowfall is - familiar and calming, peaceful.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever cooked?” he asks, turning to her.

Y/N has to hold back a giggle, recalling a memory. She can’t remember how long its been since she was able to let loose like this. “I once tried to make soufflé. I think by the time I was done with it, it fell under the legal definition of what the pros call, ‘hazardous materials.’”

Oscar bursts out laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s a tragedy! You should’ve brought it here as a surprise.”

“I’m sure. Next time, I’ll bring my ‘signature’ dish,” she replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

Tilting her head back, she lets her eyes slip closed for a second just basking in whatever this is. It’s difficult to think of the right word for it, but quite frankly, she doesn’t care. She just wants to bottle it up and keep it with her forever. Just as they start to find that comfortable groove, a sharp knock interrupts them. Immediately, they both lift their head to turn to look in the direction of the offending sound.

“You expecting someone?” Y/N asks, her heart sinking slightly. She tries to push the feeling away. “Who is it?”

“Probably someone who doesn’t know the meaning of ‘do not disturb,’” Oscar grumbles, shaking his head as he gets up to walk over to the door.

He stands up and walks toward the door, leaving Y/N to focus on the flickering screen. But her mind drifted back to the lingering tension between them, their easy banter feeling suddenly fragile.

She nervously fixes her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ears. Making sure she looks professional enough - and not like they were sitting a mere centimeter apart - she turns toward the door. Finally, he slides the pin aside, unlocking the door as he pulls it back.

“Who is it?” she asks him quietly.

There’s a pause for a moment, before Lando’s familiar voice calls through. “It’s me,” he replies, and Oscar seems visibly annoyed. Lando peers over Oscar’s shoulder, noting Y/N perched on one of the couches in the room.

Good, both of them were here. That’d make this a bit easier.

“You need to see this,” Lando tells them, careful to keep his tone even. Oscar nods, stepping aside and opening the door wider to allow Lando in.

“Yeah, of course. Come on in,” she replies at the same time, making sure she looks presentable. Hopefully whatever Lando has to say will save her from whatever awkwardness was probably about to ensue.

Lando pushes into the room and instantly notices that the vibe is… something. It’s *very* obvious that he’s interrupted something, but he doesn’t comment on it.

Interesting. He files the information away for later.

Instead, he holds his phone out in front of him, a news article pulled up on the screen.

“What is it?” Oscar asks, his gaze flickering between Lando and the screen.

Lando points to the small picture in the article, and Oscar’s jaw clenches, the muscle on the side of his face visibly pulled tight. Lando observes his teammate’s reaction, before he looks over to meet Y/N’s eyes.

“You might want to read this,” he says gently, his voice low. “You’re mentioned in it.”

That doesn’t sound right.

“I- What?”

Lando briefly wonders what the likelihood is that the ground will physically swallow him whole. Or that he might turn invisible. Or anything that means he doesn’t have to explain this.

“I don’t-“ He cuts off, struggling to put his words together, sighing. “I don’t know how they got their information, but some of these details…”

Seeing Lando - normally smiley Lando - looking so painfully neutral despite the anxiety that flashes in his eyes, feels deeply unsettling. Like dark clouds at a wedding or an empty chair at a birthday party, seeing Lando like this feels ominous, wrong.

He hands her the phone, watching her as she takes it and begins to scan the text. Words and letters blend into a blur, her eyes reading through the article - speculation after speculation on her current health status and how she got hurt. It reads less like news and more like pure gossip tabloid rumors.

There’s an odd sinking in her chest, some muscle winding itself tighter and tighter.

She can’t stop reading it, standing eerily still. Hidden amongst this clear violation of the privacy she’s held sacred for so long are some very specific facts that only Oscar and a select few other people should be able to know and recognize.

“This is-“ she starts quietly, her breath hitching in her chest.

It’s quiet. “This is bad.”

Her eyes continue to scan the article, and her mouth goes dry. Even when she knows it’s all mostly bullshit, there’s still a part of her that feels a little violated, like there’s suddenly not enough oxygen in the room. This is her life - her past and her trauma put on display. The most traumatic years of her life suddenly available for the whole world to read about.

She reads it yet another time, uselessly hoping for something to change, for the words to transform or dissipate like the final wisps of a nightmare.

“One has to ask—can you really call it a "dream job" when it lands you in the ER? Y/N L/N is clearly in need of a reality check. Whispers from insiders paint the picture of a young woman entangled in a life of chaos, fueled by impulsive decisions and reckless relationships. Is she simply a victim of her surroundings, or is there a more troubling narrative at play? Recently, Y/N was hospitalized with troubling injuries: extensive bruising and a suspected concussion, allegedly the result of a wild night that spiraled out of control. Sources suggest her aggressive tendencies may have exacerbated the situation, raising alarms about her behavior and its implications for McLaren. As Y/N navigates her tumultuous life, her influence over rising star Oscar Piastri comes into question. McLaren must now confront the uncomfortable truth: her erratic behavior could endanger Piastri’s career and the team’s reputation. The last thing they need is a scandal, especially when they’re striving for excellence on and off the track. The team's efforts to sweep this under the rug hint at deeper issues within their camp. Insiders are growing increasingly concerned that Y/N’s instability could tarnish McLaren’s hard-earned image, especially as rumors circulate. As Y/N begins her recovery, the pressure mounts on McLaren to manage the fallout. Fans and sponsors alike are watching closely, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. Ultimately, the future for Y/N is uncertain. Will she take this opportunity to change her trajectory, or will she continue to spiral, jeopardizing not only her own future but also the stability of McLaren? The racing world waits with bated breath, knowing that every decision could have lasting consequences.”

Lando’s expression is sympathetic as he watches her pale. Something guilty settles in his gut - he knows he didn’t cause this, but he doesn’t know how to protect her from it either. Lando has always held loyalty so close to his chest - growing up famous at such a young age forces you to learn that lesson quickly.

It's easy, then, to understand why Lando is the way he is. He's known for his friendly personality - his charismatic charm and his easy laugh - but there are a select few which Lando considers his closest friends. Those are people he answers even in the middle of the night, the ones he’d fly across the world to be there for.

But Y/N is standing in front of him like the very ground has been pulled from beneath her feet and he can’t do a fucking thing.

“Um, it’s- it’s okay,” she stammers, voice shaky. She tucks her hair behind her ears again, but they were never loose in the first place. A fragile mask of calm slips over her face, a familiar trick she’s performed thousands of times before

“I can take care of this. I- I’ll take care of this.”

Her heart feels like it’s stuttering in her chest but she knows better than to show it. Taking a short breath, she whirls around to make a beeline for her office. She’ll need to make a few calls, send emails to various liaisons and communication personnel, maybe reach out to HR and PR too-

“Hey, hey, stop.” Oscar reaches out and gently wraps his fingers around his bicep, spinning her around gently to face him. His eyes are worried as he searches hers for something true. He’s seen her upset before, but now her face is pale in a way he’s never seen before.

“Oh, right,” she chuckles awkwardly, suddenly remembering. “Lando, your phone.”

She holds the phone with the article displayed on it for Lando to grab, but she eyes the device like it’s very presence is toxic. She chuckles, but the sound is high pitched and forced. “Sorry, almost forgot!”

Lando slowly takes his phone from her, his eyes flickering between his friends for a moment.

“No worries, s’fine,” he says carefully, his eyes not leaving her face. “Are you actually okay?” That’s a stupid question, you idiot.

“Me?” she asks, as if caught off guard. “Yeah, yeah! I’m fine,” she answers, waving him off.

Oscars expression is stern, unconvinced - and he doesn’t bother to hide it.

“You seem a little, uh, upset,” he says delicately, his gaze flitting to her shaking hands. He immediately looks away, not wanting to draw any attention to it. He doesn’t want her to feel exposed.

“No it’s-” horrible, she wants to say. Instead, what comes out is, “It’s okay. I’m just trying to figure out what I need to do, that’s all.”

He hesitates, his brows furrowing at her attempts to downplay what’s happening.

“And your first thought is to go work?” he points out, a small hint of accusation in his tone.

It’s like she doesn’t even hear him.

“I’m going to fix this,” she tells him, giving both of them her most convincing smile, even as the corners of her mouth threaten to twitch downward.

Breathe.

And with that, she sees herself out of the room, already planning each action she needs to set into motion. She’s going to fix this.

a/n: thank you for reading this far! feedback means a lot to me. your likes, comments, reblogs, asks - that's the only way i can tell if you like the story so pls pls pls! all the feedback!!!

#formula 1 fic #saffu's works #formula 1 #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x assistant!reader #tw: abuse #tw: injuries

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weebsinstash · 1 year ago

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As much as I strongly dislike when a series kind of "cages" the self insert/OC potential of its audience, it's becoming pretty clear that there's a certain level of pre-determined-ness to Sinners and their appearances, almost to the point it's vaguely implied entire sections of Pentagram City are like, ethnically/visually distinct and that every character we see fits into some sort of category and resembles other people. There's an Overlord who's a giant raptor dinosaur and there are other dinosaur Sinners (and also she's like the club/rave based overlord and even has a business, Klub Kaiju, interesting). Valentino is a moth and there are other moths and different bugs like spiders. In the most recent episode showing flashbacks of Hell in Alastor's past, there was a past female Overlord who had the same multi-toned angular swirling hair as Velvette does. In Vox's studio in episode two, he has members of staff that are visually similar to his own aesthetic. Even up in Heaven, Angel's sister Molly still has her spider aesthetic with a halo and cherub wings

so, i guess, to go where I'm ACTUALLY going with this post.... Moth Reader who winds up catching Valentino's eyes because "oh wow we're both moths, isn't that cute" and it escalates into him seeing you as his property, ESPECIALLY if you also have weird drugging/pheromone powers like him

Like can you imagine it? You smack down into the city while he's like having lunch at a cafe or his limo is parked at a light and you're standing up all confused and helpless and cute, hugging yourself as you look around this loud violent scary new place, and you two wind up making exact eye contact and he can tell you're crying and scared, easy prey. Could you picture Reader's equivalent of his coat being that you're in a little hoodie or jacket or shawl and it just unwraps while you're sitting with him. Idk. You accidentally inhale some of his smoke and just give a cute little sneeze and your antenna and your wings are all just poofing out, you basically just equipped that shit from your inventory. On the fence if Reader would have chest fur but maybe your hair hair is really big and long and silky

Moth Reader having eye spots on their wings that can lull someone into hypnosis, or you have some sort of pheromone that makes people weak to your demands, maybe even horny for you, like some mind controlling queen bee ordering her drones. Val's in the bathroom and some creep grabs you and all of a sudden your antenna twitch and his face gets hit with a little puff of 'dust' and suddenly he's letting go of you, "oh my gosh sweetie I am so sorry, here, take all the money in my wallet, you deserve it, I'm so sorry queen, I'm gonna go jump into traffic, sorry queen, sorry, sorry, im a worm, sorry, sorry"

Valentino having unique reactions to your "pollen" as another moth or at least an addict with a tolerance. He buries his face in your neck so you "poof" him on purpose and he's just hotboxing your scent and getting high and horny while you're struggling and squealing. He forces you to use your powers on him and others so they can feel happy and high. At some point he may even force you to keep producing the powder so he can sell it as a drug or a product and at that point you're BIG INCOME for him, he might as well carry you around like his personal vape pen

Like. Can you even imagine "oh yeah Im super lucky enough that i have these powers to protect myself and potentially manipulate others" and you think you're safe and untouchable and this man is like using his fucking credit card to shift your powder into lines to snort it like a rail of cocaine. You can turn "normal" Sinners into your helpless pawns but it loses effectiveness the stronger the person is and this man is like HOTBOXING your shit, all but passing out on the couch with you in his arms in pure drug seeking unrestrained bliss. And then he fucks ya cause I mean, it's YOUR fault he's all hot and bothered now isn't it?

Just Reader not even knowing how much danger they're in because you just got here and have no idea who this guy is and you're just spinning around looking at your new appearance and flapping your little wings and maybe you can even float or fly a little bit, all happy, big big smiles, being all "oh my gosh this is so cool, I feel so cute ^^" and you don't even realize you're practically modeling yourself on a runway to one very, VERY interested customer...

#yandere hellaverse #yandere hazbin hotel #valentino x reader #yandere stuff #sinprompts

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local-lamppost · 3 months ago

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Maddie and Caitlyn and Piltover

Probably the most jarring twist of the Act was Maddie and Caitlyn's relationship. It seemed very sudden, until you take a look into the few lines from her in Act 1 and realize they all centered around Caitlyn. That Maddie was the first Piltie to 'dedicate her heart' to Caitlyn with Noxus. Maddie likes Vi because Caitlyn vouched for her and deems her 'one of the good ones' because of Caitlyn.

Let's talk about Maddie: she's an average young Piltie. She's Cait's age, give or take, and feels hurt both by the recent Zaun attacks and Marcus' betrayl. Caitlyn is the first person after all this that is trying to do something to fix the mess. Cait's a Kiramman, an inspiration, a fighter, and kinda sorta pretty. Maddie was starry eyed by Cait and couldn't see any problems with her actions or flaws because of this. When given the option to have Cait lead, she jumps at the chance.

Maddie is something of a trick with her introduction. She doesn't have a personal stake like Vi or Cait, isn't there to look after her new buddy like Loris (until told otherwise he is there just cause he is Vi's old man friend); she believes in combating Jinx. Peacekeeping in Zaun with gas and hextech weapons to go after one person, but oh isn't she so cute? Introduced in a halo of sunlight and being so sweet to Vi?

Maddie is a proud Piltie, who feels betrayed by Marcus and the Undercity, who wants to punish them and rebuild her home in topside. And yes, she feels betrayed by the Undercity, she consider's it a part of Piltover one way or another, and most topsider's are ignorant of why Zaunites are so upset with them. To Maddie, these attacks came out of left field.

What's interesting is that Maddie is anti-Ambessa, or at least pro-Caitlyn. You could see this as her being a moderate. She tells Cait that she can withdraw from Zaun and reestablish the council, but ends that statement by reaffirming Caitlyn as their leader, "The Enforcers, Piltover... I follow you". Cait and her military rule makes Maddie feel safe and proud in her city.

Onto Cait. Yeah, Cait's not necessarily using Maddie, but she is utilizing her. She's learned from her percieved mistakes/weaknesses and is keeping her work and personal life seperate. They have sex and talk about the state of the city, but Cait never talks about her feelings with Maddie as she did with Vi. Cait's an emotional person too. She was always quick to express herself to Vi, to Ekko, to her mother and father, to Jayce; but she is hurt and alone and can contribute both of those facts to her emotions (sans Jayce).

Begs the question of why Cait is sleeping with Maddie? But even that is simply her coping. It's her version of Vi drinking and fighting. It's stress relief and a quick way to at least make someone else happy. Cait also likes touch, so it stands to reason she'd find someone in her isolated state (Vi pushed away, father a living ghost, Jayce and Mel magiced away). Also, if Word of God is anything to go by, it's not out of character for Cait to find a pretty girl to fool around with.

Cait's main focus is still Jinx. Her mind is literally shown overlapping with her's. Maddie a tryst for the off hours, and even that's kept to the minimum as Cait would rather work than get any rest.

I do wish we could've gotten a scene of Cait replaying her interactions with Vi (think season 1 shower scene), but instead we have Maddie to contrast their relationship. Maddie is kind of the 'Piltover Approved' Vi; she's a red headed enforcer who loves her city, her council, the noble houses, and Caitlyn. She's safe and she's someone that Caitlyn doesn't have to put any excess energy into. Which must be gratifying for the surface levels of Cait's issues. Vi forces Cait to act better, to look inward and reflect, to consider other people and not just her own hurt (something season one Cait wouldn't have even needed another's help with).

The little detail of Vi not calling Cait a cupcake until episode 6 is also telling. At first it's likely Vi realizing the seriousness of everything, but it could also be that she disapproves of Cait's actions. Cait doesn't have that sweetness in her, or at least isn't allowing herself to act on it. When Vi does call her cupcake again it's not an endearment as it was by the end of season one, but a call out to what Cait has become.

Going forward, what's next? Vi and Cait aren't back together, but are together. They have to fight the Noxians (which was hinted at by Maddie herself) and help with the Arcane.

I kinda want Jinx to be the one to spell everything out to Cait; to tear her a new one. Jinx kept an eye on Vi during her pit fighter era, saw the drunk, broken mess that her sister became; a sister she is now on tentatively good terms with and will likely be a bit protective of after Isha. Something like, "I saw what happened to Vi after you guys split, she destroyed herself like you destroyed the city. I always thought I would be the one to break her, but you did a bang up job! Two of us have that in common, hurting Vi, but I'm trying now. So what does that say about you? None of this was Vi's fault, all she was trying to do was keep you from acting like me, ya know, deranged and violent? Huh, Vi-olent."

So in Act 3, Cait needs to be the one to get a kick in the ass and have that conversation with Vi. She needs to own up to her mistakes. How she was guilting Vi into the enforcers, how Vi was right about her loosing control and almost shooting a kid, maybe even for using Vi's affection for her against her. Vi will forgive her, she's Vi and has the self worth of a pebble, so long as Cait takes accountability and starts acting on any promises to change-again, why a shovel talk from Jinx could help set their relationship in the right direction.

#arcane league of legends #arcane #arcane s2 #arcane spoilers #arcane thoughts #arcane theory #caitlyn kiramman #vi #vi arcane #jinx #jinx arcane #maddie nolan #caitvi #resisting the urge to write a thesis on vi #at least until act 3 is over #kinda want maddie to say something in cait's defense only for jinx to laugh at her #maddie: 'she was bringing peace freedom justice and security'#jinx: 'she brought my sister alcoholism and a bad dye job is what she did'#and cait has to get over herself and side with jinx even though she does not forgive her

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blurredfloweryblood · 2 months ago

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I'm gettig tired of the: "Curly wasn't that bad!!! Swansea was father figure!!! Daisuke is a baby! Anya is the helpless lamb!!! Jimmy is a monster, evil mwahahaha!!

You. Are. Not. Getting. The. Motherfucking. Point.

There is no perfect victim. Yes, some people are more guilty than others, but naming someone "a monster" separates them from humanity, as something else. With the perception that they are not human, we create this catholic image of what victimhood looks like. There is no fucking stained glass with a Holy Mary cradling their hands with tears falling like a waterfall of sorrows. There is no fucking halo upon somebody's head. The point. Is that people hurt other people. Victims are not these saints you admire and pray for. Perfect victimhood dehumanizes people, putting them far away as what a human is, setting up high standards from what a "monster" is and what a "victim" looks like. That is the fucking point.

We have put these titles so far away from us that we don't recognize actual violence until it's too late, or, nobody gives a shit.

There is no evil, ugly deformed monster rubbing the palm of his hands together, there is no damsel fainting with a hand on her forehead. There is no hero with a sword. No dragon, no child with a sad downturned frown.

THERE IS JUST PEOPLE IN THE SHIP. JUST. FUCKING. PEOPLE. THAT'S THE FUCKING POINT. YOU FELL FOR THE UNRELIABLE CAPITALISTIC UNREAL ONE DIMENSIONAL NARRATIVE! You have stripped theur humanity cradling them like dying babies, with your incapacity of understand morals.

You can admit that the characters were shitty and imperfect. I swear to fucking god, you don't have to adjust Daisuke, Swansea, Curly and Anya to your moral stupid, unrealistic high ground. OHHH, this character that I like didn't do everything right and made mistakes, that's not true, they're all such perfect babies!! You don't get them like I do :(

I hate this. You fell for it. Congratulations, you failed the assignment so bad it's almost impressive. Tell me, did you win a gold medal for how much those mental gymnastics you just did to adjust characters to a one dimensional cartoon because you can't actually withstand the fact that your characters are not perfect, so you blind yourself and dehumanize them so you can like them because of your weird moral standards?

Fuck you. Literally. Fuck you.

#mouthwashing game #mouthwasing #anya mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #character analysis #character study

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theother-victoria · 2 months ago

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LOVE IS CONCOCTED FROM ESTERS AND KETONES- CH.02: ROBIN

SYNOPSIS: you’ve been commissioned to make a perfume that tells the life story of the universe’s most beloved idol. don’t let her down now.

CHARACTERS: robin, mentions of sunday, gopher wood, jade, and welt

TAGS: robin character story spoilers, mild gore (descriptions of a gunshot wound), mild angst, CRASHOUT ROBIN REAL WE ALL CHEERED (potentially ooc), 5.7k+ wc (I got carried away... sorry not sorry :3)

TAGLIST: @mitsvriii, @harque, @akutasoda, @flowery-jazz, @hazyue, @gabile18, @khoncore, @lxkeeeee, @mewnekoice-mecha, @nariism

NOTES: i love women give me a "hell yeah" in the comments if u agree

special thanks to pookies @wystiix, @tragedy-of-commons, and @papiliotao for proofreading!

M.LIST | FIRST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

Paparazzi in front of your store isn’t uncommon, but for a crowd like this so early in the morning- it’s already giving you a headache.

It hasn’t even been a half hour since you flipped the sign on the front door to “open” when you hear the squeal of tires pulling up to the curb. Several of them, in fact. The voices of reporters and paparazzi meld into one jumbled mess that grates on your ears, growing even louder when a car door opens and shuts.

Yeri and Aika glance over from where they are.

“We haven’t had a crowd like that in ages. Wonder who it could be.”

The flutter of camera shutters going off one after another is so loud they’re heard even inside the store. Camera flashes practically blind your poor shop assistants as they shield their eyes and draw the blinds shut. The cameras go off even more frantically now, desperate to get a few last shots in before the blinds shut entirely.

You hear the front door slam shut and a loud sigh of relief. Yeri and Aika both gasp in shock, and that catches your attention. It must be someone really famous then, or someone they idolize to elicit that kind of reaction.

You peek up from the counter and instantly realize why the paparazzi went insane. Lilac-silver hair, fluttery wings behind her ears, a halo with flowers at the ends that resemble angel’s trumpets…

It’s Robin. The Robin, in the flesh. In your store.

You’re no stranger to having famous people in your store, but you’ve never had a singer on her level of renown and you find yourself becoming strangely nervous. Two burly security guards flank her sides. She meets your gaze and bashfully smiles and waves.

“You must be (Name). I’ve heard many good things about you and your store.”

Her voice is even more angelic in person…

She extends her hand out for a handshake and you accept. The smooth silk of her glove brushes against your hand and you can hardly believe your luck right now. You’ve had your fair share of famous people in your store. Movie stars, politicians, celebrities, and the like tend to be a common sight in your store. Greetings range from a handshake to a hug to even a kiss on the cheek. But the thing is that they tend to be lax on a no-touching rule or don’t have one outright, often being photographed hugging their ardent fans. However, Robin has a strict no touching rule at her concerts and fan meet and greets. She will never touch someone of her own accord unless it’s a close friend or family and if a fan gets too bold… Well, her security is there for a reason.

“Do you mind if I just walk around? I don’t really have a scent in mind- or rather, a story that I want to tell. I’d like to see what you have to offer.”

“Not at all. Just call me over if you have questions or need any help.”

She walks around the store, occasionally stopping to sample some perfumes. She likes many of your perfumes, as evidenced by how her eyebrows raise in pleasant agreement almost every other bottle. But she looks rather… disinterested. No, disinterested isn’t the right word. More like… unsatisfied. Like she hasn’t found what she’s looking for just yet.

She checks her phone and her eyes flash in panic as she sees the time.

“Oh, it’ll be unbecoming of me and your shop’s reputation if I leave here without something. Quick, pass me a perfume you think I’ll enjoy! Money doesn’t matter. I have more credits than I know what to do with.”

You scan your store and hand her the first feminine perfume that catches your eye. It’s in a pretty pink bottle with a vintage atomizer. It’s sweet, sugary, and fruity. No surprise that it’s one of your best-sellers among young women, with top notes of juicy fruits and sparkling alcohol before drying down to a sweet vanilla with powdery aspects. You don’t doubt that she has a million other perfumes that smell similar and it’ll probably be quickly forgotten about in her undoubtedly already-extensive perfume collection, but it’s a crowd-pleaser and it wouldn’t hurt to add another bottle.

She swipes her card quickly and leaves, but not before looking back at you with a promising glint in her eyes.

“I’ll be back soon. And without the paparazzi.”

In your experience, that usually means a client wants a personalized perfume. Meaning they’re going to be divulging aspects of their past they don’t want anyone else around for.

Aika wanders over to your side when she’s out the door and the paparazzi have left. Yeri is in the back on the verge of fainting, mumbling something about her lucky stars having blessed her for a lifetime.

“What was that about? Seems like a wasted trip to me.”

You shrug and make your way back to the lab.

“Beats me.”

Weeks come and go. You handle clients as per usual, but you can’t get her out of your mind. And as you’re thinking about her while opening for the day, she shows up- albeit you don't recognize her at first. There are no outrageous paparazzi and she doesn’t even have her security with. She’s wearing a big tan trench coat that hides her svelte figure and instead makes her look like a shapeless mess. Her silver hair is hastily shoved into the hat atop her head and when she removes it, her halo also springs up, bobbing up and down a bit before stilling. The wings by her ears flutter and twitch as she stretches them out after hiding them in what was surely an uncomfortable position for so long.

“Good morning,” she greets with a gentle smile.

“Good morning,” you greet in return. “It’s nice to see you here again. Anything I can help you with today?”

“Yes, actually. I’d like to get a perfume custom-made.”

You tell Yeri and Aika to handle any customers that come in through the door before leading Robin to the back. Next to your lab is a small office where the business side of things are handled, and it’s where you negotiate commissions from clients. You unceremoniously brush aside a stack of credit card receipts and clear the desk space. You ask Robin if she’d like some snacks and tea. She declines the former but accepts the latter, and as the kettle boils atop the mini fridge in the corner, you get down to business.

“I’m happy to custom-make a perfume to your needs. Let’s get the necessary details sorted out first, and then we can move onto the fun stuff.”

You rattle off your rules regarding payment, as well as a rough timeline of production and when she can expect updates from you. She nods when she has to and you can see the same impatience in her eyes for the fun to begin.

After confirming with her and seeing the astronomical down payment go through, you can finally get into the part you enjoy the most.

“So, what would you like your perfume to smell like?”

“I’d like it to reflect my life story.”

Not an uncommon request. Probably one of your most common ones, actually. Consultations for these types of scents tend to be the longest, as clients pour out their life stories to you. They’d often bring a variety of items for you to smell to get a better idea, such as rags that belonged to someone dear a long time ago or locks of hair tied together with a yellowing ribbon. In this case, you wonder what the illustrious Miss Robin would bring.

The kettle goes off and you make some tea for the both of you. As you fill her cup, she looks around nervously.

“Will… anyone overhear this?”

“Don’t worry. The walls are soundproof here and you need the right key to unlock the door. As for my shop assistants, well…”

You mimic zipping your lips shut and throwing the key away.

“Client confidentiality has always been our utmost priority. Alongside a quality product, of course.”

You shoot her a wink and she laughs, her voice sounding like tinkling bells. The tension has visibly dissipated from her shoulders and she eagerly gets started.

“If I were to describe my life as a song, then the beginning of it was dark and solemn. A Stellaron invaded my homeland and took my mother from me. The chords were dissonant and the melody was unpleasant.”

Your phone buzzes and you see she sent over several voice messages.

“Transcripts of an exclusive interview I did a while back,” she explains. “One of the first and only times I opened up about my past. But since these are already out there, I wouldn’t want to waste your time. Instead, I’ll be telling you things that no reporter has heard before.”

She skips to when she first started studying music soon after she arrived on Penacony.

“My fingers still ache every time I think about the countless hours and late nights I spent alone in the practice rooms,” she says, lightly chuckling at the end as she surely recounts many memories. Then, her smile fades a bit.

“At the time, I had the support of my brother and friends, but right outside, there were people already disapproving. We were taken in by Gopher Wood, head of the Oak Family. You see, there’s five lineages that make up The Family, each handling different affairs,” she explains. “The Oak Family is in charge of political organization, whereas the Iris Family oversees the entertainment industry. Thus, many people, especially those of the Iris Family, cast doubts on whether I could make it as a singer when I ideally should’ve been learning how to handle political affairs.”

Robin sighs and looks out the window, fingernails drumming against her still-steaming mug of tea. Your phone continues to record and you hurriedly scribble down notes in your notepad.

“But I made it, despite what they said and their stake in the entertainment industry.”

“If you could thank only one person for their support, who would it be?”

“Why, my brother, of course!”

“Please tell me more about him.”

Her eyes light up and the wings by the side of her head flutter rapidly. It’s clear she loves her brother dearly as she excitedly gushes about him.

“Sunday made many sacrifices to support my dream. From when we were children, he never faltered in his support. In fact, the tipping point was when I put on a concert soon after I had just started taking music lessons. It was in our bedroom with him as the only audience member. There were no fancy acoustics, cheering fans, or even a mic. It was just me, singing my heart out as he clapped along. Thinking back, it was… something for sure! As I had just started taking music seriously, I had yet to grasp the basics. I was off-key, would flub several passages because I forgot the lyrics, and wouldn’t be able to hit all the notes.”

She winces and shakes her head as if to chase the thoughts away. Her wings puff out and droop from embarrassment.

“It must’ve been an awful listening experience for him. But Sunday never showed it. After the concert was over, he stood up and clapped as if demanding an encore and I’ll never forget the look on his adorable face,” giggles Robin. “I’ve rarely seen him look so proud as he did back then.”

You picture a starry-eyed, baby-faced Sunday, a far cry from the dignified and solemn image of the Family head and giggle along. Robin’s eyes glint conspiratorially as she divulges for a moment to show you his baby photos on her phone. Here, you learn that he has a massive sweet tooth and that the dentist was his worst nightmare as a child.

When she sets her phone back down, there’s still that joy in her eyes that only comes from discussing her brother.

“When I went off to university, Sunday continued to show that same level of care, even with his ever-increasing responsibilities. He never missed a concert, never missed a call, and never failed to send me care packages when I needed them the most. However, he faced scorn from other Family members for my career choices when he was still a leader-in-training and lacked the grace to handle such situations.”

The joy falls from her eyes and her smile slips a bit. Her wings droop even lower this time.

“Looking back, it must’ve been unimaginably hard on him. Not only was he worrying about how to lead The Family, but was also worrying nonstop about me. He must’ve been so stressed… But if I try to bring it up to him and apologize, he won’t give me the chance to.”

Robin lets out a forced laugh. You sip your tea and pretend to be very occupied with your notes, giving her a moment to collect herself before she moves on.

“After I graduated, my fame steadily increased until it skyrocketed after I released two singles- ‘If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking’ and ‘On That Most Beautiful Day’. I still remember waking up and seeing they had jumped to the top of the charts across the cosmos almost overnight and stayed there for ages. My manager was overjoyed and I could hardly believe it. It felt as if all my hard work and everyone’s sacrifices had finally paid off. I was no longer Robin the budding singer and little sister, but Robin the cosmic songstress now… it was a bit bittersweet, I’ll admit.”

She fiddles with a strand of hair.

“As you may be aware, around this time I decided to take a break and devote my time to philanthropic work instead, much to the confusion of everyone.”

She shows you the photos she took during that time. Her standing in front of schools she had helped rebuild with, singing to a crowd of shell-shocked soldiers, holding up scores that would’ve been lost to time if not for her efforts, teaching children how to sing, and more.

“I won’t deny that I was purposefully putting myself in dangerous situations. But to me, it was worth the risk. If I could save one child, provide an education for a child the way The Family provided one to me, or inspire someone to pursue their passion regardless of the obstacles standing in the way… then it would’ve all been worth it. Even this.”

She removes the violet collar around her neck and points to a spot on her neck. It’s a patch of skin lighter than the surrounding area and you realize it’s scar tissue.

“I was shot during this time,” she gingerly says as she fastens the collar around her neck again. It’s then you realize that you’ve never seen Robin without something covering her neck. A scarf, furs, necklaces, there’s always something there. “This is something that only my brother and the late head of the Oak Family know about. The bullet had just barely missed my vocal chords. I made a full recovery, but I was terrified for a long time after that. Still, I found the strength to keep going and thanked Xipe every night that I had survived with my voice unscathed.”

You’re writing notes down furiously, and Robin pauses to give you some time. When you’ve jotted down all your ideas, you look down at the page and frown. Your notepad looks like a mess right now. Ruined childhood: strawberry, sugar, praline, bubble gum, cotton candy, violet, datura(????). War: BLOOD, GUNPOWDER, leather, smoke, pomegranate, METALLIC NOTES, animal notes. Stardom: marshmallow, cake, rose, raspberry, vanilla, caramel, amber, almond, SoulGlad (what does it even smell like…? ) MAGNOLIA, jasmine. Brother: sandalwood, lavender(??? Might throw everything off), skin.

“Um… this fragrance won’t exactly be wearable. Would you like for me to-”

“I don’t care about wearability. I have too many pleasant-smelling perfumes. Show me artistry,” she demands.

You feel the familiar thrill of excitement run through you that comes with having free reign to do whatever you want without your client getting pissed.

You can tell you’re nearing the end now when Robin moves onto her brother and his fate after recent events. Now this, you know of, but you were surprised by how big of a role Robin played in toppling his plans. Faking her death, using the power of the Harmony to unite everyone under a song to lead the fight against him, striking a deal with a crafty IPC businesswoman, and for it all to have been successful. Or well, as successful as a plan of this magnitude can be.

You realize this little bird is just as cunning as her brother, even if she doesn’t look the part. They really do share the same blood.

“I love my brother, I really do. He has a bleeding heart and hates to see those around him struggle. Of all the decisions he could’ve made in a position of power, choosing to protect people from suffering was one of the best. However, the way he went about it… I just couldn’t let myself turn a blind eye and do nothing simply because he was my brother. By trapping everyone within a dream to form a collective Order… that’s no way to live.”

She bunches her hands into fists.

“This is something that we’ve disagreed on for years. He wants to shoulder humanity’s pain and give them an idyllic, painless life where no one has to think no matter the cost, whereas I believe that although pain is an unavoidable part of living, people are more than strong enough to push through that pain and make it something worthwhile. Take me, for instance!”

She suddenly stands up. There’s a blazing conviction in her eyes that makes you flinch a bit. Her fingers are splayed out across your desk as she leans forward.

“I sacrificed so much to pursue my dream of becoming a singer- time, money, energy, and blood! Sunday doesn’t know this, but I’d cry myself to sleep many nights during university, wondering if I could even make it in this field overcrowded with talent. What if I couldn’t? I have no other skills and I’d be forced to rely on him, which as much as I love him, I don’t want. I don’t want everything handed to me on a silver platter just because of his position! And he knows this! He knows of the impossibly high standards I hold myself to!”

Robin takes a deep, shuddering breath to calm herself. Reign it in. The Harmony preaches unity, not dissonant outbursts. But it doesn’t work. She hasn’t felt this angry in a long time. Or perhaps it’s all the repressed emotions finally bursting forth after suppressing them beneath the smile she always has on.

“Let it all out. You deserve to.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice.

“I get that we’re siblings and that we’re always going to disagree, especially on something as subjective as our beliefs in humanity but how is he not only blind, but also deaf with his eyes and ears everywhere? He’s seen the lengths I’d go to, all in the name of music. He was one of the first to receive the news that I’d been shot, but did that dampen my resolve at all? No! If anything, it only encouraged me even more! It was all so painful, but it was all so necessary and worth it in the end. In fact, if you told me to experience all that pain again because it would push me closer to that envisioned ideal world, then I would dive in headfirst without hesitation! And dare I say who does Sunday think he is?” she exclaims, her voice steadily rising. “His ideals are a reflection of himself. Is he saying that he doesn’t believe his sacrifices- my sacrifices- to have been worthwhile because according to him, I could’ve gotten here without even lifting a finger? Don’t even give me that! That’s not a life worth living at all!!”

Robin deflates and flops back into her chair as if a balloon had suddenly popped. Those are all the words she wishes she could’ve said during their heated arguments as of late, but will never get to. At least someone finally heard her anger, as ugly as it may have sounded.

“I’m surprised he even thought you’d be willing to listen to his plans,” you gently comment after refilling her teacup. The warm liquid soothes her throat on the way down and she finds that she’s able to speak again after a few sips. She shakes her head in response. She barely has the energy to even move right now.

“No, he knew I wouldn’t even hear him out. That’s why he kept his true motives concealed for the longest time. Someone else actually figured it out first by reading deep into his words. Were it not for him, we’d be in a very different situation right now. What was his name again…? Ah, I can’t remember…”

Robin sighs. Her head rolls back to look out the window.

“Like how birds must learn to fly even if it means tumbling from the nest or encountering a dangerous predator, so too must people face hardship and struggle against the odds. Only then will a bird be able to freely spread its wings and will people see the world of possibility ahead of them,” she quietly whispers, voice hoarse from her earlier outburst.

A heavy silence sinks into the room. Robin looks down and fiddles with her hands. You stare blankly at your notepad, her words echoing in your mind.

Her phone breaks the silence by suddenly going off. Robin picks it up and sighs when she sees the caller ID.

“I have to go now. Security’s calling and messaging me in a panic since I snuck out without them knowing.”

She gathers her belongings in a hurry and checks her appearance before leaving to ensure she’s as flawless as always.

“Before you go, why did you decide to commission me to create a perfume for you?”

She stops just short of leaving and looks over her shoulder.

“I’ve long since heard of your artistic flair and your ability to tell lifelong stories through scent alone.”

“And what is your reason for being fine with receiving an utterly repulsive perfume, even if it’s the pinnacle of artistry?”

She goes silent for a few moments as she thinks.

“I suppose… It's to remind myself of just how far I’ve come and how much work I still have left to do to achieve that wish of mine. That wish is why I sing.”

And she’s gone. You lean back in your chair and sip your tea. Her half-empty cup sits across from you with a pink lipstick mark left on the rim. An open-ended perfume, huh? Most perfumes that are meant to reflect a client’s life story are in reality meant to encapsulate one perfect moment that they wish to relive every time they uncap the bottle. But to create a perfume for a singer of such renown that’s not only meant to reflect her past, but also her boundless future that carries years’ worth of hope and aspirations…

You flip open your notepad again and add another section. Conviction: pink pepper, saffron, musk, cloves, tonka bean, chocolate.

After stretching, you get up and head to the lab next door. It’ll be a challenge, but one you think you’re now equipped to handle.

For the next few weeks, it’s all you focus on. The exclusive interview and your audio recordings of your time with her loop on repeat for hours on end as you go back and forth between the lab and the drawing board. Accords are scrapped and tweaked or even tossed out the window to fit the vision in your mind as it changes by the day. Soon, it looks like a tornado went through your lab with every bit of counter space covered with labeled bottles and lab equipment. Bottles of SoulGlad are shipped to your door as you attempt to replicate the scent as closely as possible. Dozens, if not hundred, of attempts are made before the scent is indistinguishable from the original.

Yeri and Aika are enjoying the free soda, but you notice they’re sleepier than usual and it’s only then you remember that SoulGlad is an effective sleep aid too. Dammit.

Robin is always quick to respond to the updates you give her as well, despite her busy schedule. From when the custom bottle arrived to when you finally perfected the scent of SoulGlad, she always sends words of encouragement your way, as well as expressing her excitement over seeing the finished product slowly come together. She always sends a cute sticker or two at the end of each message as well.

Several months later and after a final all-nighter for the finishing touches, it’s finally complete. You text Robin that it’s ready for pickup before you go to sleep and the next morning, she’s already outside the door, waiting for you to open. It seems she wasn’t able to sneak out this time, as she’s flanked by two security guards.

“Good morning. You’re here early,” you greet as you unlock the door.

“I couldn’t sleep since I was so excited,” she admits as she watches you go about setting up the store for the day. The lights are flicked on, air purifiers are turned on, and you motion for her to follow you back into the office. Her two security guards start to follow her, but Robin gives them a look that tells them to stay put.

You disappear into the lab next door to return with a white box tied with a pink ribbon. The office door locks behind you and she feels a thrill of excitement run through her at what’s to come. With a light tug, the ribbon comes undone and you remove the lid to reveal an iridescent bottle that scatters the early morning light peeking through the blinds into rainbow-colored fractals. It was carved and blown to look like a bird taking flight (you distantly recall the exact species to be a Charmony Dove. Her request.) and the bottle cap resembled her halo. The curved golden metal is polished to perfection and little flowers are attached to the ends.

“It’s already a work of art,” she marvels as she gingerly lifts it out of the velvet-lined box and holds it up, admiring the workmanship from all angles. Without any further hesitation, she takes off her glove and sprays it onto her exposed wrist.

Robin’s eyes widen in delight at the first whiff. It’s a gourmand, sugary delight. Bubblegum, cotton candy, praline and raspberry practically dance on the tip of her tongue and she almost wants to take a bite out of her own arm because of how good it smells. There’s a floral aspect too with a strong violet note coming through. Blood orange and lemon pierce through the overwhelming sweetness, the astringency of the two fruits preventing her nose from becoming overwhelmed. She inhales again and sighs in bliss. Like her brother, she has a sweet tooth and finds this perfume to be temptingly delicious. It also reminds her of a dessert she had a long time ago. Strange, she can’t quite remember the taste or name of it… It must’ve been a dessert she and her brother enjoyed when they were children then.

The scent composition is beginning to change now. Robin inhales again, but this time her eyes fly wide open and her nose scrunches up in a mix of disbelief and disgust. The delicious fruits, which previously smelled juicy and ripe, are now overripe. They’re cloyingly sweet now, with the unmistakable odor of something rotting that makes her feel nauseous. There’s a weird, musty odor now that she attributes to the flowers in the scent decaying. It smells awful now. Revolting. Robin wouldn’t be caught dead out in public wearing this, but it was never meant to be wearable or for the public to smell it anyway. She paid for artistry, and she got it.

“Oh, Aeons,” she whispers as the scent changes even more. It went from bad to worse to horrible. The sugary sweet and floral aspects are still there, but there’s something new that emerges. It smells like war, she realizes. There’s the unmistakable stench of iron- blood- and metal. Smoke and gunpowder waft up from somewhere within and her hand flies to her neck, right above where the gunshot wound scar is. The dull pain from the gunshot throbs. Robin isn’t sure if it’s actually hurting again or if it’s her mind playing tricks on her. The blunt pain spreads across her throat and she feels a strange chill rippling out from the wound to the rest of her body. She shudders violently.

A moment passes. Then another. It starts off as a faint tingle before escalating into a searing pain that paralyzes her. She feels like her vocal chords are on fire now. Her hands fly to her throat. Burning, twisting, and eating away at the bands of muscle that give life and hope to so many, including her. She cries out for help, but nothing comes out except for a scratchy version of the plea and a hot, wet gurgling sound that she recognizes as blood dribbling out of the wound- though the sound is muffled as if someone has shoved cotton into her ears.

Robin feels something wet staining the fibers of her gloves and she looks down to see a deep red seeping into the silk and spreading until it covers her entire hand. It’s her own wet blood, still hot to the touch and she reaches up to the back of her throat where the bullet exited. Blood trickles down her back from the ruptured flesh and she gingerly presses a finger to the wound. It doesn’t hurt, strangely. Or maybe the pain is just overwhelming her senses to the point where she’s become numb. This doesn’t feel real. Nothing feels real.

It’s as if someone forcefully shook her awake from a nightmare. Her pupils are blown wide and hair is plastered to the sides of her head and forehead from being drenched in a cold sweat. Her hands are still around her throat. The gunshot wound has long since healed. Her vocal cords are unscathed. Robin slowly peels her hands away and looks down. Her silk gloves are pristine.

It was just a memory. A far too vivid one, though.

You pass her a bottle of water and she eagerly takes it, chugging it in record time as she recovers. Robin thinks back to your notepad amidst the horrible memories of war that resurface. Spoiled childhood. War. You really hit the nail on the head. Truly, your storytelling ability through scent alone was unparalleled. Case in point: cake and something berry-like are present- pomegranate, maybe?- but they smell expired and rotted, like they’ve been trampled underfoot while fleeing in a panic. How did you pull it off?

“So, what do you think?” you ask as she waits for the base notes to emerge.

“Disgusting. And horrifying.”

You both laugh in unison.

“Then that means a job well done.”

The memory of war fades and something more neutral emerges. A sweet vanilla, one of her favorite scents, with woody notes. She immediately recognizes sandalwood. Sunday. It’s a favorite of his. There’s a nutty smell that emerges and she thinks of her brother again. One of Sunday’s favorite desserts was one topped with almonds and drizzled with syrup. This almond leans more bitter instead of warm and toasted, but the similarities are still there. Sticky caramel is present. Sunday loves those little caramel candies that practically melt in his mouth, she thinks. I should pick some up for him next time I go back.

Oh wait. I can’t go home now. I almost forgot, he’s not there anymore.

It smells like her brother now, and her heart aches. Will she ever be able to see him again? Strange. You’ve never met Sunday before- at least that’s what she thinks. How did you get his scent down almost perfectly then? But there’s also a surprisingly spicy kick in there that isn’t reminiscent of him. She likes it though.

She swallows down the lump in her throat and clutches the bottle tighter.

“Thank you,” she whispers. You simply nod. There’s nothing else that needs to be said.

She collects herself before leaving. It’s now approaching afternoon and there’s more people on the streets now. They stop for a double take when they realize it’s Robin, eyes going wide and jaw going slack. Whispers follow her, she sees phones being pulled out and soon, she’s surrounded by fans asking for a photo or an autograph, despite her security’s efforts. She’s used to this by now- mindlessly signing objects and donning the same smile every time for photographs. Robin the graceful, Robin the elegant, Robin the cosmic songstress who always looks flawless no matter what.

But as the last of the fans run off and as she’s sitting in the back of her chauffeured vehicle, heading to the next item on the agenda, she finds herself wondering if there’s even more she can still do. The bag with your store’s logo on it tempts her and she lifts the box out, unwrapping it again to admire the bottle. She won’t spray it- she’s not subjecting her poor security guards and chauffeur to that smell- but she finds herself thinking back on the same questions she’s always asked herself.

Why do birds fly? Does my song serve any purpose?

She thinks these are questions she’ll spend a lifetime chasing the answers to. Realistically, Robin knows she won’t ever arrive at one. She’s no philosopher, but how many times has the former been asked? And as for the latter… that’s a subjective one that’s up to her to decide.

But her song saved her brother in the end. And that’s more than enough for her.

PERUME NOTES:

TOP: strawberry, sugar, praline, bubble gum, cotton candy, raspberry, lemon, blood orange, violet, black elderberry, datura, soulglad (I hc it to smell like coca-cola)

MIDDLE: blood, leather, gunpowder, smoke, rose, pomegranate, incense, cake, metallic notes, marshmallow, magnolia, jasmine

BASE: vanilla, skin, bitter almond, caramel, amber, sandalwood, chocolate, tonka bean, cloves, saffron, pink pepper

INSPIRATION: Toskovat Age of Innocence, Toskovat Curtain Call, Toskovat Born Screaming, Ariana Grande Sweet Like Candy, Juicy Couture Viva La Juicy, Lattafa Yara

enjoyed this? the taglist is open!

@ theother-victoria, do not copy, repost, modify, translate, or feed to ai

#—stellaronhvnters.#victoria.writes #honkai star rail x reader #hsr robin x reader #hsr #hsr robin #robin hsr #honkai star rail robin #hsr fanfic #hsr x reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr imagines #hsr fluff #hsr angst #robin x reader #robin x you #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x you

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

Text

A Guiding Hand 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, violence, abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: I am tireddddd.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Professor Smith dresses you in a set of pajamas; white with blue stripes. They’re not your size, you assume they might be his. You’re not sure. You’re too woozy to think about much more than your throbbing hand.

He lays you in the hotel bed as you shake uncontrollably. You’re freezing cold but he keeps touching your forehead and saying you’re burning up. How can that be when you can’t get warm?

Your lashes flutter between glimpses of him pacing and sitting on the edge of the bed. When all is dark, you see his shadow beside you. His breathing suggests he’s asleep but you can’t tell. He’s up again as a halo of light shines around you. The lamp limns his figure as he pets your cheek.

“Sweetheart, shh, you’re alright,” he coos, “no need to cry.”

You’re crying? Why? You can’t remember. Your mind is a bubble of fractured thoughts and vague scenes. You can’t make scene of much between the visions of this man.

“Fever’s broke,” he lays a wet cloth over your brow. “Very good. We’ll be off in the morning, won’t we?”

“Mom?” You murmur in confusion.

“Mm, let’s take one step at a time before all that, yes?” He caresses your cheek with his thumb. “Back to sleep.”

He shuts off the light and you’re cast into grim blackness. His weight jostles the bed and you feel him spread out next to you. The bed is more than large enough for you both.

“Professor,” you croak weakly. “What’s...”

“In the morning,” he girds.

You accept it, “sorry.”

“Never be sorry,” he reaches over to squeeze your arm lightly.

You lay in silence. Your eyes close on their own. You are completely drained. You sink down into a solid void that suffocates away all light and life. When you awake again, you’re alone. You might think it was all a dream if it wasn’t for the bright hotel walls.

You remain as you are. You don’t have the energy to get up. You lift your hand and look at the bandage wrapped around it. It feels better and your fingers aren’t swollen. You bend them. It still hurts.

The door opens and you drop your arm. You squeak at the pain.

“Sweetheart, is all well?” Raymond rushes over, a tray in his hand. “I was only meaning to fetch some of the complimentary breakfast before we depart.”

You blink and shake your head, “fine. I’m... fine.”

“I hope you like coffee--”

“Coffee?” You whimper and close your eyes. “Coffee...” you mutter. “I went to get coffee and...”

“Yes, that fiend meant to attack you. You see, I did not come without purpose. How could I sit back and see you neglected?”

“You don’t... I don’t know... you.”

“Hush, hush, you must be hungry,” he insists. “It is good to eat. You are weak from the infection still. You must take care--”

“My mom--” you look at him.

He sucks in air and his jaw tenses. He steels himself and his fingers twitch. “Yes, a woman who allows her own daughter be abused.”

“She... she couldn’t stop him--”

“She should not bring the beast home with her,” he snips. “Please, you would not survive in such an environment.”

“Why... would you come here?”

He exhales and his eye bats, as if he can’t control it. “Why wouldn’t I after what I witnessed? Then you would not answer. I had half a suspicion you were dead.”

“I’m sorry, I... didn’t mean to worry you but... it’s not your problem.”

He hums and set the tray on the night stand. He offers a cup of coffee, “are you so used to being forgotten that you cannot accept kindness?”

“No, it isn’t... I’m sorry.”

“And the apologies. No need for it. I am not admonishing you. I am merely offering advice.” He takes your good hand and makes you take the cup. “There is much more you need to learn than accounting, I gather.”

You frown and look at the dark coffee.

“If you prefer milk or sugar, I grabbed some of each,” he explains and gestures to the tray. “Of course, you shouldn’t drink that in bed else you might stain the sheets.”

“Oh, yeah,” you push the blankets back and move carefully.

The pajamas brush against your stomach and you look down. You’re reminded of the day before. Naked in the tub. In front of him. You’ve never been so exposed before. You slump your shoulders and go to the table and sit.

You look down at your burnt hand and bring up to examine the bandage again, “thank you...” you raise it higher.

“Certainly. And who wouldn’t see to the festering infection? Are you not concerned that not even your own mother cared for that matter?”

“Can we not talk about her?” You sniffle and rest your hand in your lap. “You should take me home.”

“Home? That is no home. Now, you should eat. Keep your strength up so you can heal properly.” He girds.

You nod and take a cautious sip of coffee. You’re still reeling, maybe even slightly delirious. You set the cup down again and lift your chin. You look at his neck, not his face.

“Why?” You ask.

“Why...” He echoes as he sits across from you.

“Why help me?”

He takes a packet of sanitizing wipes and uses them to clean the cutlery. You watch his diligent work. Everything he does is precise and purposeful. And cleanly. He seems to detest the thought of dirtiness and yet you can only feel like filth next to him.

“Well, it should be a question, should it? It is humane. Decent. So, I shouldn’t need to name the reason for it.” He lays down each piece before he sets to claiming a muffin, then a scoop of the scrambled eggs, and strips of bacon with sausage too. “Though if you insist, I will give one. Firstly, let us underline that point. What you need, what you want, I would be more than willing to supply, but then, circle around to your query; why should I help you?”

He takes the rest of the cutlery and wipes it then hands it to you. He makes you up a plate as he continues, “you, sweetheart, have great potential. I’ve seen it. And that would be spoiled all for a poor foundation. Now that is not your own doing, mind you, you cannot help where you come from, and more admirably,” he sets the plate before you, “you were fighting against it and so I only thought to lower the ladder for you.”

You blink and focus on the food. You’re not very hungry. You feel slightly queasy but you would hate to be ungrateful. All these questions already make you feel so.

“Thank you,” you croak and make yourself look at him. “Really...”

You don’t know how to say it. You already feel pathetic and you don’t need to sink further. No one’s ever been that concerned about you. No one ever tried to help you. Most people just laughed, called you names, or pushed you down themselves.

“Please, don’t trouble yourself very much, eh? I have the means to help. It would be selfish not to. A sort of passing the torch. I wasn’t born to wealth myself, or peace. Life can be a war on its own,” he gives a gentle smile beneath his thick beard. “Oh, and I did take some clothing from your home before our flight. I was able to use the hotel laundry. It should suffice, though I hardly trust their cleaning staff.”

“Yes, sir,” you answer.

“Raymond, please,” he corrects you.

📓

Professor Smith, or Raymond as he insists, drives you across the city. He turns in the car at the rental place then leads you into the train station a block away. He’s patient, not hurrying you, and he pays for your ticket and his. You feel guilty for the expense.

As you sit and wait on the platform, you fidget. You chew your lip and curl your fingers, the burn stinging beneath the bandages.

“Are you well?” He checks in. He does every now and then.

“Um, yes...” you look at the tracks, “I’ve never been on a train.”

“A first, very exciting,” he muses.

You nod and let your eyes wander. You’re nervous but too much to ask what makes you so. He moves so his leg is against yours.

“Your hand?” He prompts.

“It’s feeling better,” you assure.”

“Very well.” He sits back and puffs out through his nose, “we will go to my home. You can recover there and when you feel up to it, we will go over your last assignment and see you through the course--”

“Professor-- Raymond,” you sputter as you face him. “You don’t have to do all this.”

“I am not a man who does things he doesn’t wish to,” he replies. “I’ve explained myself enough. It is unacceptable to me to let you return to where I found you. I couldn’t allow you in such an unsafe circumstance. Especially after what I witnessed.”

“It-- he just yelled, that’s all.” You murmur.

“Is that all? He had nothing to do with this?” He points to your hand.

You shrink and shake your head. He clucks.

“You are honest and so you are a poor liar. What I saw was more than yelling, sweetheart. You will not convince me otherwise. I know, this is a peculiar situation, but it is your way out,” he says, “tell me, you never thought of it.”

Your lack of response is enough of one. Your eyes are hot, and your mouth is dry. Your leg jiggles restlessly.

A lull rises as the chatter of others rolls through the platform. Soon, you hear the whine of metal on metal, and a bright beam shines from the tunnel. The train speeds through and grinds to a stop.

You follow Raymond’s every move. When he stands, you stand. As he grabs his bag, you go to do the same but he has it in hand first. He gestures you ahead of him. You reluctantly approach the train.

“The second from the front,” he instructs from behind. “I’ve our tickets.”

You follow his direction. You’re good at that. As a professor, he’s just as good at giving orders. As you approach the waiting attendant, he reaches around to hand over the tickets. The woman in her uniform tears of the ends and hands them back.

You step onto the small metal footstool and then climb the stairs of the train car. You pause as he puts your bags into the netted caddy near the front. He urges you on with another point and recites the seat numbers. You find them and stare at the row.

“Would you like window or aisle?” He tucks away the tickets.

“Mm, what do you like?” You ask.

“Please, have the window. You did say it’s your first,” he insists.

You duck your head and sit. He lowers himself next to you and slips a bottle from inside his jacket. He pops the cap open and offers it quietly. You glance over at the sanitizer. You don’t want to be rude so you put your unbandaged hand out. He dollops it into your palm, then his own, and puts it away.

He rubs his palms together and you sanitize around your bandage and your uninjured hand. You sit back and look out at the platform. He’s a very stringent man but you might only think so because you’re used to no rules at all. He’s thorough too. He seems to think of everything.

You look at him but think better of asking what you want to. He catches your glance before you can turn back. He shifts toward you, leaning on the outer armrest.

“Go on,” he urges, “you can say whatever you need.”

“Sorry, it’s nothing.”

“Please,” he opens his hand encouragingly.

You drop your eyes and wet your lips. You’re going to sound so dumb. “Do you really think I could... I could do something? Like you? Like... like... accounting?”

He chuckles softly. It’s not mocking or mean. It’s soothing.

“I do believe so,” he says. “You needn’t fret. Let yourself time to heal, then all that will come after.”

You sniff and sit back. You don’t know if you agree with him, but you’ll try. That’s all you can do. It’s what you should do after he’s gone to all this effort.

#raymond smith #dark raymond smith #dark!raymond smith #raymond smith x reader #the gentlemen #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #a guiding hand #series

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helluvaartcritique · 7 months ago

Note

wanted to share my screenshot edits ! Some minor character redesigns, but more so just streamlining. Tell me your thoughts! Can be a critique if you want, whatever you want to do, I just wanted to hear anyone’s opinions besides my own.

These are actually pretty good! I like the softer pink colors on Vagatha, it looks pretty! Reminds me of her pilot look, I miss that. Her eyepatch is really nice as well, gives me pirate vibes, which I like.

Charlie having a maroon color shirt and black pants is also nice, makes her less red in a sea of reds.

Having the wrinkles to Charlie and Vagatha in their battle outfits is also nice, it makes them look their age.

The halo when Vagatha was an angel is also nice, although I am a bit confused as to why the neck part of the outfit is the same color as the blood. Unless I'm missing something.

My only criticism is the stripes on Vagatha's leggings, might make it difficult to animate, unless you're not animating it, then that's alright.

#hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critique #design critique #hazbin hotel redesign

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starhvney · 10 months ago

Note

Halo! Anon who said 'PLEASE KEEP LIVING' again ^^!! Anyway, I wanted to try requesting so can I request a Gene x reader oneshot where the reader has to babysit her little brother/sister (you decide the name and gender!) with the help of her boyfriend, Gene? I imagine their friends teasing them a little bit about it and when they go to the supermarket with the kid the cashier'll give a small comment about them being 'a cute married couple'

Thank you, and don't rush!

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: mystreet gene x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: after you were asked to babysit your little sister, your boyfriend helps you with the adorable task

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: fluff, slice of life, established relationship

𝐂𝐖: none

𝐀/𝐍: i went ahead with little sister because i only have sisters so it was easier to write tehe. this is adorable btw thank you for the prompt anon! i am still living!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

come over?

i can’t today, have to babysit angie and get groceries :,)

so?

you blink down at your phone, pausing while buckling angelina into her car seat as your eyebrows pinch together at your boyfriend’s message.

???

i’ll go with you.

you huff out a laugh, and angelina responds with a confused giggle of her own, her small hands bouncing against the sides of her seat in anticipation. you finish buckling her into her tiny constraints, to which she pouts at you, kicking her chubby legs in protest with a whine. you merely poke her nose, whispering a “shush” and clambering into the driver’s seat.

okay, i’m leaving right now though

ok, pick me up on the way then

i’ll be there soon

it’s only a few songs into your jam sesh with angelina before you make it to gene’s apartment. you decided to take her up to the door with you, knowing how excited she got to see your friends. before you could knock, gene opened the door for you, dark blue eyes crinkling as he smiled at the pair of you.

“hey.” he leans forward to greet you with a short-lived kiss.

“gaaa!” angelina calls out, leaning forward from your hold with outstretched arms as she eagerly babbles for gene to hold her.

it doesn’t take much convincing on her part, as he snatches her from you instantly, giving her a short toss in the air and planting a kiss on the small girl’s cheek.

“hello there, angel.” he whispers, voice uncharacteristically high as he hugs angelia to his chest.

“eeewwww, stinky baby!” zenix’s voice calls from deeper in the apartment.

soon both sasha and zenix appear by gene’s side, curiously peaking around him to gaze at the one year old like she was a spectacle.

“tell him he’s the stinky one, angie,” gene says, using his hand to raise her fist up in a threatening—as a baby could be—manner. “say you’re stinky!”

“didi!”

“ooohhhhoho, you just got burned by a baby, loser.” sasha laughs.

“not cool, angelina.” zenix pouts, poking her stomach and wiggling his fingers, causing her to break out into giggles.

as all of your amused laughter dies down, gene steps out of the apartment with you, angelina still snug in his arms.

“see you guys later.” you say, turning and grabbing her tiny hands to help her wave goodbye at the duo still in the doorway.

“say bye bye, angie!” gene encourages her.

“look at them, they look like a cute family already.”

“sickening.” zenix jokingly scoffs.

“gene, who knew you’d be such a girl dad.” sasha says, her expression slightly perturbed by his sudden shift in character.

“are you kidding? if he had a son that ended up like him he’d go into cardiac arrest by thirty.” zenix leans forward with a teasing smirk on his face. “he wouldn’t know what to do.”

gene sighs and rolls his eyes at his friends’ conversation, knowing they were definitely right.

“whatever, byeee.” he sarcastically drawls out, beginning to walk away.

“bababa!” angelina waves her stubby hand over gene’s shoulder as you follow along beside them.

“bye mom and dad! bye little baby!” they call out behind you.

“since you’re holding her you get to try and put angie in her car seat.”

after gene gets her in her car seat with ease–much to your chagrin–the three of you are soon in the grocery store with angelina kicking joyfully in the basket seat. as you’re busy looking down at your list, gene races off down the empty aisle, giggling along with angie’s contagious laughter.

“gene!” you attempt to scold him, racing after him as he steers off out of sight. as you turn the corner you nearly run over an elderly woman holding a small basket of baking goods.

“oh, i’m so sorry, excuse me!” you frantically apologize, backing up to make sure she was okay.

you’re surprised to see a joyful expression on her face as she waves her worn hands in dismissal.

“oh, you’re alright dear. my husband used to do the same thing with our baby when we were younger,” she beams.

you don’t have the heart to tell her that you are, in fact, not married to gene nor is that your child as she reaches out to pat your arm.

“it’s nice to see young couples who aren’t so serious all the time. enjoy these moments while they last.”

“oh, um, of course.” your eyes dart down to the end of the store, where gene has now disappeared in another aisle with an ecstatic angelina in tow.

looking back, the granny is already shuffling away, waving you to go on. “go on and make sure they don’t get up to too much mischief, now.”

“thank you, have a nice rest of your day!” you wave back. her face wrinkles joyfully as she disappears down another aisle, prompting you to take off after the runaway pair.

you turn into the toy aisle, panting as you finally catch up. gene is gently shaking an adorable duck plushie in front of angie, who is pointing and grabbing at it insistently.

“you like this one? yeah i was thinking the same thing. good choice, angel.”

“gene.”

after handing the toy to angelina, he turns to look at you with puppy eyes and the face of a scolded child.

“yes ma’am?”

you lift your arms in exasperation, eyebrows raised to say, “what the hell, man?” without actually saying it.

“look!” he points insistently to your younger sister, who is donning a gummy toothed smile as her small fingers grip onto the small duck. she innocently lifts it up to showcase it to you, it’s beaded eyes somehow as pleading as the looks gene and angelina were throwing your way.

rolling your eyes, you give in, turning with your list in hand. “fine, but that’s it. we’re here for groceries.”

by the end of your perusal through the different aisles, gene managed to convince you that him and angelina absolutely needed ice cream, fruit snacks, and lollipops as a sweet treat. after the fourth item, you sent him a stern glare that he groaned at.

“your sister is so mean to me, angie.” he teasingly pouts, leaning in to you with a fake sob.

angelina stares at the both of you in confusion, before turning her attention back to the toy gene had snagged for her.

“wow.” he deadpans, sighing as he take his weight off of you to help place the groceries on the cashier’s conveyor belt.

the bored looking teen smiles at angelina, her face lightening up a bit.

“your baby is so adorable.” she gushes, reaching over to scan the teddy bear without taking it from her.

“thanks, but she’s not-“

“i know right, she looks just like her mom doesn’t she?” gene wraps an arm around your waist, slouching over to lean his head onto your shoulder.

blood rises to your cheeks as you flusteredly go quiet, unable to come up with any words. you can’t see his face, but you’re sure he’s got a shit eating grin plastered all over it. the cashier nods, completely buying his lie.

“yeah! it’s funny, people usually the first born looks like their dad…” she shrugs, finishing up her check out with a content smile.

“have a nice day!”

the three of you leave the store, with gene snickering behind you. you shoot a side eye at him, but your resolve quickly crumbles once again.

“what?” he nonchalantly asks, shrugging his shoulders in faux innocence.

all you can do is merely sigh, the red in your cheeks still prominently visible.

“we got her, angie! look at her cute face.” he grins, reaching over to pinch your cheeks, planting a kiss to your forehead.

angelina cheers, lifting her new teddy bear in celebration. you finally break out in laughter, conceding to your loss as gene triumphantly smiles in victory.

©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own.

#mystreet x reader #aphmau #aphmau mystreet #x reader #mystreet #aphmau gene #gene x reader #aphmau mcd #mystreet gene x reader #mystreet gene

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ofstarsandvibranium · 6 months ago

Text

Skyward Bound Hearts

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Pairing: Billy "Fritz" Avalone x F!Reader

Summary: After getting a new job, you move in with your best friend, Billy. You end up meeting some of his Top Gun buddies and while Billy was okay with being just friends, it isn't until his friends showing interest in you that he finally decides to change the status of your relationship.

Manny Jacinto Characters Masterlist

"Hey!" Billy waves at you from his porch as you roll up in the moving truck. You practically collapse into his arms when he opens the door. Long hours driving a large moving truck can have that effect on you.

"I hope to never be in a moving truck for...the rest of my life," you state as you look at your best friend. His cropped black hair, tanned skin, wide smile, and overall handsome face. Just like you remember.

"How are you, Bills?" you asking, ruffling this hair.

He chuckles, running a hand through his now messy hair, "You know how I'm doing. We talk almost every day."

You shrug, "Yeah, but it's different face to face, dumbo," you pinch his nose and head to the back of the truck, lifting the rolling door up.

Billy follows you, arm wrapping around your shoulder and whistles, "That's...a lot of stuff." He puts his free hand on his hip, "You managed to fit all of this in your small apartment?"

"It's mainly all small stuff. Knowing you, your place looks boring and minimalistic as shit. I brought all of my stuff to bring some life to this place," you look at him with a grin and a mischievous sparkle in your eyes.

He chuckles, shaking his head, "You never fail to bring some excitement in my life, Angel." He climbs into the truck's bed and starts handing you some boxes.

Thirty minutes into moving, you hear a honk and three cars roll up behind the truck. You arch a brow in confusion, looking back at Billy for answers, "Friends of yours?"

He shoots you a grin, "Figured we can use some help to get this done faster. Plus, you said you wanted to meet them." He hops out of the truck as soon as several men and two women exits the cars.

"Your saviors are here!" a tall, pretty boy looking man announces as he steps out of the driver's seat. He tilts the glasses on his face down to look your way.

You join Billy's side and murmur into his ear, "Let me guess, that's Hangman."

Billy snickers into his hand, "Yup."

You sigh, "Hate cocky, pretty boys."

He shrugs, "He can be...decent on occasion." He waves at his Navy buddies.

Hangman gives you a look that makes you roll your eyes, "Fritz, you didn't tell me how gorgeous your new roommate is!"

Everyone circles you and Billy and you give them an awkward wave, "Uh, hi, everyone. I'm Y/N."

"Billy said your name was Angel?" one of them says in a confused tone.

You chuckle, "It's a nickname Billy's mom gave me when we were kids. So he's always called me that."

"So you two have known each other a long time?" one of the women asks.

Billy nods, "Yup. Basically our whole lives. Our moms are best friends," he shoots you a familiar grin.

Hangman steps, "So you'd say you're more like siblings than anything, right?" he looks you up and down with a smirk.

You snort, putting your hand against his chest and pushing him back, "I'd just like to put it out there that my type isn't cocky pretty boys. So don't bother."

Everyone around you "ooouuuu", causing Hangman to feel embarrassed. He clears his throat and hollers, "Let's get this show on the road!" He pushes through the group and heads to the truck.

Everyone shakes their heads or rolls their eyes; and introduces themselves to you all by their call signs.

"Fanboy."

"Bob."

"Phoenix."

"Rooster."

"Yale."

"Payback."

"Omaha."

"Halo."

"Coyote."

"Harvard."

An assembly line is formed leading up to Billy's house and into your room. Boxes and furniture slowly fill up the space. It isn't until the sun starts setting that everything is out of the truck.

To celebrate the hard work done, you order pizza and Billy runs to grab beers for everyone.

Now you're all crowding the living room, lounging around, stuffing your face with greasy pizza and beer.

Throughout the day, you were able to chat and get to know Billy's friends. However, you clung mainly to Halo and Phoenix's side because there was waaay too much macho energy.

So in your small circle of girls, you two chat, while the boisterous group of guys chat, hollering playful banter to each other.

"They're always like this, aren't they?" you ask the women as you take a sip of beer.

They both nod, "Unfortunately so. But they're all good guys...save for Hangman, but you already knew that." Phoenix gives you a knowing look.

You snort, "Yeah, Bills would always talk about you guys, Hangman especially. So it's nice to put a face to all of the names I've been hearing for so long."

Halo speaks up, "So what's the story with you and Fritz?" She leans in with piqued interest.

You chuckle, "It's a long story, but, overall, our moms are best friends. They got pregnant around the same time. Billy was born a few months before me. We grew up together. Have stuck by each other's sides ever since."

"So why did you move down here?" Phoenix asks.

"I work for a non-profit org. They're opening offices in Southern California, one of them being here in San Diego. When I told Billy, he immediately offered his spare room for me. Now here we are!" you gesture to the area around you.

"So nothing ever happened between you and Fritz?" Phoenix asks with raised brows and an unconvinced expression.

"Well, I mean, there was a summer in high school-"

"Aaaand there it is," Halo and Phoenix clink their bottles together and both take a swig.

You roll your eyes, "It was short lived. A lot happened that summer and by the end, we both decided it was better if we were best friends and that's it."

"But do you still feel that way?" Halo asks with a pointed look.

You sigh, looking over to Billy who was now taking part in a drinking game with the guys. He's smiling wide and there's a red hue to his skin from the effects of the alcohol. There's a tug at your heart, a yearning that you've felt for so long.

"Well that look definitely answers your question, Halo," Phoenix says with a snort.

You slump, "Doesn't matter. We're still best friends and I'm happy to have him in my life in any way that I can."

_______________

Billy looks over to you as you, Halo, and Phoenix clink your beer bottles together and each take a sip.

He just watches as you chat and laugh with the women. A smile makes its way to his face as you snort, shoving Phoenix in the shoulder for making you laugh.

A shoulder bumps Billy's, catching his attention. He turns to see Fanboy standing there, "Hey, man," he says to the pilot.

Mickey nods towards you, "So, uh, Angel doesn't have anyone does she? No boyfriend, girlfriend, or some partner, right?"

His question makes Billy stand up straighter, "No, why?"

Rooster, watching the interaction snickers, "He's already sizing you up, Fanboy," he gives the fellow pilot a slap to the arm.

Fanboy holds his hands up, "Hey, I'm just wondering! And, you know, she seems cool. Thought I'd invite her out on a drink or something!"

Billy crosses his arms over his chest and cocks a brow at him, "Listen, Angel is important to me, so if you're really interested in her, be my guest, but don't bother if you're looking for a lay."

Fanboy shakes his head, "No, no. Nothing like that, I swear. It's just...we chatted a bit about Star Wars because I saw she had a few Funko Pops of some characters. Thought we could talk more about stuff like that."

Billy drops his arms and shrugs, "Go for it, man. But she'll put you through the ringer if you're a dick to her."

"Hey, I'm not like Hangman," he points to the blonde as his ball sinks into a cup.

Billy snorts, "Yeah and thank God for that."

___________________________

The next few days go by in a whirlwind of unpacking and having dinner with Billy. By the end of the week, you've unpacked a majority of your things. You've hung up a few pieces of framed artwork and pictures, placed a few of your knick knacks on shelves, and filled the fridge and pantry with your groceries of choice.

It’ll be your first day at the new office tomorrow. You were a little nervous because you didn't know anyone that'll be at this location, but you were also excited to begin decorating your cubicle.

To ease your worries, Billy decided to bring you to the Hard Deck for some celebratory drinks. No surprise there were several of his Naval buddies there.

You and Billy give them a wave before heading to your own table to be alone. That was short lived when Coyote and Fanboy approach you two.

"Heeeey! Mind if we join you guys?"

Billy gives an annoyed look and you snort, but shrug, "Not at all."

"Great! Lemme grab you a beer!" Fanboy scurries away to the counter where he asks Penny for a beer. She pops one open and slides to him. He hurries back and placing it before you, "For the lady!"

Billy looks at him confused with his arms out, "What about me?"

You giggle and push your drink to him, "Have mine. I'll get-"

"I got it!" Fanboy exclaims as he heads back to the counter for another beer.

You lean in to murmur to Billy, "He's laying it thick."

"Yeah. I told you, he wants to get to know you and be in my good graces."

You snort, "And how's that going?"

"He's annoying the hell outta me," he replies with a smirk and you burst out laughing. The smirk turns into a smile, a feeling of pride fills him as he made you laugh.

"What's funny?" Fanboy asks as he returns with your new bottle of beer.

"Inside joke," you and Billy respond, causing both of you to laugh more.

Coyote clears his throat, "You guys are really close, huh?"

Billy nods, "Yeah. You should've seen her when I had to go to boot camp. She sent me sooo many letters saying how much she misses me."

You roll your eyes, "You said you missed me too! And the second you were outta there and you were back to calling me almost every night!" you stuck your tongue out at him.

It's now Fanboy that clears his throat, "Sooo what're we drinking to?" he asks as he stands beside you.

"Angel starts her new job tomorrow, so I guess that."

Fanboy lifts his bottle up, "A toast to Angel and her new job!"

"Cheers!" the four of you say as you bump your bottles together.

After taking a few sips, Fanboy asks you, "Hey, uh, Angel, you wanna play a round of pool?"

You laugh, "Hell yeah. Get ready to lose, Fly Boy!" you take your beer and grab Fanboy's hand, leading him to the pool tables on the other side of the bar.

Billy watches as you rack up the balls, he takes a swig from his bottle.

"They'd make a cute couple," Coyote says which makes Billy choke on his drink.

"Jesus!" Billy coughs up liquid as Coyote is patting his back, "You good, man?"

Billy gasps for air as he nods, "Yup. Good. The comment just took me off guard."

Coyote raises a brow, "Does that bother you? The thought of Fanboy and Angel dating?"

Billy looks back at you as you sink a ball in. You pump the air and push Fanboy aside as he pouts. You giggle and pinch his cheek before lining up your next shot.

"I just...I want her happy. And I'm not sure if Fanboy could give her that just yet." He looks away and takes another sip of his beer.

"If I'm overstepping, let me know, but...you guys never dated, did you?"

Billy sighs, running his hand through his cropped black hair, "In high school. The summer after we graduated. We dated for a few months but then I decided to enlist and-"

"Aaaand you broke it off," Coyote finishes, "Do you regret breaking it off?"

"I-" he pauses when he hears your boisterous laugh. He looks across the bar to see you holding Fanboy's arm as you laugh. Fanboy looks like he won the jackpot from the way he was looking at you, happy to be the source of your enjoyment.

Billy sighs, "It doesn't matter. We're best friends. It's worked out great this long."

"But you want more?"

He shrugs, "Only if she does," he murmurs before looking away from you as Fanboy moves some of your hair out of your face, causing you to shy away from him.

___________________

You’re a little tipsy. You’re aware as you sway a little too much while walking into Billy’s place.

He sits you in the couch while he goes to get you some water. You practically melt into the cushions while waiting for him.

You hear a click and look up to see Billy pointing his phone at you, “Goddammit, Bills.”

He snickers, “Sorry. You just look so cute,” he shows you the picture of you curling up on the couch.

You roll your eyes, “Whatever,” pushing his phone away and taking the cup of water from him. You gulp the entire cup down.

Billy watches you with amusement in his eyes, “Good?” You give him a thumbs up and curl back onto the couch.

He sets the cup onto the coffee table and sits beside you. You don’t look at him while you say, “Fanboy asked me on a date.” You’re playing with Billy’s fingers to keep you occupied.

“Yeah? What did you say?”

“That I’ll think about it.”

“He’s a good guy. He can be a punk sometimes, but he’s overall good.”

“I just…” you hesitate. Do you tell him why you didn’t say yes to Fanboy? Do you tell him that even after you two broke up all those years ago that you still love him as more than your best friend? Do you-

“Even though Fanboy is a good guy…I don’t want you dating him,” Billy murmurs, not meeting your eyes.

“Bill-“

He grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers with his, “I want to try again, Angel. I want to try us again. With you living so far, I didn’t think it would happen, but now you’re here and-and I think this could be our chance.”

You look over your shoulder and see the time. It’s late and you really need to go to bed so you’ll wake up in time.

You lean in and kiss his cheek. When you pull away, you can see there’s so many questions that he wants to ask.

“It’s been a long day. We both drank a bit. How about, we talk about this more tomorrow after work. And believe me when I say this isn’t a rejection, Billy. I just think we need to be completely coherent when we discuss this.”

He gulps and slowly nods, whispering, “Okay.” He watches as you get up and murmur, “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Good night, Bills.”

“Night,” he rasps out and keeps his eyes on you until you’re out of sight and he hears the click of your door.

He immediately slumps into the couch, hands covering his face, “Fuuuuuuck.”

_____________________

The following day, all you thought about was Billy's confession. You found yourself constantly smiling at the memory of Billy wanting to try again.

It broke you when you two broke up the first time, but you understood why. He was enlisting, you two would be away from each other for so long. But now, it seems fate has brought you two together again and given you another chance.

You just hope that Billy really meant what he said and it wasn't any drunk ramblings.

So you offer to pick up some food on your way home. Billy puts in an order for you to pick up, so the food is already done by the time you get there.

As the distance between you and Billy grow smaller, the more nervous you become. What if he tells you he didn't mean it? What if it's some sort of sick joke? You mentally curse yourself for getting so excited about being with him again.

When you get home, you shake things off and try to remain neutral. You won't expect the best or the worst. You'll hear what Billy says and go from there....but goddammit, do you hope he wants you as much as you want him.

You enter the home and see Billy setting up the table. When you approach him, you kiss him on the cheek, something you're not even sure why you did. It just felt right. The gesture made you and he both freeze.

"I, uh, sorry. I didn't-I'm not sure why I did that."

Billy nervously clears his throat, "No, no. It's-It's fine. Um," he gestures for you to sit down and you do, setting the takeout in-between you.

Both of you awkwardly open the containers, grabbing food from each other and setting it on your own plates. There's a silence between you that you absolutely hate. Things are never awkward between you and Billy. You don't like this feeling one bit so you set your fork down and clear your throat.

Billy looks up from his food and straightens his posture. You speak, "I don't like this awkwardness that's happening right now, so I'm just gonna start talking, if that's okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

You let out a deep breath, "I love you, Billy. I've loved you practically my whole life. I don't want to be with anyone else, but you. So I hope that what you said last night is still true and it isn't some mean joke you're playing on me or some drunk-"

"I meant it," he interrupts you, "I meant what I said and I still mean it. And I love you too. Always have. Always will," he fidgets in his chair a bit, "Angel, you are literally the person for me. I can't imagine my life without you in it. When you said you'd be moving over here, I immediately knew this was a second chance for us. I kick myself every day for breaking things off years ago. But I'm so goddamn lucky you still remained in my life after."

You're beaming at Billy now, practically oozing love and adoration for the man before you and he's matching the same expression.

"Okay...cool," you say and that makes Billy laugh, "Only you would say 'okay, cool' after we confess our love to each other."

You roll your eyes at him, "Whatever. You love it."

Billy softly smiles, "I do love it. I also love you."

You look down at your plate with a shy smile, picking up your fork and pushing food around your plate. You feel just how you did when you and Billy got together all those years ago, like your heart is floating.

#billy fritz avalone #billy fritz avalone x reader #billy avalone x reader #top gun maverick #top gun maverick imagine #manny jacinto #manny jacinto characters

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jujutsukgojo · 4 months ago

Text

Sleepyhead

Dabi x Reader

Summary: You wished him good luck every time. Should you have kept them to yourself and let him die? tw: minor character death, major bnha manga/anime spoilers, implied abuse, attempted su*cide, tried to edit (pray)

Sleepyhead has finally woken up. He stumbles out of the room and looks at you. His eyes are crystal blue haloed with fluttery white lashes. Now that he’s awake, he’s prettier than when he was asleep even though Mr. Sunny disagreed with his looks. Mr. Sunny said something about him being beyond disfigured from the fire. To you, he’s still strangely handsome. You continue to chew on a bag of chips against Mr. Sunny’s wishes. “Hi, Sleepyhead. Nice to meet you.”

When he frowns, you immediately go on the defense. “Don’t tell on me, okay?”

He looks at you confused and nods. He hasn't talked yet, unfortunately; hopefully he can. It must have taken a lot for him to wake up and move around. It'd be a shame if he couldn't speak.

“They’re over there.” You point down the hall, and he takes off in that direction. You don’t know why Sleepyhead is so eager to meet Mr. Sunny and the rest. He’s never seen them since he’s been asleep this whole time. In fact, you came in at the same time he did and never has he woken up. It's a bit of a running joke. All of the kids draw pictures of him being sleeping beauty. Those drawings are even in his room, wishing for him to wake up. So, seeing him actually move is weird. You have watched him grow and now he's mobile. It's hard to explain why his open eyes throw you off.

You overhear that one girl be her own version of a welcoming committee. She calls for Mr. Sunny. You quickly finish your snack and put the wrapper in the band of your pants. Mr. Sunny walks by. He stops and looks at you. The saltiness of the chips stick to your throat.

“What’re you doing, little one?” His voice holds a fake sweetness. You curl your toes in your slippers, hoping for something to ground you. “Nothing. Sleepyhead just walked by.”

“Oh! Did you say hello?” You nod. His face looks like the sun but underneath is evil. Yet somehow, there is an even greater evil behind him, behind this whole operation. “What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“Hm. Open your mouth.” He looks at you like he's appraising you. You swallow and give a thin, shallow smile. The empty bag of chips becomes more obvious to you as it touches your body. Your sweat slightly sticks to it.

“Where am I?” The teenage Sleepyhead asks. He whispers a question of his voice and caresses his throat. Mr. Sunny turns his attention to him. “Todoroki! Nice to see you. Come with me and everything will be explained,”

Your hands are behind your back. He stops and looks at you. “Show me what’s behind you, my dear.”

You show him your hands then turn around in a circle. “Mhm. Open your mouth for me.”

Your heart rate speeds up. There are still some crumbs in your mouth. Sleepyhead interrupts him. “What’re you doing? I’m serious! I need to see my family. Mom, Fuyumi, Natsu, Shouto, my dad!”

As he says this, he makes eye contact with you. “My apologies, Touya Todoroki. You’ve been through a lot. I should prioritize that. Follow me.”

Sleepyhead walks behind him. In the distance Mr. Sunny asks, “What was she doing when you saw her?”

Fear settles in your stomach. “Nothing. Just standing there.” Before he goes in the room, Sleepyhead makes eye contact with you. You nod and leave the area, not wanting to be anywhere near Mr. Sunny.

Quickly, you dispose of the wrapper, take a drink of water then brush your teeth. Laying on your bed you draw another picture for Sleepyhead. There's no sun, sky, or a moon. Instead, there is a familiar building that you loved before you were swept up here. You color it with open doors and a red curtain in the back. On the stage is a small drawing of the familiar woman who sang beautifully. Sleepyhead will like this. You put him on a bench next to the building with a bag of chips in his hand. The next time you have them, you will give them to him as a thank you.

Suddenly, the building shook. You gasped and sat up in your bed. Dust from the ceiling falls. Not feeling safe, you get up and leave the room. The hallway is warm like when you open an oven. You head deeper into it, confused on why it’s so hot. At the end of it is a bright blue, consuming light. It eats away the walls and ceiling. There is only one person in the facility that can do this.

You gasp and head in the other direction as it travels in every way it can. At the end of the hall is a window. If you can get to it, you can jump out and be free. The problem is, is that you tried that once and it wouldn’t budge without Mr. Sunny’s permission or at least a strong enough quirk. You bang on it and try to open it. The building gets hotter and hotter. “Open, open, open!”

You hear people scream and Mr. Sunny yells for a straight line. His voice is hoarse, and he’s obviously hurt with the groans and hisses he makes. They’re going to leave you?

The banging, pushing, shoving, the window isn’t helping at all. Its steel frame refuses to let the window move. The heat increases and sweat pours off of you. Smoke surrounds the area, even the outside. They’re leaving you.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps behind you. You turn to see Sleepyhead walk through the flames. “Where’s the door, dolly?”

He stands on the fluttering blue light. You tap on the window behind you. Sleepyhead frowns but heads straight anyway. “Move.”

You follow his direction and shriek when the panel flies off the wall and the glass is melted off. Sleepyhead exits the window. You can’t make it across without hurting yourself. How is he able to? Ah, that's right. He cannot feel pain. Before he can leave, you lean and grab his shoulders. He looks back at you with furrowed brows and misty eyes that are not from physical pain. Without even asking him, you press your weight on his shoulders and jump out the window, missing the embers wanting to expand and the melted glass painted on the grass.

He growls and swings to pick you up. You're safely in his very warm arms. “Get off of me.” He puts you down on a safe spot and takes off. You run too and when he sees you follow, he pushes you down. “They’re over there!”

“You don’t understand…”

“Get away from me!” He runs again. You follow him much to his annoyance. Then, you see which direction he’s headed. “No, this way!”

He yanks his arm back. “I am not going back there. I have a family, friends, people that love and need me. I am not like you guys.”

It stings. “That way,” You point to his set direction. “Is where the doctor is and where the big boss goes sometimes. If they see you, they’ll grab you. I know a good way out.”

Interested, he follows you. There’s a buzzing noise over your heads. You gasp and grab his hand. You run to the trees. “W-why are you so fast?”

“Nomu! That’s what we’re gonna be if we don’t run!” Sleepyhead looks at the sky behind him. There are large bodies with their brains showing, flying around. They look under themselves and scout, no doubt for the two runaways. Your heart is pounding in your ears as a white one goes right above you, its eyes barely missing you.

Finally, you reach the edge of the cliff. A few tufts of grass surround the dirt. Beyond that is a river that gently flows. You’ve made it to this part before and know what’s at the end. “Can you swim?”

“Um, yeah? Not the best, though.” He looks down with fearful eyes.

You hold his hand tighter. “Hang onto me.” You grab his hand and jump. He screams as the two of you descend into the cold water. You hang onto his hand as you travel through the water. It chills you down to your bones but it is better than the alternative. If Doctor Garaki talks to Mr. Sunny and finds out that the two of you are gone, it could mean that the big guy, All For One, or something, could come.

The water pushes you two around and neither of you let go of each other. With grace, you dodge debris and pull him closer, encircling your arms around him as the rushing water guides you away.

Pebbles curl underneath your fingers when you pull yourself out with Sleepyhead’s hand in yours. He coughs and breathes heavily. “We have to keep moving. Down here is a street.”

“A street,” He coughs. “To where?”

“People that aren’t them. I remember seeing it.” You spotted it when you were pulled out of the water by a flying nomu. You have yet to touch the pavement of the street or smell the lavish perfumes from the boutique at the corner or get a good look in the pet store that is a few doors down. Colorful clothes and expensive cellphones have been next to the facility where children were held for years.

He gets up shakily and goes with you, his hand still in yours. The wind blows against you, chilling your body through your wet clothes. You gasp but keep on with the plan anyway. You and Sleepyhead have gotten far. There’s no turning back now.

You push the tree branches and leaves out of the way and show that you were right. The street is busy with people and life. The sun shines bright on the passing people who go about their daily lives, not once thinking that there is a monstrosity not too far from them.

“I…I know this. I know this! I can’t be far from home!” Sleepyhead yanks his hand away from yours and goes to the left. You follow him.

“What? No! Go away. This is my family. Go to your own.” He pushes you down to the ground, the pavement scraping against your palms. Someone scolds him. “Young man, control yourself! Now apologize.”

He growls and clenches his fists. “Sorry.” The old lady nods and helps you up then leaves. You notice how she didn’t even bother to comment on both of your appearances. Clearly, there is something wrong with the two kids in front of her, yet she walks away.

“Happy?”

You shrug. Sleepyhead turns around and continues to his home. Once again, you run behind him. At first he growls in frustration but ignores you in the end, except for running faster and using evasive maneuvers to lose you. Of course, they all fail.

The soles of your feet take a toll. Now that the adrenaline is wearing down, you’re beginning to feel the weight of everything. This is enough physical activity for a lifetime. Thankfully, you’re not the only one who feels that way. Sleepyhead slows down to a halt. He’s breathing heavily and has his hands on his knees. “Come on. If you stop, it’ll be harder to finish.”

He pushes himself up and jogs. The two of you come across a street that no doubt belongs to the rich. There are kominkas and modern homes next to each other, all different yet have a lavish quality. It’s something that you know you’d never be able to afford. It’s a miracle you’re even here.

“Are one of these yours?” You shake your head no. “You can’t,” He gasps for breath. “Come with me.”

“Where do I go?”

He cocks his head. “Fine, fine.” He grabs your hand roughly and limps to another house that isn’t quite as big as the kominka down the road. Sleepyhead brings you to the gate. “Knock on the door, alright?”

Before he leaves, you say, “Goodbye Sleepyhead, and I wish you good luck.”

“My name’s Touya.”

“I’m (Y/n).” He looks back at you. “Thanks for everything, doll.” He limps around the corner. You have a small smile and flutters in your tummy. Taking a deep breath, you push the button on the gate and it opens. Your legs are aching, and your feet are blistered. Whoever owns this house must be good if Sleepyhead dropped you here.

You knock on the door.

----

You walk home from work with the streetlights that are just now flickering on to guide you. Right as you are rubbing your shoulders, you hear voices to your right range in pitch and volume. You tread along the sidewalk and hope not to run into anyone unsavory. Suddenly, right when you come across an alley, it erupts into flames that create a woosh sound.

The heat is intense and consuming. People scream so loud it echoes on the brick buildings’ walls. There is nothing you can do for them except watch in horror. Some of the people move around frantically, and others roll on the ground. Lucky for them, their pain is soon gone as the flames ended them in seconds.

You are at the end of the alley, clutching your purse for dear life. Smoke blows your way as the assailant walks closer to you. His black boots don't melt and his trench flows behind him, letting him look like a true villain, even without his dastardly deeds

Now he is feet from you, you remember who he is. He has changed a little but looking at his face for three years straight lets you recognize him anywhere. His eyes are still jewels and have hardened, purple scars have spread, and his hair is dyed. He has staples rather than the bonded skin he left with.

And yet, you see him even though it’s been years. "Are you scared, doll?" His voice is deeper and smoother than it was last time you saw him.

You shake your head no. He doesn't smile but cocks his head to the side. He is letting you go. Before you can leave, you turn back to him and say, “Wish you good luck, Sleepyhead.”

Nothing else needed to be said between you two. Not even a nod or wave. There is a sense of familiarity, a camaraderie, a bond, that was created in a facility designed to abduct and trick children into nomus and spare quirks for All For One. There is nothing needed when it comes to you two.

-----

Lately, there has been a terrorist organization that has grown drastically. Among them is a blue flame user named Dabi. Without seeing him, you know who it is and have a feeling of what he is doing. He had dropped you off at his neighbor’s house and went to his family. He made sure you knew about them and how desperate he was to go back to them. If he has turned into this, it has to do with them.

On every screen is a shirtless Sleepyhead. He is covered in staples and scars. He talks about an unfair justice system and fake heroes. You look around and see everyone’s reactions to him.

He goes on about his backstory and doesn't bring up the facility, only Endeavor and his crappy parenting. You don't know whether to be offended or not. No, this is a wish for good luck. Because if he did, you'd be in deep shit. So instead, you nod and say, “Good luck, Sleepyhead.”

You walk away and head home, not paying any more attention to the man on the screen or even to the people who whisper the name, Dabi. There’s no need for any comments or corrections. At this rate, you may see him again.

This thought occurred again when he decided to attempt suicide. It was painful to see that because you saw Sleepyhead still and not Dabi. You saw Touya, who ran away with you and the one who didn't tell anyone about the potato chips, and the one who spared you from his flames twice. You can't listen to the fear and cries of others anymore. You sit on the bench with your hands in your lap, holding the wish of good luck. It is his if he wants it. And with this oncoming explosion, he doesn't want it this time.

In the fortress of U.A, you can’t do anything but have him on your mind, and the question of if your wishes meant anything.

---

Not too long after, you’re called to go to a special secured room. It’s one for the extremely injured patients or the dangerous. You knock first then open the door. Inside is a vault with a charred person inside. There is no one in the room but there were visitors before your arrival. You spot the vase with pretty blue flowers in it, a food tray with what looks like a single soba noodle lying in the trash, and a book on the table.

"Sleepyhead?" The machine beeps in response. In the doctor's notes, it says he is only able to speak for a few minutes a day. Since his family was here, those minutes are probably used up.

You enter deeper into the room and stand in front of Sleepyhead. "I'm only here to get your vitals, I won't be long." Another beep. You check the machine then gently touch him. He cannot feel pain, but it is still considerate to be careful. His skin is completely charred, his fluffy hair is gone. He may not be able to physically feel pain, however, that doesn't mean he cannot feel the burden of it. The fact that he knows his condition is painful enough.

After a few short minutes, a hoarse voice says, “Should’ve kept your wishes for yourself. They did me nothing.”

Sleepyhead's eyes follow you. “They were yours, nonetheless.”

There's a deep humorless chuckle. His voice sounds slurred almost. His tongue is probably burnt again. “You aren’t grossed out, dollface? Not even a little?”

You shake your head no. “I’ve seen worse,” You settle down on the chair that is to his left. “That one was you, by the way. When you first came in, you looked a lot like this but a little worse.” You hear a shuddered breath. “This is the most we’ve ever talked, ain’t it?”

“I think? When we were running, we might've talked more?” It's crazy how that is. You feel connected to him but have only spoken a few words to each other.

“(Y/n),” You don’t comment on how he remembers your name despite only telling him once. “I messed up, messed up badly. I’m dying.”

“Isn’t that how you wanted it?”

“Not now. Not when…everything is getting clearer.” You raise your brow. “Clearer?”

He takes a deep breath. "I hate him, that old bastard. But it cost me my life and siblings. Everything could’ve been different. There's still so much I hav-" He coughs.

"Don't waste your energy, Sleepyhead."

He sighs. "It feels good to talk about it," You nod, encouraging him to continue if he wants. Sleepyhead looks to the ceiling and continues. "His favorite food is soba, just like me. We have the same favorite color, too. Dollface, I messed up. I broke my family." You don’t know who exactly he’s talking about, but it isn’t Endeavor. Endeavor doesn’t look like the type to like soba.

"That wasn't just you, Touya. You were just the biggest crack in the glass house." You write down his numbers. "Honestly, Sleepyhead, I think this was bound to happen. Your home was built on glass when it’s not supposed to be, I think."

"So positive." He wheezed. You look at him, not moving from your seat. "No one can change the past, it’s set in stone and the future is just bare pages. That is how I think of it at least.”

He listens. “You can’t rewrite history but you can learn from it. Bear that burden in your current and write the lessons on the future pages. Endeavor made his bed and will lie in it. You can too, if you want."

After a few beeps, you speak. "I think it's evil of them to let you suffer though. You should die in peace. You got to say and do what you wanted." His eyes trail to you. "What would you like, Sleepyhead?"

"Bare pages."

"What if it ends up the same?"

His chest rises and falls. Sleepyhead lifts one finger to you. "It was you, right, angel?" You nod. He was bound to piece it together. It's just unfortunate that he figured it out eleven years later. Sad that on death’s door he figured out who you were.

"Can I still wish you good luck?" He can no longer talk today, so he'll blink.

You get up and walk to him. "Then I will see you later, Sleepyhead." You kiss his nose, just as you did last time. He looks shocked at you then closes his eyes. You will see him again, just like before. However, you are sure to piece him together right this time. With every wish good luck to pump his heart and organs again, every stitch to his skin is more careful. You don't have pressure or evil behind you, breathing on your neck.

Now, you can take your time piecing Sleepyhead together and hopefully, it won't feel weird seeing his eyes open.

#bnha #bnha manga spoilers #bnha spoilers #boku no hero academia fanfic #boku no hero academia spoilers #mha spoilers #mha #mha fanfic #dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #todoroki touya x reader #my hero academia #q #boku no hero academia

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skele-bunny · 6 months ago

Note

Please anything spicy with Dewther I BEG

Bet.

Jealousy. (No CW) Aether/Dewdrop

CW - NONE

Tags: Trans!Dewdrop, semi-publix sex, make-up sex, pussy/cunt/clit/t-dick & tits/breasts used, light-hearted argument

Characters: Aether, Dewdrop

(Divider by @ wrathofrats ! Dew is grumpy when he's not fucked in a while I'm just saying)

"I don't understand why you're so mad at me right now." Aether put his hands out, confused as he watched his tiny mate shove past him with a bundle of cords for his amplifier.

"Hm, shame." Dewdrop simply shrugged, closing the velcro over the bundle to keep it snug. "Maybe you should go find that guy and go jerk him off like you kept promising all night. Maybe that'll clear your confusion."

The quintessence ghoul simply blinked, running through his mind of this supposed human he kept flirting with. The moment Aether realized, he scoffed, going behind Dew and gently touching his waist. "Seriously? That was just part of the whole shtick! You know I wasn't actually being serious, right?"

"Well how would I know?!" The fire ghoul turned around, smoke slowly leaving his mask, but Aether not missing the misty eyes in the far reflection. "Obviously you can do it for others but Lilith forbid you even try to touch me anymore!"

Aether whined, now fully holding Dewdrop's waist and not letting him walk past. "Oh, firefly... I'm sorry, I really am!" He moved a hand to gently directs Dew's chin up to face him. "I didn't mean to make you upset, I honestly didn't... How can I make it up to you, my love?"

A small step forward pressed Dew's chest just a bit above Aether's belly button. "Just... Will you please touch me? I honestly feel like you've been avoiding me, like you don't want anything to do with me. But you're always so excited to do gestures towards everyone else in the pack and crowd."

"I understand, I'm sorry for making you feel that's way." Aether bonked their helmets together. "I can do that, love. If I ever start making you feel like that again, would you be okay telling me?"

"Yeah..." Dew slowly pushed his hand down to gently cup Aether's crotch.

"You want it now?"

"Please?"

Oh, how could Aether say no to that? A long exhale left him as Dew squeezed his cock, fingers dragging over the outline of his slowly growing chub. Taking his mate's hand and moving it under his mask for a quick kiss, Aether led them off the stage, explaining to a stage hand that he and Dew needed to have a moment. The hand simply nodded, assuming Dew having an episode which wasn't too uncommon but still a strange assumption. Regardless.

The two wormed their way into the green room, Aether locking the door before pulling off his mask, face paint smeared and most of it gone from sweat. Dew followed suit, adding an extra to pull his tight bun out with a relaxed sigh. Dew didn't bother waiting, pulling down his balaclava, standing on his tiptoes to bring Aether to his level and smash their lips together. The bigger ghoul reached down, lifting Dew into his arms, legs wrapped around his hips but ass being groped.

Aether pulled back, smile wide. "How in the world could I ignore such a beautiful thing laid out in front of me?"

"Gotta get you glasses, babe." An exhale and Dew was right back on, his eagerness and want showing.

Stepping back, Aether sat Dew on the vanity nearby, the lights giving a small halo to Dew's form. His lips moved down, sucking and biting on his mate's neck, hands undoing each false button and zipper on the uniform until only a pair of boxers stood between him and Dew. He moved back after a long drag of his tongue, shucking off his own shirt and pulling down both his pants and underwear, semi-chub lifted by the band of his boxers beneath his balls.

"Fuck, darling..." Aether's hand moved to run down his mate's thigh then right between his legs to admire the amount of sweat and slick drenching Dewdrop's underwear. "Love when you're drenched."

"Even when I'm stinky?" Dewdrop teased, sticking out his forked tongue with a laugh.

"Oh, most definitely when you're stinky!"

Little laughter rang out again, Dew bringing him back for more kisses. Aether took the initiative to pull down Dew's final piece of clothes, kissing down Dew's chest, stomach, right on his abdomen, before gripping his thighs to spread open. His sweaty dessert laid waiting for him, blonde curls freshly shaved but still showing signs of growing back. Aether couldn't help but whine, seeing Dew had even prepped a bit ago just for him.

"My poor love."

His tongue delved in, drawing an immediate gasp from the other. Aether purred, lapping at Dew's t-dick, nuzzling his nose into his pubes with a groan. Aether has always had a thing for Dew immediately post-show, how his scent mixed in so much, but specifically his cunt drawing in more and amplifying arousal when it made itself know. His lips hollowed around the sensitive bundle, sucking his clit with ease, fingers digging into the flesh nearby.

He could hear Dew's breaths; How they hitched as Aether's tongue would glide over his tip, when his fingers pulled back his hood to his t-dick and blew against the exposed flesh.

"You're so fucking handsome." Aether gasped, fingers slowly sliding to jerk off the other. "Love everything about you. From your head to your toes, you're just made so perfect... Wonderful, for me."

Head pushing in, Dew let out a louder cry as Aether's tongue shoved into his wet cunt. Aether's eyes fluttered back as Dew gripped onto his mohawk, absentmindedly bucking his hips in the quint's face. There was a quick readjustment of Dew's angle, more laid on his back against the mirror so Aether could devour him much more easily. Bringing his hand down, Aether began to rub against his now fully hard length, inhaling sharply and giving his own moan.

Dew's legs trembled, tilting his head back and eyes squeezed shut. It was so... So long since Aether touched him. He decided to ignore the fact it had only been four days. But it was still too long to him. Dewdrop's body seemed to agree, setting him off fast and squirting on Aether's face—Watching him frantically lick more and swallow what's given to the best of his ability. Aether moved back up to Dew's clit, giving another few hard sucks before sitting up, smashing his face against Dew so he could taste himself.

Legs pulling Aether close, Dew sobbed as he finally felt Aether's cock touch his thigh. "Mnph—" He pulled back from the kiss. "Fuck me, please, please fuck me."

"Shh, I am. I promise I am." Aether reassured. "Just want to keep loving you."

Dew arched forwards as his breasts were grabbed, fingers symmetrically rolling the hard bud between them. Aether tugged one, chuckling as Dew whined in response, looking up with wet eyes. His hips rocked forwards, cock pressing everywhere but where Dewdrop wanted, watching Aether hunch over to take one of his tits into his mouth. They were small enough to completely be sucked in, tongue circling the hard bud and biting ever so gently. Fangs grazed before pulling back, giving the same treatment to the neglected breast.

"Aeth," Dew huffed, dragging his words. "Please! Please I'll let you suck me to bed, I'm about to fucking go insane of you don't raw me right now."

Aether hummed, pushing himself up but continuing to lick at the bud. "Promise?"

"Yes, you asshole! I promise! Now put you're dick in me or I swear below I'm going to jump on you!"

"So impatient!" Aether teased, giving a small bite but standing up, stroking his length again and watching pearly white pre slowly drip out.

Adjusting to get comfortable but still provide access, Dewdrop kept his legs opened as Aether pushed his head in which immediately drew out a heavy moan. He continued pushing in, purring as he watched his cock disappear into the fire ghoul's soaking cunt. He moved himself as close as possible before giving a little hump, completely bottomed out in Dew's pussy. He gave a moment to adjust, watching Dewdrop squirm and face get flushed down to his chest.

With a nod, and hands gripping Aether's forearms that rest next to his torso, Aether began to thrust. Each movement brought a new, yet welcomingly familiar, moan from the smaller body. His cunt practically sucking Aether in and refusing to let go, urging him to thrust back in to the heat. The fire ghoul keened and tilted his head back, Aether's eyes watching the body in front of him.

He was beautiful. Neck exposed to allow his full submission, Dew's mouth lax and bottom lip swollen just a bit with a single line of drool going down his cheek. His small chest bouncing with each hard thrust into him, eyes closed and just giving the most sinful—yet holy— noises Aether oh, so adored. How could he be such a fool to deny this incubus in front of him?

Aether moved his hands down to grab Dewdrop's waist, a newfound roughness being slammed in, shaking the vanity enough for the lights to flicker. His cock continued shoving in, Aether angling himself to find the spot Dew simply melted at, whispering success as just a small change upwards gave him that reward. Tail flicking erratically, Dew felt his toes curl as his abdomen kept twisting from all the pressure and pleasure he was feeling. He could feel the quint's knot slowly swelling each time it pushed forwards in, eventually getting to the point of dragging Dew when Aether would pull back.

"Fuck—" Aether let out his own moan, laying his forehead against Dewdrop's. "Can I knot you?"

He simply received frantic nods, Dew's arms going around his neck and legs tighter on his hips. Aether let out a low growl, pushing his muzzle against Dew's bond to nip at it again, licking and sucking. One hand dug into Dew's back, the other in the wood vanity, letting his instincts take over as he rapidly rammed into his mate.

Their moans and breathing mixed, Dew getting more high pitch before outright screaming Aether's name as he came again, pussy clenching and throbbing around Aether. Not too far, Aether's knot locked in, humping like a pathetic dog until he released, letting out a dragged groan as he could feel himself fill his mate. A string of curses left his lips, now holding Dew as tight as possible, continuing to rock his hips as he kept pouring in. Dew pawed at Aethers back, laying his head on Aether's neck despite the uncomfortable position.

Coming down slowly from the high and laying still for a while, Aether took the initiative once again to pull back, cupping Dew's cheeks. "There we go... How are you feeling? Good?"

"Good..." Dew whispered back, letting the rhythmist caress his flushed cheeks. "So good..."

"I'm glad."

A soft kiss pressed between them again, Dew albeit more lazy then Aether. They stayed stood before Aether sat fully up, admiring the sight before reaching to his pants pocket to pull out his phone. Dew grumbled, embarrassment flooding his system as he flicked off Aether's camera once it came into view. He took a picture before a small video, showing his knot still deep in.

He cooed, finished the video and placing his phone back. "This is green room number... What? Twenty three?"

"Much higher." Dew stuck his tongue out, letting Aether pull him up and hold, waddling to the couch and sitting down, Dew relaxing in the new hold.

Claws carefully went down Dew's exposed back, lightly picking at small bumps but ultimately just rubbing. Dew snuggled himself close, tail going around his mate's arm.

"I'm not actually mad at you, I hope you know..." He whispered.

"Oh, I know sweetie. But still, I don't want you to feel like I'm neglecting you. Does that make sense?" Aether tilted his head, ear flapping with added curiosity.

A simple nod. "Yeah, yeah, you and your logic..."

A kiss was pressed to the fire ghoul's forehead, drawing out a purr of contentment. "Can I still suck your tits to bed?"

Dew rolled his eyes, nodding but he couldn't help but laugh as Aether pumped his hand in the air for a 'victory.'

"You're ridiculous!"

"You love mee!"

"Unfortunately!!"

#the band ghost #ghost band #rabrev writing #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul #dewther #nsfwriting rambles

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