#his horrible best man speech

[lensinski]

Gary Neville in BECKHAM

Gary was Mister Sensible. Did he talk a lot then? Gaz? Gaz always talked. And we very rarely listend to him.

[uluthrek]

inheritance cycle modern au in which all of the dragons are horses which makes eragon the underdog horse girl, saphira the underdog girl horse and brom the disgruntled and disillusioned horse trainer who doesn’t believe in the validity of this sport until he sees the ✨bond✨ eragon has with his horse saphira who is still as blue as she is in canon (don’t ask that‘s just how it works, if you question this, i‘ll track your ip).

and galbatorix is the aggressively eastern european horse girl dad who had some sort of hip injury that brought his eventing career to an abrupt end and now he must vicariously live through his protégé, murtagh, lest he kills himself. and thorn is the very expensive horse galbatorix bought for wish fulfillment purposes and murtagh and thorn are so horribly traumatized by all the stress and pressure of defeating little kids at the pony finals that they ✨bond✨.

oromis and glaedr are their direct opponents and galbatorix nancy kerrigan‘s them (oromis dies like he does canonically because honestly, hunters be like that) so murtagh can get his ribbon. and then there‘s the big final competition and eragon, underdog wonder magic horse girl, goes toe to toe with murtagh, tortured champion to be, and they have this epic horse battle (an 80cm clear round but the atmosphere is very intense) and eragon loses. but then brom delivers this epic speech about idk man like success and passion and whatnot and then he dies which gives eragon the final push to defeat murtagh but OH NO, thorn is HURT from being OVERWORKED and murtagh has an epic horse peril breakdown and tearfully tells galbatorix he‘ll withdraw.

so galbatorix goes „fuck the kid“ and gets shruikan (the very bad very big black warmblood stallion that shows up in every horse girl movie) to best eragon HIMSELF (but not before locking nasuada, the animal rights activist that murtagh has struck up a tentative romance with, in a porta-potty). and then him and eragon compete and it‘s INTENSE (meanwhile, roran and katrina have a sub plot about capturing a flock of runaway ducks that is constantly being cut to during that climactic scene) and shit is looking DISMAL for poor eragon until a vision of brom and also his dead mother, because this is a proper horse girl movie and not some bibi und tina bullshit, and that gives him the strength to defeat galbatorix.

and then he wins and thorn doesn’t die and someone frees nasuada from the porta-potty and she gets to punch galbatorix in the face. and fírnen (who is a horse but also still green) emerges during the post credit scene and meets arya and sets up a cash grabby amazon prime spinoff series and roran and katrina successfully capture the ducks and everyone is happy and there is no more horse peril.

the whole thing takes place in exactly one horse show afternoon. it makes such perfect sense actually you can fit everyone in. nar garzvog‘s at the grill and makes hot dogs. islanzadi does nothing but drink cheap wine and bitch from the sidelines. angela mans the beverage stall and tells everyone who wants to listen (or doesn’t) that toads don’t exist. solembum is the raccoon on her shoulder who violates all fda guidelines by simply existing. orrin is nasuada‘s bitter ex boyfriend who pretended to be vegan for years so she‘d like him only to be dumped for murtagh and his emo swagger in a heartbeat. orik is a shetland pony.

[merakiui]

doctor azul ashengrotto who treats you after a horrible accident. he tells you the accident injured you so severely that you may never be able to speak again. something about near-fatal trauma to your larynx. you're lucky to be alive.

for a while, the area around your throat is bandaged as the wound from surgery heals. eventually, the stitches are removed and you're left with a nasty scar, a reminder of a day you can hardly remember now. you spend a lot of time doing all kinds of therapies, both for your body and your mind. you use other means to communicate: text-to-speech or a pencil and paper. you're learning how to sign and azul's learning with you. sometimes it's difficult to live without your voice, especially when there are moments in which you desperately wish to speak, but the support from your friends and family helps brighten your spirits. especially the encouraging words from your dear azul.

in light of the tragedy, you've come out of it with a fresh perspective on life. and, happily, you've fallen in love! azul is the best. so sweet. (and you're not just saying that because he saved your life.) you've been together two years now. in a few months, it will be three. you think he might propose. it's hard to tell and azul is so secretive when it comes to surprises, but you've picked up on his evasive behaviors, the way he seems so nervous, always preoccupied with something that he just can't tell you about when you ask.

and he does propose.

but you don't go into it with a light heart. you go into it knowing that azul, the man who saved your life, who has been your number one supporter through everything, who has assured you countless times that even without your voice you are still so wonderful, is the same man who took it away in the first place.

because you arrived at that hospital with a perfectly intact larynx. in fact, there was never any damage to that area. that's what the old report stuffed away in his folder of important documents says.

now you're left with a terrifying thought: if azul could ruin your larynx so successfully, without any legal backlash or trouble, and cut it out of you in a risky attempt to keep you wordlessly silent forever, what else is he capable of doing?

you think about this while you watch him fidget anxiously on one knee, propping open a velvet box with the prettiest ring you've ever seen.

before all of this, who was azul to you? if you think back far enough, you'll find he was nothing because, before the accident, you'd never known he worked at the hospital you frequent.

so then you have to wonder: how long has azul known you when you weren't even aware of his existence to begin with?

[pottersmiracle]

Drunk words are sober thoughts

Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves x Fem! Reader

warnings: tiny bit of angst here and there-fluff-drunk ben-clingy/affectionate ben-klaus teasing you both-use of y/n-small bit of pet names (by ben)-drunk ben talks about being married to you 👀

summary: your boyfriend tries his best to act like the umbrella academy being there doesnt affect him, he also tries to act like he doesnt care that they don’t like him. But he’s horrible at hiding it from you.

a/n: rewatching tua - if this man doesnt get a smidge of happiness in season 4 im rioting - someone give sparrow ben a hug and a kiss - not proofread don’t murder me - pls send requests for umbrella academy characters 🙏

Masterlist

Ben was drunk. Really drunk. You were sitting next to him at the table and Klaus came over and started talking to you both, mainly you because you were actually interested in talking to him, “eleven people.” Ben mumbled. “Huh?” Klaus asked, you looked at Ben confused. “There are only eleven people left.” He says looking at both of you.

“Okay.. drunk ben clearly likes numbers and.. shrimp.” Klaus says looking at Ben’s plate. You laugh softly as Ben looks at Klaus, “and you couldn’t even invite me to your stupid bachelor party.” You sigh and lean back in your chair. You were right

“Oh.” Klaus said taken aback, “have we finally flicked off bad benny’s hard candy shell?” “Why don’t you like me?” Ben asked, his words slurring a bit. “Because you’re a big puckering asshole!” Klaus admitted. Actually its not like you could disagree with him, Ben was an asshole to klaus and the others.

You let them talk and walked around talking to everybody, congratulating Luther and Sloane, even having an actual nice talk with Reginald, Ben was staring him down the whole time though.

You walked past Fives table and nodded at him, you could tell he was severyly drunk and it was honesty humorous. He raised his glass to you and nodded as you laughed and walked back over to your boyfriend who was watching you as you sat down.

“You left me.” Ben pouted. You laughed and scooted your chair closer to him, “you were having a conversation. I gave you two some privacy.” Klaus gave you a smile and took a sip of his drink.

Ben groaned in response and took a bite of his shrimp as you all watched Reginald stand up to make a speech. You rubbed Ben’s back softly as Reginald talked, as he talked you notice Viktor and Allison. They were in a heated argument it was obvious but Allison ended up leaving the wedding.

“The sun rises over a lily’s field. A mother veiled, her lips concealed. The mourners come in droves of black to bury what their hearts unpack. With shallow breath and time eclipsed, i pray you miss death’s gentle kiss.” Reginald finished his speech and looked at everyone.

You clapped lightly and klaus cheered, “Beautiful! bravo dad! Bravo!” Ben stared at his father, “makes no sense.” He mumbled, you smiled at him and held his hand.

Chet turned on some more upbeat music after Reginalds dark speech. Everyone got up to dance except for you, Ben, and Viktor. “Can i tell you something?” Ben asked sitting up to look at you, his words were slurring but not enough to not understand him. “Of course.” You said.

“I would’ve loved getting married to you.” He admitted. “Just.. not at the end of the world.” He said slowly. You looked at him, you were shocked that he said that. He was always affectionate but not like this. He got up and kissed the top of your hand before standing up, “come on, let’s dance.” He had a wide grin on his face, he was officially in his chaotic stage of drunk. You tried to push off what he said as, he’s just drunk, its nothing to think about.

Although drunk words are sober thoughts..

After the fun dancing, everyone sat on the roof and hung out. You sat next to Sloane with Ben and Klaus trailing behind you, Ben sat next to you and wrapped an arm around you and Klaus sat next to Ben.

Ben rested his head on yours and Five got up, he wobbled around and everyone started yelling and laughing, “i feel like im gonna throw up.. actually, i’m hungry.” He said his goodbyes to everyone before going inside followed by Diego and Lila.

Ben and Klaus got up to leave as well. “Oh god.” You muttered standing up, “i should follow them. Goodnight guys, congratulations.” You smile at Luther and Sloane who smile back, “goodnight!” Viktor said goodnight to them as well and went inside with you.

[wizardnuke]

also re: going thru my shadowgast posts i think the best read i've ever had on the dynamic in their early days (meaning up to and including nicodranas) and caleb's importance specifically in like.. thee sparing of essek thelyss, is that in the "you were not born with venom in your veins" speech, caleb was flat out lying to him in an attempt to get essek to keep his shit together until peace talks ended (this is canonical btw), but. but. he's not lying about having hope for him, he's lying about how much hope he has. he made it sound like he's confident that essek can be more than that and he just wasn't. he's making a high-risk, high-reward gamble, he thinks essek's fucked. something is going to go horribly wrong somewhere. bro is sitting on exandria's most dangerous jenga tower of lies. but. he might be able to get out of it and become a useful member of society instead of a horrible little ball of war machine/damage spell-inventor hatred (note: guide to wildemount specifically says that essek wants to build war machines) if caleb convinces him that he can. he needs a push.

caleb has a soft spot for errant, bitter, violent wizards because he's one himself. caleb is not a hopeful man but i honestly wouldn't call him a pessimist either. he's sad, and he's practical, and he's very, very sentimental. the difference between you and i is thinner than a razor. you were not born with venom in your veins, you learned it. you may not live to see the sunrise. but he might, because caleb knows exactly who and what essek is and he has to try to push him in the right direction because nott and the rest of the mighty nein did that for him. they dragged him, sometimes. essek is no use if he's dead. practicality and sentimentality (call it love, even, but not necessarily in the romantic sense) can more than make up for a lack of hope. isn't that the caleb thesis. dragging onward despite a complete lack of hope out of love and a sense of duty for the dead and alive, the lost and the found. you have to try to do the impossible. end the war and save this asshole that's currently looking at you like you hung the stars for him, what the fuck, man.

anyway caleb widogast and the endless drag of doing good despite the fact that he doesn't have a single hopeful bone in his body, the unstoppable force of trying to have hope anyways, the pros of volstrucker-honeypot training, and how it saved essek thelyss

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy this, you can buy me a Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

TW: PAST SUICIDAL IDEATION, attempts of physical abuse (throwing objects), basically reader's mother being a really horrible narcissistic abusive person.

[Please read while listening to this.]

Listen to that. The opening strains of that old Elvis classic began to swell; a hush fell over the assembled guests. All eyes were drawn to the dance floor where Sabrina now stood, radiant in her lovely gown, and Andrew looked at her with such veneration, as if she had hung the very moon in the sky. In the arms of her now-husband for their first dance as a married couple, the newlyweds shone brighter than the stars outside the manor.

Sabrina’s cheeks flushed rosier than any wine—joy, adoration, and yes, a little champagne too—had left her glowing in a way you’d never seen before this man came into her life, and your heart swelled with happiness for her.

When at last the song ended and they shared a lingering kiss, you joined the room in applause. Someone handed them a mic, and the two tried to pass the mic to each other until Sabrina was the first to give a speech. Andrew squeezed her hand, gave her an encouraging smile, and nodded.

Clearing her throat, Sabrina spoke into the mic. “Hi, everyone,” she began, voice ringing out sweet and clear through the speakers. “I just want to say thank you all for being here on this special day. Sharing it with my family and friends who mean so much to me has made it truly magical.” Another applause returned her gratitude before receding again when she was about to continue.

With misty eyes, Sabrina then turned to her step-father. “I want to thank Jim, for raising me as your own since I was little. You’ve always been the best dad a girl could ask for.”

Then, you watched her smile at her mother. “And Mom, where do I even begin? You've been my rock since day one. From keeping me sane while wedding planning to celebrating with me every step, you know I wouldn't be here without you. I wouldn't be the strong, independent woman I am today without you and Jim. I love you both so much.”

When Sabrina's parents—Jim and Joyce—approached her and gave the couple a big hug, another round of applause arose from the guests. But as Joyce placed a final kiss on Sabrina's cheek before stepping back, the world seemed to dim around you.

Suddenly, everything is so foreign—the image in front of you was never presented to you. Aunt Joyce looks genuinely happy for her daughter, and Sabrina hugs her like she cannot imagine life without her mother—which, at some point in your life, you did believe too. Mother’s words, “You won’t survive without me,” ring like angry bees.

Yet now, the thought of sharing a roof with her again feels unbearable.

Joyce and Sabrina look... uncomplicated, despite your mother's statements about how your aunt wasn't prepared for motherhood. And suddenly, everything feels numb, and you're disconnected.

In your reverie, you missed some of the speeches, only blinking back to reality when Sabrina and Andrew’s enthusiastic cheers echoed through the room. The crowd roared as the romantic notes of the new music played, “Until I Found You” inviting guests to join in the dancing.

As you do at the few parties you’ve been invited to in your entire life, you stay away from the dance floor and become a loyal wallflower. However, this time, with a companion—a better people-watcher than you, Simon. The man sweeps his brown irises around, examining people before one makes him chuckle under his mask.

“Look at that old man, still got it in ‘im, eh?” He commented, his tone tinged with amusement.

Your gaze trails Simon's. Among the dancing couples were your other uncle and aunt, their smiles highlighting the lines on their seventy-something faces, clearly having more life in them than many of the younger ones. You chuckled to yourself.

“Actually, that’s Uncle Mick and Aunt Sarah,” you reply, watching the old couple share a laugh amidst the music. “They’ve been married longer than I’ve been alive. Slow dancing is kind of their forte.”

More people-watching, but you fail to notice how often Simon steals glances at you between his own. And by the luminosity of your eyes, he is drawn like an insect in a blazing fire. His slow, "near-dying" heart has yet to realize the change in him. Simon plays on the edges of the rotting wood.

Straightening his gaze, he strikes up a question: “If that old bugger can still cut a rug, why ain’t the famous ballerina ‘avin’ a spin, eh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Simon’s gruff invitation, the sound bubbling up from deep in your chest with a foreign carefree ring that you didn’t recognize. Meeting his eyes, you saw amusement there but also something that told you he was serious. Heart tiptoeing at the edges of your ribs, your fingers busying themselves with their own bustle.

Biting your lip, you gazed up at him through your lashes, feeling a smile curling the corners of your mouth. "I don't know," you shrugged your shoulders. “I might suck at slow dancing.”

Simon scoffed. “Absolute bollocks.”

At his disapproval, your smile widened, teeth peeking out from behind those pretty lips. You gazed up at him, searching for something intently.

Somehow in that moment, the noisy celebration around you seemed to fade into a blur, narrowing your world until it was just Simon standing before you. Your chest warmed, as if caressed by the sun on a lush spring day. Capillaries rushed, painting your bones pink. Pink.

Gathering your courage, you mimicked Simon's invitation. “Unless... you're willing to be the judge of that yourself?”

The question came out just above a whisper, heavy with promise. With your heart dangling at the tip of your throat, anticipation mixed with anxiety gnawed at you faster than any termite. Simon gave a subtle nod towards the dance floor with his chin.

“Come on then,” he rumbled.

As Simon led you, you couldn’t help but feel like Cinderella herself; this room made a fairytale for you. He wrapped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you close so your bodies swayed as one. You shyly wrapped your free hands around his neck.

The romantic music continues to flow, caressing your ears with the singer's warm voice, Stephen Sanchez, if your memory serves you right. The merciless thumping in your ribcage persists, and you wonder if Simon feels it, if he has his own version resonating in the hollow of his chest. Settling into a slow sway, you feel his shoulders relax.

“You’re not gonna turn into a swan on me now, are ya? Would be a right shame to ruin such a lovely dance.” Simon asked, tone lighthearted. After mentioning your upcoming ballet performance, he doesn’t slow down his series of jokes about it.

You threw your head back in laughter. “You know that’s not how the story goes.”

Simon's grin grew wide beneath his mask. Cocking a brow, he said, “Oh yeah? Enlighten me then, love.” He challenged.

Taking a deep breath that lifted the smile still on your face, you began the long story of Swan Lake—about what happened to Odette and her flock by the sparkling lake and mostly things you had memorized many times. "So when Siegfried finally learns the truth, it’s too late—Odette ends her life by jumping from a cliff.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he reacts, and you let out a girlish laugh. “That’s tragic.”

You shrug. “I always thought it was kind of romantic.” You giggle again—God, the way this man can make you giggle like a silly schoolgirl—when you see the reaction reflected in his eyes.

“You’re a right bloody psycho, you know that?”

You deadpanned. “I’m not a psycho.” Your tone was flat, trying to be serious but the stubborn grin that followed ruined it.

“She should’ve just gone for another bloke.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, she can’t. She’s been cursed to be a swan forever.”

“Then she should’ve just lived out ‘er days as a swan then,” he said with pragmatism, very much lacking the charm of a fairy tale with all those logics. “Should’ve chased that arse’ole prince all over kingdom for revenge instead. Give ‘im a good peckin’.”

You exhaled in exasperation, but your lips held back a smile. “Please just stop talking.”

Simon chuckled, and fortunately, for his own good, he did. The music was nearing its end, but you were still swaying. Something caught his gaze over your shoulder. He looked back at you, raising a brow to make a suggestion.

“Should we do a spin?” he asked.

“What?”

He nods his chin behind you, and you follow suit—a young couple laughing as they twirl. “Should we give it a go?”

It's somewhat whimsical, somewhat absurd, that not only is this hulking man dancing with you, but he also wished to twirl you like you were partners in some grand ballroom. Yet, as you stare into his smiling eyes, you swear there’s a hint of excitement in them. And what good is a ballerina without a performative twirl?

“Okay,” you accepted his offer.

You placed your hand in his, feeling the rough calluses of his fingers but somehow right against your skin. At your subtle cue, Simon raised your joined palms, spinning you outward in elegance and then back into the solid wall of his chest.

“One more time.” You said, and he did as you asked.

You cup his mask-hidden jaw, feeling for each woven polypropylene against your fingers. The plum of your smiling lips swells with desire, and without thinking, you press your lips to his cheek. Your heart skips a beat, gripped by a jolt of trepidation, fear, and regret that perhaps you have crossed a line, that you might drive him away.

But Simon doesn't.

Instead, he seized your waist and drew you close, eliminating any distance between you. The air was snatched from your lungs in a stolen gasp with the force of his possessive move. Like a lover accompanied by passion as he reaps longing.

(I swell with hope, in the sweet desire of a girl seeking love.)

“I’m dyin’ for a smoke.” He confessed.

You glanced around at the lively party still swirling around you. Turning back to him, you suggested, “Should we slip out the back then?”

“Sure.”

Smiling up at him, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze before untangling them from your waist. “You go on ahead—I just need to swap to flats real quick.” You gestured to the high heels that had been enveloping your throbbing toes for hours.

As Simon nodded and turned to go, you hurried off the floor, limping just slightly. The celebratory noise faded as you stepped to the left side of the manor, where the hallway to your room stretched in silence. You turned the doorknob, and the old wood swung with a low creak.

Walking to your suitcase, you flipped it open, took out your Mary Janes, and replaced your high heels with them with a sigh of relief.

Just as you moved to stand, you heard footsteps approaching, then a shadow fell across the open door. Too small to be Simon. Looking up with a start, your heart nearly dropped when you found your mother standing there, arms crossed in a frown full of distaste.

“I've been watching you all night with that… man. You're getting far too comfortable, are you?”

That tone—that same tone that you had heard countless times growing up, signaling the beginnings of an argument. Your shoulders tensed. The pulse inside you quickened as your defenses began to rise, readying themselves in anticipation of the barrage of barbed words that might come next.

The oceans dividing San Francisco and London were supposed to end whatever connection existed between you both—to pretend that it didn’t exist. It should have been a clean finale, allowing you to simply live as a normal girl with normal reactions to everything, as if nothing bad had ever happened to you.

Yet, look, your traitor body is gearing up for battle just the same. Your mind may lie, you may lie, but the wound bearer presents the results of years of being forged beneath her. 5,351 miles stretched, but you are still the same sixteen-year-old girl who bit her tongue, holding her words like a criminal about to be executed on the spot.

What a mother-daughter relationship you have.

You watch warily as Mother begins circling the room, her high heels clicking ominously, slightly showing the red soles beneath them. Louboutins, you remember. You also remember all too well how much those had cost—the very shoes you had “helped” fund years ago when you foolishly still let her access your bank account, even after you turned nineteen.

“Do you know why he’s here?” Mother tries the first question, testing the waters.

Like a frightened little girl—that same little girl from that sunny day so many years ago—you deflect the real question, “Because I invited him.”

Mother, unimpressed, casts you a sharp look, as if daring you to dare her. “You know what I mean. Do you know why he’s here?”

You bit your lip, grasping at straws. “He’s… my boyfriend.”

Mother scoffed mockingly. She turned to you, face contorted in amusement as if you had just told the funniest joke. “Boyfriend? Please. Is that what you think?”

You flinched back as Mother suddenly whirled to face you, her sculpted features twisting into a reflection of pure, unbridled rage. The similar pair of eyes glared at you wide. She buried her nails deep into your epidermis, and you gasped from the sting.

“The only reason a man would want you is between your legs. You think you found love, but really he's with you only because you're easy. You’re just a cheap fuck to him, (Y/N).”

The hot, stinging droplets gathered and spilled over without your permission. You hated yourself for fueling her twisted satisfaction. Hating that she still knew exactly where to aim her barbs to find their mark after all these years.

But nothing compares to the fact that she is your mother. She is your mother, and yet, how could those words come out of her mouth so easily? As if her criticisms had festered within her mind and she was finally allowing them to escape. There's a small, broken part of you that can't help but wonder—and why do you even wonder? You know yourself better than she does, surely.

Or do you?

Or is it true that there really is nothing to take beyond your body like the unloveable, worthless child she always says you are?

You felt a spark of anger flare. “How could you say that to me?” you choked out, baring your wounded heart. Wrong move—you know this, proved many times that showing emotion had never gotten anywhere with Mother before.

But the younger, wounded teenager in you would always crave some kind of validation, some sign she truly cared. Perhaps hidden beneath the person she's become, she still holds a flicker of the warmth she once felt for you. You’re her daughter, and she’s your mother—shouldn’t that be enough for her to finally treat you like one?

“I’m only telling you the truth so you won’t be naive. Do you think he’ll love you when there are so many girls out there who are much prettier than you?”

At times, the wiser you knew not to take Mother’s words to heart—your survival instincts, born of too many experiences, told you not to let her poison seep into your skin. But more often than not, you didn’t know better. Right now, you don’t know better.

(Prying my mouth open, she dripped her bitter blood until we were indistinguishable.)

Clenching your fist, you say through gritted teeth, “You don’t know him.”

Mother’s features bent in hate at your rebellion. The young daughter no more, grown into someone who dared to talk back rather than just gulping down her every word raw.

“And you do?” she spat. “How long have you known this man? Don’t be stupid.”

“It’s none of your business,” you retorted, but not convinced enough for her to see the gap in your expression.

“Not my business? Of course it’s my business – I’m your mother!”

Summoning the last of your courage, you mumbled, “You’re not… my mother.”

Her neat eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What did you just say to me?”

It was a second chance, one she rarely gave. For a moment, you considered taking it back—rewording your reply to something less confrontational, something safer. But you were sick of it—years of carrying her wounds you hadn’t even caused, weighing your body down and sinking them deeper into pitless hell. Of always looking past her anger and ego, finding justifications and reasons to tolerate her. Of being under her control when the young girl inside you needed her anger represented.

And you repeated it without rewording: “You’re not my mother. Not anymore.”

As it left your lips, you saw a flicker of change in Mother’s expression—was that hurt in her eyes? So foreign was her expression that you almost doubted yourself. Regret seized you along with the guilt and self-loathing that gripped your heart.

Then, the hurt blinked away as if it was never there. “Look at you,” she hissed, “throwing away your mother, the woman who birthed and raised you with great difficulty, all for some worthless man. I'm not even surprised if you end up pregnant in a few months, or maybe you already are. Don't say I didn't warn you when he leaves you with a bastard child.”

And they were right when they said that anger is the most effective key.

Moments ago, you can still find the shadow of that sixteen-year-old girl remains within, with pieces of her innocence—a bit of a child’s grin. Her body is still in fear, yet her eyes are always yearning for praise from her mother’s voice.

However, as the grown woman you are ignites in a seething cauldron of fury—disagreement with Mother’s treatment—the little girl begins to fade, reduced to ashes amidst the fire. The “why” question echoes loudly with demands. I'm your baby—you made me; why do you hurt me?

“Why? Why are you so sure only bad things will happen? Why can’t you believe I can find happiness?” Warm tears welled up, tasting salty on your lips as you asked.

Mother raised a warning finger. “Don’t use that tone with me.”

But you’ve passed the point of backing down. “Why? Why are you so convinced I’ll always be unhappy? WHY?!”

(As if it had been written long before my creation.)

Taking a sharp, short breath, you feel self-control slipping away. Your lungs hitched with condemnation, constricting you, trying to escape the hell Mother handmade just for you. You’re crossing the line; something scolds (the same voice your mother planted early on) inside your head, but you refuse to give in.

The dim red light between the cracks in your skull grows brighter, and the next thing you say are the words you've been holding back for so long:

“I’m not you! And what happened with Dad was not my fault!”

And finally, silence fills the small space between you, followed by the faint echo of your voice. As the last syllable faded, the words that had been spoken left you feeling conflicted. That little girl would consider this disobedience—the result of the doctrine your mother spat at her every day—but all you know now is the strange lightness in your heart, as if shedding a massive burden that you didn’t realize you had been carrying your whole life.

Mother took a sharp, hissing breath, and you saw the subtle quiver in her clenched jaw. “You're out of line,” she said.

“I'm out of line?! You were the first one to cross that line, over and over, hurting me for years, but now that I finally do it to you, now I'm the one who's out of line?!” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a rush, all the pain and anger that you had piled up erupting to the surface. “You've always hurt me, said awful things, made me feel like nothing! But the second I did it to you, suddenly I'm the bad one? That's not fair!"

In the blink of an eye, she extends her perfectly manicured hand to grasp the first object within her reach—a heavy crystal paperweight on the table. Your eyes are glued to it, feet ready to flee when she hurls it at you.

“You fucking ungrateful bitch!” she screamed.

Some distant, rational part of you knows you should dodge. But a darker impulse held you frozen, as if welcoming the blunt object to damage your epidermis and even more so to become evidence of her abuse. And perhaps, once the crimson drips from your split temple, it will be enough to reveal the true identity she has been hiding—to destroy the loving mother image she has carefully built for years.

You will make a spectacle of the wound, perhaps even exaggerating it a bit like Mother always did.

It came so close when it landed on the floor next to you. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Mother’s face flushed like the devil as she shouted, “I should never have given birth to you!”

Strange, that relief is what washes over you when her words land in your ears. Because for the first time, the two of you agreed on something – she wished you had never been born, just as you had so often wished the same.

Those “precious” teenage years were filled with alternating fantasies—some days hoping she might die, others wishing it was you instead. But you were never able to go through with killing her, or yourself. Because being without Mother meant being utterly lost and alone, and you were too cowardly to cut your wrist open. More days though, you regretted it—how it might have all ended sooner if only you had been braver.

You wonder who's to blame to just make sense of it—perhaps Mother's mother had been cruel, and she thought she had broken the cycle. Perhaps Joyce, for always being the golden child despite everything. Perhaps Dad. Perhaps you.

All those long, drawn-out years, you stayed, you suffered for her. Because the little girl in the bright pink shoes—the color that matched Mother's favorite dress before she threw it away—loved her mother so much. Always making excuses for her. Maybe she didn't know how to love me, or I didn't understand her way of loving me. Maybe somewhere in her anger were kisses in her own language.

You stood frozen as hollowness spread through your chest, as if the eruption had cleansed you until nothing but an empty clarity remained. Even when Simon entered the room, you didn't notice his presence until he spoke.

“Fuck’s all this?” His question didn’t really wait for an answer as he rushed to your side.

Mother smoothed her hair imperiously, then said: “We were just having a talk.”

Simon’s brown eyes scan the scene: the shattered paperweight, Mother’s suspicious fist. He then turns to examine you carefully, searching for any injuries and only letting out a slight sigh when he finds none.

“Go wait in the car. I’ll sort our things.” Simon orders, and without argument, you nod, walking out of the bedroom.

The room felt heavier with tension after you departed, leaving Simon alone with your seething mother. He moved with purpose, in a quick and efficient mind, as he gathered your things—a toothbrush and hairbrush from the bathroom, dresses from the closet, pulling out drawers for any other items. After throwing them into your suitcase, he tidied up his own things with even more haste and less care.

As he picked up his abandoned tie, Mother cleared her throat. “You don’t need to do this, you know. I know my daughter better than anyone, and she’s not what you really need.”

For a moment, Simon paused, jaw working as he reined his temper. Mother thought she had his attention—finally getting him to listen to her. But soon enough, he resumed his task as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

Undeterred, she pressed on. “There are prettier, worthier girls than her. Ones who won’t cause you so much trouble.”

Simon’s hands stilled at that, Mother thought she had succeeded in making him consider. Slowly, he turned to face the older woman. But what she read in his eyes was not a realization or even a spark of curiosity. No, it was a look that suggested he knew a lot about people like her, had seen a lot despite him being a decade her junior.

“That what you tell ‘er then?” He began, hate raining down like hail in his voice. “That she ain’t good enough, or pretty enough? That she’s nothin’ but trouble?”

The woman met his gaze, and Simon noticed how her eyes were shaped like yours, except colder, full of twisted conviction whenever she talked about you. “I only speak the truth, for her own good. Someone has to keep that headstrong girl in line before she comes to ruin.”

At that, he let out an impolite scoff, but Simon gave zero fucks. “Yeah? Cause all I see is you tryin’ to keep ‘er under yer thumb.”

Simon watched as the woman's face contorted into an ugly frown of dislike; her mask had been abandoned somewhere. He wondered how you survived all those years at home, how you could still say you “love her to bits” on your first meeting.

But he supposes that’s how children are. Misplaced unconditional love for their lifegivers. Sometimes, his critical mind thinks it’s a shame for the Man in the Sky to give little humans to people who don’t deserve them—to abusers, addicts, snakes like this one right here. But then again, Simon had no right to complain when he stopped believing in any of all that years ago—after he lost everyone that mattered.

"I'm her mother." She repeated.

“And she’s yer daughter. Not yer pet or yer little dog to order about.”

As Simon returned to tending to the bags, the woman took a slow, deep breath. "I know men like you," she replied. “You think you're protecting her—you think you're saving her, but all you want is a girl to use and toss aside once you've grown bored.”

Simon’s tedious task came to a halt, the zipper of the bag half-open. He furrowed his blond brows, brown eyes focused on nothing. Before long, he gathered the bags and shouldered them, his free hand dragging the suitcase as he walked through the gaping door. That woman spoke again, but he turned a deaf ear to her venomous spit.

@strawberrygato @aprosiacperson @chipsbuttercream @arrozyfrijoles23 @pastel-devil-06 @rroseskull

SUPPORT ME THROUGH KO-FI! CHECK MY WRITING COMMISSION. SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS HERE.

[oracle-of-dream]

Now that I know you write for svt can you please do a dom Mingyu x sub male reader smut with size kink?

I'll do you one better.

Photo Finisher

Minors DNI

Summary: Another day, another dick... A photoshoot for Cosmopolitan rolled your way with a promising model. Seventeen's largest member, Mingyu, asked for you by name...

Warnings: (Not Proofread) Male Reader, Size Kink, Massive Cock Mingyu, Creampie, Cockwarming, Carry/Lifting Sex, Struggles of fat cocks, Daddy nickname, Mention of blood (not related to sex), Cursing, Painful sex

Wordcount: 2k

Images flicked by as you tossed through the pages of recent issues of Cosmopolitan magazine. You could tell the photos were taken by professionals but lacked that glow that you enjoyed in your pictures. It just wasn't the same without it. You'd been commissioned by the magazine's owner to take photos for their next cover, apparently, their model asked for you specifically but withheld their identity from you.

Irritated, you walked into the studio, looking around for who your mystery client was. They have some nerve to call for you and not even give you a name. How the hell were you supposed to start and pre-work without knowing your client or studying other photos of them?

Your manager approached you, seeing your expression. "Y/n, I know you're not in the best of moods but let's not do anything to get us fired."

"Fired?" You raised your eyebrow. "Whoever this means so much to the company, I could get fired!?"

"No–" You ignored your manager's horrible attempt at recovery as you marched over to the dressing room door. He stepped in the way, blocking you from entering. "Just promise there won't be any blood to clean!"

"I'll make sure the bleeding will be internal. If you don't move, it'll be you internally bleeding."

They sheepishly moved aside, granting you access. You threw open the door to see a man with bronze skin, broad shoulders, and a military cut. He turned to you with a big smile. "Hello! You must be my photographer. I'm Mingyu, from Seventeen."

"Hi, Mingyu." You slowly entered the room, only the sound of your shoes clicking on the floor. "Why did you hide your name from me in the beginning?"

"I thought you might say no if you knew who I was... I've heard you're very picky with clients." Mingyu's head lowered like a puppy. "I hope that's not too much to ask."

You rolled your eyes. For someone so big, he was so docile... "Don't do that again. It's impolite." He nodded diligently. You sized him up; He was much taller than you, with a bicep the size of your head, and his chest bulged in the button-up he was wearing–the button held on for life. "Let's try and start again. I'm Y/n, and I'll be your photographer."

"I'm Mingyu, from Seventeen. It's nice to meet you." Mingyu stretched out a massive hand to shake yours, which made you feel small as he enclosed it in the handshake.

"Now we're acquaintances. Do you have any questions about my process?" You crossed your arms, trying to appear larger but it was useless against the mountain before you. Mingyu shifted his weight, looking around at the other staff in the dressing room. You scoffed, "Can we have the room please?" The makeup and clothing staff rushed out, relieved to get away from you. "Your questions. Speak."

Mingyu shifted awkwardly again before opening his mouth, "I-I didn't expect you to be so forward about things. I just want to look as good as possible, and you're very talented. So, I'd like to ask for whatever treatment is necessary."

It sounded like he practiced this speech a few times before speaking it. You smirked at the thought of him nervously practicing for you. "Sure. Do you know what you want?"

"W-What I want?"

"Yes. You've got to have something, right?"

"What can I ask for?"

"Nothing too physically damaging, I still need to work. But I want what you want, so tell me what you like about me."

Mingyu's eyes scanned you, as he'd been doing since you'd walked in. He honed in on your waist. "I wanna hold you."

"Okay, that's simple." You kicked off your shoes and waited for his embrace. When Mingyu lifted you off the ground by your waist, you gripped his arms for balance.

"Is this okay?"

"Fine. Just wasn't expecting to come off the ground..." You were level with his face now, about to admire his features much closer. His attached earlobes made his whole ear look larger cutely rounding out his face. But his sharp cheekbones and facial lines made him look more like a man–as well as his impressive figure.

"You're so... small." You'd never been called small before. The way Mingyu experimentally squeezed your sides forced a moan from you. "And you're voice is so... cute." Mingyu pulled you into him, holding you to his chest, you could feel his heartbeat racing.

"You're so excited already?"

"Maybe... I've got a thing for small things." He smirked at you, looking down at you. "When do we... do more?"

"Whenever you're ready. I've already prepared myself, but you may break me anyway..."

"I'm not a kid. I try not to break my toys," Mingyu's low voice rumbled in his chest as he lifted you to his lips easily. His lips engulfed yours as he shifted his arms to your legs, making you wrap around him. Even his tongue was thick when it forced past your lips. You twitched wrapping your arms around his neck to hold him close. Mingyu walked you to a chair, sitting down while setting you in his lap. "Come on, Mr. Photographer. Show me more." The smugness in his voice was completely different from the shy man you were talking to moments ago. You tried to lift your shirt over your head but Mingyu stopped you. "I want to fuck you in your clothes..."

"Fine. That's easier for me, but try not to mess your clothes up."

"I'll have to cum in you to not make a mess."

"Is that you trying to ask or are you telling me?"

"Depends on which one lets me cream you."

"Both do." You giggled as you slid your pants down enough for your ass to hang out.

Mingyu lifted you onto your knees, balancing you on his lap, to smack your ass a few times. One hand focused on kneading your ass while the other unbuttoned Mingyu's pants. Your hands on his massive shoulders, looking so small, Mingyu loved every second of watching you shake over him. When he managed to unleash his cock, he smiled up at you, "You wanna look first?"

You took a glance over your shoulder. It was at least ten inches. Probably–Definitely more. "That's going in me? You'll kill someone with that one day."

"No one's died yet."

"How do you want me?"

"You're gonna ride it."

You scoffed, "Are you serious? How could I lower myself onto that?"

"I'll help you. Don't worry, Daddy's got you." He winked.

"Fuck you." Your tongue poked your cheek as you reached down to line yourself with his cock. Mingyu's hands gripped your waist, their warms making your skin tingle. He held you tightly, ready to control how much cock you'd get at any time. "Just don't slam me down. I'd like to be able to walk for the rest of today."

"I thought I was supposed to get what I like."

"And I said no physical harm."

He nodded. "Of course. You're the boss."

"Sure, Daddy," You said as you slid onto his tip. It was so thick that your hole was already stretching more than you prepared yourself for. "Jesus," You whispered, trying to keep yourself stable on his shoulders.

"Leave on me as much as you need. Take your time, it's no rush."

"Don't piss me off," You grunted through gritted teeth. You were taking your time, but it just kept going. Every time you sank an inch, you used your hand to feel how much was left to go–and it always felt like you hadn't made any progress. "You fat cock, fucker."

"Are you cursing at me?" Mingyu raised an eyebrow.

"No, I was just–Holy fuck!" Mingyu pushed you down onto him, more than you were ready for. "What the fuck!?"

"Don't curse at me. I told you to take all the time you needed, and you're not listening. That's not my fault." You took deep breaths through your nose to keep yourself from crying. The pain raked through your whole body as your hole was still so tight it could barely stretch for Mingyu.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to curse."

"That's better. Now, let me help you." Mingyu lifted you, making your eyes roll as your guts moved back into place. Then he lowered you back down, making your nails dig into his shoulders. "That's it, squeeze as hard as you like. I've got you." Mingyu's words were soft-spoken and light as he moved you like a weight at the gym. At every down, he made you take more of him. He continued this pattern until you sat completely on his lap, his entire cock somehow buried inside you. Your mouth hung open but no sound could describe the full feeling you were experiencing. You'd had so many types of cocks, but one like this was different. He was a monster and he was balls deep inside you. "I don't think you can move, so I'll do it for you then." Mingyu used you, like a fleshlight, holding you tighter as he lifted his hips into you.

Your mouth overflowed with drool, dripping down onto your chest. Mingyu leaned forward and licked it up. "Such a mess slut, aren't you? You just use your job to get free cock from idols. Is the 'glow' thing even real, or do you just like getting stuffed?"

As much as you wanted to argue, your brain was full of static. You couldn't work your mouth right, only shallow gasps and soft moans spilled out.

"Let's end this now, we've still got work to do," Mingyu grunted as he stood, carrying you with him. He loosened his grip on you to let you slide until you were perpendicular to his torso. Your legs on his shoulders, his hands supporting your back and waist, and his cock pointing straight inside you. "Try not to scream. And don't bother holding your orgasm back. It's better to watch you cum all over yourself." Mingyu thrust once, forcing a loud moan out of you as your eyes rolled.

You had to focus on not letting your head dangle or you'd choke on your own tongue. But it was pretty difficult with the way you were pushed by each thrust and pulled back in with the momentum of your body. Mingyu moved at a moderate pace, but the strength behind each thrust made it feel like he was drilling you. You were being forced over the edge at 100 MPH.

"Please, cum... fast," You begged.

"For you cutie, I'll do just that. But, it'll be tough, so try not to bite your tongue off." Mingyu smiled as he cocked his hips back further and hit you with the same speed and power, but making more of his dick move. It was enough to instantly force you to cum, making a mess as ropes of cum shot all over your shirt. Your tightening hole made it harder for Mingyu to keep himself together as he went to town on you. His thrust had a moan behind it as his sweat dripped onto your body. "I'm gonna cum–come 'ere," Mingyu pulled you up as he hugged you tightly, fucking you through his high. The way his cock bulged with each wave of cum that passed through his cock was devilish. His whole body was made for fucking and it took you so long to realize it.

When you gained enough sanity to register the rest of the room around you, Mingyu was sitting back in the chair holding you as you laid on top of him–his cock still inside you.

"We've gotta work," You groaned as you tried to climb off. But Mingyu's grip on your body was so tight that you couldn't move.

"Five more minutes. Then work."

Mingyu held you hostage for almost fifteen minutes before you convinced him to let you go. You had to have an intern wheel you around in a chair to get your photos, but you still got them... All while Mingyu had that dumb smirk on his face, as he stared at you through the lens.

[hoseokslefteyebrow]

The Anomaly || JJK

Chapter 1: Alone

summary : In which you're isekai'd from your (own) parallel Jujutsu Kaisen universe to the canon universe.

wordcount : 2k

Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen X Reader, eventually Character x Reader (idk who yet tho)

Masterlist | Next

You grimace as you open your eyes, slowly focusing on your surroundings. Your back is still throbbing. Your head actually feels quite peaceful. The light of the room is dim, and as your eyes focus, you notice the numerous seals lining the walls, stickered over one another. You're surrounded by candle lights. 

You've heard of this room before. You never expected to be the one in it though. 

" Ah, finally woke up from your beauty sleep? "

As you turn, you come face to face with your sensei, leaving you confused once again. He's seated on a chair, the back of the stool facing you as he's seated backwards. There's a casual grin on his face. He looks stupid. Like always. 

" Gojo sensei? " 

The last thing you remember is Inumaki not recognizing you, in fact, he even used his cursed speech on you, forcing you to sleep. Admittedly, it was one of the nicest naps you've ever had, but still. 

" Ah, Inumaki told me you were confused- he also mentioned you're Sukuna's best friend. It got us quite worried, considering you seem to know quite a bit about Inumaki. You even mentioned that he's your upperclassman. " 

You nod. You've got no idea on what to say. Yes, Ryomen is trouble. A little shit. Yet they were treating you like your best friend is some kind of horrible curse or something, worst of the worst. 

" What do you know about me? "

You blink. Is this a test? It had to be. 

" You're Gojo Satoru. You have both Six Eyes' and Limitless cursed technique. You're the first year's mentor- I'm one of your first years, actually. Uhm.... You lost someone you were close with once last year. We're close. In a respectful way. I see you like an elder cousin. " 

Gojo's eyes widen below his blindfold, completely taken by surprise. You knew of Geto? 

" How did he die? "

You tense. You hate that memory. Not to mention with how he's looking at you. He's mentioned that they used to be close. You found him at a bad moment, and helped him through it. 

" I killed him.. "

" What? "

Now it's Gojo's turn to be surprised. 

" I stopped the blood stream to his heart. I found you, just before you were about to end him. I could see it when I had arrived. You don't look at enemies the same way you looked at that man. You care for him. Jujutsu society was already asking a lot of you. I didn't want you to live with the guilt of having to kill someone you cared for. "

Gojo is eerily silent for a good moment. His six eyes aren't having issues. Your flow of cursed energy really is different. You're not from here. 

" You have a student ID right? What's your name? "

" Kamo Y/N."

You hand your student ID  to him. 

" Already a second grade student as a first year? Impressive. I take it you're from the Kamo clan? Or are you a foreigner with a similar last name as one of the three clans- You don't look like you're from around here. "

" No, I'm from the Kamo clan. My mother fell in love with a foreigner. "

" Blood Manipulation? "

" Water manipulation, actually. "

His eyebrows visibly raise beneath his brow. 

" I've never heard that before. What's that? I take it you can manipulate water, like the name intends? "

" Yes, I can. I can manipulate any body of water, and create or change the condensation of it. " 

" Including the blood in people their bodies. "

You cringe at his words. 

" Yes. "

It's not the favorite part of your technique, but it's definitely a part of it. 

Gojo sighs, sitting up straight as he contemplates on what to do. 

" Who's your mother? "

" Kamo Asuka. "

His eyebrows furrow. He's heard that name before, but he can't remember when. Your student ID is legit too. He sighs, getting up. 

" Okay. Something is definitely going on here. I've got no idea what, but don't worry, your sensei will look into it. " 

Hos previous serious expression is replaced by his easy going one again. He's grinning as he gets up from the chair, and unties you from yours. 

" Welcome back at school I guess. I'll be putting you in the girls dormitory for now. We'll introduce you to the rest of the class tomorrow. "

Soon enough, the both of you are finally leaving the room, and you're headed back to familiar grounds. 

To your surprise, he leads you to the exact dorm room you used to stay, but your eyes widen in negative surprise as you notice that it's empty. All of your belongings not there. Your polaroids aren't hanging messily over your wall, your clothes aren't messily stacked in an overfull laundry basket in the corner of the room, your books aren't under your bed, and your comfortable bedsheets which you sneaked in from home aren't on your bed. 

" You okay? "

He notices your expression. 

" Yeah, just... This is supposed to be my room. All my stuff is gone.... "

-

The night passes by, but you can't find it in yourself to fall asleep. You're just tossing and turning, and eventually, you finally get up, and make your way outside, towards the river. 

You're going to fix your back. You breathe in the cool night's air. You'd often sneak out at times like this, along with your best friend. You'd catch the bus that goes until 3 am to Shibuya, and pop by some 24/7 convenience store from time to time. 

You take out your phone, testing your luck. 

Kuna

I'm hungry

Tf you want me to do

Lets sneak off to the kitchens, I wanna bake cupcakes

No

Wait no I'm coming

I wanna spoon out the left over batter

U gotta share tho

No

You sigh as you look at the old texts. They're not that old, only from yesterday. By accident, you had woken up Nobara as well and together the three of you ended up baking cupcakes. 

It had been fun. 

You type a message. 

Hey, where are you? 

[ The number you're trying to reach is not in use. ]

Something really wasn't right, you really were somewhere you weren't supposed to be. 

You decide to just focus on the task ahead. Throwing the, currently useless, device in the grass beside you, you step into the shallow part of the river. 

Unlike most cursed techniques, you found yours pleasant to use. You didn't need to intent harm on anyone to use it. You also managed to master your reverse cursed technique. With enough water, you can heal injuries. 

You manipulate a bit of the river's water into the palm of your hands, allowing the water to encase your hand. The water is still cold, but that only makes you sigh in relief as you press your water encased hand to your back, the water lighting up as your abilities get to work. This was so much more pleasant. 

-

" Okay students,  meet your new, very awesome classmate, Kamo Y/N! "

Gojo is way to cheerful as he introduces you. 

Nonetheless, you smile politely as you slide open the door, and step inside the classroom. 

" Hi. Nice to meet you all, I hope we get along well. " 

You bow, finishing your introduction formally. 

This is not how it went when you introduced yourself back in your universe, but that was more than okay. 

A spark comes to life in Nobara's eye. 

" Another girl! This is great! Finally I'm not just stuck with these two! " Nobara cheers. 

Both men beside her grumble. 

Yuuji pouts. 

" Why, what's wrong with us? I thought you liked us. "

Megumi's mildly annoyed expression shifts soon enough, his focus now on you. 

" Kamo? "

He's always been sharp. He probably wonders why you're here when your cousin (Noritoshi) is in the Kyoto school. 

" Y/N isn't like our regular students, Megumi. She randomly popped up yesterday out of nowhere. She already knows you, but no one of us knows anything about her, thus far. " Gojo explains. 

Megumi's eyebrows furrow, as Yuuji gasps. 

" Out of nowhere? What if you're from a different universe? " 

You raise a brow. You hadn't thought about that. Had the cursed spirit you've been fighting really been strong enough to send you here? 

" Don't spout nonsense Yuuji-"

" I think it's actually a good theory. "

All four students turn surprised to their sensei. 

" Your flow of cursed energy is different. It's somewhat more peaceful, but it also feels like it doesn't belong here.- I forgot to ask you a bunch of questions yesterday actually, how did you end up here? "

He's leaning back against the desk, fingers on his chin as his expression is relatively serious. 

" I was fighting a cursed spirit. It was special grade. It popped up out of nowhere. It wasn't alone either. One went after me while the other went after Sukuna. The one that went after me was strong, and made me fall through some kind of hoop. I was supposed to fall in the river, but I ended up falling right at the entrance of the school, which is where Inumaki senpai found me. " 

Yuuji blinks, though his eyebrows furrow in confusion. 

" Sukuna? "

Yuuji can only hope you aren't referring to the very curse he hates. 

" Yeah, Itadori Sukuna. That actually reminds me, is he sleeping in late again, that he's not here? " 

All eyes blink at you in confusion. 

" Yeah, I actually forgot to ask about that yesterday as well. Is your Sukuna a student? "

Gojo seems confusingly serious about it. 

" Ah, yeah. He is. He's Yuuji's twin, actually. "

Everyone's eyes are wide open, and Yuuji's mouth actually falls open. 

" My- my twin?! " He calls out, visible distressed. 

You blink, wondering what you've said wrong. 

" Yeah? -"

" Ryomen Sukuna is the king of curses here. He's a very powerful sorcerer from the Heian era, back when the curses ruled. It took a lot to defeat him. And the sorcerers from back then couldn't even kill him. They cut up his 20 fingers and sealed them. "

You blink in surprise at Gojo's explanation. Before furrowing your eyebrows in disgust and realization. 

" 20? "

Gojo nods. 

" Our Sukuna had 4 arms. "

" Ew. "

" I can swallow his fingers. "

Now you blink at Yuuji. He blinks back at you with a bit of a dumb grin, Nobara cringes in disgust. 

" Ew. "

" Right! You get it, it's so unsanitary! "

She's definitely glad to have you. 

" But then, Sukuna's presence lives in you? " 

Yuuji nods. 

" Yeah. Don't worry though, I've got full control over him. "

This is all just very confusing for you. 

" Right. "

" Sukuna Ryomen as a student. I never imagined that- I take it his cursed technique is slicing in your.. Universe.. As well? "

Gojo seems positively interested. The possibilities of Sukuna being a student is amazing to him. 

You shake your head. 

" He doesn't have any cursed energy, actually. "

" What? "

" Yeah, he's free of it. "

Gojo's eyes widen. He only knows one person who was free from it. 

" Like-"

" Yes, like him. "

You flit your eyes over Megumi, who just seems confused. 

Gojo is only more surprised at this point.

" Okay... Well, enough of this. Let's turn back to class for now. We'll figure out how to get you back to your universe. For now, let's just focus on classes. This way, perhaps you won't fall behind. "

-

Taglist:

@luxylucylou

[peppermintquartz]

The views in Sydney would be great if it would just stop fucking raining.

Seriously annoyed, Rocker strides back to the lobby. He nods at a handful of Aussie cops from the Tactical Operations Unit (TOU) that led the seminar today and spies Deacon scrolling through his phone.

"Deac, hey. It's still pissing out there and I'm already starving," Rocker tells him.

Deacon sighs. "Room service?"

"Can we charge it to LAPD?"

"They already cut costs with us sharing a hotel room," Deacon says, smiling, "so they better cough up the money for a proper meal."

There are other officers from the States, but Rocker isn't all that into socializing at the moment. He is still jetlagged to hell after four days of workshops, presentations and demonstrations. Tomorrow is the last day, full of speeches and thank yous, and Rocker is bored just thinking about it.

At least it's Deacon out here with him. Hondo can be preachy and that gets on Rocker's nerves, while Luca is a horrible person to share a room with. Tan, Rocker's first choice, is currently preparing to take the sergeant's exam.

And back home, what does Rocker have to look forward to outside of work? His apartment, his painting, and his Russian literature. God, life as a divorced man is depressing.

Deacon is someone Rocker wants to become: steady, calming, assured. Sure he has his flaws, but Deacon doesn't try to talk down to Rocker even if he has every right to do so.

Besides, Rocker knows that he's 50-David only because Deacon dropped out of consideration, and ever since then, Rocker has actively sought out Deacon's advice whenever he can. It's created a strong bond between them, the two former 2ICs to a couple of SWAT legends. He doesn't like having to follow Hondo's orders sometimes, but Deacon? He'll follow Deacon right into hell if Deacon asks him to.

Rocker doesn't want to think about what that says about him.

---

They had dinner at the tiny table in the room, and then they open up the bottle of wine they were given by one of the sergeants here as a welcome gift.

"I'm just saying, if they make me ride that horse again..." Rocker says, about three-quarters through the bottle, while Deacon laughs at the memory of the Mounted Police picking Rocker to try a couple of horseback riding maneuvers. Despite Rocker's best attempts, the horse just did not have any respect for him.

"Oh, you didn't have any dreams of being a cowboy?" Deacon teases.

Rocker scrunches his nose. "I'm a city boy through and through. Sure, kid me wanted to ride a bucking bronco, but I'm not four years old anymore."

The image of Rocker riding one of those mechanical bulls flashes into Deacon's mind. And he keeps his mind there for a moment.

"You'll look good doing it," he says at last.

"That's because I make everything look pretty," Rocker says, grinning, his cheeks pink from the wine. Deacon can't disagree; Rocker is stupidly attractive with his dark brown curls and strong features and that buff body. Unaware of Deacon's train of thought, Rocker sighs. "I like getting out of LA for these sort of trips, but the jetlag sucks."

Deacon agrees. "I'd like it more if we could go around the city or maybe venture out further. Seems such a waste being stuck indoors." He thinks about it. "No, I take that back. Running around the city means I'm actually on a case."

"Ha, I heard about Thailand. You guys have the worst luck."

"It's all Hondo, I swear."

Rocker raises an eyebrow. "But you're loyal to him."

"I'm loyal to my team," Deacon corrects. "No matter who leads it."

"Even if it's me?"

Deacon narrows his eyes. "Are you trying to poach me over to 50-squad?"

"Stevens would kill me if I swapped him out for you," Rocker says, and then he sighs. "I like working with you though. You're so... graceful. Contained."

"You're not too bad yourself," says Deacon. He reaches over and squeezes Rocker's biceps. "I mean, all that beef on you. And you're very easy on the eyes. Plus, don't tell anyone I said so, but I like when you smile so wide your whole face scrunches up."

"Really?" Rocker asks, smiling in that exact way now, as if he's been given a gift he wanted all year.

Deacon doesn't remove his hand. He likes the way his tanned skin contrasts against Rocker's paler complexion. As if looking through a screen, he sees his thumb rubbing over the patch of skin, and Rocker's muscle jumps under the caress.

"Deac?"

"Sorry," he murmurs, about to draw back his hand when he looks at Rocker again. And he stops moving. Stops breathing.

The downpour outside becomes louder. The heavens seem to want to drown out everything other than this room, render the passage of time meaningless.

Rocker swallows and licks his lips. Deacon's gaze snaps to the tip of the pink tongue peeking out, and everything in him screams for him to taste it.

The next thing he knows, he's got one hand in the back of Rocker's head, his fingers digging into short hair, and his mouth is locked over the other man's lips.

Rocker doesn't even resist, tilting his head as his thick arms go around Deacon's waist and back. He actually whines when Deacon pulls away briefly, but Deacon doesn't leave him for long; he straddles the younger man and resumes the kiss, one hand tangled into the short, damp curls of Rocker's hair and the other cradling his lightly-stubbled jaw. When he settles his weight on Rocker's lap, he encounters a heated hardness.

Gasping, Deacon pulls back from the kiss. What am I doing?

Below him, Rocker's blue eyes are blown dark, his fair cheeks pink and rosy, and his lips swollen and wet. He blinks up at Deacon, a soft, inquiring sound emerging from his throat. His hands - massive hands, always so sure and confident - tremble where they're placed on Deacon's body. He licks his lips again.

Deacon's pulse races in his chest while his own cock thickens with desire. He's done this. He's done this to Rocker, who's always, always confident. As if to test his theory, Deacon rocks his hips a little, and Rocker moans, lips parting, his broad chest heaving.

"Please," Rocker whispers, his voice so quiet and broken that Deacon can't tell if Rocker meant to say it at all.

He pulls off his own shirt and then removes Rocker's. A dull pink flush spreads over Rocker's chest. Deacon rubs his thumbs over the erect nipples, making Rocker whimper and rock up. The sensation causes every single nerve in Deacon's body to feel like he's been shocked with electricity.

He wants more of it.

"Just this once," he finds himself saying. "Just once."

"Okay," Rocker agrees too readily, and pulls Deacon close.

[saffusthings]

It's Written All Over Your Face

oscar piastri x personal assistant! reader

summary: the one where they learn feelings can be messy. and weird. word count: 15.9k (...) warnings: abuse aftermath, a sprinkle of angst, don't try this at home kids, poorly edited writing a/n: i have a love/hate relationship with my writing of this chapter, but it seems alright. but it's got a couple scenes i'm excited for y'all to see :) also mc is a Hot Mess but i love her sm

Part 1 | Part 2

“O- Oscar,” she trembles, too busy to be bothered to be professional. “I think s- something’s wrong…”

He pulls her in tightly, letting her head rest against his shoulder. 

"Shhh," he whispers. "I'm here. It's okay."

He's trying to be strong for her. He knows that she needs it right now, and even though something inside him is vibrating with fear.

She covered another cough with her hand, only to find it smeared a deep red.

Oh, that's blood. 

"Y/N, what happened?" He finds himself asking, even though he already knows the answer.

“I don- I don’t know,” she wheezes.

It’s been a few minutes since Oscar went into the bathroom. Lando also doesn’t hear any of the tell tale signs of two people… well, getting it on - so tentatively, he calls out for his teammate. “Everything alright, Osc?”

"No" Oscar finally manages to get out, his voice choked and thick. "Things don’t look too good. Can you… Can you go get help?"

“What?” Lando rushes in at the first sign that something is not right.

He turns to give Lando a panicked look, his eyes wide and desperate. "I don't know what's wrong - just go get help or something!" he demands, desperate for someone, anyone to help them. 

He wants to run his fingers through her hair again - wants to be able to soothe her - but he's worried he'll make it worse somehow. 

This can't be happening. This isn’t fair.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come t-to lunch. I was g- going to, b-but…”

Her hands feel cold. Why are they cold?

"No, no," he says, giving her his most convincing smile. "Don't talk, don't apologize - just breathe. Breathe." 

He's saying the words just as much to himself, he thinks. His mouth has gone completely dry, and he's sweating profusely. He can't tell if it's from the heat or terror or both.

Lando grabs his keys and reappears in a moment. “We’re going to the hospital. I’ll drive.”

He nods numbly, before forcing himself to think straight. This is not the time.

He tries to figure out how to do that. He's going to have to do most of the work here, but she's already weak as it is. He's going to have to try and carry her. When they finally reach the car, what feels like months later, Lando gestures for Oscar to ride in the back with her.

“Think she’d want you with her,” he explains quietly, before opening the driver’s seat and getting in. Oscar gives the older man a nod, climbing into the back of the car. 

She's so out of it now, his efforts to sit her up only causing her to cough harder. He tries to keep his hold on her strong, trying his best to keep her upright on his lap so she'll have an easier time breathing. 

"It's okay," he keeps whispering to her, countless times. "It's okay."

“It…” Her speech is getting more and more strained as time passes. “Hurts.”

He gives her a pained smile, trying to hide how absolutely horrible this is really going. 

"Hey, I know it hurts right now," he says quietly. "But it's all going to be okay. We're on our way to the hospital now, okay? You've just gotta hold on. You can do that, can't you? Hold on for me, I know you can."

She wraps one of her hands around one of his. The touch is soft, gentle.

It takes him a few minutes to realize that it’s meant to be a firm grip on his hand.

He feels completely useless - more useless than he's felt in his life. He wants to be able to do something, help her out in some way - but he can't. He's helpless here, completely at the mercy of whatever is happening to her right now. 

That's something that makes his stomach turn in terror. He's never been this scared for someone else's life before - and he doesn't like it.

As her eyes become half-lidded, he turns to face Lando.

“What do I do? Something is wrong with her, and I can’t tell what the fuck it is,” Oscar asks, frustrated, an undercurrent of panic in his tone.

"Hey, hey, just concentrate on getting her to stay awake, okay? She just needs to stay conscious. Just keep her talking, just anything. Doesn't matter what it is," he reassures him - although honestly, he's feeling just as scared, just as anxious as Oscar. His friend is coughing up blood in his backseat, and these cars ahead just won’t fucking move. In his mind, all he keeps hoping for is that they'll make it just one damn minute closer to the hospital. Just one more minute.

He starts to rub her sides gently - trying to get her to focus. His face is the picture of calm, a soft small on his lips as he soothes her.

"I'm sorry I got grumpy at you earlier. You didn't deserve that. I'll make it up to you later, I promise," he says.

“…Yeah?” She smiles weakly, trying to make him feel a bit better.

"Yeah, I will," he says, trying to sound brave. 

Once they reach the hospital, Oscar wraps her arms around his shoulders as he works to prop her up, supporting her weight. He ends up looping an arm underneath both of hers, before he practically drags her along with him. They inch towards the doors of the emergency room, Oscar hoping against all hope that she's still conscious. 

He can manage anything - he'll work through absolutely anything if she's okay. 

There are no clear images - the entire rush of the hospital sounds like it’s happening… underwater?

She can vaguely register that she’s in someone’s arms - probably Oscar’s. The ceiling lights look more like blurry blobs, disfigured and unclear. She tries her best to keep her eyes open.

Oscar is the one to spot a couple of nurses walking out of the double doors, and instantly, starts striding up to them in a panic. "Excuse me? Help, please!" he calls out desperately. 

He's trying to keep his voice from shaking, trying to get her to a hospital bed - and fast. His voice draws the gaze of the nurses, who look at them in astonishment, their eyes widening at the sight of the blood on her shirt. Immediately, they snap out of their stupor and get to work. 

"Bring the gurney over!" one of them cries out, as they push one the double doors open, allowing him to rush into the hospital - the girl now limp in his arms.

“…O-Osc?”

He hears the sound of her small voice, the word coming out broken and barely there. She’s speaking, barely, and for now, this is enough assurance for him that she's okay. 

"Oh, hey - it's okay, we're at the hospital now. You're gonna be okay, okay? Just hold on to me a little longer. We're gonna get you to a doctor, and it's all gonna be good - you'll see," he tries to reassure her, his hands gripping her shoulders gently - keeping her in his arms.

“I can’t-“ she wheezes out. “Can’t–“

He hears the sound of her labored breathing, and his eyes widen in panic. 

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay,” he coos gently.” You don't have to talk - just keep breathin’, alright? You just have to keep breathing," he tells her, voice straining to stay even, his knuckles going white with how hard they're gripping her.

“Can’t breathe–“ she finally manages to get out.

His eyes search desperately around for help, for a nurse, a doctor, somebody to come and help her. He’s just about to resume shouting for help when, like a breath of fresh air, he hears the clatter of the gurney being wheeled in, and two nurses pushing it up to him - ready to load her into the gurney. 

"Just stay awake," he tells her desperately, his face going deathly pale as she is shifted from his grasp. He only just manages to keep the sob of relief in his throat as he watches them wheel her away from him, towards a trauma room.

The sound around him feels like it fades in and out - distant shouts for an IV, for blood, about a fracture causing a lung puncture leading to internal bleeding. Time is too slow and too fast all at once. 

When something pulls at the corner of his mind, it’s only then that Oscar sees Lando trying to get his attention. He feels Lando gently nudging him again, trying to pull him away from the trauma room door - and his head snaps up, almost as if he's been woken up from a deep sleep.

"Huh?" he repeats back to Lando blankly. He blinks and shakes his head, feeling the fogginess in his mind start to clear a little. "What'd you say?"

He feels a little lightheaded - and it takes him a moment to realize it's from the fact that he's still not breathing right, too busy trying to listen to the nurses talk to the doctor through the door. Lando looks at him with a sympathetic expression, pulling him further from the door. "Come on, mate. She's gonna be alright. They've got it handled." 

He lets Lando shepherd him towards some of the waiting room chairs - a little bit further away from the door - as he listens desperately, trying to get some hint of what was happening from the murmurs inside. 

The only things that actually register in his mind is what he's pretty sure is the sound of beeping heart rate monitors - and the sound of the nurse informing the doctor that there's more bleeding somewhere then they'd originally thought.

For a second time, Lando's voice is what breaks his train of thought.

“I don’t mean to overstep,” he starts cautiously, afraid of setting off an emotional trigger of some sort. “But… do we know what happened?”

He blinks, and tries to focus on Lando, and not the faint sounds coming from the trauma room a few feet away. "I don't know," he tells Lando honestly, his eyes going cold like he's about to say something that he really just doesn't want to admit. "… But I'm betting it had something to do with her parents."

Lando’s not sure he understands. While he doesn’t know the exact nature of whatever is going on between Oscar and his assistant, he knows there’s something there. And he’s willing to bet that that means Oscar is the one who probably knows the most here.

His brows furrow. “What, like she’s sick?”

The younger man  nods, his jaw tightening slightly. "Yeah, you could say that."

"I'm fine, Lando," he says quietly when Lando seems to continue to hover nearby - because he thinks maybe Lando's concerned about him, and he needs his best friend to understand that right now, he's okay. "I'm just worried about her."

“And why’s that?” Lando asks knowingly.

"Because she-" he stops himself again, realizing that the one thing he doesn't want to say about her is exactly what he's just about to blurt out. But before he can utter another word, their attention is stolen by commotion in the trauma room.

His head immediately snaps up, eyes wide as he takes in the noise. The heart rate monitor sounds different - the rhythm of the beeping is somehow even more intense. It makes a strange sense of panic encroaching across his chest - the way suspense music in horror movies are meant to, except a dozen times worse. 

He can make out the sounds of nurses shouting different medical directives and things to each other. 

What the hell is going on in there?

His throat tightens as he takes in the noise. There’s shouting - they're commanding each other to do things, and it sounds like discord. It sounds too hurried, and incessant beeping of  the heart rate monitor doesn’t ease up either.. 

Lando spares a quick glance to check on Oscar, worried for him. He knows this cant be easy for him, and yet, Oscar's face has the serenity of a blank slate. He then turns his attention back to the room, trying to observe and figure out what’s going on through the small windows on the doors to the trauma room. Oscar, of course, does the same.

He can barely see anything through the little window. 

It's all flashes of movement, and he's not even sure which colours belong to who - but whatever is happening, it's happening really fast. The nurses are still shouting and the heart rate monitor is still beeping furiously and no-one has come out to tell him what's happening, and nothing about this seems remotely okay.

This isn’t real.

This isn’t real. It’s all he can think, feel - over and over again. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

When Lando turns to look at Oscar, he’s gone pale.

Paler than usual.

“Oscar?” Lando’s voice sounds far away. “Osc? Hey, mate, I need you to look at me, okay? You need to breathe, yeah?” He feels Lando's hands on his face, gripping his chin and turning his head towards him. 

He opens his eyes slowly - they're wet. 

When did the room start getting blurry for him? 

God, this feels like his worst nightmare is coming true.

If Oscar thought he was scared before, when the commotion started?

Then his heart stills in his fucking chest when the commotion is no more.

No. 

No, no, no, no. 

The silence feels all-encompassing - like it's drowning his senses. His chest feels impossibly tight. The room disappears - the noise around him mutes into a dull roar, and he can't breathe right now. He can't even feel his own fingertips.

“Sir?” A young man tries, attempting to get Oscar’s attention.

His head snaps up at the word, eyes blinking back into sharpness and his vision sharpening in an instant. He looks around, the sound of the nurse's voice bringing him back to his senses. 

“Are you…” the young resident checks his clipboard. “… Mr. Piastri?”

The Australian nods quickly, swallowing hard before speaking. 

He knows his voice is shaky right now. It's obvious that he's freaked out right now - everyone who walks by him is looking at him like he's going to fall apart, and he would if they'd just tell him what happened to her. 

"Y-yeah," he manages, "that's me. That's me. Can you tell me what's going on?"

“Could you provide a valid form of identification? It’s all procedure - we can’t release medical information to anyone except to the emergency contact we have on file,” he explains.

Right. Right. 

Provide information. Valid form of ID. Procedure. 

It's all very logical. It's all very reasonable. 

Oscar nods, reaching for the wallet on the other side of his back pocket. His fingers are only shaking a little, but it takes him an absurdly long time to pull out the card - because he can't remember where he keeps his ID and when he finally does find it, his hands feel some degree of numbness.

Lando puts a warm hand on his. “Mate, breathe,” he whispers, trying to get him to calm down. He’s just watched Oscar fumble with his ID four different times as he fails to slip it out of his wallet.

Lando gives him a small smile that he hopes is at least a little reassuring.

He takes a slow deep breath in and out - his fingers still shaking. Come on, Piastri. He tells himself - but the words ring false in his mind right now when he doesn't feel like he's really fully himself at this very moment. 

Someone needs to tell him what's wrong with her.

“Mate, he needs your ID,” Lando grounds him gently.

"Right. Right. Yeah," he agrees, trying to compose himself. It's impossible. He can't think straight. 

He finally manages to pry his ID from his shaky fingers, handing it to the man in the powder blue scrubs without another word. The assistant, after taking a moment to confirm, returns his ID and checks his notes before eyeing Lando warily, unsure if he should provide Y/N’s medical update in front of the third party.

He’s not looking to get fired, after all.

When all he gets in turn is a nod of confirmation from her emergency contact, the assistant swallows, and then starts to speak. 

"Based on the X-rays and MRI tests, we’ve been able to conclude that Ms. L/N has suffered an extensive lung injury. That's most likely the cause of the bleeding. We've also taken her to intensive care for urgent treatment."

The man in the lab coat hesitates before ultimately continuing.

“Right now, the doctor suspects the cause to be an untreated fracture of her ribs,” he reads off his documents before looking up at Oscar. “We believe that the cracked rib or ribs placed pressure on the lung, causing a puncture and the subsequent internal bleeding.”

Cracked ribs.

He wants to throw up. He thinks he might even dry heave for a second, but he stops himself. "I don't- I don't understand," he tries to say, his voice thick.

Lando watches the blood drain from Oscar's face. He needs to get Oscar out of the situation - out before the dam breaks. So he takes a small step closer and rests a comforting hand on Oscar's shoulder again. 

"C'mon," he says gently. "Let's go take a walk, yeah?"

Lando’s caught off guard when Oscar plants himself in that spot, his body resisting the older man’s hold.

"No." he forces himself to say. He can't think straight right now, but he doesn't want to move from the exact spot he's standing in. 

He stares at Lando, his jaw clenched, "I'm not leaving until I see her."

“Oscar-,” Lando tries, gently yet firmly using his arm to usher Oscar in the direction of the door leading outside.

He knows what Lando's trying to do - he's trying to help him not freak out in public, he's trying to keep him from falling apart in front of the nurses. 

Goddammit, Lando. Leave me alone. 

He shakes his head, his hands subtly clenching into fists, "No! I'm not- I don't need to go outside, okay? I'm fine! Just let go of me!"

He glances at Lando, his face desperate, before he repeats his plea, trying to focus on the one thing he wants right now.

"I'm not leaving until we see her."

Lando’s hands come up to both sides of Oscar’s face. They don’t shake him, but they do hold him - Lando’s hands a warm and firm pressure against him. “Mate,” Lando says slowly, evenly. He makes it a point to look him directly in the eyes. “You’re not talking sense. I need to know what’s going on, yeah?”

Oscar meets Lando's eyes, taking a steadying breath. "I just… I need to know that she's okay," Oscar whispers, his voice rough and hoarse.

“Okay,” Lando nods, trying his best to be understanding. “Yeah, I’m with you there.”

Lando’s eyes search his face for any indication of what he’s thinking.

"I like her," Oscar says quietly, finally managing to meet Lando's eyes, "A lot more than I should, and I'm afraid she might…" 

Oh.

That wasn’t what Lando was expecting. But I can work with that, Lando thinks.

Lando nods, and he understands and for some reason, Oscar feels like he might start crying in sheer relief right there. That, of course, would be horribly embarrassing. His pride won't let him do it, so he holds back. But he thinks he can start breathing a little bit easier, knowing that Lando gets it.

He swallows hard, his eyes closing for a moment as he forces the words out, "With her, it's just… it's different, y’know? Like someone who speaks your language in foreign land, she just-"

He cuts himself off, choking on the words.

“Yeah?” Lando teases good naturedly. Sue him for having a little fun with it. “Sounds like she’s special.”

Oscar nods. "Yeah," he says softly. "She is."  He looks up to find him wearing a small smile. 

“Say, how’d you bag an assistant like that anyway? No way she came ‘cause of your stats,” Lando shrugs, something smug brewing in the curve of his lips. 

Lando sounds genuinely curious as he asks, and it throws Oscar off a bit.

"I…" He stops, trying to force his mind to work right now. "She started out as a junior assistant at the team," he continues, trying to focus, but the memory of her at the beginning - her shy smile, her quiet, gentle nature - it's all flooding his mind again.

"She was… shy. More than shy - she didn't really talk, but- she was so quiet. The others-... they’d crack jokes about it, snide remarks and the like.."

"But when she did talk, she was... she was just so smart. And know how her sense of humor is - hers are the jokes that are actually funny.”

“That so?”

"Yeah," he says, the memory still fresh in his mind. He'd watched, completely entranced. 

He'd never thought of taking the assistant out for a drink before, but he'd somehow found himself offering her one that weekend.

"She didn't agree to go," he remembers, his mouth curving into a bitter smile. "I think she thought it was like, a joke or something. Like I was doing it to make fun of her."

"She was pretty wary the first few times," he continues, his voice softer now. She'd always been shy and quiet as his assistant, but once he'd begun to earn her trust, slowly but surely. It was only then he'd seen a different side to her - the confident, sweet, gentle persona that only he was privy to. 

"But then she got a little more open, a little more herself- god. It was this beautiful thing."

The idiot’s in love, Lando thinks. But some self-preservation instinct tells him that if he’d like to keep his body and his car intact, then he should keep his mouth shut.

At least this once.

They cross the threshold into the room, the sight of her broken body in a hospital bed greeting Oscar immediately. The room smells overwhelmingly of hand sanitizer, paper products and latex gloves. Fluorescent lights are dimmed, a couple of them on across the tiled ceiling.

She lays there, still and silent - not unlike the way she’d been asleep in his bed just last night. But like sand slipping through his fingers, that image gives way to the one before him: the present.

There’s dried blood on her lips from when she’d been spitting up blood earlier. She’s connected to all sorts of machines - the IV, the heart rate monitor, a couple other things Oscar’s sure must also be important. She’d hate this, he finds himself thinking.

Instinctively, he steps closer.

He’s almost frightened to get too close to her, too scared to make the wrong move somehow as he stands by the edge of the bed. She’s always had an elegance - a grace - about her that’s always commanded his attention. But right now, it’s all gone.

“They had to put her under to stop her from trying to speak or move,” an attendant pipes up, from where she’s been noting down her vitals in the corner of the. “Because of the fracture in her ribs.”

Oscar's face remains the picture of neutral, dancing somewhere between stoic and lost. 

“She can still hear you,” he informs him quietly.

He reaches forward, resting his hand carefully on the top of her head, his fingers gently smoothing down her loose strands of hair. “I’m here now,” he murmurs quietly, his voice cracking with an emotion he can’t place. “You’re okay - you’re okay,” he repeats, more to himself than to her.

He watches her for a moment again - she looks more peaceful now, now that he’s standing here, talking to her. His fingers move through her hair, the way he sometimes did when she’d accidentally fall asleep on his shoulder. 

“Do you think she can feel too?” he asks aloud, directed towards no one in particular. The attendant has left the room a while ago, but minutes blend together into one long indiscernible stretch of time.

Lando seems to consider the question thoroughly, his brow furrowed. 

“I’d say so,” he answers, quietly. “She might not react to it, because of the drugs, but her brain would register the touch regardless. I don’t think there’s anything that would stop her from feeling it.”

He takes his free hand, carefully wrapping his fingers around her much smaller, bruised one.

Lando briefly wonders if his mind is playing tricks on him when the beeping of the heart monitor speeds up by a fraction of a second.

Oscar, on the other hand, remains focused elsewhere. It’s the oddest thing, he thinks - how he was dying to be near her and now that he is, he’s not sure what to say.

Say something, he thinks to himself. 

But he’s drawing a blank. Everything he thought he’d say to her in a position like this vanishes from his mind and he’s left standing here, still holding her hand, a complete and utter blank.

He looks down at her face again, studying her. He can make out a scratch on her forehead that seems to disappear into her hairline, and he carefully runs his thumb over it. He stays like that, running his thumb over her forehead, over her eyebrow... until his eyes finally move down to her mouth. 

He pauses, watching the slight part of her lips, her lower lip still caked with the dried blood.

He doesn’t quite know why, but all of a sudden the idea of her being dirty, of being covered in blood - of looking so unlike her - feels like venom in his veins. 

His gaze is fixated on the dried blood stuck to her lip, and on an impulse, he grabs the tissue that’s resting nearby and reaches forward to clean it away. His touch is so gentle as he brushes the tissue over her lower lip, the dried blood coming off on the tissue. 

He wants the image of her, bloody, dirty, to stop plaguing his mind - he wants her to look like herself again.

He continues wiping carefully, his touch feather-light, wiping away the dirt that’s stained her face. She deserves to be clean, to be safe, and so he keeps gently wiping at her lip long after the blood’s gone from her face.

“Osc,” Lando calls tentatively, trying to bring him back to the present from wherever his mind has gone. “It’s alright, it’s okay. She’s clean.”

He snaps out of his reverie at Lando’s voice, stopping the repetitive brushing of the tissue against her lip. 

“I miss her too, y’know,” Lando pipes up. He’s not sure whether that’s helpful, but he says it anyway. The younger man doesn’t turn around to look at Lando, eyes still fixed on her face, afraid to miss anything if he loses focus for just a second. 

“I know,” he murmurs, his voice almost lost as he continues tracing mindless patterns on her palm.

“I’m not saying it’s the same,” Lando corrects gently. “I know that this… this is different. I’m not saying I don’t care about her, but anyone with eyes can see. “With you it’s different. You and her… it’s different,” he finally shrugs.

He doesn’t say anything, but he nods - his only acknowledgement of Lando’s words, not wanting to make a sound in case it disturbs her - in case she’s listening.

“She came to me.”

That makes him lift his head up for a moment, surprised by the statement, and he looks over his shoulder at Lando. 

“She… what?” he questions, confused.

He nods, a fond smile on his lips as he reminisces.

“Yeah. Asked me a whole bunch of questions, all about you - what you like to eat, where you like to eat, what kind of gifts you like.”

He shakes his head in disbelief and mutters, more to himself than to Lando, “I have no idea where the hell this girl manages to get so much energy from.”

Lando’s reply is simple, like it’s obvious. “You.”

His brow furrow. Huh? 

“Me?” he all but echoes, confusion clear on his face.

“Can’t you see it?”

He can’t figure out what Lando’s hinting at, so he shakes his head.

“I- I’m lost, mate. What d’you mean?”

“It’s… she’s different with you, mate. With everyone else, she’s more guarded, more reserved, more sarcastic. Not that she isn’t charming, but…” he trails off, trying to figure out how to put it into words.

“I don’t think she notices it either. She comes alive whenever you’re around.” For a moment, Luisa flashes in his minds eye.

He turns back to look at her again, his eyes scanning over her face, and then shifts his gaze to their hands - to his fingers, still tracing mindless patterns against hers.

He’s never noticed it - he thought that she always had this energy, that this was just who she was. But different? Oscar isn’t too sure about that. He looks down at her again and wonders why he never noticed anything himself before.

“She’s friendly, always. But anytime it’s the three of us, it’s like I get to be the third wheel to the most awkward and embarrassing old married couple ever,” Lando jokes.

For a split second, the joke makes him smile - a real, proper smile that’s genuine and not forced for any sort of public appearance. And, in that second, he almost imagines what it would be like if they were a married couple - like it wouldn’t be so bad.

“You guys finish each other’s sentences,” he deadpans.

“She’s just good at reading between the lines,” Oscar explains. 

But he can’t deny that in spite of that, Lando’s not entirely wrong. Even in all their time alone, they’d fallen into a certain sort of rhythm - an easy flow, like they both just instinctively knew what the other one was thinking at almost all times.

“It makes work easier,” he adds on, trying to downplay it.

“Yeah. Work.”

He ignores Lando’s sarcastic tone - he’s too focused on something else right now.

“She should be awake by now, right?” he blurts out, looking back at Lando.

“I don’t know,” his teammate says quietly.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” he presses, his tone harsher than he’d intended.

He takes another glance at her face, hoping for some sign of change, some sign of life. 

Nothing.

“Just talk. Whatever you want to say to her, anything - you can just talk,” Lando suggests awkwardly. It’s often that Lando finds Oscar a bit difficult to read, but now it’s impossible to know what will help and what will set him off..

“Right, okay, yeah,” he mutters, nodding.

He turns back to her, silence filling the room while he thinks. There’s something he really wants to say, a phrase that’s been on the tip of his tongue for weeks now - but the timing is awful.

He decides to start with something simpler instead. His voice sounds shaky when he speaks up again.

“Hey,” he calls out softly. “…Hey.”

He waits for a response, any response - a word, a twitch, a blinking of the eyelashes - but nothing comes. He takes another deep breath before he continues.

“You’re really stubborn, you know,” he chides. “Stupidly stubborn.”

“Just… just wake up, okay?”

He takes a glance at Lando, who’s standing off to the side and observing silently, before looking back down at her face. But she’s still the same as before - no response, no movement, no sign that she’s even heard either of them.

“Oscar…” Lando starts cautiously.

He has a feeling he knows what Lando’s about to say. 

It’s not what he wants to hear.

“No,” he cuts him off before Lando even utters a word. “No, not yet. Just… give her a minute, okay?”

“Oscar…”

“No, stop,” he pleads, his voice cracking for a fraction of a second.

“Os-“

“I said stop,” he snaps back, turning to give him a pleading look. “She just… just give her a minute.” 

Lando takes it upon himself to try to limit the damage. He’s already got one friend laying motionless in a hospital bed - he is not going to let Oscar lose it now. 

“I just don’t think that that yelling at her will do-“

“I wasn’t yelling,” he bites back, though he knows that the volume of his voice was edging towards it. 

“Oscar,” Lando commands, trying to get Oscar to listen.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, lifting his head to look back at her. “Sorry, I just…”

Lando’s face molds into a sympathetic expression. He’s usually more comfortable in joyous environments, always the one to crack a joke or make things more relaxed. But here, he forces the discomfort down. Lando Norris is not one to let someone suffer alone.

The Australian knows what he wants to tell her - has desperately wanted to tell her, wants to say it so badly that it’s taking all of his willpower to not blurt the words out.

But the timing still feels wrong - the circumstances around them feel completely off and he can’t bring himself to do it. He looks back at Lando for guidance, Like there’s something the man can do that he can’t.

“She’s easy to talk to, isn’t she?” Lando remembers gas station runs, forbidden slushies and the dark of night as accessories to conversations that never seemed to end. Y/N is eloquent - there’s no doubt about it. Her words can command a room, can simplify the most 

“Yeah,” he replies automatically.

“Then just talk to her. She was your assistant, our friend - before she was ever anything else to you,” Lando says indignantly. “Talk to her. Tell her what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. This might be the onl-“

“Don’t.” Oscar is quick to cut him off. “Don’t say that.”

Lando’s lips press together into a straight line, falling silent.

He turns to look down at her again, his mind working overtime as he tries to figure out what to say. Oscar says the only thing he can, sparing no time for niceties or lighthearted anecdotes.

“You have to wake up, okay?” he mumbles, almost to himself. “I need to tell you that you were right about the error in our tyre deg numbers.”

He laughs softly, in spite of himself, as the memory of her being the sensible one for once comes to mind.

“And… and while we’re on the topic, I just need to say that you were also such a pain in the ass during flights, alright?” he continues. “You’re always so difficult with me when we fly together.”

“And don’t get me wrong, it’s almost endearing when you’re all bossy and sarcastic -” he’s talking faster now, his mind speeding through all the things he wants to say to her “- but it makes me want to strangle you sometimes. You drive me absolutely mental sometimes.”

“But at the same time…” he hesitates. Oscar’s never really been a man of many words. He thinks a lot more than he speaks.

He hesitates because it’s the truth - she drives him crazy, in some of the best and worst ways.

“At the same time, I don’t think I’d be able to do this without you, somehow. Despite all the insane, impossible things I put you through, you’re always here for me, always taking care of me, always by my side.”

Her first thought feels like it’s a distant memory, located in some faraway room that she can only think of if she tries with all her might not to let it melt away.

She can feel her fingertips.

He’s rambling, the words tumbling out faster with each sentence, and he doesn’t even notice that her fingers twitch against his hand.

“And I know you never ask for anything in return, I know you don’t expect anything in return, I know you just want me to be happy and healthy and I don’t even know how you just-“

The next sensation she registers is much less kind.

Before she can settle into the moment of unexpected peace, a sharp, stabbing pain pierces her side. She feels like molten lava dunked in ice cold water. She feels painfully cold and burning hot simultaneously.

It’s the way her body suddenly twitches involuntarily, so fast and hard that it jolts him out of his rambling, that he realizes something’s wrong.

“Hey,” he says, gripping her hand a little tighter to get her attention, “hey.”

Her hand twitches once again, but they barely have time to pay any attention to it because suddenly the monitor spikes, sending off alarms, the loud sound blaring through the room.

A cold chill runs down his spine, and his grip on her hand tightens without him even realizing. The next thing he knows, a swarm of doctors are rushing into the room. Instantly, her hand is being ripped from his and he’s looking at Lando with wide eyes.

He jumps up to his feet instinctively, wanting to follow where they’re taking her but being pulled back by Lando.

“Wha-“ he asks, his voice carrying an uneasy pitch, his heart threatening to break his rib cage with how hard it’s beating now. “Will someone tell us what’s going on?”

The words would have been loud, but the alarm bares over them. Everything’s happening faster than they can keep up with - one moment ago he was trying to think of a way to say how much he cares about her and the next she’s being pulled away and the machinery around her is going crazy.

There’s a man in a white coat suddenly ushering them both out of the room.

“Why?!” he demands as he attempts to wriggle out of Lando’s grip, trying to dig his feet into the floor to prevent himself from being thrown out. “What’s going on?!

“No,” he protests, resisting Lando's pulling, “No, I need to see her-”

“Sir, you can’t be in there-“

“Why not?!” he demands, his voice rising in volume. “Why can’t I be in there?!”

Lando has his arm around Oscar's shoulders now, trying to physically pull him away. “Mate, we don’t want to get in the way-“

“No! I’m not-“

He stays frozen there like a historic statue, but the man is physically stronger and he’s not able to break free. It only serves to make him feel more claustrophobic. 

Lando sighs. He never thought he’d need to wrestle Oscar. That kid’s got some serious fight in him.

He proceeds to put all his strength into holding Oscar back, trying to usher him into the waiting room. He can’t let Oscar thrown out of the hospital for not cooperating because forget the media circus - he’s not sure Oscar will be able to take not being able to see her.

Lando feels like something in his chest is cracking at the sight of seeing his teammate, his friend, practically his brother -  the calm and rational one of the duo - fall apart.

Instantly, when he feels Oscar shift, Lando’s muscles tense in anticipation of holding him back as he tries to break free.

Except he doesn’t.

Lando looks down to find Oscar shaking.

He’s crying.

Oscar’s head is suddenly hung low, and his shoulders are hunched forward.

He’s practically shaking, on the verge of breaking down completely. And it probably shouldn’t be such a surprise - he’s been running on adrenaline the past few days, and it finally feels like his body is finally crashing. He’s leaning heavily against Lando, and it’s the only reason he’s being held upright.

He can’t help but think there’s a chance that while he’s out here, he’s losing one of his best friends.

That could be the last time he’d get to see her.

The possibility of that just makes him cry harder, his shoulders shaking violently despite his best efforts. He’s slumped against Lando now, practically being held up by his best friend. He buries his face in the crook of Lando’s shoulder, not even trying to fight any more.

“It’s okay, mate. You’re okay, you’re alright, yeah?“

The words help somewhat - Lando’s familiar voice, and the firm embrace - but he can’t help the broken sobs. His brain is running through the last few days, the last few hours, over and over.

“I can’t  do this,” he rasps suddenly, his voice shaking. “I don’t know how to do it without her.”

“I know, I know…”

“I’ve never even…” he chokes out, shaking his head. “I’ve never even told her-“

“You’ll get to,” Lando winces, trying to console his friend. He inhaled deeply, internally praying to any deity that exists that he isn’t lying to him.

“You will. Breathe, mate.”

Lando stands there, arms locked around the younger man for what feels like forever. He’s not sure if it’s because he’s afraid he’ll hurt himself somehow or collapse to the floor. It’s a while later when his body finally loosens up a bit.

“I’m tired,” he mumbles over Lando’s shoulder, his voice still shaky. 

“Yeah,” Lando breathes shakily. At least he’s talking. “Yeah, o’course. Let’s get you sat, yeah?”

He nods his head weakly, allowing himself to be guided over to some of the nearby seats. He collapses onto the chair. His head is in his hands, his elbows on his knees, and takes several shaky breaths as he tries to regain some sense of control over his own body. 

Get it together.

Lando is awoken a few hours later by the sound of approaching footsteps.

He’s startled and disoriented when he’s suddenly woken up, and he has to spend a couple seconds piecing together where he is. He always did appreciate a good nap.

He tries to process the time - it’s dark outside. He’s in a waiting room chair, and Oscar’s in the seat beside him, sleeping with his head propped up on the palm of his hand.

His eyes instantly lock onto the person approaching them, and he blinks a couple times before recognizing the doctor from earlier. The woman seems nice enough with deep smile lines and warm auburn hair. She speaks quietly, presumably in an effort not to wake the sleeping man beside him.

“Mr. Piastri?”

Lando gives a quick nod, silently gesturing to Oscar as he does. He’s the other one.

He looks over, gently shaking at Oscar’s shoulder. “Hey, wake up, mate. It’s the doctor.”

Oscar’s eyes instantly shoot open, and he sits up quickly, any remaining drowsiness from sleep disappearing instantly. He’s instantly alert, his body tense, and a hopeful sort of fear in his eyes.

“Mr. Piastri?” she tries again.

“Yes,” he acknowledges, his voice coming out a little shaky. All the fatigue and tiredness from before seem to have left him at the doctor’s approach.

“Oscar Piastri?” she confirms.

“That’s me,” he nods again, watching her carefully. He’s trying to judge her expression, figure out what kind of news she’s come to give him. His heart is skipping beats, playing some sort of sick game, as he holds his breath.

“She keeps asking for you.”

The words immediately have the tension in his body dropping.

“She- What?” His tone is disbelieving, but there’s a part of him that feels lightheaded with relief.

The doctor smiles warmly at him, happy to be able to give some good news. “We’ve been successful in artificially resetting the bone in her ribs as well as patching the lung puncture.”

Pausing before she continues, she tells him, “In fact, you were very lucky to catch her when you did - if the nurses hadn’t seen her then, she likely would have choked-“

“Is she okay?” He swallows hard, trying to hide his voice shaking. “That means she’s well then, right?”

The doctor nods. “She’s still healing though, of course,” she reminds him, with a hint of an accent filtering through. Scottish, perhaps?

“I can see her?” he asks hopefully, already getting to his feet. “I can go in?”

The doctor nods in confirmation, before flipping a page up on her clipboard. “Just a few things before she has any visitors:

No outside food for the patient, and we wanna be as gentle as possible with her. Let's also try to avoid anything that would cause her stress - she’s just come out of surgery and we want her to recover nicely. Alright?”

He nods quickly, not even really caring what she’s saying to him at this point as long as it means that he can see her.

“Yes, of course. No stress. Gentle. I’ll do whatever you say.”

The doctor shoots Lando a wary look. Lando gives her a weak smile - He's harmless, he tries to tell her. “I need to see her,” Oscar explains, like it's the most obvious thing.

“He just wants to see her,” Lando reassures her. “Let him, yeah?”

Oscar shoots Lando a grateful look, before turning back to the doctor, his eyes practically begging the woman to let him in. She smiles kindly, turning around to guide the young man to Y/N’s room.

"That's funny,” she smiles, the kind that even has her teeth on display. “She said the same thing about you."

For the first time in what feels like so long, he starts to allow himself a spark of hope, and it makes his heart beat a little faster. His eyes roam over the doors on either side of them as the doctor leads him closer and closer to her room, his heart in his throat.

“When she was asking for me,” he asks, aiming for casual. “What did she say?”

The woman glances back at him and gives him a knowing look, like she knows something he doesn’t.

“That she wanted to see you,��� she tells him as she stops before a door halfway down the hall. “She kept asking to see if you were here or around - likely to reassure herself.” 

She chuckles, a deep, hearty laugh. “But she was quite determined - nearly told off a nurse before we finally calmed her down.”

The thought of her asking about him, and asking to see him, soothes a part of him that he wasn’t even aware was aching.

He lets out a shaky exhale of relief, his entire body relaxing as the doctor stops in front of a room. His gaze locks onto the door, and then back at the doctor, his eyes wide with anticipation.

"Don't worry," the doctor reassures kindly. "Your girlfriend is quite brave. The hard part is over, - she'll be okay."

“She’s not-“ He clears his throat, forcing himself to speak again. “Can I go in?”

"Of course," she replies softly, opening the door for him to enter before turning away to leave them be.

He gives her a short, grateful smile - before finally turning back to the open door. But then his eyes land on her figure on the bed and his breath catches in his throat.

She seems so small, so silent and peaceful. She’s covered in cuts and bruises that look fresh, dark purple and red marks covering her skin. And there’s an IV on her arm and god, he’d tear this place to pieces if he thought it’d bring her any comfort.

His eyes scan over her body, taking in the injuries on her, the way the bruises and cuts are scattered along her skin. His stomach clenches, bile suddenly threatening to rise up and overtake him. It’s more than he’d been expecting - more than he could ever be prepared for, the thought of her in this much pain-

He forces himself to take several deep breaths, steadying himself before continuing to approach the bed - slowly, carefully, like a scared animal.

“Y/N?” he murmurs under his breath. She barely stirs.

He gently places a hand on her shoulder, gently - so gently, mindful of the cuts and bruises scattered across her skin as he tries to shake her shoulder.

"Wake up,” he whispers under his breath, his fingers trembling. “Wake up, c’mon.”

She's disturbed from the thick haze of sleep by the feeling of warm fingers touching her skin.

Huh?

He feels her wake up, her body stirring as he keeps his hand on her shoulder, trying to soothe her and reassure himself all at once.

“Hey,” he murmurs, as she starts to open her eyes. “Hey there-“

Eyes still bleary with sleep, her mind races to figure out what's going on. "O- Oscar...?"

She looks tired and disoriented, and it makes something in his stomach clenches. But the sound of his name from her lips is like a cool mist, soothing and familiar all at once.

“Yeah,” he confirms softly, his fingers gently tracing the same circle on her shoulder. “Yeah, it’s me.”

Hearing Oscar’s voice after so long makes something in her chest feel weird and warm and-

“Oscar.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he murmurs, his fingers running gently through the strands of hair at the nape of her neck as his other hand traces small circles at her shoulder. 

“I’m here,” he reassures, his tone as gentle as possible. Unsure of what to do or how to approach this, he resigns to standing there awkwardly. “I’m here. You, uh- you asked for me?”

Before she realizes, her face is wet with tears. Warm droplets trickle down her cheeks, dripping off her chin and onto her neck. She can barely see Oscar through her blurred vision.

“Whoa, whoa, shhhh,” he murmurs, trying to soothe her. “Hey, s’alright - shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, you’re okay, I’m here.”

He reaches forward, gently brushing the tears off her cheek. As the sniffles finally subside and Oscar takes a seat by her hospital bed, she turns her head toward him, taking in his presence. Every detail is one she’s trying to commit to memory - the swoop of his hair, the warmth of his eyes, the freckles that decorate his skin.

He tries to keep his expression encouraging, reassuring as she stares at him, but he’s sure that he looks as terrified and devastated as he feels. Instead of commenting on his own state of mind, he tries his luck. “Is it okay if I hold your hand?”

“Can we go?”

He tilts his head, not entirely registering what she’s said.

“What?”

She blinks once, slowly. “I want to go. Can you take me-“

“No,” he replies abruptly - before catching himself, mentally scolding himself for the sharp tone he’d used.

Instead, he tries to soften his tone as he gently adds, “No, Y/N. You need to stay here - you’re hurt, and you need medical care. They need to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine now,” she tries. Whether it's the medications or the sleep or whatever the hell is supposed to be in that IV, she has to find her thoughts through a haze. “They fixed me, remember? I can-“

“No, sweetheart,” he replies gently - but his tone is still firm. “You’re not leaving. Not until you’re properly healthy.”

She turns away, cross.

“You might feel fine now, but you- you were really hurt. You need to recover, and these people know how to take care of you,” he tries to explain.

“Whatever.” The syllables slur ever so slightly, making it sound more like whud-ever.

“It’s not fair of you to be mad at me for this,” he argues.

Her words are icy cold. “You can go now.”

His jaw clenches again, as he feels irritation stirring along with it.

“No,” he retorts, his voice still firm. “I’m sticking right by your side.”

“What if I don’t want you here?”

He falters at her words, something in his heart clenching. 

“That’s not fair,” he retorts, the hurt clear from his voice. “You’re mad at me for no reason.”

She turns over, and continues her silent treatment.

His irritation boils over, and he grits his teeth for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to settle himself down.

“Hey,” he murmurs, fondness bleeding through his voice inadvertently. Placing a hand on his shoulder, gently trying to turn her towards him. “Don’t be mad at me. Just- just talk to me.”

“I don’t wanna,” she mumbles gruffly. “I want to go home.”

He swallows against the painful lump in his throat that forms when he hears the word “home” from her lips.

“I know you do,” he answers, his voice gentle. “And I know you want to be out of here, but they’re trying to take care of you, yeah? This is the best place for you right now.”

She keeps ignoring him, hoping he’ll eventually go away.

He can feel his irritation rising as her silent treatment continues - trying to drown out the voice in his head telling him that she’s just scared and confused, and that she doesn’t really mean it.

“Stop it,” he tries again, his patience starting to run thin as he grabs her shoulder, and turns her towards him this time. “Don’t be like this. You have to know I'm trying to help.”

He’s only greeted by more silence.

He’s silent as well for a moment, his eyes still fixed on the heart monitor, watching the steady rise and fall of the screen, the steady, slow beeping that tells him she’s okay, she’s okay.

He tries to keep his voice quiet and steady, to avoid letting his frustration show. “Please just say something. Don’t do this.”

The silence is deafening, and he hates every second of it.

With a small noise of frustration, he reaches out to grab her shoulder, his fingers wrapping gently around it as he tries to pull her towards him. When she’s forced to turn, he finds she’s hastily wiping away tears.

All of the irritation and frustration and even a little bit of anger immediately evaporates, leaving only the urge to pull her into his arms and hold her until she feels better. Without thinking, he gently uses his hand on her shoulder to pull her towards him, helping her up into a sitting position and then gently pulls her against his side, wrapping a secure arm around her.

He’s quiet for a moment, just holding her close to his side as he feels her body shaking against his. He moves the hand that’s wrapped around her, sliding his fingers gently into her hair, gently massaging her scalp in an attempt to help calm her.

“You can cry,” he murmurs gently against her head, placing a gentle kiss against her hair. “It’s okay, s’alright.”

“M’not,” she mumbles. “I don’t want to be here.”

“I know. I know you don’t..” he sympathizes. “But you need to be here for a while - you need to rest.”

She plays along. “Yeah,” she sniffles. “I s’pose so.”

His hand moves without consciously meaning to, wrapping a gentle hand around her other shoulder and pulling her entirely into his side, so that she’s practically falling against him, leaning heavily against his torso.

“Right,” he murmurs, resting his chin on the top of her head. “Just rest, okay? Rest - I’ve got you.”

He keeps her close against his side, still absently moving his fingers through her hair as he tries to keep her calm and settled. But what comes out of his mouth is, “You’re still mad at me, huh?”

“Actually…”

He lifts an eyebrow, his hand briefly stopping the soft massage, his heart briefly stopping when it does. “Actually?” he prompts gently.

It’s a wonder that Oscar doesn’t comment on how heart is thudding against her chest. Maybe its because he’s being polite. Yeah, he seems like the type to do that. Or maybe he doesn’t have good hearing. Stallard should probably know about that-

Her mental rambling is only cut off when somehow, words tumble out of her mouth, seemingly of her own accord. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to lay in the bed,” she mumbles, except the words come so rapidly that they’re barely understandable.

Immediately, she goes to backtrack. “Or not! It’s fine actually-“

For a moment, she watches as he just blinks at her. It’s a little disconcerting, really.

“Move,” he instructs her softly, gently maneuvering her so that he can climb in the bed beside her. Eh, he figures. They’ve been in worse situations than this.

Once he’s settled behind her, he pulls her back closer to his chest, tucking her tight against his side, her back against his chest, and wrapping an arm snugly around her waist. He closes his eyes, his chin resting on the top of her head. “Better?”

“Mhmm,” she hums contentedly.

He can feel himself smiling as he relaxes, his body melting against hers. He feels her relax against him as well, her shoulders losing some of their tension, and his free hand moves to rest gently on her stomach.

W

It’s over two hours later when Lando starts getting fidgety - the man is not exactly known for his ability to sit still. It’s been a while since he’s heard from his teammate, and he hasn’t heard any updates. Once Lando reaches his third round of pacing, his phone finally lights up with texts from Oscar:

She's okay

Doctor says she'll be alright

But we're both tired, so I'm going to stay the night.

Oscar glances down at where Y/N is resting against his chest, and he feels some of the tension leave his shoulders.

Lando successfully forces sends Oscar home to get some real rest before tomorrow’s free practice - only after Oscar makes him swear on his favorite golf club that Lando’d call him immediately if anything happened. He grabs an extra chair and pulls it over so that it sits right by her bedside, and he sits down on it, watching her.

The sight of her like this feels incorrect, like those AI images that distort reality. The hospital room, the tubes, the bandages and the bruising and the cuts - none of it looks right. His mind struggles to wrap itself around how her parents could have done this to her.

He’s lost in thought, his knuckles absently running up and down the back of her hand, when suddenly, her eyes flutter open.

“…O- Osc?”

She’s disoriented when she first opens her eyes, confused to find herself still in a hospital room when she’d fallen asleep beside Oscar. But then she looks up, and she sees Lando’s face. 

“Hey… hey,” he says softly, smiling gently down at her as he keeps his voice quiet. “It’s me.”

“Oscar? Where’s Oscar? He was just…“ She looks around, confused. How much morphine have they been giving her?

“He’s at home,” her companion corrects eagerly, his voice gentle. “He had to go home, get some proper sleep. But he let me chill here and hang out with you.”

“He left?”

“Yeah,” he says gently, still speaking softly. “Only for the night, though.”

He keeps rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, trying to soothe her before she gets more upset than she already is.

“Oh.”

Lando’s heart clenches with pity when he notices the look on her face, her expression fallen, and his voice drops even further down to a whisper.

“I know you’re disappointed,” he consoles quietly. “But believe me when I say he needs the rest. You’ll see him again soon.”

Lando takes a moment to examine her in the hospital bed. He doesn’t need to be a doctor to notice how small she looks in the hospital bed - she always is in comparison with him and Oscar, but this just highlights it even more.

“How are you feeling right now? Are you in any pain?” he asks, his voice still lowered.

“I’m… feeling much better, actually,” she says carefully. If she lays it on too thick, Lando won’t believe her. “The meds have been helping.”

“You sure?” he asks, his voice doubtful, looking at her in a somewhat skeptical manner. “You’re really not in any pain?”

“Just a bit of discomfort, but that’s it,” she lies through her teeth. In reality, any real jostling of her midsection sends a searing pain through her side.

Lando gives her an uncertain look, still not fully convinced by her reassurances. His eyes search her face for any kind of hint to her real pain level, but she’s gotten too good at hiding it over the years for him to tell now.

He sighs. “Okay, fine. But if that changes, you’ve got to tell someone, alright?”

“Of course,” she smiles.

He gives her a look that says he’s still not convinced, but decides not to press the issue.

He returns the smile, gently squeezing her hand.

“Good.”

A beat.

“Are you hungry, thirsty? Or… or something?”

“I’m alright,” she answers, but is immediately interrupted by the sound of her stomach grumbling.

He smirks, raising an eyebrow. “Mmhmm. ‘Alright’, huh?”

He takes the hint though, standing up straight and offering her a smile. “You stay put. I’ll go find a nurse and see if I can get you something to eat or drink.”

Like she can go anywhere. “Lando?”

He’s halfway out the door already, but he pauses in the doorway, turning back when her voice calls out to him. “Yeah?”

“Think the cafeteria has mac n’ cheese?”

“Macaroni and cheese?” He repeats, sounding amused, but he’s still somewhat confused by it. “Like, mac n’ cheese, specifically?”

“Just a craving,” she mutters sheepishly.

“You are… something else,” he chuckles, shaking his head. Bringing his hand to his forehead in a mock salute, he declares, “I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Thank you! You’re the best!” she whisper-yells after him, 

He turns to head into the hallway again, and he throws a smile at her over his shoulder before disappearing out the door.

He returns to the room about fifteen minutes later, a large mug of hot tea and a bowl of what smells like shepherd’s pie in his hands. “Made you a cuppa,” he informs her, before her gaze lands on the fresh goods.

“Is that-“

Lando holds the steaming box out to her with an amused smirk, clearly proud of himself for his accomplishment. “Shepherd’s pie,” he confirms confidently, giving her a smile. “Just as you ordered, madam.”

“You didn’t.”

He grins, holding it out to her - he actually went and did it.

“I did indeed.”

“Wasn’t it closed?” she asked as she brought the tray table closer to herself, eyeing the comfort food with delight.

The first bite is so good she has to close her eyes to savor it. The warm, hearty food feels like manna from heaven for her weakened body - she could cry tears of joy. There’s no way this food was made in a hospital cafeteria.

Lando sets the tea on the table, watching her as she tries the food, and can’t help the smile that spreads on his face when he sees how pleased she is with the food he chose.

“Closed, yes,” he says, sitting back down on the chair he’d previously been in. “But I’m very charming and persuasive.”

“So you ordered it from a shop.”

He grins.

“And who’s the smart one?” he asks, watching her eat. “Turns out the place next door does a pretty amazing Shepherd’s pie. Who knew?”

She’s too happy at the food to be bothered to tease him back. “This is amazing, dude. You’re the best.”

He can’t help but smile again, watching her enjoying the food he got like it’s the best thing she has had in years. He’s happy to have done this one thing to make her happy - he can’t help but tease, though. “Well, you know…”

He sits back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

“I am pretty great.”

“Alright, alright,” she says, waving him off. Now that she’s gotten a few bites in her, she gets a bit quieter. Eating and chewing is a surprisingly exhaustive task for someone who’s still on the mend.

She wipes the corner of her mouth, before finally turning to Lando.

“How is he?” she asks quietly.

He’s a bit surprised when she shifts the conversation, turning to ask about how Oscar is doing now, but he still answers willingly.

“He’s…” Lando hesitates a moment, searching for a word that would most accurately describe the situation .

“He’s… not great right now,” he says at last. Might as well be honest. “But… I think he’ll pull through. He’s a bit of a mess, but he’s… alright.”

“Yeah,” she sighs softly. She doesn’t look at Lando as she says it, feeling too responsible for his predicament. Instead, she tries her best to clean up after her meal - wrapping away the leftovers that feel like too much work to eat right now.

She gives her friend a tired smile before yawning. “Do you think it’s okay if I get some rest?”

He eyes her carefully, noticing the exhaustion on her face. “Yeah, f’course,” he assures her, standing up from the chair. “You’ve had a long few days. You should rest while you can.”

He takes the leftovers and sets them on the bedside table, before pulling the blankets up to her shoulders.

“Thanks, Lan,” she hums, before her eyes fall shut.

Lando doesn’t know when his own eyes fall shut, but they do.

Oscar does not, in fact, return.

Over the course of the next few days, Y/N gets very familiar with the hospital’s jello variety. She decides that she likes fruit punch the most, but that isn’t much of a surprise. What does surprise her, however, is when she wakes to a beautiful bouquet by her bedside. It’s an elegant collection, a haze of lavender florals - peonies and chrysanthemums - beautifully framed by stems of baby’s breath.

She eagerly reaches for the gift, excited to examine it up close. There’s a note tucked into the silk white ribbon that ties the wrapping together - a small cardstock thing that seems to have something written on it. Carefully plucking it out with her fingers, her eyes drift across the angular scrawl, penned in black ink.

“Heard you decided to sit Silverstone out. Don’t worry, it 

was boring anyway. You know it isn’t the same with you.

I’ll swing by sometime with bad puns and greasy pizza. 

That’ll fix you up real quick, trust me.

Get well soon, Loser.”

A smile blooms on her face as she reads the thoughtful words. She searches the note, trying to find the identity of the sender so she can at least send them a message of gratitude. Turning the card over, there's a misshapen looking smiley face next to a familiar name.

Love ya,

Logan

She’s lucky to have a friend like Logan - another American on the paddock, one who’s taken up the role of annoying older brother. They’d met through Oscar, initially - back in those early weeks of their rookie seasons. But then the conversation went to whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza, and then the rest is history.

The card is returned to her bedside table as shuffles in her bed, turning over to get comfortable so she can take a nap.

Letting her head sink into the starchy fabric of the hospital pillow, she tries not to think of the feeling that rose up in her throat when the name on the card wasn’t the one she was looking for.

Lando wakes up to his butt uncomfortably numb. Someone seriously needs to work on a better replacement for these inconvenient contraptions disguised as chairs. Isn’t the hospital meant to make you feel better?

Lando’s fairly certain he was much better conditioned when he walked in this morning - at this rate, they may just have to wheel him out.

“-and this one you’re going to take orally 3 times a day, alright? So that’s every 8 hours, to help reduce pain and any inflammation.”

Lando blearily blinks at the noise, but the words slowly get his brain up to speed, and he sits up a little straighter. He glances at her, who looks about as sleepy as he does - her eyelids look heavy, and her voice is still a little hoarse from sleep. 

“Okay,” she nods, taking the meds from the doctor, and putting them away in a bag by the bedside.

The doctor checks something off on her clipboard, before looking back up at the young woman seated on the side of the  bed.

“Right then. And do you have someone with you at home who’ll be able to keep an eye on you these next few weeks once you go home today?”

Suddenly, Lando really doesn’t like the doctor or the way this conversation is going. He doesn’t like the idea of her being all alone for the next few weeks. With all the medication she’s on, she’s not going to be able to drive.

She nods. “Yeah. I do. I live with my boyfriend,” she smiles reassuringly. The lie is so good that it even has Lando confused.

She has a boyfriend? That she lives with?

Lando’s immediate next thought is, Does Oscar know?

But he keeps quiet as the doctor continues to finish up her lecture about Y/N’s instructions for care. Lando sits there quietly, not knowing what to think.

Boyfriend? That’s news to him. If she had a boyfriend that she was living with… wouldn’t he have known that?

He watches her as she quietly nods and talks with the doctor, and he’s left to wonder how long this boyfriend has been around. When the doctor finally leaves and the room goes quiet again, Lando lets out a little yawn and then turns around in his chair to face her. There’s a confused, almost suspicious look on his face as he regards the girl.

“So… you have a boyfriend?” Lando doesn’t know if he feels protective or betrayed, but neither make the conversation less awkward. In all the time the three have spent together, the young assistant has barely, if ever, brought up her dating life. Probably because she’s in love with her Google calendar.

“Hmm?” she says, gathering her things. Finally, free at last.

Lando can’t really blame her for wanting to get out of a hospital bed and away from the crappy food. But he also hasn’t forgotten about her boyfriend comment from earlier. He looks at her skeptically. “You said you live wit’ your boyfriend, do you?”

“Oh,” she shrugs. “Just told the doctor what she needed to hear so I could get outta here.”

Lando blinks at her - and he’s left with the sudden, weird urge to laugh for the first time all night. The Briton stares at her for a few more seconds, trying to sort out the mixed bundle of feelings running through his mind. Then, teasingly bumping his shoulder with hers and grinning like the cat who got the cream, he finally manages to ask, “So… Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No,” she says with a wave of her hand, like the mere notion is ridiculous. “Single as a pringle.”

“Yeah? That’s not what you told the doctor, though…” He sing-songs. If she is actually seeing someone, then Lando can’t help but be happy for her. He’d be even happier though if it was Oscar - then he could finally make good those on that cash from some of the other drivers.

Lando hums. He’s been meaning to add a new Richard Mille to his collection.

“She wanted to  hear that I had someone at home in case something went awry. So that’s what I told her,” she explains simply. Once she’s done packing her things, she turns to Lando. “Ready to go? Oscar has a meeting soon and I’d like to be there for it.”

“So let me get this straight,” Lando says, no longer thinking of luxury watches. This time when he speaks, the tone of his voice is quite clear that he’s not happy with what he’s hearing. “You lied to a medical professional - told her you were living with a boyfriend - so you’d get discharged earlier… and there’s a meeting at work?”

“Yes,” she deadpans. “Now that you’re all caught up, can we go?”

When they arrive at the MTC, it’s business as usual. They each go their separate ways - Lando off to do whatever it is that Lando does, and Y/N to her office. She turns into the familiar space, dropping off her things, and taking inventory of the stack of papers that have accumulated on her desk in her absence.

Oscar’s sim session was okay. It wasn’t the greatest practice he’s had, but it wasn’t a complete disaster of a session either.

He tries not to think about the fact that he’s only semi-focused on the practice. His mind keeps wandering away from the simulator, and his eyes find their way to the office door that’s right across from the simulator room, where a familiar name plate adorns the door.

He shakes his head. His mind has been imagining her in this familiar setting - filling in the gaps where he’s used to her being. There’s been at least three occasions where he’s walking into her office, caught up in his theories or hypothetical to remember for a moment that she isn’t here.

A member of the janitorial staff saw him one of those times. 

It was embarrassing, to say the least. 

And yet his mind continues to picture her sitting at her desk. His brain supplies an image of her - a memory? - her, hard at work on her laptop or tablet, completely immersed, headphones on, chewing on her pen.

Except, when he blinks… the image of her is still there.

What the fuck?

“Good afternoon,” Y/N greets, trying to keep her voice as casual and even as she can. 

He nearly jumps up at the sound of her voice - but it’s also a familiar, welcome sound. Before his mind can catch up to his brain, he lets out a blunt, “You shouldn’t be here.”

She flinches ever so slightly at that.

“Was discharged this morning,” she smiles professionally, trying to keep it light. She decides to leave out the part where she orchestrated her own discharge from the hospital so that she could be at work, because she has a feeling that her boss will not react well to that.

He wants to be relieved. He does. But he also can’t stop the feeling of annoyance at the idea of her returning to work within hours of being discharged from the hospital.

“Wait, let me get this straight,” he starts, and the irritation he feels is definitely showing in his voice. “You were discharged this morning, and you came here?”

Her lips press together into a straight line. He’s the one who’s annoyed? 

“I am here now. Whether you choose to utilize my services or not is, of course, up to you.”

“That’s not an answer,” he counters, walking towards her. He’s definitely trying to suppress some feelings right now - irritation, relief at the sight of her, and something else that he can’t place.

“You’re supposed to be resting - not here,” he stresses, his stance and tone both authoritative.

“Oscar,” she hisses lowly. “I believe we have a guests.”

Y/N points her gaze in the direction of Zack and Andrea who seem to be making their rounds this morning, the CEO and team principal respectively. He turns to see both Andrea and Zack walking by and greeting people in the nearby rooms, handshakes and half hugs.

He can’t lose his cool now, even if what she’s doing right now is downright idiotic. He clenches his teeth, his jaw tight, but he manages to keep his irritation tampered down.

She can’t help but feel a little hurt by that. After everything, he could at least pretend to be happy to see her.

“Thank you, Mr. Piastri,” she says sarcastically, before plastering a fake smile onto her face. “Anything else?”

The too-tight smile she throws his way is unexpected. 

He tries to ignore the fact that it makes him feel like the world’s biggest dickhead.

“Er… no,” he says, sounding a little unsure. “That should be everything.”

“Very well,” she nods curtly, before walking off to god knows where.

She sets course for her office. When she reaches the sleek door, she pushes against it with, letting herself inside. 

Taking a seat on one of the armchairs placed by the coffee table, she leans her head back against the cushioned backing. Unshed tears of frustration stay locked in her chest, taking a deep sigh instead.

Why the fuck is she so worked up about this?

Everything is fine - she has no idea why she feels like shit. Oscar’s reaction to seeing her back from the hospital doesn’t mean anything. 

It shouldn’t mean anything. Right?

He watches her leave his office, and the whole time - the whole time he feels like he can feel the disappointment radiating from her.

It’s unwarranted - she has no reason to be pissed at him when she’s the one who’s being an idiot, he tries to convince himself. But he doesn’t quite manage.

He knows he’s in for a long evening.

The nagging feeling in his gut leads him to her door. There’s no reason to be nervous, right? Y/N has been here for the good, the bad, and ugly - sleeve deprived rants and mood swing and one drink too many and even giving him a ride from the sheriff’s office that one time he caused a fender bender.

Before he thinks it over any more, he pushes again the elegant oak door.

Her office is some combination of elegant and cozy. To one side, there is a sitting area - cream coloured armchairs he’s been a frequent visitor of. Against the wall, navy bookshelves frame both sides of an art piece, the shelves of books punctuated by hand crafted decorations.

To the far end of the room is where her desk is, a large monitor displaying the McLaren logo adorning the glass wall. There’s a few picture frames oh er desk that he’s seen dozens of time’s before - a little boy at his first soccer game, friends at a birthday party, someone posing at the top of some rock formation. Her vase has been filled with dainty lilac flowers.

Her tall, black office chair sticks out, and it’s there he finds her, face illuminated by the glow of the computer she’s diligently working on. The clacking of keys is the only sound in the room, interrupted only when she turns to note something down.

She’s a vision. A beautiful, perfect vision, with her hair pulled back into a claw clip, loose strands framing her face. And he’s frozen in place, unable to do anything other than just stare.

His heart is racing out of his chest, and after seconds of just staring, he tries to get his mouth to work.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks gruffly, surprised by how rough his voice comes out.

“Get lost, Lando,” she grumbles without looking. She’s not in the mood for Lando’s attempts to cheer her up - she just wants to be a miserable workaholic in peace.

He can’t help the chuckle that escapes his lips at that. It’s a quiet one, but hearing her think that he’s Lando amuses him.

“What, no time for me?” he asks, the tone of his voice teasing even though he’s feeling anything but on the inside.

Her eyes fly open in recognition, before she returns her attention to her desktop. Her eyes focus themselves on the facts and figures, making it a point not to  pay him any attention.

“I’m not in the mood,” she mumbles, still upset from earlier. What is he even doing here?

The silent treatment, really? After he spent the whole afternoon worrying about her? She doesn’t get to just ignore him after he spent the whole day unable to function. 

That thought makes him start to feel irritable. “I don’t care what ‘mood’ you’re in,” he snaps, not caring how harsh he sounds.

There’s something about the way she’s avoiding his gaze, ignoring him - she’s doing it on purpose. She’s making a point of deliberately looking away, looking elsewhere. It makes him frustrated, it makes him feel raw, like he’s suddenly vulnerable, out in the open.

“Look at me,” he says in an authoritative tone, his irritation seeping into his words.

“Don’t want to.”

His jaw clenches at her response. She’s being petulant, and maybe he does deserve it, but god does it piss him off.

He walks closer to her, stopping right before her and blocking her from moving any further away.

“I said look at me,” he repeats, his voice coming through gritted teeth.

With a roll of her eyes, she brings her gaze to his face.

He tries to resist the urge to immediately look her over - to make a visual catalog of each cut, bruise and injury on her skin, to catalog which specific shade of blue and red every mark is, to count how many stitches are on her forehead - to catalog the full extent of the damage that’s been done.

Instead, he forces himself to look into her eyes, his irritation turning into intense, barely concealed anger.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming back today,” he accuses, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Well, here I am.”

There’s more clicking, a shift in the color of the light reflecting her face as she switches between tabs. A beat of silence passes over the room.

“You done?” she says with a raised eyebrow.

Nope, he’s not done. He hasn’t even started.

“No, actually,” he shoots back, his anger bubbling up at her feistiness. “We’re not ‘done’ until we actually have a real conversation.”

“What are you on about?”

“You heard me,” he says, his voice more firm in response to her disbelief. “If you think we’re just pushing this to the side, and act like everything fair and dandy, then you’re very mistaken.”

Finally sparing him a glance, she tells him nonchalantly, “I don’t see much for us to talk about.” 

His face scrunches, eyebrows pinching together as he holds back a scoff. “I’m the one over here who’s trying to fix whatever the hell this mess is,” he points out, gesturing with his finger between the two.. “I’m the one who’s actually worried about you, after what you went through -”

He breaks off abruptly, not wanting to go there.

She whips her head to the side when she hears that.

“Fuck off,” she spits, almost-tears in her eyes. “You don’t get to act like you care about me whenever you feel like it and then decide you don’t whenever you want.”

“Goddamnit - that’s not what I do!”

Anger is rising in his chest. Does she really think that he only cares when he feels like it? Does she have any idea how much time he spends worrying about her, how many times he has to hold himself back because he’s worried of crossing a line?

“You just don’t want to accept that I do care about you,” he accuses, his voice rising, his temper flaring.

Her reply is immediate, a pre-loaded bullet.

“No, ‘Hi, how are you?’ or ‘Glad to have you back.’ No, instead,” she scoffs, “the first words out of your mouth after you see me is, ‘You’re not supposed to be here?’”

That stops him in his tracks.

His eyes widen in realization as he’s suddenly hit with the realization of just how cold and shitty his first words to her had been.

No greeting, no ‘good to have your back’, no ‘glad you’re okay’ - just accusations. His heart clenches in his chest as he realizes it - how careless he must have sounded.

“You know,” she laughs humorlessly, like it’s an inside joke that only she is in on. “I can’t believe I was foolish enough to think that night meant something to you.”

Images of that night, what feels like years ago, flash in her mind - his tender touches, his caring whispers, those soft kisses they shared. The way he’d confessed how much he cared about her as he patched her up,  how he’d come to her aid when she needed it most.

“But apparently not. Because apparently it’s really easy to ignore me for a whole week, to give me the cold shoulder all day, right? To make sure you have anyone else to replace the work I do for you every day?”

The words feel like a slap to the face.

He feels the anger in his gut subside, being replaced by immediate regret.

“That’s not what it was-” he stumbles over his words, his voice coming out more pleading than he’d like to admit. 

“That’s not what any of it was,” he shakes his head emphatically, trying to make her understand, make her see that he didn’t mean to come off the way he had. “I was just- I was just worried about you, I-”

“Tell me you didn’t have Kelsey schedule your meetings then. Or have Hendrix manage your correspondence. Or, maybe you didn’t specifically ask for Annika to run your errands just so that you wouldn’t have to talk to me.”

His heart is in his stomach. When she says it like that - lists all his actions out in such a clinical way - it sounds so damn manipulative that he doesn’t have an immediate response.

“It wasn’t like that-” he tries to protest, trying to say something, anything to make her understand that no, that wasn’t him trying to give her the cold shoulder, that wasn’t him trying to get away from her.

She puts a hand up to halt his train of thought.

“Look, it’s one thing to disagree with a personal decision of mine, but to punish me for it professionally?” Her tone is as incredulous as it is hurt.

“I work very hard, and I am damn good at my job,” she states, certain. “There is a reason it takes so many people to fill in for what I do everyday.”

She takes a breath, trying to keep her voice even.

“So you do not get to insult me and my work this way.”

He takes a few steps towards her, his hands itching desperately to reach out and grab her. He wants to grab her shoulders, make her look at him - to just let him say something, but she’s right.

“I know,” he says quietly, his voice laced with shame, “I know you do good work. I was just…”

“I was just mad,” he confesses with a reluctant sigh. “I was mad that everything… everything happened, and I didn’t know what to do. And I know that’s a terrible excuse, but I didn’t- I was just feeling all these- feelings, and I reacted like an - an ass, and I…”

He runs his hand along his face, exhaling in frustration.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for how I acted.”

She continues to glare at him, silent.

He hates the way she’s looking at him - like the sight of him hurts her.

“Please,” he whispers, hating the pleading tone that crept into his voice. “Please, don’t look at me like that. Just- just let me make up for it, yeah? Let me make this right. Can you… can you at least…?”

He slowly starts moving closer to her - one, then two steps.

She moves back.

“‘At least’ what? What do you want from me now?”

He takes another step, the distance between them now a mere foot. When he’s standing just in front of her, he stops.

His heart is lodged in his throat. 

“Can… can I touch you?”

“Why? You want me to be your charity case again? Something you can hold and try to fix to make yourself feel better?”

Okay, maybe that was a bit too far. But she was scared because she was this close to forgiving him, to letting all the anger dissipate like it never existed and letting him hold her like he did so many nights ago.

She shouldn’t forgive him so easily. She shouldn’t want to forgive him so quickly.

He shouldn’t influence her as easily as he does.

He winces, as if she’d physically hit him with those words. He hates the way she’s reacting - hates how she’s talking like she doesn’t know him.

“No,” he says shakily, the word coming out as a breath. “No, I… you’re not a charity case. I just-”

He’s desperate now, desperate to fix this.

“I want to hold you,” he says quietly, his voice breaking. “I just want to hold you.”

“Why?” she tries to sound demanding, angry, cross with him. But her voice cracks instead.

The sound of her voice cracking makes his chest ache.

“Because I care about you,” he says, the words coming out rushed. “Because I’m terrified that you’ll disappear. And because after everything that’s happened these last couple days, I… I just want to hold you in my arms and make sure that you’re real. That you’re here. I just want you.”

“Please,” he whispers. “Please just let me hold you.”

His heart is beating so damn fast that it’s making his head fuzzy, but he needs her to say yes. 

She eyes him warily. This wouldn’t be the first time he acted like he cared about her like this, only to distance himself after.

“I’m not leaving,” he says slowly, his voice serious. “I’m not going to push you away. I swear. I swear to you, I will not push you away again this time, okay?”

He reaches out slowly, trying to seem as unthreatening as possible, and puts his hand lightly to her wrist - just barely keeping his touch there, like he’s afraid she’ll recoil away. 

“Please,” he whispers, his eyes never leaving hers. “Please just… just give me a chance. Let me just have this one thing. Please.”

Still eyeing him, she gives him the barest nod. 

She’s never been that good at saying no to him anyway.

Slowly, he moves closer to her, taking one small step at a time. His hands hover at her shoulders for a moment,  pulling her to stand up, before he reaches out again and gently pushes her shirt sleeves up slightly, exposing her bare forearms.

She watches him curiously, wondering what he’s doing.

He carefully wraps his fingers loosely around both of her wrists, being mindful of a bruise, and gently guides them up and around his shoulders. 

His hands settle on her hips, and then he hesitates. He knows she’s still upset. He knows that he’s still got to apologize and make it up to her properly, but right now, he desperately just wants her close. So he takes a deep breath and gently pulls her body closer, until he can feel her flush against him.

He rests his chin on the top of her head, and god, she feels so good in his arms. She feels so right, and he doesn’t even care that she’s hurt and angry with him right now - she’s here. She’s here, and she’s not pushing him away.

She inhales and that scent that’s so Oscar fills her senses.

She wonders why Oscar smells like coming home.

His hands rub up and down her body slowly - still as gentle as he can manage, not wanting to overstep. He feels her flinch when he accidentally brushes his fingers over a patch of bruise just above her hip bone, and he quickly moves his hand to other spots.

He just wants to hold her. He wants to be close to her.

“Do friends hug like this?” she whispers, not daring to look at him.

The question catches him off guard, and he freezes for a moment.

“No,” he says slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. He continues his slow rhythm of rubbing up and down along her body, tracing an invisible pattern of loops and circles. Silence falls over the room like a blanket of fog, the night sky a backdrop to the intimacy of two people.

“No, I don’t think friends do,” he says quietly.

“You kissed me. The other night, at your place - you kissed me,” she murmurs into his embrace.

He doesn’t move for a moment, absorbing the words.

“I did,” he says simply.

His hands continue to gently rub up and down against her form, his touch careful and calculated. It’d be so easy, so easy just to slip his hands beneath the fabric of her clothes, to just touch her - skin to skin. But not yet.

“And when I did, you kissed me back,” he says quietly.

Her breathing hitches - she wasn’t sure he’d remember. 

“I did,” she admits quietly.

A warm feeling begins to take root in his chest and he tightens his hold around her. Pulling his head back, his hooked finger tilting up her chin, he tries to read her eyes.

“And if I were to kiss you again right now, do you think you’d kiss me back?” he asks slowly, his voice still a soft whisper.

She looks up at him, eyes meeting his.

“Only one way to find out,” she breathes.

He holds her gaze for a moment longer, searching her face for any sign of discomfort or uncertainty. 

And then he’s carefully lifting one of his hands to her face, his fingers barely coming to rest against her cheek. He rubs the pad of his thumb across her cheek for a moment, just wanting to savor the brief feeling, before gently tilting her head up. 

And then he’s slowly lowering his head down, until he can just barely feel her breath against his lips.

Foreheads pressed together, all she can see, feel, breathe is him.

“Don’t play with my heart like this,” she murmurs against his lips.

He swallows hard.

“I’m not,” he breathes quietly, his eyes closed. He can’t bring himself to open them now - he’s scared of what he’ll see in her expression.

He hesitates. He wants to kiss her, wants to kiss her so bad, but he’s not sure she’ll let him. He’s not sure she trusts him again yet.

He moves his head slightly, his nose just brushing against hers. 

“I won’t,” he says quietly, this time with more conviction - more force. “I swear I will never hurt you again. I’ll prove it, I’ll show you-“

His words are interrupted by a knock at her door. 

They have the worst timing.

Part 4

[gorboble]

Spoilers for Project: Eden's Garden Chapter 1

Thinking about Tozu's tea time. I've seen like nobody talk abt it

The main topic here is sheep. 'Sheep' is a common term for people who blindly follow the crowd without question. Yeah, who else to call 'sheep' than the cast? Most people blindly followed Wolfgang, and when they saw him being opposed, they immediately shot down and ostracized said opposition.

The mob mentality is STRONG with this cast, and Tozu knows how to fuel and exploit that to a terrifying degree. He knew how to get them to turn on Eva even more than they already were so he could tempt and trap her with the traitor role. And he did it so flawlessly, when he said "yea Eva inspired me for this motive" everyone seemed more eager to believe him and dogpile her rather than the man trying to get them all to kill each other.

What are sheep good at, if anything?

Most humans, and some sheep, would respond with a resounding "Absolutely nothing!"

"Sheep cannot create art, or invent medicine, for goodness' sake, they can't even perform music!"

"Their limited speech and quadrupedal locomotions prevents them from reaching the heights of humans. They're practically glued to the lower echelons of the food chain."

"No matter how hard sheep may try, they will never be anything more than their number tags."

I honestly have nothing for these lines. The best I can come up with, the 'and some sheep' bit refers to Damon and his "they just let anyone in" attitude towards the other ultimates. He himself said he sees some talents as just niche fixations. "The sheep don't contribute to society. Even if they're the best at this thing, they're still just glorified hobbyists. The bottom of the barrel when it comes to ultimates."

moving on

I can't say I like that answer. Too pessimistic for me.

Plus, what of the sheep who still try?

The sheep who realize their fate, but continue to challenge it all the same?

That they can be so determined to prove their worth when humans have all but deemed them microwaveable meals...

Methinks he's talking about Eva. She tried to be more than just a math nerd. She has so much else going for her, and she's tried to pursue other things, even if her talent just makes her a target for ostracisation. She tries to escape and defy her label as a mathlete, even if it means putting others at risk.

Also, "realize their fate, but continue to challenge it all the same?"

Eva concluded that she'd be the first to die as a victim, and so she acted against that. She was also practically forced to kill as the traitor, otherwise, she would just die first Period. She realized her fate as the first to go, so her way of challenging that was to kill Wolfgang.

Tozu puts this kind of sheep in a positive light, probably because Eva initiated the killing game while everyone was against her, and fought tooth and nail to try and escape her fate. He doesn't like it when it's said that sheep are good at nothing, and they'll be nothing more than their number tags no matter how hard they try. He has seen and even encouraged a sheep to try her hardest to escape her fate, and it worked. Even if it was horribly tragic.

Tozu sees the cast as sheep, and he wants to do anything he can to prove that, if desperate enough, then even sheep will try and fight against fate.

I'll admit I spent all of my FTE's with Eva since she is just hands down my favorite character and i wanted to learn more about her. And a lot of the biblical imagery is lost on me (I know Sheep play a big part in the bible), so I may be missing a LOT here. But these are my thoughts on Tozu's Tea Time since it seems nobody else was willing to talk about it.

[tamashi-tai-tamashi]

One of the reasons why Gokū is an amazing character is that his kindness and forgiveness are a result of his deeply pure heart, not of some philosophical idea about morality and justice.

When he gives a senzū to Piccolo, decides not to kill Radditz and to let him go instead (well, he had to kill him in the end but he was ready to let him live, you get my point), spares Freeza and even gives him his energy after he killed Kuririn, his best friend, he does not do it because he has great ideas about how bad it is to kill someone even if that person is horrible, he does not do it because he has thought about it and feels like it is morally wrong, he does not do it because he doesn't want to be as terrible as the people he fights, he doesn't do it because he wants to be the bigger person or because he wants to prove that he's worth more than that, he has none of these grand philosophical ideas about morality, about what is right or wrong, that heroes very often have.

He does it because he is a genuinely good man. Nothing more than that. He's not a man of ideas, justice and morals. He's a man of heart.

Heroes with strong morals and a strong sense of justice, with philosophical ideas about it being wrong to kill, who spare the villain because they want to be the bigger person and don't want to be as cruel as said villain, can be good characters, although for me this trope is very often annoying.

But I think they'll never be as great as he, because the simplicity of a good man letting his enemies live and helping them out of pure kindness, is so, so much more powerful and touching than all their long speeches.

Anyway, I love Son Gokū 孫悟空.

[missfrustration]

strictly psychic business (reigen arataka x fem!reader) 18+

A/N: my first fanfic i wrote on ao3 two years ago. part 1 of the "strictly messin' with a psychic" series.

rating: explicit! minors do not interact please!

tags: smut, porn with plot, vaginal sex, oral sex, good person reigen arataka, smoking, one night stands, hook-up, top reigen arataka, light dom/sub, bro eats it like a madman, wacky socks, consent is sexy!!, no use of y/n

word count: 8k

part 1 part 2

You held the invitation to tonight's networking mixer in your right hand and your purse in your left as you scampered down the street. You were about a block away from the most prominent business event center in downtown Seasoning City, running slightly late. You cursed yourself for taking too long to get ready. On top of that, you should’ve figured that being a visitor of this side of town also meant it would take you longer to get there due to the unfamiliarity.

Looking in the mirror earlier, you felt too good to walk out the door so fast. You donned a silky blue mid-length dress that hugged your curves while still being modest. The front was a very subtle v-cut, while the back revealed almost half of your back. Your hair was styled earlier this morning, and your makeup was soft glam with a hint of dramatic brown eyeliner. Because of this, you had sway with each step of your walk that slightly lessened as you reached the event’s doors.

As you glance at the fancy door’s golden handle, you hear a voice coming from inside. You cringe, knowing it’s the host of the event. As you slowly open the door, your suspicions are confirmed. The CEO of the host company is finishing his welcoming speech, as everyone watches him on the main floor. This is horrible timing for you to walk in, but you take your chances. You meet a few pairs of eyes slightly gawking at you once you enter the room. They seem stragglers themselves from the way they are distanced from the main crowd, so you don’t mind.

As the host bro makes one more finishing statement, you scan the room more as people start to clap. You are hoping to spot some familiar faces from your company, only to be disappointed by the mass of bodies mostly turned away from you. Although it was a little isolating, you think you blended in with the others well enough that no one was giving you scowls.

From the corner of the hall, you spot a man that captures your attention. While everyone’s formed social cliques, is on their best behavior, and in classy attire, the man before you is the exact opposite. This dirty blonde in a tacky, gray suit is lazily leaning against the wall about 50 feet away from you. Plastered on his face is the most indifferent look you’ve ever seen. You notice his legs crossed over which reveal…some very eye-catching socks. Because of the distance, you can’t see the design save for the neon yellow and deep brown they have on them. They are very noticeable under his suit pants that were tailored too short for his legs. It’s impossible to tell if his pants were intentionally short or if it was just secondhand. One hand is resting above his head while the other is picking in between his teeth. As the audience roars with applause, he kicks off the wall and yawns.

People start to disperse around the hall now, both talking amongst themselves and heading to the different fancy food stands. You lock your eyes back on the blonde, only to be met with his eyes. He’s looking straight at you with a goofy smirk on his face. Before you could react, the contact was broken from the groups of people filling your vision. You get slightly annoyed at the crowd, and keep staring, waiting for the commotion to clear up. By the time you could look again, he was gone. You click your tongue, feeling like an idiot for trying to stare at some random stranger. ‘Whatever,’ you think, ‘let’s get this thing over with.’

-

About an hour has gone by since you arrived at the venue, and you’ve been relentlessly worn out. After meeting with some colleagues shortly after arriving, you meet some of the businessmen who are associated with the main companies that have sponsored the event. While you let your colleagues do most of the talking, you half-heartedly listened in on the conversations. You despised the networking aspect of your job. You could tell everyone, including collogues, feigned an excessively polite attitude while speaking to one another. It was all an act to create these hallow connections. After about an hour of this, with a minimal amount of business cards and contacts in your pocket, you dismissed yourself and found your way to the luxurious bar area. Typically, mixers don’t provide bars, much fewer ones that are all expenses paid. You can’t believe they had all this money to sponsor this… so you were taking advantage of it for the rest of the night. As soon as you got there, you flagged the bartender and ordered a vodka lime. As you sipped, you scanned faces at the bar table. If only…

You would want to talk to him. Out of all the different suited men, he was the most on your mind tonight. Exactly why, you weren't sure, but being able to ask him why he was here in such an idle way would give a little clarity. You wanted to know why you found him so enticing.

Then you spotted him.

He’s at the end of the bar with a big platter of food and a lemon sour. His finger is in his ear, and he slightly squints when pulling it out. Oh wow. And he doesn’t give a fuck. Hm.

By the time you decide if sparking a conversation is a good idea, you’ve already sauntered over to him. After your first glass, you were acting impulsive. His platter of food looks like it was previously filled to the brim judging by the number of empty toothpicks and cherry stems that scatter the plate. Only a few fruit cubes and a mini sandwich are what's left. You stop in front of him and briefly check out his socks. Upon close inspection, you can finally figure out that the brown and yellow socks he’s wearing are crudely drawn cartoons of monkeys and bananas, respectively. Oh, tooo funny, you thought. He sways his head up to look at you, slightly chewing the rest of the contents in his mouth as he tilts his head.

“Hey there.” You stifle a laugh. “Nice socks.”

“Hey, it’s you from earlier. That girl who came in super late. Thanks, I take pride in my appearance.” He emphasized the super and pointed to you as he took a small sandwich held up by a toothpick on his platter and chomped into it.

“Wow, the one and only. This seat taken?”

“What do you think? Be my guest, sweet thing.” He gestures towards it dramatically as you scoff at the name and sit.

“It’s not sweet thing,” you proceed to informally introduce yourself to the man with your name. “By the way, I didn’t stand out as much as you, Mister… uhh-”

“It’s Reigen. Reigen Arataka. The Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century is at your service. I would give you a business card but I’ve run out for tonight. You interested in my services?”

Not the services you typically offer. You thought. Stifling a laugh, you continue, “Psychic, huh? Why the hell did you get invited to a tech mixer? This doesn’t seem to be your scene anyway.”

“I’m just that good I’m needed everywhere. Actually, I could ask the same out of you, Miss I’m-too-pretty-for-this-place.” He emphasizes the last sentence with flashy hand movements, finishes the sandwich, and starts gnawing on the toothpick with a rather indifferent expression. Rodent-style.

You held back a blush at his subtle compliment and fire back, “That so? I was required to come here for company reasons and not of my own accord. Now, why don’t you answer my question about why you’re really here? I’m not buying your story.” You lean forward in your seat and look right at Reigen. He looks at you with a somewhat confused face, puts down his now abused toothpick, and sighs.

“I don’t fancy your attitude, I might just not tell you. Not that it’ll matter either way.”

“What about another drink in return?” You use your thumb to point at his now empty glass, offering to get him a new one in exchange for some answers. He’s fascinated you at this point, so you would love to see this conversation fully.

“I’ll pass. ‘M not trying to piss myself blackout drunk at the nearest gas station.” As he says this, he reaches into his suit pocket and grabs a pack of smokes. “Care for a cancer stick instead?”

“If I get what I want.” He shrugs at your response as you both head out to the nearest exit. It seems to be an outdoor patio about a hundred feet away from the bar and would be considered vacant save for the few bunch hanging around.

“Fine by me.” He responds. After two attempts, Reigen takes one cig out of the box with his mouth. He then meekly takes one out for you, and quickly retreats the pack in his pocket. The cigarette starts wiggling up and down gently in his mouth as you both start walking to the outdoor patio. As you watch him do this you nearly trip into the screen door. Reigen opens it for you in time, however. You hear him snort as he maneuvers his arm to keep it from bumping into you. It’s a small, sweet, and awkward gesture.

As you walk out, you met with a slightly cool air kissing your skin and amber lights dangling on the pergolas above you. There are a few seating areas with even fewer suited men smoking cigars and chatting. You both migrate to the balcony area, which looks over Downtown Seasoning City. It’s a beautiful sight that wraps up the whole venue, even if it’s not as noticeable to most of the guests.

“So… you're in tech?” Reigen hands you your smoke as he pulls out his lighter and brings it to his fresh one. It takes a considerable amount of flicks to light up and barely lasted long enough to light up the cigarette.

You shrug, largely unengaged with his question. “Yeah, software developer- My turn, what’s your angle? You should answer this time.” You lean back against the balcony with a smirk and lock eyes with him.

“You wanna know that bad huh?”

You nod, moving in closer.

“For the food honestly. That’s my answer, you happy?” He gives you a shit-eating grin, obviously enjoying the annoyed look on your face.

You pause for a moment and sigh, “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Oh well.” He chuckles at your response before it eventually dies out in the night air.

There is a moment of silence shared between you. Reigen drags a puff out of his cigarette as you think about excusing yourself. You should’ve guessed that you wouldn’t be satisfied with the answer of the man with unsightly, mismatched socks. Before you can, however, he speaks up.

“I wasn’t invited actually.” He sighs. You peer up at him with a raised brow. He continues, “They saw the suit and just let me in. I came here at first wanting to advertise my services to other businesses but instead got bombarded with them doing the same thing. It was obvious they didn’t even hear what I was saying to them… they are just so dang caught up on the next line they plan to say.” He takes another long drag of his cigarette and looks out to the city. “After the first few I gave up. I guess I can’t blame them, so I thought I would stick around and eat what I can. After all, free food digs, so I’on mind.”

You hum in approval and cross your arms. He seems like the type to rarely open up to others, much less a stranger like you. You appreciated the effort. Eyes still locked on him, you chuckled “You act more naturally telling the truth. I like that. To be honest, it blows ass. Welcome to my world, baby,” You gesture to the venue dramatically and give a half-hearted chuckle. “This just comes with the territory.”

“Sounds like it sucks. I feel bad for ya.” He looks back at you, a slight blush on his face due to the cold. You see he has a somewhat nervous demeanor for a few seconds before quickly switching back to his previous suave one. The subtle compliment you’ve given him must’ve struck a chord after all. After a few moments of locking eyes, you discover the deep brown that envelops his pupils. They resemble the color of deep, rich honey. You blush at yourself due to your admiration of a nearly total stranger and have to break eye contact out of pure embarrassment. He points to your cigarette gingerly, “Uhh, you need a light… yet?” It makes you snap out of any deep thought you were in.

You nod, “Yeah, if you don’t mind.” You never smoke, but you didn’t want to deny Reigen for fear that wouldn’t have indulged in your interest in him.

He takes out the lighter from inside his suit pocket again and scoots closer to you. He gently wraps his hands around the cigarette being lightly held by your lips and tries to flick the light to life.

Flick, flick, flick. Flick. Flick, flick.

Each time Reigen flicked the lighter, a light ignited quickly but died out quicker. You figured it was due to the lighter’s life nearing its end. The gradual wind isn't helping, either. He tries a few more times with his hand cupped more and body closer to yours.

“Tch. I don’t know if you will now.” He clicks his tongue again after the last try with his cupped hand lightly brushing your nose, sending a slight shiver down your back. You peer below his face and hands and just now notice his tie has been loosened and the button-down has the top two buttons undone, showing a glimpse of his collarbone. You two are so close that if you stretched out your hand a few inches, you could touch his chest. Does he know how enticing he is right now? You feel your breath hitch at the subtle appeal of it as you come up with a great solution.

“Sorry, ‘bout that.” He puts the cigarette back in his mouth as he retreats the lighter to the nearest pocket he can reach. As he takes a step back, you find the perfect opportunity to execute your plan.

“It’s alright. I found a better way, anyway.”

“What do you m-” You quickly step up to meet his face. You take your cigarette and meet it with the lit-up end of his. You lock eyes with a now surprised Reigen as you gracefully blow in through your cigarette to light it. Your faces are so close to each other that it causes both of you to blush. Reigen hitches his breath as he looks deep into your doe-like eyes with more intrigue. He’s suddenly way more interested in your intentions than he had been up to this point. However, you can tell this is very out of his comfort zone, as when you pull away, he’s frozen with both hands in the air and a cigarette holding onto his mouth for dear life.

You try to act as suave as you can about it, however. In a tone that sounds largely unaffected by what you’ve done, you remark, “Thanks, Reigen. Didn’t know I needed that until now.” You then take a long drag off your freshly lit cigarette with a flirtatious grin. You needed the nicotine as relief at this point to calm your nerves down, both excited and nervous about how he’ll react to your advances.

It takes a moment for him to respond. “Wow, I suppose like my women forward now.” He breathily says. He somewhat fidgets with his tie as he composes himself into that rather matter-of-fact demeanor again. “Are you trying to turn me on right now? Because it is so working.” You admired the way he could switch up so fast. It made it more enticing to get him riled up. He finally caught on to your flirting, too.

“Oh, of course not, sir.” You fake feeling accused, lifting your hands in surrender. “I wanted to talk strictly business here. My work is very professional, in fact.”

He ignored how ironic it is that you state how professional you are when you were the latest out of all the people at this mixer.

“Something tells me you’re not in the mood to talk about work either,” Reigen sarcastically states as he raises an eyebrow. He lifts his cigarette to flick the ash off. It sparks something primal in you as your last sense of inhibitions finally snap.

“Oh wow, I wonder what gave it away. So,” You step in closer and lean up to whisper in his ear, “What will you do about it?” Your lips lightly brush the lobe of his ear, and Reigen jumps from your hot, moist breath.

Reigen doesn’t respond for a moment. You see a drop of sweat roll down his forehead as you feel his arms shift around you. A thought briefly passes your mind, Why is bro so sweaty? “I see,” he murmured, “Well in that case...” You suddenly feel his hand firmly on the small of your back that skims just above your ass. The grip is firm and causes your breath to hitch.

“Sorry, it’s been a while. I’m surprised,” He doesn’t look as nervous anymore, now sporting a lustful grin. You sigh in both relief and lust as he finally states, “but I get the gist of what this is.”

“Yeah? And what do you think this is?” You start to toy with his pink tie as you look at the man merely inches away from your face. The amber lights of the patio reflect on his face and bring a spark behind his eyes.

“Heh. C’mon, I’m psychic, remember? I know what you want. Let’s go already.” He gives you a mischievous look as he starts leading you off of the patio with his hand still firmly placed. You shiver so much at his touch, it's enthralling. You can’t imagine how you’ll feel if things go beyond this.

“Well, I mean,” his hand leaves you as both wave around so frantically it's hard to follow. He abruptly stops and holds out his hand, inviting you to take it. He releases a breath that seems less easygoing than Reigen hoped for, and more exaggerated. “Uh, no pressure. Only if you want.”

You stifle a laugh as he gingerly takes your hand in his. You can feel the slight, no scratch that, excessive clamminess in his hands. You find it cute, but really… why is bro sweating so much? Whatever, a risk to spend the night with him is just what you need.

“You’ve caught me, Reigen. My hotel is only a few blocks away. Now, show me what a psychic can really do.”

--

As soon as you closed the door to your hotel suite you kick your shoes off, ready to jump Reigen. You spent the travel to your hotel mostly in idle conversation. Just from the few minutes, you learn that Reigen’s life is filled with interest that makes you further intrigued by his mystique. While it made you more intrigued, it made you even hornier.

What could you say, you were willing to see what powers this psychic really packed.

By the time you were prepared to pounce, you felt his hands latch onto you. With a soft but steady grip, Reigen pinned you against the wooden door of the hotel room. You shuddered at his forwardness, as well as the cold surface your semi-bare back was pressed up against. He doesn’t do anything following this for a while, however, and you squirm under his gaze for a moment before you break the silence.

“Hey,” You awkwardly said.

“Hey,” He says back. “This… this is okay, right?”

He lightly brushes your shoulder with his thumb, showing that’s what he was talking about.

“You’re cute. You ask me that after pinning me?” You blush as you giggle.

He blushes in embarrassment and rubs his hand behind his head. “Man, my fault… you’re sexy. You’re right, though. I apologize.”

You breathily respond, “It’s okay,”

“I can kiss you though, right?” He asks in barely a whisper as he leans in closer to almost touch your lips. You softly smile, nodding your approval. Like clockwork, you feel his lips press against yours tenderly for the first time. They are warm and soft, but a little chapped at the fullest part. His hand reaches the bottom of your jaw to lightly lift it, deepening the kiss. As you melt into it, a soft breath lewdly escapes you.

You want more of him, so much more than a kiss. You needed it now. Wanton ignites in your core as you hold his head between your hands. Your tongue reaches between his twitching lips, pleading for entrance. To your satisfaction, he swiftly obliges and invitingly parts his lips for you. You feel him shudder against you as you slip your tongue to collide with his. It ignites something in him, further deepening the kiss as much as he can.

The tender kiss you both shared is now escalating into an intense makeout session. With it, comes a plethora of flavors on his tongue that dances with yours. You taste the hints of lemon sour on his tongue, along with a slight taste of the food bar helpings he had at the mixer earlier. Above all, the taste of tobacco from earlier lingers, covering the insides of his mouth. You so softly shiver from the sensation.

Tonight was the night exclusive for only the two of you. It’s a night full of impulse and lust, which you would love to take to the fullest. Reigen must feel the same too, as confirmed by his break of the kiss. He must be reading your mind or something with how great his timing is. He lightly hovers his hand over the smallest part of your waist and looks deep into your eyes, “Is it good to touch you here?”

You meet him with the prettiest doe-eyes Reigen has ever seen. Although he peers into innocent hues of brown, he’s thinking of anything but innocent thoughts. After a moment of catching your breath, you give him a nod yes, which he instantly reacts to. However, he’s relieved that your waist is still clothed by your dress, as his now extremely clammy palms won’t be detected by you just yet.

He places his palm firmly on your waist and slides it up and down to gently caress it as continues his tirade on your mouth. You softly groan into it as your tongues dance together. His grip presses into your skin firmly, further locking you between him and the cool wooden door on your back.

He breaks the makeout periodically and asks the same question for your shoulders, down to your waist again, down to your hips. His touch is slowly driving you wild. It’s like he’s slowly teasing you, waiting for the perfect time to take it a step further. It’s riling you up and leaves you panting, wanting more.

With his free hand, he brushes your hair back and breaks the kiss once more. In a breathy rasp, he asks, “Can I kiss right here?” With his lips now hovered over the side of your neck.

Your core tingles at his words. In anticipation, you hold your breath as you whisper yes. He hungrily takes your neck in his mouth, starting with a wet kiss in the center. He connects his tongue to the kissed skin and traces it down to the top of your shoulder. You lull your head to the side to give him more room to work his magic. He stops briefly to caress your waist more as he travels back to the neck. He takes his lips and slowly peppers your neck with small kisses right up to the ear. You lean into his mouth as it slowly sucks onto the lobe of your ear. It sends a shiver down your spine as you mewl in approval. Your ears are too sensitive for this in all the right ways.

“What… What about here?” You hear the faint shudder in his voice as he whispers in your ear. His voice sends a spark from you as you realize what he’s asking. You peer down to see his hand lightly brushing over your left breast. Satisfaction washes over you after what has felt like hours of this little game he’s been playing.

“Please, Reigen.” You panted.

That’s all the motivation he needed. He releases a hot breath of relief, you squeak a little as he grabs your clothed breast in his hand and squeezes. His mouth stays on your ear as he nips and pecks all over. You instinctively grab a head full of his hair and tug at it as you slightly pant.

His touch is driving you crazy, your body feels like it’s being put into a trance by this psychic. It was so much, it wasn't enough. Either way, you knew that you needed more from him. You jump the gun and lean into him.

“Please touch me more, Reigen. I need more.”

Your words snap him out of his actions as he locks eyes with you, a bead of sweat rolling down his face as he responds. “My bad… it’s been a while. What do you want me to do exactly?” The pitch in his voice rises higher than it needs to at the last sentence.

You take Reigen’s tie in your hand as you lead him into the bedroom part of your suite. “First, can you help me with this zipper?” You turn around so your back is facing him.

“Oh, sure thing.” You think it takes him a bit to realize you mean the dress zipper, as Reigen stands idle for a moment. After a few moments, you hear him shift and land his hands on you.

He somewhat fidgets with the dress, lightly grazing the bare area of your back and checking the edges of the fabric for the zipper. You barely hear him murmur, ”What the- how do I even get this thing off...Ah! There we go.” which causes you to giggle.

“Got it- Hey, don’t laugh!” He lightly stammers. You both revel in an awkward moment, which pauses as soon as you both hear your dress fall to the ground. You forgot the zipper of the dress reaches down to your ass, which makes the dress instantly slip off if zipped down all the way.

The chilly air of the air-conditioned hotel suite instantly hit your back as you indistinctly arched into Reigen. His hands land on you as you fall back into him. Instantly, the concentration of his scent is prevalent when you lay the back of your head on his shoulder. You smell the cheap cologne he had on his neck, and the musk he carried which must’ve elevated from the amount he’s been sweating tonight. Finally, you could detect the familiar smell of cigarettes on his clothes.

“You… really don’t know what you’re doing to me right now.” He peers down at your now highly bare body with more of his hot breath landing on you. As you turned around to face him, he has a full view of your figure. Except for your frilly panties covering your ass, you left nothing to the imagination. You watch as Reigen slowly gazes at every curve and edge of your figure. From the plushness of your lips to the fat on your arms, the fullness of your chest and hardened nipples, to the small of your waist and wide hips you have, to the plump shine of your legs.

“God, you’re so sexy like that. I won’t be able to resist myself anymore.” He spits out. He covers his mouth with his hand as a dark blush envelope both of you.

You place his hand on your cheek and look up, “Then, touch me wherever you want.” You plead with him.

That seems to do the trick. He locks you into yet another feverish kiss as you help him out of his upper garments. He throws his blazer to the side. The pink tie swiftly slips off of him along with the button-up you both work on taking off. You instantly claim the newly exposed skin with your hands as he does to you. You feel the slight sweat on his body and palms as you both explore each other. He keenly grasps your breast once again, and you moan in excitement. He studies your face to see its reaction as he toys with both of your hardened nipples in between his fingers. He leans down and pops one into his mouth while continuing to play with the other. You rake your nails down his back, which causes his teeth to graze over the areola, sending electricity down your spine and heat through your core. You arch your back and lightly pant from the sensation.

Reigen comes back up with a pop that echoes throughout the room. He groans in approval. You were on fire with lust at this point. Needing relief, you grabbed his chin and lean into him.

“Reigen,” You mewl in his ear, “I’m gonna be honest with you. I'm really fucking wet right now and I might die if you don't do something about it asap.”

You swear you feel Reigen slightly jump into you in response. Suddenly in one fluid motion, he squats down, picks you up by your middle, and lifts you. Instead of dropping you, he carries you to the bed and softly presses you into the sheets. He sits back up and catches his breath, wiping the sweat off his brow. You raise your eyebrow, waiting for his response.

“I can uh, definitely do that for you. Now, is that a comfortable position for you?”

You gulp and nod your head. You rub your thighs together in anticipation as you realize just how wet you are. Your underwear feels slick against your heat due to how sodden it is. You whimper a little from the sensation as Reigen perks up from your sounds. He also craves more of you as you do him. He’s about to show you how serious he is about this.

“Great. Can I take this off?” Reigen gently asks, standing over you from the bed. You hold your breath and nod as his skinny fingers instantly hook around your panties. You feel the garment slowly slide down your legs, closing them to not reveal to Reigen how wet you are. You watch as he tosses them to the side and looks at you with a confused look.

You’ve grown a little nervous now, biting your lip and looking away from him to not reveal anything. It’s embarrassing that you didn’t think about this until after the man has you stripped down to the tee: you haven’t shaved in a bit. It’s not too bad, but it would be enough to ruin his night if he’s into bare skin only.

“Um, I haven’t… I haven’t shaved in a few-”

“A real man hunts through the jungle.” He deadpans.

“H-huh?”

“You heard me. I take pride in… well, you’ll see. But you won’t see if you’re like this.” Reigen sighs, gesturing to your body and slightly pinching the bridge of his nose before looking back to you. “What I’m trying to say is, it doesn’t matter to me if you have or haven’t.”

On his immediate response and genuine tone, you could tell he was serious. Of course, you still wanted to do this, but still, your thighs rubbed together, causing you to blush even harder. You feel his thumb gently on the plumpness of your calf.

“Relax. Open sesame.” He softly orders, raising an eyebrow. “Will you do that for me, darling?”

You swallow thickly. Now that you think about it, it’s him. The psychic before you sweats a little excessively and has the least business casual socks you’ve ever seen. You trust him, nod back to him, and begin spreading your legs. He smirks in satisfaction, blushing deeply.

“I’ll show you how much that means to me.” He soothed.

He grips both inner thighs and spreads them for a full view, causing you to bite your lip and squirm under his gaze.

“Wow,” Reigen stammers, “you weren’t kidding when you said wet.”

Reigen admires as your cunt glistens in the moonlight. Its illumination makes your juices almost sparkle as it seeps around your lips and down to your ass. “So beautiful.” He thinks out loud.

You feel his hot breath tingle against your heat, causing you to whimper in pure wanton.

“Please, please-” A moan rips through your throat and stops the words in their tracks when you feel Reigen’s hot tongue glide against your inner thigh.

“Relax, I said. I’ll take care of it.” He cooes, wanting to let his mouth do the talking.

His fingers keep a hard grip on the hamstrings of your legs, not letting them close in again. His tongue traces shapes and squiggles around the skin of your inner legs–slowly reaching their way toward your pussy. You start panting in anticipation. What a fucking tease he was. The psychic knew just what to do for you to want him more.

Your hips buck up trying to meet his lips, but to no avail. You groan in frustration, cursing the grip he had on your thighs. Your pussy throbs with the need for him to go further. He gets the hint, however.

“So needy!” He playfully huffs. God, he’s a piece of work.

Your thoughts are cut short as Reigen’s tongue traces one line from the bottom of your slit, to the tip of your clit. An inhumane noise spills off of your tongue and you unconsciously wrap your calves around Reigen to envelop him. He returns to the bottom again, tongue practically gliding in and out of your folds. There was little to no friction due to how wet you’ve gotten. He’s tasting all of you with one motion.

He flattens his tongue out on top of your clit. His right-hand releases the hold on your leg as it traces around your slit. With his fore and middle finger, he squeezes your labia, sandwiching your clit between them. With his now pointed tongue, he explores the bud with urge, keeping steady eye contact with you while doing so. You tremble under him, fisting his hair.

He begins a relentless pace on your sensitive bud. Electricity runs down your spine as you buck your hips into his face further. He already buried his face into your heat, lapping up all of your juices and slowly building up those white, hot coils of pleasure you’ve been craving. With the pace he’s going, you aren’t too far off.

Reigen's dark brown eyes study you during this. He wants to enjoy every reaction, every moan, every pant that you make under his touch. Your responses help him see what certain angles and touches get you undone. With a sweaty forehead, he quickly brushes the hair out of the way as you admire him. He looks so beautiful like this.

You whip your head back in bliss, unapologetically basking in your arousal. Fisting his hair, you use it to guide him in all the right spots faster, quicker. He looks at you, with a darker blush covering your face as moans and whimpers come out of plump, parted lips. He could tell your close too, and strategically laps it up like a madman.

You come undone further when he dips two long fingers inside your folds, curling in and out at a dizzying rhythm. He perfectly reaches the gummy spots inside you and pumps into them with vigor. His tongue increases its pace, creating sloppy sounds on your swollen clit from his spit and your juices. All the stimulation he’s given and the hard eye contact he’s given you this whole time is starting to unravel you. It was becoming enough to climax you right then.

“F-fuck, Reigen!” You start to lose your composure, mewling his name over and over as your grip on his hair trembles and your legs start to spazz. Your hips sporadically jerk all over Reigen’s face as you ride out your orgasm. Your back arches, seeing hundreds of stars in your vision, and shockwaves grip your body. You sing his name one last time like it’s honey on your tongue as your entire body goes limp.

You go completely still, basking in the afterglow from Reigen’s work. You’re guessing that his way of saying that he was rusty earlier was a cop-out. He was way too skilled for his own good. Frankly, if this is his version of being rusty, you are nervous about what he’d be like if he brushed up more on his game.

After a moment, Reigen comes back up and looks at you, finally pulling his fingers out of you.

“Holy crap! You came pretty quickly.” You glance at his face. Different types of juices from your pussy and his mouth have covered his whole face and dripped down his chin. His hand is floating in the air, with fingers covered in some of your creamy, sticky substance.

“No shit. You’re really good at that.” You cooed, sitting up.

“Of course. I take pride in all of my abilities.” He smirks.

He lays his fingers on your bottom lip, inviting you to suck on them. Looking deep into his eyes, you do so graciously. You messily lick it up, tasting the tanginess you’ve made. He seems pretty satisfied with this.

You just now notice the ache in his pants. Under his suit pants, his throbbing dick is almost begging to be let out. He notices you staring right at the tent, causing him to palm it for some release. His face slightly scrunches up, and you realize he needs this as much as you do.

“What do you want to do now, Reigen?” You roll his name on your tongue like butter.

His lips meet yours, causing you to taste yourself once again and focus straight on Reigen when he pulls away.

“I want to see you, I want to see you come,” He says shamelessly staring at your body. His hot breath dances over you.

You pretend to ponder his request, acting like you have to consider if you want to or not. “Hmm. I think we can work something out.” You respond, seeing some relief washing over his body.

With grace, you start undoing his belt for him. You unbuckle it, tossing it over with the other abandoned garments. He finishes the rest, shimmying off the suit pants and boxers, giving you a very generous view of what he was hiding.

You gulped at the girth of his cock. Under the shine of moonlight, you can see the length is average but very thick in girth. The tip was pink with a shaft decorated with several veins. Honestly, it doesn’t match up with the skinny build he has, but you weren’t complaining. Reigen watches as you lick your lips, telling him you like what you’re seeing.

The first impressions of his freed member completely distracted you from those socks again. Now without his pants covering them, you see that his socks are abnormally long. They go halfway up to his calves. You blink in disbelief. Bro what.

“Again, nice socks. You keepin' them on?” You tilt your head in confusion. If he didn’t just finish giving you the best head in ages, you would have really questioned why you brought this man here. You really couldn't take mismatched monkey and banana socks seriously.

“Yup, they bring me good luck. Take this night, for example, that’s what attracted you to moi, correct?” His eyelashes playfully flutter as he flamboyantly gestures to them. He sits down on the bed, adjusting himself to directly face you.

You scoff at him and roll your eyes, trying to take him down a few pegs. “Yeah,” you giggle, “something like that.”

“Hah, that’s what I thought!” He suddenly takes the meat of your hips and pulls you towards him, causing you to gasp.

Your back falls against the bed, as Reigen sits over you.

“So, are you gonna show me what a psychic’s real powers are?” You jokingly purred.

“Only if you want me to, pretty girl.” He sits over you, rubbing the bottom of your cheek.

That’s all you want at this moment. He pulled you in the perfect position for him to sheath himself inside you at any point, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Please do, I need you inside me.” You beg him. Reigen steals your lips then in another steamy kiss, both of your bodies pressed together. His skin is warm against yours, feeling his cock rub right against you.

He pulls away and travels down your body in kisses and bites. He takes a few moments to suck the flesh around your breasts, leaving a few lovebites dancing around on your skin. When he reaches your legs, he takes both and gently places them on his shoulders.

Oh fuck. He was about to destroy you with this position.

He takes his cock, rubbing it up and down against your entrance to coat himself in your juices, earning a delicious whimper from you. He couldn’t help but admire the lewdness on your face. You look so beautiful like this to him. With one last question of consent and you nodding, he lines himself up with your entrance and tenderly pushes it in.

The feeling of him stretching you is so sensual, you start to hiss as you feel him inch by inch. You trembled, feeling your walls stretch farther than they’ve had before, taking a while for you to adjust. Every single inch you take in makes you want him more. You and Reigen both share a sigh of pleasure the deeper he plunges in, a deep blush speckling both of your skins.

“Fuck… hah, that's good. You have… no idea what you’re doing to me right now.” He grunts. His voice felt like a drug to you. He finally sheaths himself in you, feeling dizzy by how you swallowed him up with such warmth. He couldn’t control himself anymore.

“Show me then, Ara-AH!” You gasped as he suddenly pulls out just to hilt himself again, urgently. Seeing how well you’ve taken him, he continues with a raw, languid pace of pumps into your core.

Indescribable pleasure fills your body like electricity as your back arches. You feel stars each time he pulls out just to thrust himself back in again. Still, you haven’t fully adjusted to his girth, turning you into a moaning mess. You try to cover your mouth to stop the unholy noises from coming as your body clamps down around him. To no avail, you can’t even bite down on your lip to stifle them. You look at him, admiring the sweat running down his forehead as he lets out breathy groans and grunts from above. You grab onto his arm, nails digging into his flesh as you shudder from his girth. His face contorts into one of pure pleasure at each pump he dishes out to you, his hips powering the movements with vigor.

Your toes curl at the delicious sensation that you feel each time he fills you up. As pleasure takes over pain, you were desperate to move along with him. Unfortunately, your legs that are wrapped over his shoulders pinned you against him and the mattress, making it hard to move them against his firm shoulders. Your hips slightly roll up, bucking to meet his, resulting in a shock of pain and pleasure reaching you as he hits your g-spot just right.

You instantly dissolve into pleasure, lewdly reciting his name on your tongue like it was the death of you. With each pump, he was carefully unraveling you into a hot mess as you reached closer and closer to your climax

Against your better judgment, you moan his given name more, followed by a symphony of pleasurable hums and moans.

“Ugh, please say that again.” His pleading voice sounds so angelic, you had to oblige.

“Yes… Arataka. Hah…” You breathily moan.

“Again.” He growls, pulling out and pounding in even harder than before. The room radiates with the clapping of his balls against your wet cunt. Its lewd sounds and a new wave of pleasure from Reigen’s girth puts you into a new wave of existence.

“S-shit!” You follow with even more whines of his name. His pleas to keep you talking have you turned into an incoherent, blubbering mess under him. It was fucking hot being ordered around like this. You wouldn’t be able to resist the climax anymore

He picks up to an unrelenting pace, with his hips snapping up and down relentlessly on your already sore cunt. His hands lock onto the edges of your hips, giving him more force to pound into you. You squint your eyes shut and your knuckles turn white, awaiting the right moment to peak your crescendo. You just needed a little bit more.

In between his thrusts, it’s almost as if Reigen read your mind, knowing exactly what you need. In a slight pause, he praises you. “Jesus, you’re beautiful.”

His words push you over the edge. You thrash under his body, the orgasm taking over your entire being. You silently scream in pleasure with the widest mouth you could muster. You clamp around his member as spasms radiate throughout your body. Reigen’s breath hitches, watching the angelic show you’re giving him and almost stopping from how hard your walls have started squeezing around him. It flared a newborn vigor for him, however, as he tries to jackhammer through to his end.

After the first few seconds of the first wave, you whimper numerous profanities and praises on your tongue, barely registering what you are saying. You feel almost drunk off of Reigen’s touch, bucking up for more satisfaction.

Meanwhile, the show you’ve been giving Reigen sure has done well. He calls your name in pleasure, looking down at your flushed face as he also starts to slowly teeter over the brink of cumming. His pace is relentless, trying to chase of own end.

At times like this, you think it’d be good to give some words of encouragement. “Please, cum for me, Arataka.”

His damn explodes, shooting ropes of white hot cum inside of you. Reigen weakly rides it out, giving airy moans with each mindless thrust. Your walls milk every last drop of his seed that he has to offer to you, as his hips violently sheath into you once last time.

His body quakes under you as he also goes limp. He practically falls on top of you, your tits giving him a perfect cushion to rest his head upon. You gracefully accept, however, enveloping his sweaty body and damp hair around your arms.

You both take a moment to catch your breath, amazed with each other and yourselves for what a mixer night has brought. There’s nothing in the air for a while except for the two of you breathily recovering in your afterglow.

You mindlessly run your fingers through his dampened hair, fully satisfied by what this man had to offer to you. He put that work in, which was highlighted by the ripeness of his sweat.

After the silence of the night takes over, and you both have recovered from your climaxes, you look at his face, softly giggling when you see he’s been peeking up at you this whole time.

“Yeah. Not too fucking bad for a night, Mr. Psychic.” You purr to him.

“You said it, alright.” He responds, brushing the remaining strands of hair on your forehead. He pauses, “Y’know, if you ever want more of my services, definitely call whenever you need a, uh- spirit exorcism. I always treat my clients well.”

“I’m sure you do, Reigen.”

------

Part 2 here!

[woodchipp]

Hot take: jokes about censoring Jimmy's name or on the vein of "I'm sorry you had to draw J*mmy, here let me edit it out for you :(" are not just childish, but miss the whole point of the story.

Jimmy is not some sort of unique Satanic evil. He's not worse than many, many other villains who have committed murder, rape and abuse. The whole point of his character, which is obvious from his design, is that he is a common man. His awful actions stem from human desires and fears, like the loss of a job, a life of "struggle", and the desire of control and appreciation.

Refusing to acknowledge him, censoring him, reducing him only to "that asshole who raped Anya", comes from the same desire to dehumanize criminals: the belief that there is a category of people beneath us, and only they are capable of horrible actions. Which is the opposite of what Mouthwashing, as a story, shows, which is how easily one can just... not do the right thing, and hurt others.

(also Swansea is nowhere near the badass hero the fandom hypes him as. bro was just as much of a sexist to anya as jimmy, and probably reacted to her confession by telling her to get drunk)

Strongly agree | Agree | Neutral | Disagree | Strongly disagree

I don't have much to add. Not only is reducing Jimmy to "that asshole who raped Anya" a very simplistic and surface-level reading of him as a character, it's also a reductive reading of Anya as a character. She is the kind of person who wonts to see the best in other people, she can be playful and competitive, she's attentive to the point of noticing the smallest things and problems, she has a knack for photography, she's able to deduce the mouthwash couldn't be used as a disinfectant at a glance - point is, she's so much more than what Jimmy did to her.

She's a great, tridimensional character and I like her a lot <3

As for Swansea, the man himself explicitly says Daisuke's death is the only regret he's got at the end of the day. I think people tend to forget that while he genuinely cared about Daisuke, he also didn't give a shit about anyone else.

Considering that he has to have noticed Anya's bloodied corpse while searching for disinfectant in the medbay, the fact he doesn't mention Anya in his last speech whatsoever directly implies he didn't consider her/her death important enough to mention.

[yandereunsolved]

Hey!

Can you do a yandere jimmy darling x important figure reader

Her father is a very important person and dotes on his daughter (reader) and the freaks came to a gathering he organized and the reader defended them.

From then on she came to the shows to apologize for the others ignorance and jimmy is always looking at her

He loves her praise, her touch everything

He always wants something more but his insecurities wont let him so he just more stalker-ish

Sweet Tea & Stalking - ,, yandere Jimmy Darling with a famous reader

tw(s): yandere themes, mention of eugenics, internment camps, and forced sterilization, abuse (by readers father), toxic 1950s ideals/toxic masculinity, drugging, reader mentioning/threatening suicide

ꨄ︎ It was really a horrible accident that he fell so madly in love with you. It was supposed to be just another night with the rest of the freaks. Until Elsa announced that the entire group that was paid by the governor of Florida to perform at one of his campaign banquets. Some of the freaks were ecstatic, while others were nervous to be around so many people in public. Elsa stated that it would be a great way to spread word-of-mouth about the carnival. The party was hosted at your father's mansion. Many high-class donors were there that night. The freaks dressed their best, yet wary glances were still shot towards them. That's when Jimmy first met you—such a pretty young thing among the seas of mundane small talk. You graciously invited them all into your father's house. You seemed more curious than fearful of their deformities. You didn't outright run when you saw him, so he'll take that over nothing. He gave you a cheeky smile and a flirty wink, and you looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Apparently your dear ole' daddy never allowed any man near his sweet lamb. Perhaps he could change that. Although those are just pipe dreams, You're just doing what your daddy told you.

ꨄ︎ You invited them to eat before their performance. The head chef refused to serve them, which left you utterly distraught and embarrassed. Elsa assured you that it was nothing they hadn't dealt with before. She said that the performance is worth more than any food you could serve them. Yet, your luscious little mouth insisted that all of them eat. You brought them to a quiet hallway within the mansion and brought food from the kitchen to them. You allowed them privacy and dignity—two things none of them were ever allowed.

ꨄ︎ When it came time to perform, it was an absolute disaster. They were all standing in an outdoor amphitheater. It was gigantic; many people of status' higher than them filled the luxurious lawn. Your father promised a speech before the 'show'. He went on a long rant about how these were the types of people he promised to get rid of if he was re-elected. He promised the most horrid things to his possible voters. He talked of sterilizing all freaks, putting them in camps and isolating them because that is where they belonged, and making them get surgery to look more presentable to the public. He pushed eugenic rhetoric, and all the while, you were forced to stare at them while on the lawn. You nearly burst into tears. They all stormed off the stage, and a few of them had to hold Jimmy back from attacking your father and killing him.

ꨄ︎ You weaved through the thick crowd to catch up to them, but by the time you got there, they were all gone. You got hit by your father multiple times that night. He called you a freak fucker and a whore because you dared to show kindness to those genetically flawed monsters. You were banned from ever seeing them again. You were locked in your room and denied food or water. You understood what this meant for you. You understood the horrors of your father's wrath and what was still to come. You had no choice. You are to be seen, but not heard, around your father and his companions.

ꨄ︎ The next morning, you escaped the house with a bag of your belongings in tow. You pulled out as much money as you were able to using a faulty check with your father's foraged signature. You were lost. You went to the lost place you knew of—Fräulein Elsa's Cabinet of Curiosities. They were less than enthused to see you once again. Jimmy went off on you before you were able to reach Elsa.

"How dare you show us kindness and then spit in our faces? Do you know what it's like to be like us? No, you don't! You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You only take it out so you can laugh at us!"

He was so utterly heartbroken. He thought that someone actually cared about them.

ꨄ︎ He only realized his mistake when the clouds cleared a little and he could see the bruises forming on your body. Such a sweet little thing as yourself had a breakdown right in front of him. With shaking hands, you pushed the check into his deformed hands. He felt his jaw fall open. All of this, for them? Then, you begged. The stories of how monstrous your father was to you fell from your lips. A righteous fire ignited within Jimmy Darling. He realized it in that moment. The man upstairs gave you to him. He's never claimed to be a religious man, but this could only be the work of divine intervention. An innocent little lamb such as yourself crawls into his arms and speaks of the woes of your evil parental figure. It was like something out of a moving picture. He was blessed with you. He was meant to protect you.

ꨄ︎ He brought you to Elsa, and she was overjoyed at the money. She promised you a home here. She waved both you and Jimmy off, as she had to spend time mulling over what she was going to do with all of this money. You had given them a $1,000 US dollars ($11,710.42 US dollars in 2024). Jimmy was grinning ear to ear, rubbing your back as he showed you around. Word spread about your generosity and your woes. Soon enough, the freaks welcomed you into their home. You became the 'darling' of the show. They called you the human doll because of your ethereal beauty. You would surely help bring in the big bucks like Bette and Dot.

ꨄ︎ It becomes routine for you and Jimmy to sit down, have sweet tea, and talk about your day. It all started as an accident, really. He invited you to his trailer the first day you were there. He had some left-over sweet tea that had been sitting out in the Florida sun. He gave it to you, and soon it became a ritual between you two. He was always too shy to express his feelings about you. He knows that they've grown into something abnormal. Not to mention that real men shouldn't share such silly things.

ꨄ︎ Having sweet tea with you practically every day was such a good way for Jimmy to probe for information about you. He could learn about everything and anything. You just loved to speak about your day, and Jimmy was obsessed with how your eyes would light up when he asked you. He could also learn who was getting too close to you if any of the other performers had their disgusting little eyes or hands on you. He couldn't do it when others were around because he was always so busy keeping them at bay. You are the circus doll, after all. However, you only really belong to him. Dolls need to be taken care of. He wouldn't allow any part of you to chip, crack, or fade.

ꨄ︎ He occasionally drugs your drinks, just so you are forced to depend on him. You get all sweet and touchy while being woozy. He isn't one to take advantage of someone while in such a state, but if you are persistent, he won't necessarily say no. He's just so obsessed with your hazy blabbering. His heart swells when you lean your head against his chest and murmur about how sleepy you are. It's equally as effective when he has to kill someone for you. Like your father.

ꨄ︎ He understands you still have responsibilities because you are the govenor's child. You may officially live with them, but you still have to tolerate your father for now. You still have to argue with him about your choices. The only reason you are allowed to stay with them is because you threatened to kill yourself if your father made you go back with him. This, naturally, worried Jimmy. So he takes care of you. He just follows you around without your knowledge. It isn't that bad. He's always had to hide in the shadows because he is a freak. So him just casually strolling behind you, out of your eyesight, isn't anything out of the norm. He's just here to take care of any problems that may arise. He's just being sweet, see?

ꨄ︎ Outside of your sweet tea time and the stalking, he doesn't talk to you much. He's way too insecure about his hands and how he appears. You aren't another freak he can flirt with; you aren't some easy waitress either. You are a high-class person who chose to live with him. He puts an excruciating amount of pressure on how he presents himself because of that.

ꨄ︎ On that note, his insecurities are so deeply ingrained in his being that the first time you compliment him, he thinks you're trying to make fun of him. He can't even think of a flirty remark to retort with. A stunned 'really?' is the only thing that escapes him. He becomes enamored with your compliments. He'll do anything for one of them. He'll show off the strength he gained from working at the carnival. He'll do his best to try to flirt with you. He'll spend all of his dollars and coins getting you that thing you wouldn't buy yourself just to hear a meek 'thank you' escape from his lips. He'll tell off that woman who won't stop hitting on you and brutally murder her. He'll mutilate himself for you. He'd cut off all of his fingers if it made you more comfortable. He'd do anything just here those addicting praises escape your lovely lips. They taste even better when those words are pressed against his lips.

ꨄ︎ Jimmy melts if you do anything to his hands: touch them, caress them, compliment them. He feels a shudder run down his everytime. He says one thing everytime, testing the waters of how attracted you are to him. "Doll, if you really wanted to feel them all you had to do was ask." He makes a scissoring emotion and always bursts into a set of nervous chuckles. Once he learns you don't mind touching his hands he's always holding yours. He's always touching some part of your body with them. Maybe he's even a little more confident because of your praises.

ꨄ︎ He craves something more intimate between you two. He's just so terrified. You are the first 'normal' person that has ever accepted him. He wants to marry you on the altar. You'd look so sexy in wedding attire. He wants it so badly. He wants the house, the white picket fence, and two and a half children. He's never dared to tell anyone that, much less dream about it. He's always been a monster in the world's eyes. He never thought to think of more until he laid eyes on you that fateful night.

After all, you have affirmed all those obsessive thoughts in his mind just by continuously interacting with him. You have healed his insecurities enough—just enough to hold him back from anyone who looks at you. What? They might be trying to take you away. He can't have that.

ꨄ︎ You are going to have to make the first romantic move to evolve your relationship from purely platonic. Once you do, it's over. He is yours, and you are his now. Forever ♡.

.ೃ࿐ -ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ- .ೃ࿐

⟿ taglist: @coentinim @bluerthanvelvet444 @cxndiedvi0lets @doll3tt33 @lacucarachapisser @etheral-moon @fear-is-truth @slutforgarlogan @newwavesylviaplathh @marchsfreakshow @violet1737 @taintandviolent

.ೃ࿐ -ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ- .ೃ࿐

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Bears on the road

Literal translation of a Dutch figure of speech, meaning ‘to see problems way bigger than they actually are’, usually with a lot of stress beforehand that in hindsight wasn’t needed.

Carmen Berzatto x Reader [pt.2]

Talk of anxiety attacks and getting rid of them. Reader's first three visits to The Beef.

~~☆☆☆~~

You had been at The Beef four times before ending up in Carmen’s apartment.

The first time was years ago on a trip.

Your companion had taken you there and you had the best food of the entire trip that day and the pretty guy behind the counter tried to flirt with you. Mikey, you thought his name was.

The second time was now that you had returned to the area for your studies.

The ratty ass building you live in was horrible, but the only place you could afford for now. You remembered the place and decided to go look if it was still open, and luckily it was.

There was a different guy behind the counter this time, who greeted you ..loudly. Going up to the counter you ordered a sandwich and sat down, pulling out your laptop to get some work done. It sucked that you had to get such a huge file ready to present on your first day, and with you such a perfectionist you started immediately when you got the welcome assignment. You had everything sorted out neatly into folders, your full project file over twenty-five pages long and every bit of source material carefully and properly linked. Since it would be too difficult moving your entire desktop setup across states you had gotten your current, high-end laptop and uploaded every last bit of your project to your Drive account that had been your saving grace more than once over the years. While you waited for your food to be made you decided to read over some parts of your file again to check for any spelling mistakes seeing you didn’t actually have to download the file to preview it. Opening your Drive account and heading over to the right folder and tap the file to open it, only for your reflection in the dark mode text previewer to stare back at you. The small window in he middle of your screen popping up, reading “File cannot be opened. Corrupt Data.”

Eyes wide, the words glare back at you. CORRUPT DATA. No fucking way. FILE CANNOT BE OPENED. You checked the upload, it finished all the way.

You try again. The same error staring at you, screaming at you CORRUPT DATA. FILE CANNOT BE OPENED. Shit. Shitshitshitshit. The words became blurry as tears welled in your eyes, breathing becoming more and more difficult with every count of days, weeks, months even, you spent working on this huge thing that was due in two days.

You didn’t even notice the man at the counter calling out for you to come grab your sandwich. Didn’t realize he had gotten away from said counter with a plastic tray containing your sandwich until he placed it on your table a little too loudly. The harsh, sudden sound caught you so off guard it kicked the oncoming panic attack info full gear.

The man quickly shot into action, sitting down, a hand on your shoulder trying to get you to look at him and tell him ..something, anything. But he really had no clue how to handle this.

“Cousin!” He called out, but not before turning away from you as o not yell directly at you. No response. “Help!” He added after a short, but according to him, too long moment.

His hand kept rubbing small circles on your shoulder, hoping he was at least doing something for you.

“shit,” You heard another voice, slightly further away. “Richie go grab her some water.” And the hand on your shoulder disappeared and the man, Richie, was replaced by the other one with the soft but direct sounding voice. This one didn’t immediately try to touch you, first hovering his hand above yours, carefully giving you a moment to shuffle away if you needed and only after you didn’t, take your hand and slowly move it away from you. “Can you breathe with me?” He was a lot calmer than counter guy. Name, what was it again? Water, yeah he got you water. You needed water? With your hand being moved by the new person, stopping you from completely clenching your arms around yourself you slowly moved your head upwards, breathes still erratic and difficult. You were staring at your hand now, well, a rough, tattooed hand that was holding yours. “Hey,” again that softer voice. “Squeeze my hand if you hear me.” Squeeze his hand. Yes. You did as he said and he took his other hand to the fold of your elbow, placing a single finger on your skin. “Breathe with me,” he took a loud, deep inward breath as he brushed his finger over the length of your forearm down to your wrist, and again a loud, deep outward breath while dragging his finger back up your arm. “Can you do that?” You squeeze his hand to say yes and close your eyes completely again to try and focus. He repeats his previous motions, breathing together with the movement of his finger on your skin. It takes some time but after a bit your breathing has evened out, just some sniffles left that would fade later as well.

You hadn’t dared to look up yet out of embarrassment but you really wanted that water now. The counter guy brought you water. You swore you could drink an entire ocean. Oceans not even as blue as the eyes staring back at you right now. Wow what? Who? You blinked a couple of times to really come back to earth after everything and now those eyes were clearly a part of a very cute guy with messy curls and a smile that could cure anyone’s bad day. “Welcome back.” Already he was holding out the glass of water to you, motioning that you should really drink something now that you calmed down and you did. You gulped down the whole glass before setting it down and seeing your forgotten, now cold sandwich. You frown at the wasted food as your stomach grumbled. The man followed your gaze and quickly figured out the source of your frown, easily coming up with a solution.

“You still hungry? I’ll go get you a new one.” He got up from the chair he had pulled up beside you, straightening out his apron. “On the house, yeah?” With half a turn and a hand motioning towards the door leading to the kitchen he looked at you waiting for an answer before walking off as you nodded, agreeing with the new sandwich.

By the time he came back you had put away your laptop, not wanting to deal with it anymore and focus on the food.

He lingered for a moment, making sure he caught your first bite, and how glad he was he did stay as your eyes widen with that first bite, looking down at the sandwich in your hands in disbelief. You looked up and caught him staring, covering your mouth with one hand holding back a laugh with your mouth still full. You made haste chewing and swallowing it down. “Holy shit,” You exclaim, pointing at the food in your other hand. “This is insanely good.” A small bow as thanks was given before he slipped back into the kitchen.

You kindly bring back your trays and one cold sandwich from earlier and et them on the counter before saying goodbye and making your way to the front door until a voice calls you back.

Moving rom behind the corner, you’re handed back the sandwich, wrapped up in to-go paper. “Take it, i promise you it still tastes amazing when you microwave it.” You accept it and put it in your bag with a thank you. "Oh, by the way," he continued again. "You had that shit on Drive or whatever it's called, right? Why not call whoever has your stuff on their computer and put it up again? That's how that shit works right?" Even though his advice came out as a string op questions you couldn't believe you hadn't thought of that. You thanked his again and this time really make your way out of the door, grabbing your phone and dialing home.

You were definitely coming back to The Beef.

The third time you came in was after your introduction day that went exceptionally smooth after fixing your file issue with Richie’s advice.

You debated going in since you could barely afford rest and instant noodles this month, let alone one of The Beef’s amazing sandwiches that you had been craving all day. You were absentmindedly walking back to your apartment, except somehow your legs had let you to where your stomach craved to be and had you standing in front of the restaurant instead.

With a sign you walked in and were immediately greeted by Richie. He smiled and recalled your order from last time with a raised eyebrow and a finger pointed at you in question. “Hi, yeah that’s right.” You smile back, walking up to the counter. “So, I wanted to thank you for last time. That calling home idea of yours was, it fixed my problem. They uploaded everything again and it worked. So, thanks.” You fished some money from your wallet and put it on the counter, paying for the order he had technically placed for you.

You weren’t sure if he was working today, so you asked Richie to thank Carmen for showing you his way of calming down. Since there was no one at the register you told him how you managed to keep a full blown panic attack at bay with it. Richie only smiled at your story before he was calling over his cousin once again, who had already realized you were there because of the little note that was left on the order receipt and he had taken it upon himself to bing you your sandwich so he could see how you were doing.

You ended up sitting together at your table, you enjoying your sandwich and Carmen enjoying your storytelling. He ended up sitting with you throughout his entire break, sans smoking time and you parted ways again. Him retreating back to the kitchen as you placed your empty tray back on the far end of the counter, Richie sending a knowing wink your way with a nod towards the kitchen. You rolled your eyes at him as you went on your way.

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: I promise I have no clue how do write panic attacks so I apologise if its all fucky!! Part two is being written already so, hopefully soon~