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aakeysmash · 9 months ago

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Tell me you love me

Pairing: f!reader x Sukuna Ryomen.

Word count: 2512.

Warnings: ANGSTTTTTT. An attempt at it at least lmao, let me know if I did a good job with it. A bit suggestive in the middle. Cursing. Mentions of cheating (mentions!!! No cheating in this house).

People often say that Sukuna would be obsessed with the reader/oc, but I think a relationship with him would be the hardest thing ever.

He doesn’t get the concept of being in love: at the start of your relationship he found out you were more tolerable than anyone else, he assumed that meant he liked being around you and went along with it. Of course he fell in love in the long run, but for him it’s embarrassing to admit it. He barely even said it when you asked him why he wanted you to move in with him.

It’s not like he isn’t obsessed with you: he’s obsessed with the way you just seem to get him, with the way you smile when he comes home from a long day at work, with the utmost kindness you treat people around you with and that he lacks completely. He’s mesmerised by you, by the curve of your hips, the brightness of your eyes, the softness of your hands on his body.

He doesn’t show it, though.

He’s used to being rough and redeems emotions as futile. Like he already said to you in a couple of your arguments, if you get him you get him, if not, he’s not explaining himself. Everything he does is thought of and automatically right, so why would he give you explanations?

But sometimes in relationships you need communication. He doesn’t see how intense it is to be next to someone who acts like he doesn’t care about what you want to share in your daily life. And again, he does care: if he could, he’d make a copy of you yapping and just listen to it on repeat while working. He loves how passionate you sound while talking about your hobbies, he finds the little tilt to your voice when you search for his approval adorable. He doesn’t see how difficult it is to be with him because he’s only been with you, and you’re so good at communicating and making him feel heard he doesn’t notice he’s not reciprocating your efforts.

And that means that he’s never the one who wants to resolve misunderstandings, because he thinks they don’t really exist. You were upset about your dish not coming out the way it was supposed to and instead of reassuring you it was still edible he straight up said it looked horrible and walked away? He’s not sorry. He spoke his mind, did he not? And why would you be sad about the truth?

You’re not weak, and you’re not shy either. Kind people are not necessarily stupid, and you’re living proof of that. He’d never be in a relationship with a weakling who doesn’t know how to raise her voice and stand her ground. You’re fierce in your own way, and you know how to manage his stubbornness 90% of the time. You don’t like being disrespected or ignored, and you made sure to talk his ear off whenever he did it. Not like he purposefully did it, anyway.

But as a person who understands emotions and feels emotions, sometimes being with him frustrates you. And it comes to a point where you debate on keeping being next to him or leaving him for good.

He’s not the only one who has hard days, but when both of you have one, the silence inside your house is deafening. You’re the one who usually starts up conversations, but your mind is occupied with other things. You’ve barely touched your food.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” He scoffs at dinner. He doesn’t like you frowning, it wrecks his heart. It makes him want to destroy the face of whoever took the smile he lives for off your face.

You sigh. “You know how my parents said they were coming to visit us next month? Well-”

He’s silent. Fuck, when did she say this? He thinks. Probably one of those days where the thought of your thighs suffocating him all night plagued his mind last week. Fuck, he’d take a bite of them right now if you let him. Maybe he could suggest it. It could take his mind off of his own shitty day.

“Are you even listening to me?” You say sternly. He notices you kept on talking while his mind wandered, but he disregards it.

“Wanna fuck?” He asks instead.

You’re baffled. “Sukuna, what the fuck?”

“Damn, you could’ve just said no, brat,” he says rolling his eyes.

You get offended. “Don’t fucking ask me what’s wrong if you’re not going to listen to me.”

“Yeah yeah, you were probably going to talk about how worried you are and shit. I don’t care about that. If you don’t want to get my dick wet I’m going to rub one out,” he says waving his hand in front of your face and standing up from his chair.

You huff out a sarcastic laugh. “Are you serious?”

“Would you prefer me to find someone else to do it for me?” He bites, snapping his head toward you.

He sees you widening your eyes. If there’s a thing you don’t tolerate is cheating, or jokes about it. He knows it. He knows it, dammit. You’re fuming.

“You’re an asshole. Fuck you. I’m sleeping at Nobara’s,” you spit at him, grabbing the purse you left on the side of the table and rushing out the door, slamming it.

When he’s left alone in your shared living room, he keeps on looking at your front door. The silence is making his head hurt, the only thing he’s hearing is the sound of the door slamming. Did he overstep? Nah, you were probably overreacting. He shrugs and finally moves from his spot, going to put his dish in the sink. He leaves yours on the table, because maybe you’ll be hungry when you come home. You usually are after an argument. You’ll come back after a couple of hours saying you didn’t want to worry him too much, you’ll sigh saying this can’t keep on happening and that you’re tired of arguing, then he’ll hug you and everything will be alright. Just like it always is. You’ve never left like this, though.

He ruffles his hair; he’s angry at everything and everyone. You should’ve got that he’s the one overreacting, why didn’t you get him like usual? Why aren’t you still back after 3 hours? He hates feeling angry. He hates feeling tired. He hates feeling in general. Most importantly, he hates that the hands in his hair are his and not yours. He hates the way right now he’s craving your soft voice reassuring him in his ear, your sweet words covering him like a blanket; his head on your chest listening to your heartbeat while lying on your couch, reminding you that you’re there. You’ve always been there. There’s no one else for him, there’s never going to be one. He’d never cheat, you’re so stupid for getting angry about it. Why did you get so mad about it? Suddenly, he’s thinking about random stuff you said that he ingrained in his head.

I love you too, Sukuna. I’ll wait for you to tell me that without me forcing it out, mh? I’ll move in with you, sure, if you ask me so that nicely.

You picked this book because it reminded you of me? Thank you, baby. I love it. Both the book and the fact you thought of me.

Can you stop messing up my sock drawer? No, I did not hide your cigarettes there. But please stop smoking, I love when you taste like my lip gloss and not that disgusting shit you inhale. Give me a kiss so I can prove it to you. I’ll take your breath away way better than tobacco.

He smirks while on the couch, alone. You’re so cute. He wants to bottle up your laugh. Why aren’t you back still? His mind doesn’t stop, though.

You hurt me, Sukuna. Why can’t you notice?

I feel like you don’t care about me.

If I hadn't come to you, would you have come to me? Or would you just have ignored this whole argument and acted like nothing happened?

Am I just filling up a random space you leave open for a significant other or am I the significant other that’s capable of filling that void?

That night he dreams of you. The way you glared at him asking him if he was serious, almost like a warning before you lashed out. He dreams of the hurt that flashed in your eyes when he spewed nonsense. And when he wakes up, you’re still not back. Your unfinished plate is still on the kitchen table.

But he’s prideful, that’s why you’re the one that’s always trying to resolve arguments. Yes, you’ll come back. He’s sure of it. You always came back during the 3 years you've been together.

A week passes by and he's going crazy. You haven't contacted him at all, and he didn't text first. He lies to himself saying it's because he's leaving you some space, but the truth is that he's scared. What is he even supposed to say? Hey, I'm sorry, I miss you, please come home? That's pathetic. He's taking a shower when suddenly his phone rings. His heart skips a beat and he rushes out to check if it's you. Please, let it be you.

Instead it's Yuji, his brother.

Yuji: Hey, what happened with y/n? She asked me to come get some of her things for her. Is she sick?

Sukuna frowns. Then he realizes that- you're going to move out. You're going to break up with him.

He goes into panic mode. He never thought about the possibility of you leaving him. He thought you would come back, like you always do. Why would you leave him? Is it because you finally realized that you're better off with someone who knows how to express their feelings for you? Did you get tired of him? Have you already found someone else?

He finds himself knocking on Nobara's door in the next ten minutes. He ran, he's sweating and it's starting to rain. He's out of breath, and he gets his hands on his knees while he waits for you to open the door. He's not ready to let you go. He can't even fathom a life where he doesn't wake up to you trying to get warm between his arms, without you nagging him while watching a film together, without helping you bake cookies while laughing with each other. Without not being able to talk from how in love he is while looking into your eyes. And he knows that if you leave him he's never going to be able to live in his own house ever again, or walk down the street you always do together, or go grocery shopping and not thinking about you while looking at vegetables. You always said you liked vegetables and he always lied about liking them just to see you excited about cooking them together.

"Yuji, I didn't think you'd be this fas- oh," you open the door and your face falls when you see it's Sukuna. He snaps his gaze toward your face when he hears your voice. He missed it so much. You're so beautiful. He missed all of you. So much.

Neither of you move, you just keep staring at each other. This time, he knows he's going to have to talk first. For the first time, he realizes how hard it actually is to confront someone first. Do you feel like this every time?

"Come home," he says. "Please," he adds.

You look sad. "I don't think I'm going to, Sukuna. It's been more than a week and you didn't even reach out to say... I don't even know what. I know you don't say sorry. You never do."

Your words feel like knives. From where you're standing you're taller than him, and he has to look up to look at you. It's like he's in front of the pearly gates of heaven and an angel is making him confess all the wrong things he did, except in this scenario you're the angel and the things he did are just what he thinks about all of this. About you in general.

And you're right, he doesn't usually say sorry. The words get stuck in his throat and he just gapes up at you, still catching his breath. Pathetic.

You sigh, then go to close the door. You don't look at him anymore and he feels like he can't breathe, and not because of the run.

"I'll come get my things next week. Go home, you'll get wet," you say. And your voice is clear, you're not mumbling, you must have thought about this. He sees how hard you're clenching your jaw to appear resolute, your nails hurting your palms from how hard you're closing your hands. But you still manage to worry about him, worry about him possibly catching a cold from the rain. And he loves you. Fuck, he loves you so much.

"Wait," he manages to say. You look at him with longing. With sorrow.

And he feels like he's crying to the angel in his afterlife when he opens his mouth again, thorns in his throat getting tighter, suffocating him. But he doesn't cry here, in front of you, even if maybe you'd like it. You'd probably say that you appreciate him showing emotions, maybe tease him for it, but you'd like it. He'd kiss you while you're still laughing, saying you're stupid, and you'd continue laughing.

"I love you," he rasps out. The words feel so unfamiliar to his tongue, but so familiar to his ears. You always tell him you love him. "I'm sorry for being a shithead. Please don't leave me. I promise you I'll get better at this communication shit," he begs.

You still don't move, but he sees you getting softer.

"Go home, Sukuna. We'll talk about it when it's not raining," you utter.

"No, I don't fucking want to," he snaps. You're startled, and he cringes. He's really not used to all of this. He doesn't like scaring you.

"Fuck, I meant to say I want to get over it right now. I didn't want to scare you. I want you back, Y/N. Please, have me back. I'll get better for real," he says while getting progressively closer to you.

"You promise?" You ask, now shorter than him. You're a step of distance from each other.

"I promise, baby. I'll make you the happiest girl to ever exist," he tells you, looking at you intensely.

"Start by saying you love me again," you mumble, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head on his chest. He engulfs you in his own arms, inhaling the smell of your shampoo, then snorts.

"Sure. I'm in love with you, brat."

Being in a relationship with Sukuna is hard, but he loves you easily.

#sukuna jjk #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna angst #sukuna x y/n #sukuna fic #jjk angst #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff #sukuna x you

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scarletcomalies · 7 months ago

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soul bounds disentwined

Wanda Maximoff x Fem Reader

Part II, Part III

Word count: 5,546

Warnings: A little angsty, I guess? And ofc Reader having a crush on Billy's mom not knowing if it's reciprocated.

A/N: This is inspired in Halsey's music video "Colors", if you have watched it, you can see where this is gonna go...

A/N: For plot purposes, let’s suppose Infinity War and subsequent events never happened, and instead, after the Civil War, Wanda decided to quit her life as a superhero.

Wanda Maximoff hired you, a photographer who urgently needed a fresh start, to capture the dishes that would be featured in her second cookbook. Her son, Billy Maximoff, interfered with what you two could have developed. He had feelings for you, and well, you had feelings for his mother.

According to Forbes (2023), Wanda Maximoff secured the third position among the wealthiest chefs worldwide. She is a living proof that we are all capable of rewriting our own story, even after a lifetime shaped by external influences.

Simone Carlisle (Culinary Arts Teacher): Ah, Wanda Maximoff… (pauses) let me tell you, no one prepares you for that feeling, where you find out that you contributed your seed to the plants of successes that one of your students planted in the garden of her life.

Wanda Maximoff (Chef, restaurant chain owner, and television presenter): For as long as I can remember, my decisions were a cycle of revenge and redemption... don't get me wrong, I don't regret beating the shit out of some idiots (laughs), but, with the busy life I led, the only moment I could pause my life was while I was hiding in Scotland with my ex-boyfriend Vision. I had no one expecting anything from me, no one telling me what to do, where to go, it was like a puppy without an owner.

Vision (Avenger, Wanda Maximoff’s ex-partner): Dear, was it a journey. First, I remember that she watched YouTube videos to learn guitar. As soon as she woke up, she grabbed the instrument, and she wasn't satisfied until her fingers got numb. In a very short time, she caught the hang of it, and played for the first time in a small bar. No one knew who she was, and if they did, they probably didn't care. She was just a talented player keeping them entertained. Afterwards, band members fought over who would give her their contact first to join them. I thought that would be the beginning of a very successful music career, because from what I've read, international artists started that way.

Wanda Maximoff: I said, “Vision, I’m never doing this again”.

Vision: She kept practicing, playing in the solitude of her room, of course. It was a hobby-kind-of-passion, not the type of passion she would like to dedicate most of her life to. She went through many of those to realize that her main passion was under her nose all along.

Wanda Maximoff: The courage to join in culinary classes arose from desperation (chuckles), I used to prepare recipes at home, and I needed someone else's approval… it couldn't come from someone who didn't even eat in the first place! And so the beginning of my trayectory was paved by this amazing teacher, Simone Carlisle.

Simone Carlisle: The shy girl who during the intensive course kept her head down, sitting on the back corner, nervously playing with her rings while ignoring whispers and glances from other students, is now in a big framed picture, placed in the most visible spot so that everyone who enters my academy knows that I taught this legend. She made my small business a huge deal now (laughs).

Wanda Maximoff: I never imagined that I would have my own cookbook, television program, or chain of restaurants, let alone all three at the same time! At first, I was content with cooking in a restaurant and earning a decent living, but later, I thought about the possibility of creating a YouTube channel, which subsequently permitted me to finance the publication of my book. Building on the success of my book, the opportunity of my show emerged, which in turn allowed me to open my first restaurant, and ultimately expand it into a chain of restaurants. What I want to convey is that you must trust that the love for what you do is a powerful tool. Success is subjective, so pursue your own concept of it.

Amy Lee (Evanescence’s lead singer and songwriter): It was a hard day of work. I didn’t feel like cooking but I was looking for the homiest, most comforting food possible, and Wanda Maximoff made it a reality with her restaurant located just a few blocks near me. I told my bandmate, Emma, about this amazing food restaurant, she replied, "Oh, the owner has a YouTube channel and a show, you should watch it so that you don't overcook the spaghetti" (laughs). It has been a great help to me ever since, for those are creative but accessible recipes. Plus, it’s a nice touch that she uses her magic to manipulate ingredients and utensils, while making you laugh with her witty jokes. The best way to put it is; she makes you feel like it's a close and sweet friend who is teaching you. Her human and warm approach felt and still feels like a pat on the back.

Wanda Maximoff: My favorite singer since adolescence, Amy Lee, has said something about me that fills me with happiness every time I remember it. She helped me cope, I helped her cook. We're even now.

Vision: You see, Wanda's powers went from being a source of fear in the world to being the main reason why said fear stopped as well. An impressive understanding in her abilities, still doesn't make her an expert, as she can't prevent unexpected situations.

Wanda Maximoff: I was six months pregnant. In the blink of an eye… literally.

The latest legacy of the Maximoff family, twins Billy and Tommy, were effortlessly admitted to the New York University. The dean was left speechless, for their admission exam grades exceeded expectations.

Tony Stark (Avenger, Stark Industries): With Wanda, our initial connection was through business, the Avengers, you know? It wasn't until she asked me if I could offer her kids an internship at Stark Industries that we developed a closer bond, and man, were those kids geniuses!

Wanda Maximoff: Those kids... one day, they'll outgrow me (laughs). They were so eager to rush through life stages, and I thought, "You don't realize I would give everything to relive those joyful years," but I know better than to project my own frustrations on my sons.

Virginia "Pepper" Potts (Stark Industries): One day, I said goodbye to two fourteen-year-old boys. The next day, Happy informed me that some tall adults with raspy voices, claiming to be Billy and Tommy, wanted to come in. I immediately phoned Wanda, and she casually responded, "Oh, yeah, they can do that," as if maturing into college students overnight was a typical Tuesday occurrence for any teenager.

Thomas Maximoff, (Student at New York University, son of Wanda Maximoff): What can I say? (chuckles) school didn't present any intellectual challenges for us, and, yes, they do admit child prodigies for... PhDs even! But, we wanted to blend in, to share the same age as our classmates.

Wanda Maximoff: I always considered it a priority to spend time with my boys, so I put a lot of my work on hold, including my second cookbook project. Now that they're focusing on college and their internship, I've had too much time, and by that I mean too much time to finish that unfinished work.

Wanda Maximoff had completed her second cookbook, in response to numerous requests from her loyal fans. Another book that promised to aid all those who seeked a different, quick, and above all, delicious meal at any time of the day. There was no doubt that it would become a global bestseller, just like her previous one.

All that was left were the illustrative photographs for the book, and the studio where you worked at was in charge of this task.

You meticulously made the first dish she cooked appear as exquisite as in real life. You employed several tools like lighting, background elements, and cutlery placement, but you never altered the food in any way, it didn't even cross your mind to do so. This didn't sit well with your boss, but it certainly pleased the redhead.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) (Photographer): I remember my boss suggested that I add components to the food to make it look more appealing. I responded that that was the equivalent of encouraging unattainable stereotypes of beauty... in food (chuckles).

Wanda Maximoff: By offering unrealistic references, people would be discouraged to notice that their result was not the same as mine, not knowing that those references have hours of strategy to make it look 'aesthetic'. I prefer to show it as it is (pauses) I think that's why I liked this girl, I didn't have to say a word and she understood everything.

Your boss was the typical man who didn't let newcomers like you progress. Although you had been working in the studio for about six months, he never allowed you to touch a camera, which was contradictory because that was the job you applied for.

You did the work he didn't want to do, like transporting, positioning and removing the equipment, and setting up the scenery. That idiot just did the angles and clicked the top right button, and then took all the credit and praise. It annoyed you, yes, but unlike him, you didn't need praise from anyone to fill your ego, you just wanted to be acknowledged for your own efforts and not to be another person’s side kick.

In the meantime, it was enough satisfaction to know that none of the praise he gets would be possible without you, and he knew it…

… and Wanda knew it.

"What do you think, Miss Maximoff?" Your boss showed Wanda the array of photographs he took of the latest dish. He proudly displayed them, awaiting for a compliment from the redhead.

"Wow, (Y/N), placing the sautéed potatoes in a separate bowl instead of alongside the food within the same dish... you were right, it gives them their own protagonism and importance as a side dish," was the first thing she said, eliciting a small blush from you. "Great work!"

"Thank you, Miss Maximoff," after hearing her words, you experimented a feeling that was somewhat unfamiliar to you. It made you feel visible, truly seen and acknowledged in a workplace that often overlooked such things. And the fact that it came from her, made it all even more so profound.

"It's just Wanda," she corrected you, as if her previous actions weren't enough, she gave you the green light to address her in a more intimate manner. Along with that, your boss was already frustrated enough at not being the center of attention for two and a half hours. It was all a dream!

"(Y/N), we're done here, remove the equipment and take it to my car. I'll be waiting for you for just five minutes," your boss ordered you. Not even a ‘please’, nothing. In his gaze was evident that desperate attempt to look intimidating, which only made him look like a tantruming child. However, when his gaze turned to the older woman, he held an incredible admiration and appreciation, almost as if they were two different people in the same body. "Miss Maximoff, it was a pleasure working with you, truly an honor. We could continue next week...”

"Do you have equipment of your own, (Y/N)?" She interrupted him in mid-sentence, and you hesitated briefly.

"Uh... yes, of course, Miss... I mean, Wanda," you replied.

You worked as a freelance photographer in your spare time, capturing people or events here and there. It was something relatively stable, but it could not be your main income, so you felt the need to work on a studio.

"Perfect... I'll be contacting only you so we can work on the rest of the illustrations for the book," she stated.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N): I couldn't believe what I heard! The first thing I did was begging to whatever force there is that this wasn't a dream. It was overwhelming, the feeling of fear and ecstasy… Wanda wanted ME to work with her.

She recognized something in you within three and a half hours that others failed to see in six months. This was it. This was the big break you had been waiting for, the opportunity to show your skills and make your mark.

That being said, you never saw your boss, or stepped foot in that studio after that.

In the days that followed, you poured your heart and soul into preparing for the upcoming shoots.

You studied Wanda's previous cookbooks, familiarizing yourself with her style, her preferences. You even watched her program and her interviews, initially with the excuse of seeing those mesmerizing eyes and delighting yourself with her beauty, but you actually learned a lot of cooking techniques that you were excited to cook when it was such an annoying task for you to do.

When the day of the shoot finally arrived, you were ready. You set up your equipment with a confidence you had never felt before. You positioned the reflectors so that the natural light would bounce where you needed it, and set the scene to make the food appealing and motivating. Wanda watched you work, her eyes filled with admiration and respect.

You smiled at her as you turned on your camera, “So, what do you do with all this food after I photograph it?” You questioned curiously.

"I pack it, multiply it with my powers, and give it to the homeless," she explained. "It's something I often do, in fact, but I prefer to keep good deeds a secret, and not brag about it," she added. “I would appreciate it if you don’t say anything.”

"I figured that about you," you smiled sympathetically.

"You figured?"

“You have always used your skills to help," you elaborated, and noticed she slightly scrunched her nose, as a way of disagreeing. "Yes, even when you were working for Hydra, Tony Stark was destroying territories left and right, and you were seeking justice, doing what you felt was right," you added, noticing how her face showed an expression of realization. "And now, you focus on helping people who struggle with thinking of a simple but good meal in the midst of a hectic routine, and not so much on showing off how good you are at cooking exotic dishes. So yes, I assumed you would also help those who can't even afford a meal, too.”

Wanda's gaze was lost in the white marble of her kitchen floor, and you knew you gave her a new perspective on the wrongs she had done in her past. She meant well all along, and ultimately, that's what mattered. She was a great person in the present, and that's what mattered.

"So, you're the photographer in question," a tall, curly-haired guy stepped into the kitchen doorway, interrupting the train of thought of the woman in front of you.

You laughed at the expression on her face as reality hit her again.

"Oh, yes. Sweetheart, this is (Y/N)," she introduced you to who you already knew was her son. "And (Y/N), this is my son Billy."

"Nice to meet you, Billy," you replied, approaching him to offer your hand to shake.

"The pleasure is all mine," he emphasized the last words, as he accepted your hand. "My mom didn't mention that you were so beautiful."

Wanda cleared her throat, and proceeded to look at him with surprise in her eyes. In a I-can’t-believe-you-said-that way.

You couldn't help but laugh again at how expressive she was without noticing it.

But in their perspective, from how you looked the other direction and chuckled softly, you seemed to snicker at Billy's flattery, which couldn't be further from the truth. He was corny and predictable, but most importantly, he was not Wanda Maximoff.

"Oh, forgive him, he still doesn't know how to control those sky-high hormones," Wanda said, grabbing Billy's shoulders from behind to guide him out of the kitchen.

You noticed that she was already shorter than her son by a few centimetres. This was nostalgic for any mother, but how must Wanda have felt watching it happen overnight? You were curious.

"No problem," you replied, and headed for the counter to begin photographing.

Billy entered the kitchen again, standing next to you, but not close enough to invade your space, which you thanked internally.

"Do you mind if I watch you work, (Y/N)?" Billy requested, and you smiled politely.

"Billy! Don't you have an internship to go to?" Wanda interfered before you could answer.

"Pepper and Tony organized a party at the tower," he replied victoriously.

"College homework?"

"Piece of cake. I finished it an hour ago."

“How about you enjoy your free time and go bowling with your brother?”

“He’s busy playing Fortnite online,” he shrugged.

Wanda rolled her eyes, "Behave yourself. That's the only condition."

"It's okay, Wanda," you reassured her. Each stage in a child's life is gradual, and parents usually have many years to learn about what each stage entails. It was understandable that Wanda didn't know what to do now that her children were suddenly old enough to drink and get into adult trouble.

"So, (Y/N), how long ago did you start this whole photography gig?" The taller guy spoke up, once you took your first picture.

"I've been doing it since I was thirteen," you replied, still capturing the image in before you at different angles. "Dedicating myself to this? As soon as I turned eighteen. I had a decent portfolio."

"I don't doubt it," he agreed.

You gave him a slight thankful smile, and walked over to Wanda, who was setting up the second dish to be photographed.

"What do you think?"You asked her, and it wasn't until she turned to look at the camera that you noticed that this is the closest you've ever been to her. You could smell her fragrance and hear her breathing. Your mind was screaming at you to move away, for you had no right to display such trust yet, on the contrary, your body needed to be as close as possible... to feel her.

You had never touched her, not even when she greeted you this afternoon. She simply opened her door and let you enter.

"Excellent. The blueberries next to the gluten-free blueberry pancakes are wet,” she commented. “Did you do it to provide a sense of freshness?" She inquired, looking into your eyes this time, and... the charm of her green eyes was incomparable.

Throughout life, you've seen different shades of green, but hers were unique. They seemed to have a whole story to tell, as if she gave them that power. Her eyes glowed with an emerald hue that mesmerized anyone who met her gaze, and you were no exception.

“Exactly, that’s what I did,” you confirmed, and you felt your cheeks burning, which you immediately hid by looking down and walking back to the counter.

The only interactions you had with Wanda were to get her to approve your photographs, since her son didn’t allow you both a second to talk. He didn’t cease to ask you all sorts of questions, and to keep the conversation going, you responded with brief 'and you?'s so that he still felt heard and had the space to reveal details about himself.

It was all natural for you. Your work was also based on creating a liveliness in the environment where you performed, plus you got more genuine reactions from people if you made them laugh and feel comfortable. However, you always ended up talking with whoever was willing to, even if you were not there to capture them.

In fact, you were enjoying the conversation with such a charismatic guy. At first, it felt overwhelming, but just by letting the topics flow, you ended up laughing and feeling more at ease with him. In any case, you would be meeting him more than once in the eight weeks that remained before the project was completed.

Once you had finished photographing the ten dishes for the week, you turned off your camera and put it back in its case.

You were too happy with the results. This was all done by you alone, and you would be recognized for it. Never again would your boss's name appear under the pictures that were all your doing. The moment Wanda sends your photographs to the publisher, your name would appear in the book credits, and so a new story would begin.

And Wanda... oh, Wanda made it so clear that she loved your work, and paid so much attention to detail. Not only did she praise you, but she made it a point to let you know that she had indeed noticed the details that to the average eye would go unnoticed. You didn't know if you were really developing a crush, or if it was just the fact that she was an older woman that satisfied that need for attention that you rarely got... or it could be both.

When you were working on your own, you didn't feel exhausted and drained despite the long working hours, unlike when you were in the studio. You were very grateful that Wanda had given you another opportunity like that, and you were confident that it could become a regular thing.

"Wow, seeing all these dishes without having eaten lunch has really made me hungry," you laughed, proceeding to remove the reflectors from the kitchen’s window. The sky was still clear. You started at a perfect timing to take advantage of natural light.

"You haven't eaten? Look at the time! I thought you had eaten before you came!" She exclaimed. The redhead actually looked concerned. "Do you have any idea of the damage you're doing to your body? You need energy for this kind of work."

"Hey, I wanted to make a joke and you ruined it with your lecture," you protested.

Wanda sighed, and shook her head disapprovingly, which made your heart crumble a little.

“I… I’ll get some food on the way home,” you corrected yourself.

"How about you stay for dinner? I was going to make it, Tommy won't be long before he comes back to the real world and notices he's hungry," she offered kindly.

"Oh! Or I can take you out for dinner somewhere nice!" Billy proposed, smiling at you with anticipation.

To be brutally honest, you wanted to throw yourself at him and choke him so no other words would come out of his mouth. You knew Billy was just a guy with a silly crush, excited to show you how interested he was in you. He wasn't trying to do any harm. But, hell, wasn't it enough for him to be the center of your attention all afternoon?

"I'm really looking forward to trying something made by your mom," you declined in the politest way possible. "Many people would kill for that honor!"

Wanda let out a laugh, and her expression also seemed to change as she heard your decision to stay.

But, oh, Billy, Billy, Billy... as persevering as his mother.

"Awww! Next week she'll cook you something, right mom?" he insisted, and even though the redhead tried hard to keep her smile, her eyes changed.

"Sure, I'll cook whatever you want," Wanda sighed. "Go with Billy, and continue your conversation... alone," the way she said that last word was as if she had felt like the third wheel all afternoon, as if she was a hindrance to whatever was starting between you and Billy.

"You owe me," you said to Wanda, letting her know implicitly that you were looking forward to your meeting next week, not this dinner with Billy.

Billy led you to the garage of his house, and opened the passenger door of a black car. You thanked him politely and got in, allowing him to close the door for you. The car was completely spotless, and had a new car smell, but not because it was new, maybe because that was the fragrance he asked for at the car wash. For yours, you always opted for lavender… which made you wonder, what fragance did Wanda like for her car?

"Any preferences?" Billy asked once he hoped in the driver’s seat, pointing towards the car radio. It was noticeable he was doing his best to make this comfortable for you.

"A little bit of everything, how about rock like... Evanescence?" you proposed.

"Ah, my mom loves them," he commented, and your eyes lit up at that statement.

"You're kidding..."

"Yeah, since her teenage years," he confirmed. "Evanescence, In This Moment, Epica, Lacuna Coil..." he listed, trying to remember them all.

You made a mental note to put on that music on your next meeting with Wanda. It wouldn't be hard, as you loved all the bands he mentioned, which was wonderful.

You couldn't wait to show her the latest bands, ask her her favorite songs, and have a topic of conversation that would allow you to bound...

"So, ready?" he spoke, noticing that you were lost in thought.

"Yeah, sure," you nodded, putting on your seatbelt.

The dinner was... better than you expected. In fact, it was amazing.

You didn't really have anything in common with Billy, but the way you both listened to each other, and always found a middle ground despite going your separate ways, made the experience with him extremely pleasant.

The only difference was that, as you each went home, he thought about seeing you again, and you thought about seeing his mother again.

And so, after a week, you found yourself in front of the door of Wanda's house, with your camera hanging from your neck, your equipment already waiting on the pavement next to your parked car, and as a bonus, a speaker you brought along to play music while you worked.

Alone, at last...

When the door opened, you found the redhead wearing a casual outfit consisting of dark blue jeans and a black half-tucked in blouse. Oh, and her face, how you missed that face.

"Hey..." You greeted her, with palpable enthusiasm.

"Hi," she replied, and noticed the speaker in your hand, arching her eyebrow. "I found out last week that you and I have a lot of bands in common."

Wanda let out a gasp of surprise, "Oh, please do come in!"

You laughed briefly, and as you were about to enter your equipment to take it towards the kitchen, Wanda snapped her fingers, and it disappeared.

"Wanda, what the hell?" You exclaimed, looking at her with your widened eyes, had she just disappeared all your belongings?

"Relax, they're in the kitchen."

"That skill of yours would’ve come in handy last week too," you commented, walking into her house.

"It was fun watching you run in and out," she shrugged. "But today you earned it, because of the music."

"I see, I have to earn it?!" You exclaimed, feigning indignation. Really, she could have pulverized your expensive equipment in front of you, and you'd still thank her.

Once both of you entered the kitchen, your reflectors were already in the same position as always. And on the other side, the ten dishes were already hot and ready to be photographed.

"And what would I possibly have to do next week to earn that help from you?" you asked, resuming the topic you had discussed earlier.

"Mmmm..." she muttered, in a way that almost made you weak in the knees. She watched you from head to toe making you feel exposed to her as if she had ripped your clothes to shreds and left you standing there, naked and at her mercy. But you were still completely covered. "... I think you've earned it,” your reaction alone was enough reward to her.

“Thanks, I guess,” you cleared your throat.

You picked up the speaker, and turned it on, placing it in a place in the kitchen where it would not interfere. Your hands were shaking, and you could have sworn that Wanda was watching you with amusement, while you avoided her gaze at all costs.

You grabbed your phone, and played the playlist you had prepared for this moment. "A Star-Crossed Wasteland" by In This Moment was the first to come on.

"Oh, I love that song like you have no idea," Wanda exclaimed, closing her eyes and frowning as she passionately listened to that intro. "That album, in general..."

"It's in my top three," you commented.

"Hell yeah! Now we're talking!" She exclaimed, raising her hand offering you a high-five.

"I'm not that old school," you shook your head, chuckling.

Wanda rolled her eyes, and took your wrist, giving herself a high five with your hand.

"Good girl," she praised you, and you swallowed dryly. At the words, and at the fact that this was the first time you'd ever touched her. "What's your top three?" she asked, acting so nonchalantly after flustering the hell out of you.

“Tell me yours first,” you proposed. You couldn’t even think of your favorite three albums of one of your favorite bands.

"Black Widow, GODMODE, and A Star-Crossed Wasteland, she answered, almost without thinking. It amused you to imagine she'd spent her whole life for someone to ask her that question. "And yours?"

"Black Widow is my favorite, too," you agreed. "Blood, and A Star-Crossed Wasteland."

"Oh, two in common and in the same position," she pointed out, smiling. "If the new album hadn't been so good, it would agree with Blood, too…”

For the rest of the evening, the focus was on your favorite bands, as they played in the background.

You finished faster than last week, as Wanda was willing to use her powers for you to just arrange the background and take the pictures, instead of searching in every corner of the kitchen - you only had to ask, and it appeared.

“Alright, we're done...” she concluded, excited. “Now, let me pack this food and put it in the fridge,” and with a snap of her fingers, it was already packed and subsequently perfectly placed inside the fridge.

“Impressive,” you exclaimed, not ceasing to show your admiration, just like every time she used her powers. If you didn't look so cute, Wanda would have grown irritated at you a long time ago.

“Now, I owe you a dinner,” she said. She never told you, but she was so eager to finish quickly because that way, when her sons returned from the internship, you and her would have spent a significant time together.

The food Wanda made for you was... you didn’t even believe that the accurate word to describe it even existed.

The sensations you experimented had you mindlessly closing your eyes, trying to memorize this magnificent meal, absorbing it all in. You had tried a lot of different restaurants and foods, but none like this, oh they wished they were even close to what you tasted.

This was more than just eating. It was a demonstration of peak exquisite cuisine. This was about more than just sating hunger. It was about the delight of tasting food prepared with passion.

And... just as Wanda was leading you out of the door, you noticed that it opened, and you met who you knew was Tommy.

"Oh, finally I have the pleasure to meet the famous (Y/N)," was the first thing he said. So Wanda... "Billy hasn't shut up about you."

You forced a smile, "That's... nice," you hesitated. "I have a feeling he's going to be a great friend, and I hope you are too."

Tommy noted the intent of your response but decided to reply, "Of course," with a small chuckle. "In fact, you should come play tennis with us next Saturday."

"Oh, I don't know how to..."

"I'll teach you," Wanda quickly interjected, and that hope in her eyes made your decision easier in an instant.

"Well... will you send me the address?" I asked.

"Rest assured."

When you said goodbye to Wanda and Tommy, Billy was climbing the steps to the doorway, and he smiled broadly at you.

"Hi, (Y/N)!" He exclaimed happily. "Have you eaten yet? If not, we can go eat something and catch up."

Oh, how kind he was...

"Thank you, your mom and I already had dinner."

It was Saturday, and you were walking around the room in your apartment. Your best friend, Kate, was already starting to get dizzy.

"Kate! It's a country club!" You exclaimed, for probably the twentieth time. "People there probably eat pizza with silverware, and know the use of all ten thousand kinds of forks. I won't fit in..."

"It's just a tennis game! I'd understand if it was golf, but tennis?! You'll be fine!" She groaned.

"I look ridiculous..." you shook your head, looking at yourself in the mirror. "I mean, what is this cap? And why all white? Am I getting baptized or something?"

"Hey! Do you want to fit in? This is the outfit," she countered. "You look hot, surely Wanda will drool over you when she sees those legs," she cheered you up

"Surely it will be Billy," you sighed, disappointed.

"Wanda too, from what you've told me..."

"No, this is one of the situations where I'm misinterpreting a hint of validation from an older, beautiful woman," you quickly denied. "And as always, my best friend is encouraging my delusions."

"Really? Name one situation."

"That Italian woman who I photographed with her family for several Christmas sessions?"

"Ha! She looked at you funny."

"Yeah, that's why she turned down my invitation to dinner when I finally found the courage, saying I knew she had a husband and kids."

"Uhm... she refused just because she had a husband and kids, not because she didn't like you!" She quickly justified, and you couldn't help but laugh, forgetting for a moment the nerves that were eating at you.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wandavision #marvel

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vsimp · 3 months ago

Text

"glimpse of us"

pairing: zhongli x reader

genre: angst, no comfort

w/c: 850

summary: "glimpse of us" by joji, but you are not her

You have been through everything with him. Through the archon war, through the cataclysm, through the ongoing erosion, and through the “death” of Morax. You wanted to think that you were the closest person to him. You knew all of his likes and dislikes. You knew what all of his hobbies were. You knew how much he cared about his people, the people of Liyue. You understood him more than anyone.

“My dearest and oldest friend…” Zhongli’s deep voice rumbled through the plains of Liyue, like a gentle breeze that could soothe even the most unfortunate of souls. “My y/n… You have truly proved yourself to be my most loyal companion. I was once an archon, and now I am merely a man, yet you love me anyways, and it has taken me this long to realize that. Will you accompany this old soul for the rest of his modest life?”

When he had proposed to you, you felt like the happiest person in the world. The man who you had been in love with over the last thousands of years had finally realized your feelings, and you were ecstatic. But despite his whispers of love to you, despite all of the passionate feelings that he vocalized, there was always a lingering thought in the back of your mind.

Indeed, you knew everything about Morax. Even his heartaches and troubles. Even his old love who he lost many, many millennials ago.

The death of Guizhong broke your heart as well. She was loved by many, that included the Geo Archon himself. You didn’t think your unrequited love would ever be returned, and yet, you still somehow felt guilty now that you’ve taken the place of your old friend, the one who used to stand by his side.

He had never once looked at you the way that he looked at her. He had never once smiled at you the way he did her. And even at night when he dreams, he dreams of her.

But you smiled on, hoping and wishing that Zhongli would be happy by your side. Minutes passed like hours, as you kissed his lips, and hours passed like seconds as you laughed by his side. But you knew that you were just her replacement. You knew that whenever he looked into your eyes, he was not looking at you, but instead at a glimpse of her.

“I love you, Guizhong,” Zhongli had let out one day. Whatever you had in your hand had fallen to the ground at the time, leaving a loud thud amidst the silence. “No… No, I meant y/n. I love you, y/n.” Zhongli was flustered, which was unlike him, and also quick to correct his mistake, but it was too late. You had already found out about his true feelings.

He chased you outside as you ran straight into the rain, calling your name and asking you calmly to come back inside. You didn’t know how to feel. You didn’t know how to react. You just knew that you could no longer face him. The thunder roared loud in the sky as your heart ached.

Your fears were confirmed that night. You had never seen Zhongli look so desperate and scared before. It was like he knew what his true feelings were, but he just didn’t want to lose you. The damage, however, had already been done.

He held you in his arms tightly, catching you before you got too far, your back against his chest.

“Y/n,” he pleaded, “please… come back inside. It’s raining and you’ll get sick.”

“It’s been thousands of years, Morax.” Zhongli’s grip tightened as he heard your firm voice, as if he was afraid he’d lose you like how he had lost everybody else in his life. “I’ve always been yours… but when will you ever be mine?”

“I apologize. I truly am sorry. It was a slip of the tongue.” But he couldn’t deny the truth. You had hoped he would say that you were the only one in his heart right now. That you are the only one he thought about. He remained uncharacteristically silent but still clinging onto you.

It was time you put yourself first for once. Everything you had done had been for him, the man you love. But his silence spoke louder than his actions in this case, and it cracked open your heart even further.

“I think… we need a break. I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause before Zhongli let you go.

“Very well,” he said hesitantly and cautiously. “I cannot force you to stay. But remember this, I truly love you. And when you would like to speak again, I will be here waiting for you.”

“Unfortunately, I’m tired of doing the chasing,” you said simply.

“The chasing…? Oh, my dear…” You couldn’t look at his expression, but you could tell he finally understood your feelings. Still, he hesitated to say what he truly wanted to say, a long pause between his words. “It appears I cannot convince you to stay…”

“Yes. Goodbye.”

Zhongli watched as you walked away. The light of his life had faded, and now, he truly was all alone.

#i'm sorry everytime i listen to this song i think about zhongli #ik this is like the common trope with zhongli angst but i couldn't help it #zhongli x reader #zhongli x reader angst #just a blurb i wrote a long time ago #angst #genshin impact angst #genshin impact

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beelinx · 15 days ago

Note

hihihi! i loovee your recent percy jackson works and i was wondering if i could please request headcanons or a smau of percy jackson x child of apollo?? (or just general) no pressure, love your writing! 🩷🩷

a/n: hiii 😭❤️ tysm for the request ! i couldn’t choose between headcanons or smau so i did both </3

If there is one thing Percy is once you two are together is down bad.

We’ve all seen it, that man is lovesick to the bone.

Honestly I’d say he’s willing to get on his knees for you any day.

We all know he’s a loyal man — it literally is his fatal flaw.

Still though I felt it was important to add because he will not let any negative thoughts plague your mind.

You will literally never doubt his fidelity because he makes sure you know just how devoted he is to you and how much he loves you <3

Mostly because he says it non-stop.

Also because of how much he does for you.

Firm believer that actions speak louder than words, so be ready to have him constantly offer to do stuff for you.

Door? Opened.

Food? Already paid for.

House? Scrubbed every little inch.

He may not be the best at some of these skills, but he will always try his hardest for you.

I feel like I have to follow that up with this: He may be loyal, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to be an asshole to others.

I always see people say it’s a red flag if your boyfriend opens the door for girls, or if he lets them down kindly while rejecting them.

But honestly I’d say it just shows how much of a gentleman he is.

If he treats other girls like shit then he is not worth it.

And trust me Sally raised that man right he will be a gentleman.

Also — when you finally get to meet Sally, she’s obsessed with you.

Anyone who makes her son that happy is a friend of hers, but it also helps how well you two end up getting along the first time you meet.

She definitely shows you the embarrassing picture album…

Percy would love for you to meet Estelle.

Whenever he sees you playing with her he gets filled with so much joy it’s insane.

I feel like he'd like to go on beach dates a lot.

He'd try to introduce you to the fish.

Okay now focusing more on the child of Apollo part

My favorite thing about Apollo kids is how varied they can be.

Like you can be in that cabin for singing, poetry, medicine, archery, etc.

You can find every single type of person there and I love that.

He’d love you for any hobby you have, honestly he just really likes how talented you are.

Percy would just really admire your passion and dedication to your craft.

BUT if you were a medic then he would just love to have you fussing over him whenever he gets an injury.

Sort of like Leo I do believe he’d go to the infirmary just for little scraps in order to see you.

For my musically talented Apollo kids, I think he loves to hear you playing your instrument / hearing you sing more than any other melody ever.

Honestly after all he’s gone through your music helps him calm down and feel relaxed.

Sometimes he’d just sit by when you’re practicing but ends up falling asleep by how peaceful he feels

Might go one step further and add that I believe this could also somewhat fit with the poets.

The way your voice sounds when you recite your poems leaves him so <3

Sometimes he thinks your dad is pretty annoying but, in the end, one of the nicer gods.

Overall, definitely one of the sweetest bfs ever who would literally do anything for you!

I'd say he'd even fight a god but honestly he'd probably do that just because (already does).

#does he sound like leo #i feel like i made him like leo #percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #hoo x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #heroes of olympus #bf headcanons #headcanons #smau #apollo cabin #apollo kids

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theemporium · 1 year ago

Text

[2.9k] when your boyfriend is giving his piano more attention than you, you set out to remind him just where his hands should be instead. (smut)

based off this request

It was torture.

Pure fucking torture.

That was the only way to describe his current predicament, and yet, a sadistic part of him enjoyed it. He enjoyed it far more than he should have. He enjoyed it more than he ever thought he would. He didn’t even know if he wanted it to stop, even if his body was begging for it too.

The situation leading up to this moment was stupid, honestly.

Charles loved the piano and it was a fact known to everyone. Despite the love and passion he had for racing, it had become a source of frustration in more recent months—something the people close to him knew all too well. And even if he kept loving it, there was times where he needed to step away from the sheets of data and the SIM car set up in the spare room of his apartment.

There were times he just needed a release.

And, it came in the form of the piano.

At first, it was just a simple skill he decided to pick up in hopes that it would be a nice distraction from the endless hours he spent worrying about racing. Then, it became a hobby, a genuine interest to further the skill he had and become better. He was competitive after all.

Then, it became a way of expression.

The notes flowing as his fingers danced across the keyboard felt freeing. The way the instrument did exactly what he wanted when he wanted it was something he lacked in other aspects of his life in recent years. The compositions were something to be proud of, a mark he could leave on the world beyond his career in motorsports.

The piano became an outlet for Charles, something he became more reliant on in the last few weeks than he even realised.

And it left you as a very sexually frustrated girlfriend.

You loved Charles. There was never a doubt in your mind that you loved Charles. You loved and supported what he did, you encouraged him to express himself whether it be in words or notes played on the piano. But, something bitter and resentful bubbled inside you at the fact you were fighting for your boyfriend’s attention, and your competition was a fucking musical instrument.

It just became easier for him to vent out his frustrations in a wordless hobby, and you understood that. But you missed him.

You missed his touch and the way his fingers would glide over every inch of your body. You missed his kisses and the way they would leave you panting and breathless. You missed the way that when you were with him, you were his whole fucking world.

You missed your boyfriend’s attention just being on you, so you decided to teach him a lesson.

Maybe it was cruel. Maybe it wasn’t cruel enough. Maybe it was exactly what your boyfriend needed to remember the pretty girl he got to call his.

“I didn’t say you could stop playing, Charles.”

He let out a shaky breath, a shiver running down his spine as his eyes snapped down to the keyboard beneath him. His hands were hovering over the white keys, his fingers itching to move but his brain was blank. Every single coherent thought was lost and he couldn’t fucking remember how to play a chord, let along a song.

But you asked him to keep playing, and who was he to deny his girl?

Even if said girl was currently lying on top of the grand piano he bought a few months back, clad in some lacy number he swore he had never seen before as her hands glided over the body he should have been touching, kissing, loving.

“Play, Charles. Show me what you’ve spent the last few weeks composing instead of touching me.”

He cleared his throat, his brain scrambling to remember the song that flowed so easily for him mere hours ago. But now, all he could think about was the noises that you were making, that you sounded better than any song he could ever compose. He was thinking about how he could listen to your pretty moans for the rest of his life.

His fingers were moving, slower and less confident that he would usually play, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he watched you closely.

The slick, black wood beneath you was cold. It was cold and refreshing against your heated skin as you ran your hands down your stomach, your touch feather-light and teasing as you heard your boyfriend let out a strangled moan.

Your eyes were closed but you could imagine it so clearly. You could imagine the flush on his cheeks, the colour sweet and pink and a colour you wanted to pain the world. You could imagine the dazed look in his watercolour eyes, the same look he got when his head was between your thighs and he had no expiration on when he had to pull away. You could imagine the way his broad shoulders tensed, the stiff movements as he tried to grasp onto whatever self-restraint he had left.

“Cherie, please,” he whispered, almost too low for you to hear.

Your lips twitched upwards. “Play me your pretty song, baby.”

He was distracted, and his playing told you as much. He was distracted with the way your fingers glided over your nipples, the way they hardened beneath the lacy material you wore that barely covered them. He was distracted when your other hand slid lower down your body, as your fingers slipped past the waistband of your panties.

He was distracted by the small gasp that left your lips when your fingers pressed down on your swollen clit. He was distracted by the needy whine you let out as your fingers glided along your soaking cunt, collecting your arousal before you finally slid one finger inside yourself. He was distracted by the way your body squirmed and arched as you touched yourself, as you moaned his name with his broken playing in the background.

Charles was completely enraptured by you. He couldn’t fucking get enough of you. He didn’t care about the piano or his song, he didn’t care about anything other than the pretty girl fucking herself in front of him and the fact his cock was straining in the confinements of his boxers and sweatpants right now.

He needed you. He needed you so fucking bad.

“Let me,” he croaked out, his eyes locked on the way your back arched off the piano. “Let me make you feel so good, baby. I can make you feel so good.”

Your head turned to the side, your eyes fixated on his glassy eyes and pouty lips.

“Charles,” you moaned, your face contorting as you felt the coil in your stomach tighten.

“Please, baby, please,” he continued to beg, one hand dropping away from the keyboard to palm the length of his cock over his sweatpants. “Anything you want, let me give you it.”

You tucked your lip between your teeth. “Anything?”

“Anything,” he repeated breathlessly.

“Make me come, Charlie,” you whispered. “Show me what a good boy you are.”

The words had barely left your lips before his hands were on you. His fingers were digging into the fat of your thighs as he turned your body to face him, as he pulled you towards the edge of the piano until your panty-clad cunt was inches away from his face.

His fingers ran over the lacy material of the nightgown you were wearing before he pushed it further up your stomach, until it pooled just above your belly button. He looked up at you, his eyes meeting yours as he leaned down to lick a strip over your clothed cunt.

“Fuck,” you groaned as your head fell back against the piano, your eyes fluttering shut as his tongue pushed against the material of your panties. “Charles—”

“I know, cherie,” he murmured, his words hot and breathy against you as his nose nudged against your clit. “I know, I know what my baby needs.”

“Thought you were my good boy,” you goaded, your hands fisting the material of your nightgown as his arms wound around your thighs to lock you in place.

“I am,” he mumbled, his eyes falling shut as he placed kisses along your inner thighs, the slight stubble on his cheeks scratching against your skin in a way that made you arch closer to him. “Gonna show you how good I am.”

The sound of fabric ripping was the least of your concerns as he tossed them away, the cool air hitting your exposed cunt for less than a few seconds before his mouth was on you. Charles loved being between your thighs, he could have spent his whole life between them if he got the chance.

And now, with your thighs squeezing his ears and the sounds of your pretty whines echoing through the room, he realised just how long it had been since he had found himself in this position. That between the countless meetings, back-on-back race weekends and constant travelling, that he hadn’t been giving his princess the love she deserved.

That he had been depriving himself of his favourite meal.

“Charles!” You cried out as his tongue sloppily lapped at your cunt, appreciating groans vibrating against you as your legs squeezed around him. You tried to clench your thighs together, only for him to pin your legs open again.

Charles was a starved man, and he was fucking devouring you.

The words leaving his lips were better off being incoherent to you. Phrases mixed between French and Italian that you didn’t quite understand, but it was hot as he lapped and licked and sucked and kissed every inch of your needy cunt until your thighs were soaked and you were certain that you were dripping down onto the keyboard.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whined, your hands darting down to entangle themselves in his thick curls he had grown out. He let out a needy noise from the back of his throat, one that had his fingers digging into your skin so tight that you were sure it would bruise in the morning, but you didn’t care. “Right there, baby, fuck! Feel so fucking good, Charles, so good—oh!”

Your nails scratched against his scalp as his eyes fluttered shut, as he groaned against your cunt until you were coming. Your body tensed and shook, your moans pathetic and loud and just the way he liked it. His name was like a mantra on your lips, repeated over and over like a prayer.

But Charles didn’t stop.

The swipes of his tongue were slow and lazy, but he didn’t stop even after you came. He licked up the mess he had made, he pressed your hips into the piano as you wiggled and squirmed under his hold. He enjoyed the dull pain as you pulled on his hair as he licked your wet thighs and needy cunt until you said the single phrase that could make him pull away from between your legs.

“Please, Charlie,” you whispered, breathless and whiny and greedy for more of him. “Need your cock.”

The noise that left his lips was some pathetic mix of a groan and a whine as he pulled away from you, his lips and chin glistening with your release as his tongue darted out for one more taste. He pushed himself up onto his feet, the piano bench now long forgotten as he quickly shoved his sweatpants and boxers down to his knees.

His hand slid up your leg, lightly slapping the side of your thigh until you lifted your head to look at him.

“Turn around, baby,” he murmured, his voice lower and gruffer than it was before. “Show me that pretty ass, cherie.”

Your hands were braced against the piano as Charles placed one hand on your waist, the other guiding his cock deep inside your cunt until he was buried to the prim. You let out a noise of content, the desire for the slight burn of his thick cock pushing into you eagerly fixed after weeks of craving him.

Your head fell back against his shoulder, a desperate noise leaving his lips as his head dipped down to press his lips against yours. And you let him kiss you. You let his tongue swipe over your bottom lip, you let yourself taste your release on his tongue as he deepened the kiss. You let him kiss you until your lungs burned for air and your body craved for him to move.

“Fuck me,” you whispered breathlessly against his lips. “Fuck me like you miss me.”

“I have fucking missed you,” Charles groaned as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. “Missed every single part of you, cherie. You’re fucking perfect.”

“Show me, Charles,” you sighed as your fingers gripped the edge of the piano. “Fuck me on this stupid piano and show me.”

Charles was a patient man. He was a patient man who had the tolerance and restraint that would make a saint envious. He was usually so collected, so calm and put together even in situations where he didn’t have to be.

But any semblance of patience was thrown out the window when it came to you, especially when it came to fucking you.

The room that was usually full of beautiful notes and passionate music was now replaced with the sound of skin on skin, slapping against each other and accompanied by debauch noises that left a pink tint to his cheeks.

He had one hand pressed against the middle of your back, keeping your tits and face pressed against the cool wood as he fucked you from behind. His thrusts were hard, his tempo was fast and you felt the coil in your stomach tightening faster than you ever had before.

He could feel the walls of your cunt clench around his cock, could feel the slick of your arousal staining his own thighs but he didn’t fucking care. His lips were red and raw from how hard he was biting down, his skin felt like it was on fire and his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.

And yet, he never wanted to leave that moment.

The sight of you bent over his fucking piano, your ass jiggling with every snap of his hips and your nails desperately trying to dig into the glossy wood like you needed something to grip onto, like you needed a lifeline to ground you. The way you screamed his name, the way you screamed for his cock and the way he thrusted deep inside you, hitting that spot over and over again until you could feel him in your stomach.

“So good f’me,” he groaned as his hand groped the meat of your ass in his palm. “You were made for me, cherie, my perfect fit.”

“Charles,” you choked out between moans, but your boy knew you better than you knew yourself.

“That’s it, baby,” he whimpered. “Come for me, let me feel you. I wanna feel how good I make you feel, princess.”

The nickname wasn’t used often, but it was more than enough to tip you over the edge. The noises you let out were borderline pornographic as Charles continued to fuck you through your orgasm, as he leaned over until his chest was pressed against your back and his cock was hitting a new, deeper spot with every thrust.

His lips were on your neck, kisses placed on your skin between whispered French phrases of praise as he finally came, as he released inside you and felt your walls clench around him like you didn’t want his cock to leave you just yet.

You were panting and breathless, your cheek pressed against the grand piano as you let your eyes fall shut at the feeling of his gentle kisses and the soft touch of his hands all over your body. Your lips twitched as you heard him murmured ‘I love you’ over and over again in different languages until he needed to pause for a breath of air.

“Je t’aime aussi,” you murmured back, your pronunciation still a little dodgy despite the time you’ve spent dating the Monegasque, but it made him smile nonetheless.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured as he ducked his head down to kiss your cheek. “I love you more than the piano, you know that?”

You snorted. “Well, I sure hope so after that.”

Charles grinned. “Nothing could ever compare to fucking you, mon amour.”

You peaked a look at your boyfriend. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” he confirmed.

“Not even round two?” You teased.

“Depends,” Charles murmured as his fingers pulled at the hem of your nightgown you were still wearing. “Do you have any more surprises for me?”

“I did a lot of shopping while you were gone,” you told him with an innocent smile.

His eyes darkened. “Cancel all our plans for this weekend.”

You raised your brows. “Charles—”

“We aren’t leaving the house,” he told you as he squeezed your hips. “We need to make up for lost time, even if that means fucking you on this damn piano in every single piece you bought.”

“We need to eat, Charles,” you murmured, though the problem sounded just as dumb as it did in your head when he grinned at you.

“I’ll order you food in.”

“And what will you eat?”

Charles’ smile only widened. “Jump up on the piano again and I’ll show you, princess.”

It was safe to say, neither your friends or family heard from you or Charles until at least three days later.

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atlasthegreatest · 3 months ago

Text

Where it Begins / Yu Jimin x Male Reader

In which, Karina goes on a blind date with Y/n—a long time friend of Giselle. Or, where Y/n and Karina bond over their shared desire for normalcy among their busy lives.

Word count: 4165

A/n: I wanted to try something… I hope you guys like it.

Yu Jimin, better known as Karina from Aespa, sat in a cozy corner of a trendy café in Gangnam, stirring her iced Americano absentmindedly. She wasn’t sure how she had let herself be roped into this situation—blind dates weren’t exactly her thing. But Giselle, her groupmate and close friend, had been persistent.

“Trust me, Jimin. He’s nice, funny, and not the type to be starstruck. He’s a normal guy with a good head on his shoulders,” Giselle had said with a grin. “You need someone who gets you, and I think he could.”

Now, as the soft murmur of café chatter surrounded her, Karina couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. Being an idol came with its own set of complications, and dating was one of the hardest. There were always eyes on her, even now when she wore a simple baseball cap and oversized hoodie, hoping to blend in.

She checked her phone again. He was supposed to be here any minute.

“Hi, Jimin?”

Karina looked up, surprised by the familiar, deep voice. She blinked, taking in the man standing in front of her. He wasn’t exactly what she had expected—but then again, she hadn’t known what to expect. He had a sharp, clean-cut look, with a slight air of confidence about him. His smile, however, was warm and genuine.

“Yes, hi! You must be Y/n?” she asked, standing up to greet him.

“Yeah, Y/n. It’s nice to finally meet you,” he said, taking a seat across from her. “Aeri told me a lot about you, but I didn’t know what to expect.”

“Same,” Karina laughed softly. “She said you were her friend from school, right?”

“Yeah, we met in one of our history classes. I work as a financial consultant now,” Y/n explained. “It’s pretty straightforward, but I like it. What about you? I mean, I know what you do, of course, but how’s life treating you?”

Karina smiled, appreciating that he wasn’t making her idol status the focus of the conversation. “It’s good. Busy, as usual. We’re preparing for a comeback soon, so things have been non-stop. But I enjoy it, you know? It’s what I’ve always wanted to do.”

“I can imagine. It must be intense. I have no idea how you handle all that pressure,” Y/n said, taking a sip of his coffee. “Do you get much time for yourself?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “But I try to make the most of the little breaks I get. I love what I do, so I can’t really complain. And besides, today’s a nice change of pace.”

“Yeah? It’s been a while since I’ve done something like this too,” Y/n admitted. “Honestly, I was kind of surprised when Aeri suggested this, but I figured, why not?”

They both laughed at how Giselle’s insistence had pushed them into this moment, and it eased the lingering awkwardness between them. As the conversation continued, Karina found herself relaxing more. Y/n had an easygoing nature, and despite his polished appearance, he wasn’t intimidating at all. He talked about his work, shared funny anecdotes from university, and even admitted to being a bit of a homebody when he wasn’t working.

Karina, in turn, talked about her passions outside of music, like how she loved writing and finding new hobbies but struggled with having enough time for them. They bonded over their shared introverted tendencies and the desire to find balance in their busy lives.

At one point, Y/n leaned back, watching her with a thoughtful expression. “You’re different from what I expected.”

Karina raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

“I don’t know. I guess I expected you to be more… guarded? But you’re easy to talk to,” he said, a bit shyly. “It’s refreshing.”

She smiled, feeling a slight warmth spread through her at the compliment. “I guess I’m just comfortable around you. It doesn’t feel like you’re judging me.”

“I’m not. Honestly, I’m impressed. Not many people could handle what you do.”

Karina looked down at her drink, a bit flustered. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

The conversation flowed naturally after that, and before they knew it, two hours had passed. Karina felt surprised at how comfortable she was around Y/n, and how much she was enjoying herself. The awkwardness had faded, replaced by a genuine connection.

“So,” Y/n said, glancing at his watch, “I know this was just supposed to be coffee, but would you want to grab dinner sometime? No pressure, of course.”

Karina hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “I’d like that. Let’s see how our schedules line up, but I’m interested.”

Y/n grinned, looking relieved. “Great. I’ll text Aeri and let her know the blind date didn’t completely flop.”

They both laughed, and Karina felt a strange sense of excitement. Maybe blind dates weren’t so bad after all.

As they left the café, exchanging one last smile before parting ways, Karina couldn’t help but wonder what this unexpected connection might lead to.

————————-

A few days had passed since the blind date, and Karina found herself thinking about it more than she expected. In the whirlwind of rehearsals, interviews, and photoshoots for Aespa’s upcoming comeback, her mind kept drifting back to that afternoon with Y/n. It wasn’t just the fact that the date had gone well—there was something about him that stuck with her.

Maybe it was the way he seemed completely unfazed by her fame, treating her like any other person. It felt rare, especially in a world where everyone seemed to have expectations about who she should be.

“Jimin, you’re spacing out again.” Giselle’s voice broke through her thoughts.

Karina blinked, snapping back to reality as she and her groupmates sat in their dorm’s living room. They were taking a much-needed break after a long day of practice.

“Sorry,” Karina mumbled, earning a knowing smirk from Aeri.

“You’ve been like this ever since the date,” Giselle teased. “Y/n must’ve really left an impression, huh?”

Karina rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “He was nice. It wasn’t as awkward as I thought it would be.”

“Nice? That’s it?” Winter piped in from her spot on the couch, clearly interested in the gossip. “Come on, unnie, you can do better than that. Give us details.”

“Well, he’s a financial consultant. Smart, funny, and…” Karina paused, feeling a little shy under her members’ curious gazes. “He made me feel comfortable. I didn’t expect that.”

“You like him,” Ningning sing-songed, earning a playful glare from Karina.

“I didn’t say that,” she protested, though the warmth in her cheeks gave her away.

“It’s written all over your face, unnie,” Ningning added, giggling. “But that’s okay. It’s good to see you thinking about something other than work for once.”

Karina shook her head, trying to hide her embarrassment. “It’s just one date. I don’t know where it’s going, if anywhere.”

“You should give it a chance,” Giselle said, her tone a bit more serious now. “Y/n’s a good guy, and you deserve to have something normal. If it works out, great. If not, no big deal.”

Karina appreciated Giselle’s words, but the thought of dating still made her feel cautious. Her career was at its peak, and dating wasn’t just personal—it was public. Every move she made would be scrutinized, and the idea of dealing with the media’s obsession with her love life felt overwhelming.

But then again, Y/n didn’t seem like the type who would complicate things. He was grounded, and that was rare in her world.

“Okay, I’ll give it a shot,” Karina finally said, her voice soft but resolute. “We’ll see where it goes.”

A week later, Karina found herself waiting outside a quiet restaurant in Itaewon. Y/n had suggested a place known for its privacy, one that celebrities often frequented to avoid being spotted. He’d even joked about how he wasn’t famous, but he figured she might appreciate the discretion.

Y/n arrived right on time, flashing her that same easy smile that made her feel at ease. He was dressed casually in a dark sweater and jeans, his appearance polished but not overly so. It was the kind of look that suited him—effortless but put-together.

“Hey, hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” Y/n said as he approached.

“No, I just got here too,” Karina replied, smiling back. “This place looks nice.”

“I figured you’d appreciate somewhere quiet. You probably don’t get much peace when you go out, huh?”

Karina chuckled softly. “Not really, no. This is perfect, though.”

They were led to a private booth tucked away in the back, and Karina felt the tension ease from her shoulders as they settled in. The dim lighting and soft music created a relaxed atmosphere, making it easy to forget the pressures outside.

“So, how’s comeback prep going?” Y/n asked once they had ordered.

“Intense, but that’s normal,” Karina said with a small sigh. “There’s always pressure to outdo ourselves with every release. It’s exhausting, but I love it. I just wish there were more hours in the day.”

“I can’t even imagine. I get stressed just from balancing a couple of client meetings in a day. You’re juggling a whole career.”

“Yeah, but you deal with people’s money,” she pointed out with a grin. “That sounds stressful in its own way.”

“Fair point,” Y/n laughed. “But I’m guessing you don’t get much downtime to just… be yourself, huh?”

Karina’s expression softened at the question. “Not really. I mean, I do have my moments. The members and I are really close, so I can relax around them. But outside of that… yeah, it’s hard to switch off.”

Y/n nodded thoughtfully. “I guess it’s hard for people to see past the idol image sometimes.”

Karina glanced at him, surprised by how easily he seemed to understand. “Yeah. It’s not that I mind being an idol—it’s who I am. But sometimes I feel like people forget there’s a person behind it.”

“Well, I don’t want to sound presumptuous,” Y/n said, his tone careful, “but I don’t see you as Karina right now. Just Jimin.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. It wasn’t something she heard often—at least not from someone who wasn’t already in her close circle. She found herself smiling, genuinely touched.

“Thank you. That means a lot.”

They continued to talk, the conversation flowing just as easily as it had during their first meeting. Y/n shared stories about his clients and the quirks of working in finance, while Karina opened up about the more human side of being in the spotlight—how she missed simple things like going to the movies or walking around Seoul without being recognized.

The night flew by, and before they knew it, the restaurant was closing. As they stepped out into the cool evening air, Y/n walked her to her manager's car.

“So… dinner wasn’t a disaster,” he joked, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d call that a win.”

Karina laughed, feeling lighter than she had in a long time. “I’d say so. I had a great time.”

“Same here.” Y/n hesitated for a moment before continuing, “Would it be okay if we did this again? I know your schedule’s probably crazy, but…”

“I’d like that,” Karina said, cutting him off with a smile. “We’ll figure something out.”

Y/n smiled back, relieved. “Great. I’ll let you know when I’m free, and you can do the same.”

As they said their goodbyes, Karina felt a warmth settle in her chest. It wasn’t a grand, sweeping romance—not yet, anyway. But there was something genuine about Y/n that made her want to keep exploring whatever this was.

For the first time in a long while, she felt like she could be herself, and that was worth holding on to.

Bonus chapter:

It was early afternoon, and Aespa had just wrapped up a grueling rehearsal for their upcoming music video shoot. The studio was buzzing with the usual energy: staff members adjusting lighting, choreographers reviewing the footage, and the members catching their breath on the sidelines. Karina stretched her arms above her head, feeling the slight ache in her muscles.

“Okay, let’s take a fifteen-minute break, everyone!” the choreographer called out.

Karina grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat off her forehead and slumped onto the floor next to Winter, who was scrolling through her phone.

“You’ve been glowing lately,” Winter teased, her eyes still on the screen. “It’s either that new skincare routine or that boy you went on a date with.”

Karina gave her a playful nudge. “It’s definitely the skincare.”

“Sure, sure,” Winter said with a smirk. “So, when are you seeing him again? Or are you already planning the wedding?”

Karina let out a dramatic sigh. “One date and everyone’s marrying me off.”

“Hey, I’m just asking,” Winter laughed, tossing her phone aside. “He seems like a good guy. I’m happy for you, unnie.”

Karina appreciated Winter’s sincerity, though she wasn’t quite sure how to describe what was happening with Y/n. It had only been a couple of weeks since their blind date, but they had texted regularly, and their casual dinner had felt… natural. Real. Like something outside the world of cameras and expectations. She wasn’t used to that.

“I’m seeing him later this week,” Karina admitted quietly. “But it’s nothing serious yet.”

Winter gave her a thoughtful look. “You don’t need to rush. Just see where it goes, right?”

Karina nodded, thankful for Winter’s easygoing advice. The conversation was cut short when Giselle bounded over, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“What are we talking about? Jimin’s love life again?”

“Obviously,” Winter replied, smirking.

Giselle dropped down onto the floor beside them. “Well, I approve of Y/n. And I’m rarely wrong about people.”

Karina smiled. “I think I approve too. So far, at least.”

Later that evening, Karina sat in her dorm room, her legs tucked under her as she looked out the window at the city skyline. She was still winding down from practice, sipping on some herbal tea when her phone buzzed beside her. A message from Y/n.

Y/n: “Hey, Jimin! How was your day? Still alive after all those rehearsals?”

Karina chuckled softly and typed back.

Karina: “Barely! But yeah, we survived. How about you? Long day at work?”

Y/n: “You could say that. Had a couple of back-to-back meetings, and now I’m trying to remember what sleep feels like.”

Karina: “Sounds like you need more than a cup of coffee.”

Y/n: “What I need is another dinner with you. If you’re free this weekend?”

Karina’s heart did a little flip, the simplicity of the question making her smile. She typed back without overthinking it.

Karina: “I think I can make that happen :)”

There was a pause before Y/n responded.

Y/n: “Perfect. I’ll find somewhere quiet again. I’m not trying to end up on the front page of Dispatch.”

Karina laughed, appreciating his understanding of her situation. It was refreshing that he took her lifestyle in stride without making it awkward.

Karina: “Yeah, let’s avoid that for as long as possible.”

Y/n: “Deal. Looking forward to it, Jimin.”

———————-

The weekend came quickly, and Karina found herself back in the familiar rhythm of preparing for a date. She kept it simple—minimal makeup, a casual but chic outfit that could go unnoticed. For once, she felt a bit of excitement bubbling in her stomach that wasn’t tied to performing or being in the public eye. It was personal, and that felt nice.

They met at a small, tucked-away restaurant in Seongsu-dong that Y/n had picked out, a quiet place with an intimate atmosphere. As soon as Karina walked in, Y/n stood up to greet her with a warm smile.

“Hey, you look great,” Y/n said, his voice kind.

“Thanks. You too,” Karina replied, smiling as she took a seat.

Once again, the conversation flowed effortlessly. They talked about their week, shared stories about their families, and even laughed over the little annoyances of their respective jobs. Y/n had a way of making her laugh that felt unforced, natural. Karina could feel herself lowering her guard, bit by bit.

Throughout the evening, they fell into a comfortable rhythm, enjoying each other’s company in a way that didn’t feel rushed or forced. It was easy, and Karina realized how much she appreciated that—how much she needed it.

After they finished dinner, they stepped outside into the cool autumn air. The streets were quieter now, a soft breeze rustling through the trees. Karina wrapped her coat a little tighter around her, and Y/n glanced at her.

“Want to walk for a bit?” he asked. “I know a nice spot by the river not too far from here.”

Karina hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Sure, I’d like that.”

They walked side by side, the gentle sound of their footsteps mixing with the occasional distant hum of traffic. The Han River stretched out beside them, shimmering under the city lights.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” Y/n asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Karina looked over at him, curious. “Of what?”

“Being Karina. The public persona. The constant pressure.”

She thought about it for a moment, the weight of the question settling over her. “Sometimes,” she admitted softly. “It’s not that I don’t love what I do—I do. But there are moments when it’s hard. When I just want to disappear for a while and be Jimin. No expectations. No spotlight.”

Y/n nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. “I get that. It must be hard to find that balance.”

“It is,” Karina said, her voice quieter now. “But tonight, I feel more like Jimin than Karina.”

Y/n smiled at that, his gaze warm as he looked at her. “I’m glad.”

They continued walking in silence for a while, the comfortable kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. As they reached a small bench overlooking the river, Y/n stopped and turned to her.

“You know, I wasn’t sure what to expect when Aeri set this up,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “But I’m really glad we did this.”

Karina felt the same warmth from before, that quiet sense of something real blossoming between them. “Me too.”

As they stood there, looking out over the peaceful river, Karina realized that, for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t thinking about work, schedules, or the next big event. She was just Jimin, standing beside someone who saw her for who she was—and that felt like something worth holding on to.

As Karina and Y/n sat on the bench, watching the river’s gentle current, the silence between them felt more like an unspoken understanding. She rarely had moments like these—where the world slowed down, and she wasn’t the idol, the performer, or the public figure. She was just herself, and Y/n had a way of reminding her that being Jimin was enough.

“Tell me something you missed from before you became… well, you,” Y/n asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable quiet.

Karina thought about it for a moment, her mind drifting back to memories of simpler times. “I think it’s the small things,” she said softly. “Like going to the grocery store without feeling watched. Or taking the subway and people not recognizing me. I used to love just walking through the streets and feeling invisible, blending into the crowd. I miss that.”

Y/n nodded, his expression thoughtful. “That must be hard—to give up those everyday moments. People probably think being famous is all glamour, but they don’t see what you lose.”

“It’s a trade-off,” Karina said, shrugging lightly. “I wouldn’t change my life for anything, but yeah, there are moments where I just want to be… ordinary again. But enough about me. What about you? What do you miss from when life was simpler?”

Y/n chuckled. “You’re assuming my life’s complicated now.”

“Well, it can’t be all easy, right? Financial consultant—sounds intense.”

Y/n grinned. “I guess so. I think I miss having time for hobbies. Back in university, I used to play the guitar. Not anything fancy, just for fun. But now, between work and adulting, I barely have time to pick it up. Sometimes I feel like life’s become all about work and not enough about living.”

“Sounds familiar,” Karina replied, a soft laugh escaping her. “Maybe we need to find more time to live.”

Y/n looked at her, his smile fading slightly as his expression turned more serious. “Maybe we do.”

They shared a lingering look, the air between them charged with something unsaid but palpable. It wasn’t an overwhelming intensity, but more of a quiet, growing connection. Something steady and real, like the slow build of a song that hasn’t reached its crescendo yet.

“Are you ever afraid of people finding out?” Y/n asked after a while, his tone gentle.

Karina knew what he meant. The thought of the media discovering this budding relationship was always in the back of her mind, a constant pressure she couldn’t escape. “I am,” she admitted. “It’s complicated. If people find out, it could affect both of us—my career, and your privacy. It’s not just about us, you know?”

Y/n nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, I get that. But for what it’s worth, I’m willing to take things as they come. I’m not going to run away because it might get messy.”

Karina felt her chest tighten at his words. It was rare to find someone willing to navigate the chaos of her life without hesitating, without being scared off by the potential consequences. She appreciated that more than she could say.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice quiet but sincere. “I needed to hear that.”

Y/n smiled, and the weight of the conversation seemed to lift slightly as they stood from the bench and began walking back toward the main street. The cool breeze brushed past them, carrying with it the scent of autumn, crisp and fresh. Karina could feel the energy of the city, the hum of life continuing around them, but in this little moment, it felt like they had carved out a space just for themselves.

As they reached the point where they would part ways, Y/n paused, turning to face her. His expression was soft, thoughtful, as if he was weighing his next words carefully.

“Can I be honest with you for a second?”

Karina raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Of course.”

“I didn’t know what to expect when we first met. Aeri had always talked about you like you were this larger-than-life person, this untouchable figure. And I was nervous—thinking about how different our worlds are. But now…” He paused, running a hand through his hair before meeting her gaze again. “Now, I just see you as Jimin. And I like that. I like you.”

His confession hung in the air between them, and Karina felt her heart skip a beat. It wasn’t that she hadn’t heard people express interest in her before—she was used to the admiration that came with being an idol. But Y/n wasn’t talking about Karina, the persona. He was talking about the person behind it, and that meant more than he could know.

She didn’t trust herself to speak for a moment, unsure of how to respond to such an honest, vulnerable admission. But eventually, she smiled, the warmth of his words settling in her chest.

“I like you too,” she said softly, feeling the truth of it as she spoke.

Y/n’s grin returned, soft but genuine. “That’s good to know.”

They stood there for a moment longer, neither of them in a rush to leave. The world felt suspended in time, the busy city around them fading into the background.

“I should get going,” Y/n said finally, though there was a hint of reluctance in his voice.

“Yeah, me too,” Karina agreed, though she felt the same.

As Y/n took a step back, he gave her one last look, his smile still lingering. “I’ll text you.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she replied, her own smile growing as she watched him walk away.

Once he disappeared into the night, Karina let out a small breath, feeling a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. This was new territory—uncharted, and in many ways, risky. But for the first time in a long time, she felt something genuine, something real, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to let it go.

———————

As she turned to head back to her dorm, Karina’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, expecting a message from one of her members or her manager, but instead saw Y/n’s name lighting up her screen.

Y/n: “By the way, what’s your favorite song right now?”

Karina chuckled and typed back quickly.

Karina: “That’s a hard one. Why?”

Y/n: “I’m thinking of picking up my guitar again. Maybe I can learn it for you.”

Her heart fluttered at the thought, and for the first time in a while, Karina let herself feel hopeful.

#aespa #yu jimin #male reader #karina #karina x male reader #aespa x reader #aespa winter #aespa giselle #aespa ningning #fluff

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citrusandrottefruit · 11 days ago

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Diagnosed with Hanahaki, a genetic autoimmune disease, as a child, Steve has learned to live with it. Along the way, he finds a family and falls in love with Eddie. He is never cured, but he lives.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

After a few hours of talking, Steve decided what to do: for the next few days, he would just go to work as usual (after all, he couldn't miss any more) while his body began to adjust to the new medications, and once he felt more settled and at peace with himself, he would go to Eddie, then Hopper and Joyce, and then the kids.

In Robin's opinion, he should come out as soon as possible, but Steve thought it was a much better idea to alert Eddie about his health condition, see how he dealt with it, and only in a few weeks, after he had already gone through all the difficult conversations he knew he would have, talk about his feelings.

“What if he agrees to date me out of pity, Robin? I couldn’t stand it.”

“Eddie has a lot of feelings for you, but pity isn’t one of them. He looks at you like he wants to put that whole ‘eat the rich’ thing into action.”

“Maybe, maybe.” Steve reluctantly agreed, only because he knew Robin had the best intentions, but he didn’t have the same perception he did. They were in the kitchen, Robin having demanded to make a healthy breakfast. “But he only knows me as a high school athlete and a…”

“Fighter in the Upside Down?” Robin offered. She was looking right at him, having abandoned the fruit she was cutting. “A protector? Hero?” She pointed at Steve with the knife, her knuckles white. Steve stared until Robin set the knife down on the counter.

“Yeah. A fighter, a hero, a protector. Whatever. That’s how he knows me.” Steve crossed his arms. “Someone capable. Physically, at least. I’ve never been very smart, we don’t have the same hobbies, I’m not as passionate about music as he is. I can’t even smoke if he wants to spend his time smoking.” He ran a hand through his hair, already feeling his chest tighten, his breath starting to run out. “I can’t even get a job without you to convince someone to hire me.”

“Steve…”

“I’m not saying I’m terrible or anything. I’m not, you know that, but the only thing that’s exceptional about me is this illness and my involvement with the Upside Down. If it happens again, I don’t think I’ll be any use. I won’t be the hero you’re talking about anymore. It would be too much to ask Eddie to want me right after finding out the truth. So I’ll tell him, but only after he understands what it means to have Hanahaki.”

The discussion ended there, with a hug and Robin admitting that he was right and betting that she was right too. Eddie was in love, she was sure of it.

Despite believing that she had everything planned and resolved, a few hours after Robin left, Steve saw his plans being ruined by a hesitant and quiet knock on the door, followed by two loud knocks and another slightly quieter one. Steve opened the door and saw Eddie, who looked strange, rocking on his toes and looking around as if he were being chased by Vecna himself.

As soon as their eyes met, Eddie twisted his hair and asked if he could come in. Steve let him, because he couldn't deny Eddie anything, but he still didn't feel ready to face him.

Steve turned his back and walked to the kitchen, because at least he could pretend to be busy cooking, just so he wouldn't have to face Eddie head on.

At first, Eddie didn't say anything, just watched as Steve put vegetables on the counter.

"Did I do something?"

"Hmm?" Steve hummed without turning around.

"You've been avoiding everyone. Dustin said he talked to you on the phone, you checked on Max a few times, and I know you've been answering all the kids on the walkie-talkie."

"Yes."

“I don’t understand. I thought everything was fine. That we were fine.”

Eddie’s voice was so weak that, against his better judgment, Steve turned to him.

“We’re fine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t…” Suddenly, his face turned as red as a tomato. “Didn’t I do anything to make you uncomfortable?”

And because he was a weak man, Steve leaned closer.

“No, of course not.” Steve smiled, wanting to make Eddie comfortable. “Why would you think that?”

“It’s been almost a month since we last saw each other.”

“I know.” The answer was so low and shaky that Eddie stopped playing with his hair.

“It was right after we left here, me and Wayne.” Eddie says, as if Steve didn’t know that. “I figured you might want some space, at first, because I can be pretty tiresome.”

“Nah, man, I never get tired of you.”

Eddie blushed again and looked pleased.

“Then I thought maybe you were upset about the move.”

“What? No, I know you guys need your own space. It’s not to offend me or anything.”

Eddie blinked owlishly and then laughed.

“Uncomfortable sleeping in the same bed as me.”

“Ah!” Steve felt his face heat up. “Ah.”

With an appraising look, Eddie took a step forward. A huge step, which put the two of them almost chest to chest.

“Eddie…”

“I even thought you might have been hurt that you didn’t help unload our things when we moved, you know?”

“I wouldn’t be upset about something like that.” Steve mumbled, still not having the courage to walk away and wanting to run for the hills.

“Yeah, I know.” Eddie whispered almost inaudibly and Steve was forced to follow his mouth to understand. “That’s why I dismissed the idea.” Then he smiled and Steve had no doubt that he was caught ogling. “I couldn’t sleep well, because every time I woke up in the middle of the night, I remembered you.”

��Hm. Yeah. I… I almost looked for you last night, I guess I still haven’t gotten used to you moving, after all.”

Having regained consciousness, Steve prepared to step out of Eddie's bubble of personal space, but all he had to do was put one foot back and he was pulled back in. Despite the growing tension between them, the last thing he expected was to be kissed.

I warned you, Dingus! A voice sounding suspiciously like Robin resounded in his mind.

When Eddie tried to deepen the kiss, Steve remembered the bitter taste on his tongue, the traces of blood in his mouth, and felt disgusted and embarrassed. This time, it was easy to get some space.

For a few seconds, they didn't say anything, but Eddie looked so pale and scared, ready to run away, that Steve managed to force the words he had been dreading out of his mouth.

“I have Hanahaki.”

“What?” Eddie straightened up. “How? Who? Why?”

Although the questions were vague, Steve understood.

“My mom has it too. I was diagnosed when I was 9, almost 10.”

“10 years?” Eddie sighed. “10?”

Steve leaned against the kitchen counter, because he was tired, but he didn't want to have this conversation sitting down.

“Hanahaki?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” Steve nodded. Eddie, alarmed, began to pace back and forth, stopping to look at Steve every few steps. “Hanahaki, that disease with roots in the chest? That destroys the lungs? The love sickness?”

“It's not like I described it, but yes, that's it.”

“Who was it, Steve? Was it Nancy?”

“What? No, man.” Steve laughed a broken laugh. “I told you I've had Hanahaki since I was little, I didn't even know Nancy back then.”

“So, who…? Was it your p…?”

“I don't know if you know this, but Hanahaki has genetic factors, as well as environmental ones. It manifested itself in my mother, then in me.”

“Your mother has Hanahaki?!” He seemed increasingly incredulous.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while now, and I think it needs to be now, before you say or do anything. Listen to everything I’m going to say, please.”

Eddie nodded in stunned silence.

“It’s scary, Eddie.” Steve said quietly, trying to find the right words. It was easier with Robin, maybe because he didn’t feel like he had to impress her, maybe because he already knew she would be by his side, maybe because he had left out so much. “Because I lived practically my entire life with Hanahaki. I don’t remember much of anything before the diagnosis, so I can’t compare it to… You know, a healthy body. I did a lot of things while I was sick, so I guess… I don’t know, I guess I thought I could do this, you know? That I could be strong all the time, that I could always run, be strong, that I… Geez, I said that before, right? Be strong.” Steve laughed humorlessly. “I could be an athlete who goes to the hospital almost every month and needs medication every day… I’ve had Hanahaki for 10 years. I’ve done a lot of things.” Eddie opened his mouth, but Steve held up a hand, so he pressed his lips together and waited. “I guess I didn’t even realize I was in the easy part. I didn’t stop to think about how much worse things would actually get, and I feel like it’s finally caught up with me.”

“Steve, you’re not going to die. You’re going to be okay, we’ll figure it out, anythi—”

“No, please. You have to listen, I’m just trying to think. It’s hard to talk about this. The only person who’s really listened to me is Robin, and we haven’t talked about it that much, so I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how I should say this, so it might take a while. I need to think.”

After a few moments of silence, Steve assessed Eddie. Before Vecna, Eddie had always been so full of life, so loud, so theatrical. Steve had noticed it at school and when he picked up the kids after the Hellfire Club. After the spring, he changed, as they all did. He carried an air of tragedy wherever he was, lost in thoughts of suffering, inspiring infinite sadness at times. But he never looked like this. So still, barely breathing, and yet so alert, so aware of everything. His eyes never stopped moving on Steve, almost as if he was waiting to be able to see Hanahaki.

Steve thought that if he wanted to, he could stay silent and Eddie wouldn’t argue, because people could give in so easily when they thought you were going to die with the slightest disturbance.

“I’m not going to be okay and I don’t want anyone to promise me that. Now I’m going to tell you because it’s scary. I thought a lot about how to tell you this… It’s scary because I’ve known Hanahaki for years, but this disease still surprises me. A few months ago, I was so much more capable than I am now. I’m losing things all the time. Basic, simple, easy things. Things that I once took for granted. That’s what you need to understand before you…”

Steve looked into Eddie's eyes and blushed, because he could hardly admit that there was something between them without being sure that everything was clear. Of course, that was when Hanahaki decided to act and he coughed until he bent over, barely able to breathe. Eddie approached uncertainly and trembling, but Steve just stepped back and took a Hanahaki inhaler. From his pocket, he took a handkerchief and spat out some blood with pieces of the roots half dissolved.

The silence stretched on.

"That's it. That wasn't even bad. But it wasn't normal either, I'm just going through a bad moment, but I'm already treating it, I'll get better, it just won't be the same as it was before Spring." Steve explained embarrassed. "I don't want you to commit to anything without being sure what you're getting into and I have no problem waiting."

Eddie grabbed Steve's hands, not caring about the handkerchief, which got his hands dirty too. His eyes, the first thing Steve noticed romantically, were huge and scared.

“Steve, I won't regret it, you don't have to worry about that.”

Although he appreciated the sentiment, Steve got irritated and pulled his hands away.

“Well, what I need now is to make sure you're sure.”

“Okay, whatever you want. I promise.”

“It's not that I don't trust you, it's just that you don't know what Hanahaki is like. I know what it's like.”

“I'll research it, I'll learn everything. I'll become an expert at this! I swear.” The promise drew a wet laugh from Steve and, as if by magic, Eddie felt infinitely lighter. His eyes lit up and he reached out his hands once more, hovering over Steve's arms. “Can I hug you?”

At Steve's nod, they approached. Very slowly and with uncharacteristic caution, Eddie placed his hands on Steve's back. Steve huffed out a laugh and squeezed Eddie tightly, pulling him even closer.

"I won't break."

After that, the conversation was vague. Steve figured Eddie had a million questions, but he settled for asking if, even though he didn't know much about Hanahaki yet, he could stay and spend the night. As a friend of Steve's and nothing more.

For what seemed like the thousandth time, they lay down on the bed in Eddie's old room. There were no more personal items there, but Steve hadn't even changed the sheets yet, which were messed up on the bed as if they were waiting for Eddie to come back from a trip to the bathroom. He was kind enough not to comment, even though it was obvious he had noticed.

Unlike all the times they had slept together before, this time they cuddled. Maybe it wasn't the best idea for Steve's poor heart, but he was too tired to even think about fighting. To fill the silence, Eddie told him about a book he had been reading lately.

Just as he was almost asleep, Steve felt Eddie murmur something near his ear and asked him to repeat it.

“I asked if you’re going to need a transplant. I read about it once.”

“Probably.”

“Okay.” Eddie tightened his arms around Steve. “I can be your donor, Stevie.” Steve shook with laughter and felt Eddie’s smile on the back of his neck. “What’s wrong? You don’t believe me, Sweetheart?”

“Robin promised the same thing.”

“Oh, then maybe we’ll have to fight for you.”

That night, Steve fell asleep feeling like everything might turn out okay after all.

The next part is the last one. After that, I'll post some thoughts on it, for more context.

Tag list | @estrellami-1 @drips-and-drabbles15

#This was supposed to be the last part #but I accidentally wrote too much #I'm not good at writing dialogues #Even less so in English #because I'm worried about subtext and nuances of language #so it sounds too formal or impersonal #I don't know #Important conversations in the kitchen #That was accidental #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #eddie munson

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ddejavvu · 2 years ago

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poly marauders eating reader out for the first time!! it’s such an intimate, vulnerable act so readers probably nervous. as much as they’d be sweet and soft and stuff, i think they’d be fighting a bit with each other to actually get at you first, like usually they’re so good at sharing and it comes naturally, but with this they just can’t come to a conclusion because this is eating you out, and you’ve never done it before and you seem to be really curious and kinda needy for the experience (this could be amplified if they kinda only just started the sexual side of their relationship, and it’s the next big step for u before actual sex yk)

james ofc swears up and down it SHOULD be him bc it’s his passion not his hobby, he’s been dreaming of it, but remus makes the argument that he’s the most dominant (?) over you, so you’d feel more comfy with him doing it, but then sirius is like >:( my face is pretty, you really wanna deprive her of that view???? for her first time as well, you monsters

babe the day you stop sending me these is the day i'll quit tumblr. you're a treasure i hope you know that <33

this post is 18+, minors dni.

!!!!! no because you're probably really nervous !!! maybe it's your first time altogether, or just with them, but either way it's scary !!! what if you smell weird, what if you taste weird, what if you cum too fast, what if you can't cum at all, what do you do!!!!!! remus probably feels your heartbeat going crazy when he braces a hand on your chest to lean down and kiss you where you're laying back on the bed but he misinterprets it, just chuckles and goes 'excited, hm?' and you don't know how to tell him that you're actually scared he's going to be repulsed by you :(( you just sort of stutter an mhm and when James tries parting your thighs from where he's kneeling at the edge of the bed you tense up, and that's when they start wondering if something's wrong.

"Pet," Sirius croons, stroking a patch of skin over your upper thigh, "What's'a matter, hm?"

and maybe it's James's puppy eyes, maybe it's remus's soft touch on your waist as he helps you sit up, or maybe it's sirius still petting over your thigh, but they manage to get it out of you that you're nervous!! you don't want them to get grossed out!!

i do think sirius would laugh. not at you, not to be mean, but he's just so flabbergasted by the thought of you thinking he could ever be disgusted by your cunt that he probably snorts, and james and remus have to overcompensate like nono darling he's not laughing at you! we just- we don't really know why you'd think that, 's ridiculous, we could never be grossed out by you. promise.'

maybe james offers you a pinky, to swear on the fact that he'll never be repulsed by you, and then it comes down to the matter of who gets to have the first taste.

sirius insists that he should, to make up for the little scare he caused by laughing, and, of course, like you mentioned, to give you the most handsome view you'll ever see.

james begs for it to be him because c'mon, you know him, he loves body worship! and what better for your first time than slow, soft, and sweet, plus he's already got his chin resting on your tummy and he's pressing soft little kisses to the skin there just in case it'll help sway you into letting him to the same to your clit :]

remus still has a hand on your waist, now he's sitting beside you, and he leans in to kiss your jaw with this gorgeous throaty little hum. he noses at your ear, murmurs 'or me, darling? 've always been good at keeping you calm, yeah? 'think you could use a little bit of a leader here'.

James is >:O because what !!! he's a leader !!! he'd guide you through it!!! but remus says 'you'll melt in there, prongs' and everyone knows he's not wrong.

i'll leave this open to reader interpretation, somewhat of a choose-your-own-adventure story, but just know whichever two you don't choose to go first will occupy themselves with your tits or your mouth, and they'll all get a turn eventually, so you're in for a long night <3

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girlsgirl06 · 6 months ago

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BOOST OF CONFIDENCE💪🏻

Have you ever observed a model very carefully? Do you know why they are so mesmerizing, charming, captivating and attractive? You know even the models that are not white or don't have kind of fair skin looks attractive and drop dead gorgeous.

Do you think that only beauty matters! Come on my girlies, beauty is overrated! Aura, energy, vibe, body language and personality attracts people more than beauty does. Outer beauty is temporary, but your inner beauty is permanent. Be smarter, earn money and then watch everyone beggin' to be with you, watch everyone being obsessed with you.

Work in your inner beauty that is your self love, self healing and self care and watch outer beauty glow naturally.

1. Self Love

Do more what you love like any of your hobbies or your PASSION.

Meditation (For sure!!)

Walk out in Nature.

Hear manifestion music or subliminals.

2. Self Healing/ Heal Inner Child

Journal your thoughts, regrets, fears, insecurities, pain or any negative feelings.

Reward yourself for all of your wins.

Meditation.

Do what your childhood you wanted to do.

Do the Ho'pono prayer.

Talk with your inner child.

See one of your childhood photo and talk with her/him and let the emotions go out.

3. Self Care

Drink more water.

Eat a little healthy.

Keep fast twice in a month.

Do your nails.

Hair care.

Ice your face.

Do some home remedies like face packs.

Exercise or Yoga

In this blog I'm going to give your confidence a boost😎

First of all, lemme remind you that Looks don't even matter!!

How you can be the best of you?

"CONFIDENCE" comes first! It's the vibe that screams "HEY I'M CONFIDENT IN MYSELF, I DON'T GIVE A SHIT WHATEVER YOU THINK OF ME!" Have confidence in every tiniest thing you do.

Whenever you're in public or wherever just remember:

1. YOU'RE THE MAIN CHARACTER

2. YOU'RE THE BEST.

3. YOU'RE THAT GIRL.

4. YOU'RE A WINNER.

5. YOUR LOOKS DOESN'T DESCRIBE YOU.

6. VIBE, AURA, ENERGY AND PERSONALITY IS IMPORTANT.

7. WALK LIKE YOU OWN THE PLACE.

8. NEVER THINK LIKE TOO MUCH.

9. DON'T LET YOUR CONFIDENCE GO DOWN.

10. DRESS BETTER.

💕MAKE A PERSONALITY OF YOURS.

Write down every single thing you wanna be. How your FUTURE SELF IS? What she wears, what she do, whom she spends time with etc.

💕BE HER

Put in the efforts to be her.

💕 KNOWLEDGE

If you have knowledge than you are going to be successful no matter what! Keep reading books and gain the knowledge about different topics. Atleast for 15 to 20 minutes you should read a book.

💕DRESS WELL

When I say dress well it doesn't mean to wear expensive clothes. I mean wear what makes you feel confident and pretty. For example: If oversized outfits make you feel damn cool then wear it and invest in buying oversized outfits. Just wear clean clothes.

REMINDER:

You're BEAUTIFUL.

You're Worth it.

You can do anything you want to do.

Thankyou for reading this blog😊

#self love #self care #self development #self growth #self healing #self worth #that girl #it girl #beauty #inner beauty #confidence #self confidence #wonyoungism #tam kaur #wizard liz

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leftoverghosts · 24 days ago

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i am drowning

there is no sign of land.

Patrick's announcement hit you like a tennis ball to the gut. He had just gotten back from winning the junior US Open, but instead of celebrating together, he was ending things between you. The sharp sting of disappointment cut through your heart as you struggled to make sense of it all. This wasn't the end of your relationship, though.

find part two here.

patrick zweig x reader. patrick x tashi. mentioned tashi x art.

warnings: angst. like angst for the sake of angst. sex at the end. some curse words. not for minors. p in v sex. use of she/her for reader. no use of y/n. patrick sleeps with reader for a bed.

nori says: hiiiiiii, i've been lurking in the challengers tag and now have something to contribute. this is heavily inspired by the break up scene in whiplash. it just feels so patrick coded. also, i love tashi, it's not her fault that the boys were weird about her. send me ideas if you want to! xoxo.

word count: 4,818

2006, September. Per Se Restaurant, Manhattan.

“Also, Patrick has a girlfriend.” Art had told Tashi, and Patrick had responded with “I do not”.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“I can’t believe your dad let us use his reservations. This is the coolest thing ever! I feel so grown up,” a cheerful voice interrupts Patrick’s thoughts, pulling him back to the present moment. Sitting across from you now, celebrating his triumphant win at the Junior US Open, he can't ignore the guilt and doubts that gnaw at him. Though you were never officially a couple, there were undeniable feelings between you two and Patrick had pursued you relentlessly. He couldn't resist your sweetness, especially since you’ve been friends for so long and despite being just a teenage boy with wandering eyes fixed on tennis skirts, even he understands that you genuinely care about him.

Patrick thinks with all the agony that the thing between his legs can muster, that he’s an asshole, that he shouldn’t of fucked up this situationship only to chase after a girl who made him compete for her attention. Part of him hates himself for betraying your trust and pining after someone else, but the other part of him is drawn to Tashi in a way he can't explain. She gets him, but more importantly, she understands true tennis.

Patrick fidgets with his cup of water, tracing your name on the condensation as if it holds some sort of salvation. But deep down, he knows that no amount of apologies or excuses can change what he has done.

"Listen, I have to be honest with you," Patrick finally speaks up, his voice strained with emotion.

You pause, feeling a sense of unease settle in your stomach as you wait for him to continue.

"I can't keep pretending that this is going to work out. My dreams of becoming a professional tennis player are consuming more and more of my time and focus. And when I am with you, all I can think about is training and winning matches."

As his confession sinks in, your world tilts on its axis. The realization hits you with startling clarity - his passion for tennis surpasses everything else in his life, casting a shadow over what bloomed between you. You always knew that tennis was important to Patrick, but you never fully understood just how significant it was until now. Your mind flashes back to all the times you thought tennis was just a hobby for him, a way to cope with his parents' high expectations. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you realize that this is not how you imagined your relationship with Patrick ending. You try to hold back your emotions, but they overflow despite your best efforts.

"You'll probably start feeling like I'm ignoring you and get mad that tennis is more important to me than our relationship," he continues, regret evident in his eyes. "And if you ask me to ease up on my training, I won't be able to comply because this is my passion. It's what I was born to do."

"Where is this coming from, Pat?" you ask, your voice trembling with hurt. You had never wanted to come between Patrick and his dreams, but now it seems like there was no other option.

“It’s been building up for a while.” In the midst of shattered expectations and unspoken regrets, Patrick's gaze meets yours fleetingly before retreating, unable to withstand the weight of your hurt and disappointment. The truth hangs heavy in the air - priorities laid bare, futures diverging like roads leading into different horizons. "Because sooner or later, we will start resenting each other for not understanding our priorities. It's better to end things now before they turn toxic."

"I can't believe this, I thought we were in this together." Your palms are clammy and your heart races as you try to process everything. You had been nothing but supportive of him, rearranging your schedule whenever he came home from the academy just to spend time with him. But now he’s telling you that it wasn't enough.

"We were, but I wanna be one of the greats.” He sighs.

“And would I stand in your way?”

“Yeah.”

“You know I would, you're sure about that?” You ask, wishing this would just stop. “Yes.” He reaches out to take your hand, but you pull away, unable to bear his touch after what he's done. "I'm sorry," he mutters, his face contorted with guilt and sadness, and the knowledge that he’s a liar. That this conversation is only happening because he’s chasing greatness and Tashi Duncan.

"I'm just a naive girl to you, aren't I? Someone who will never measure up to your grand ambitions.” As the words tumbled out of your mouth, your voice quivers with hurt and disbelief. You couldn't comprehend how someone that you love could make you feel so worthless. “You'll leave me behind as you chase after greatness," you cried out, feeling utterly small and insignificant in his eyes. “You don’t understand me. You never have." His accusation is like sharp, dagger-like punctuation mark, ready to cut off any lingering hopes and pierce through the heart of your relationship.

You look at him, feeling a mix of anger and heartache. "Why did you even bother pursuing me then? If your tennis career was always going to come first?"

"I'm sorry," he finally says, his voice heavy with remorse. "I never should have said those things."

His apology hangs in the air, hollow and insufficient. The bustling restaurant fades into the background as you try to comprehend the sudden change in your reality.

"Sorry doesn't fix this, Patrick," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Patrick runs a hand through his curly hair, frustration etched across his face. "I know, I know. I'm messing everything up. It's just... there's so much pressure. The tennis, my parents, the academy. And now..."

He trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished. You lean forward, searching his face.

"And now what, Pat? What aren't you telling me?"

Patrick's blue eyes meet yours for a moment before darting away. "There's someone else," he admits quietly.

Your heart shatters into a million pieces, each shard piercing your chest with unbearable pain. The revelation hits you like a serve you never saw coming, leaving you breathless and disoriented. You struggle to find words, your mind reeling from the betrayal.

"Someone else?" you finally manage to choke out, your voice barely audible over the clinking of glasses and murmur of conversation around you. "Who?"

Patrick shifts uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding your gaze. "Her name is Tashi. We met at a party after the tournament. She's... she understands tennis in a way that—"

The name strikes a chord of recognition. Tashi Duncan. You've heard whispers about her – the rising star in the tennis world, known for her fierce determination and unmatched skill on the court. Suddenly, everything clicks into place. The late-night phone calls, the distracted looks, the growing distance between you and Patrick

"That I never could," you finish for him, bitter understanding washing over you. Of course. Of course it would be someone from his world, someone who could match his ambition step for step.

"I think she could make me really happy," Patrick says, his voice pleading for you to just get it.

“You know, I really do hope that you make it. I hope you get to be number one or whatever,” You let out a wet scoff, he could have at least let you finish your meal. “But I’m glad that I’ll never understand you, Patrick.”

With those words, the conversation comes to a halt as you both sit in stunned silence. The waitress brings over your food, but neither of you have an appetite anymore. Patrick pushes his plate away, his stomach churning with guilt and regret. He realizes now that breaking things off like this is a mistake, he’s a coward, he shouldn’t have met up with you in person.

2019, August. Parking lot of a Roadside motel, New Rochelle.

Patrick slams his fist against the side of his beat-up Volkswagen Tiguan in frustration, feeling the sting of anger and disappointment course through him. His phone remains pressed to his ear, waiting for you to pick up, but it rings on with no answer. He begins and deletes a desperate text to you, twice, before finally you're calling back and he answers on the first ring. “Hey! Got a weird favor to ask you. Your new place is near Westchester, right?” His voice trembles with nervousness as he taps his fingers anxiously against the car door.

“A whole year, that’s a new record for you. Run out of money already?”

“Shit,” he swears under his breath, trying to use some charm or magic to convince you. “You know how the tour goes. I’ve been struggling to stay afloat. But uh, how’ve you been?” He forces a smile through the grimace as he thinks about his current financial state - a checking account with only $70 left. It’s a far cry from the greatness he once promised he was leaving you to pursue.

“Go to hell, Patrick.” The line goes dead and he pulls the phone away from his face, staring at it in disbelief as if willing you to call back. He knows you, so he waits anxiously until a notification with your name appears again on the screen, accompanied by a new address.

Same day. Private residence, Bronxville.

Everyone knows that Patrick's parents have stopped providing financial support for him, and even though your own father would be furious if he knew you were aiding this deadbeat, you can't bring yourself to let him go without. It's only the occasional bit of cash for gas or food, but Patrick always finds a way to repay you in ways that you didn’t even know you needed. There is an unspoken agreement between the two of you that hangs heavily in the air.

Despite everything, you can't turn him away completely, even knowing he will never truly change. Tennis is his first, great love and with the Donaldsons in town, you can't help but think Tashi might still be his second. And you, you are nothing more than a temporary lifeline – a benefactor to someone who will never truly appreciate your sacrifices.

His heart races with guilt and desperation as he parks his car and approaches your door. He knows he doesn't deserve your help, but the familiarity of these meetings brings a sense of safety.

You watch from your living room window as Patrick's battered Volkswagen pulls into your driveway. The sight of him emerging from the car, all scruffy charm and desperate energy, sends a familiar pang through your chest. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the encounter to come.

As Patrick approaches, you open the door before he can knock. He stands there, looking simultaneously sheepish and hopeful, his eyes searching your face.

"Hey," he says, his voice soft. "Thanks for... you know."

You scoff at his attempt at gratitude, your bitterness cutting through the air like a knife. "Is that supposed to be a thank you? I didn't know you knew how to use manners," you retort, your tone dripping with resentment. It's not like you to be so angry, but Patrick always has a way of bringing out the worst in you.

You step aside, allowing him to enter and close the door after him. Patrick's eyes dart around your new place, taking in the tasteful decor and the obvious signs of your success.

"Nice place," he comments, his voice tinged with a hint of envy.

You shrug, maintaining your emotional distance. "It serves its purpose."

Patrick nods, fidgeting with the hem of his worn t-shirt. The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words and shared history.

At thirty-two years old, in the final stages of your cardiology fellowship, your father still treats you like a child who is expected to become an astronaut neurosurgeon, or some other fantastical career straight out of a Barbie movie. Meanwhile, your mother constantly laments about not having any grandchildren to spoil, as if that is the sole purpose of your existence. You often snap back with sarcastic remarks, such as suggesting that your cat could use a new diamond-encrusted bowl, a sharp retort that only serves to deepen the tension between you. The truth is, you yearn for an escape just like Patrick did. If you had any talent for tennis, you would have run away long ago.

Patrick clears his throat, breaking the heavy silence. "I, uh... I really appreciate you helping me out. I know I don't deserve it, after everything."

You let out a humorless laugh, crossing your arms over your chest. "You're right. You don't deserve it. But here we are."

He takes a step closer, his gaze intense and pleading. "I never meant to hurt you. Everything just got so complicated, with tennis and Art and Tashi and—"

"Don't." You hold up a hand, cutting him off. "I don't want to hear about her. Or about tennis. I’m not sixteen drooling over you anymore. I don’t need to pretend that I care. That's your world, Patrick. It always has been."

He looks down, shame and regret etched across his handsome features. "I know. I fucked up. I fuck everything up."

Despite your anger and resentment, a part of you softens at his vulnerability. You've known Patrick for so long, seen him at his best and his worst. And even after all the heartbreak, there's still a connection between you that refuses to die.

"Why do you keep coming back here, Pat?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "Why me?"

Patrick lifts his gaze to meet yours, and for a moment, you're transported back to that fateful dinner at Per Se, when your world first began to crumble.

"Because you're the only one who really knows me," he admits, his voice raw with emotion. "The only one who sees past the bullshit and the bravado. Even when I don't deserve it."

Your heart clenches at his words, the irony in them isn’t lost on you.

“I still hate you.” You say as you step forward and wrap your arms around him, feeling the solid warmth of his body against yours. Patrick stiffens for a moment before melting into the embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "For everything."

You close your eyes, allowing yourself this moment of vulnerability, of connection. Tomorrow, you'll go back to your separate lives - you to your fellowship and the weight of your parents' expectations, Patrick to his endless pursuit of tennis glory and the shadow of Art Donaldson. But tonight, in the quiet of your home, you can pretend that things are different, that the choices you've made haven't led you down such divergent paths.

As the embrace lingers, the air between you shifts, charged with a familiar tension. Patrick pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours, asking a silent question. Your breath catches in your throat as his gaze drops to your lips, and you know what comes next.

It's a dance you've done before, a temporary escape from the harsh realities of your lives. And as Patrick leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, you let yourself surrender to the moment, pushing aside the hurt and resentment that has festered for so long. His hands roam your body with a desperate urgency, as if trying to memorize every curve and contour before this fleeting connection inevitably fades away.

You melt into his touch, your own hands tangling in his curly black hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepens, a clash of tongues and teeth. Patrick's fingers find the hem of your shirt, slipping beneath the fabric to caress the soft skin of your waist.

A moan escapes your lips as his touch ignites a fire within you, a burning desire that consumes rational thought. You tug at his clothes, needing to feel his skin against yours, to lose yourself in the physicality of the moment.

Patrick responds in kind, his lips trailing hot kisses down your neck as you head towards the bedroom. You stumble together, a tangle of limbs and half-shed clothing, until you fall onto the bed in a heap.

For a moment, you stare at each other, chests heaving, eyes dark with want. His lips trail scorching kisses down your neck, his stubble rasping against your sensitive skin.

"Pat," you gasp, arching into his touch as his hands touch wherever they can reach.

He pauses, hovering above you, his eyes dark with desire and something more, something akin to regret. "Tell me to stop," he whispers, his voice strained. "Tell me you don't want this."

But you can't. Because despite everything, the hurt and the anger and the years of distance, you do want this. You want him, even if it's just for tonight, even if it's a mistake you'll regret come morning.

"Don't stop," you breathe, pulling him back down to you.

Your shirt is discarded, followed by your bra, as Patrick's hands and mouth map the newly exposed skin. He lavishes attention on your breasts, his tongue swirling around each nipple until they peak into hardened buds. You writhe beneath him, your nails digging into his broad shoulders as the pleasure builds.

Patrick's lips trail lower, blazing a path down your stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans. He pauses, glancing up at you through his lashes, silently seeking permission. You lift your hips in response, and he tugs the denim down your legs, taking your panties with them.

Exposed and vulnerable, you fight the urge to cover yourself, to hide from the intensity of his gaze. But Patrick looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, his eyes filled with a reverence that steals your breath.

"You're perfect," he murmurs, his hands skimming up your thighs, spreading them wider. "I never deserved you."

Before you can respond, his mouth is on you, his tongue delving into your folds, lapping at your most sensitive spots. You cry out, your back arching off the bed as he works you with expert precision, stoking the fire that burns within you.

Patrick slips a finger inside you, then two, curling them just so as his tongue continues its relentless assault on your clit. The dual sensations are almost too much to bear, and you feel yourself hurtling towards the edge, your body tensing in anticipation.

"Pat, I'm going to—" you gasp, your words cut off by a moan as he redoubles his efforts, determined to unravel you completely.

And then you're shattering, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of blinding ecstasy. Patrick works you through it, his fingers and tongue gentling as you come down from the high, your body trembling with aftershocks.

He crawls back up your body, pressing tender kisses to your skin as he goes. When he reaches your lips, you taste yourself on his tongue, a heady reminder of the intimacy you've just shared.

"I need you," you whisper against his mouth, your hands fumbling with the button of his jeans. "Please, Patrick."

He helps you undress him, kicking off his jeans and boxers until he's as bare as you are. His erection springs free, hard and heavy against his stomach, and you reach out to wrap your fingers around him, reveling in the velvety softness of his skin.

Patrick groans at your touch, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. "Condom," he grits out, reaching for his discarded basketball shorts.

You wait impatiently as he rolls the latex over his length, your body thrumming with anticipation. When he settles between your thighs again, the blunt head of his cock nudging at your entrance, teasing you with the promise of fullness. Your breath hitches as he slowly pushes forward, stretching you deliciously as he fills you inch by inch. A low moan escapes your lips at the exquisite sensation of him inside you, his thick length pulsing with need.

Patrick stills for a moment, giving you time to adjust, his forehead pressed against yours as he struggles to maintain control. "God, you feel incredible," he rasps, his voice strained with desire. "I've missed this. Missed you."

The confession tugs at your heart, a bittersweet reminder of the connection you once shared, the love that never quite died despite the pain and the years apart. You cling to him, your legs wrapping around his waist, urging him deeper.

He begins to move then, his hips rocking against yours in a steady rhythm that builds in intensity with each thrust. You meet him stroke for stroke, your bodies moving in perfect sync, as if no time has passed at all. The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the mingled gasps and moans, the whispered words of encouragement and praise.

Patrick's mouth finds yours again, his kisses deep and demanding, as if he's trying to pour all of his unspoken emotions into the press of his lips. Your fingers tangle in his curly black hair, tugging lightly as the pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter within you.

He shifts the angle of his thrusts, hitting that spot deep inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. You cry out, your nails raking down his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks in their wake. Patrick hisses at the sting, but it only seems to spur him on, his movements becoming more frantic, more forceful.

"Touch yourself," he commands, his voice rough with need. "I want to feel you come around me."

Obediently, you slip a hand between your bodies, feeling the heat and sweat radiating off of Patrick's skin. Your fingers glide lazily over his chest and down towards the area of need. However, unsatisfied with your own rhythm, Patrick's fingers boldly enter your mouth, collecting the saliva and making you involuntarily gag. Without hesitating, his fingers make their way back down to their intended destination, gently nudging yours out of the way. His thumb finds your clit, tracing tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. The added stimulation sends electric shocks of pleasure coursing through your body, causing your inner walls to flutter around his throbbing cock.

You arch into his touch, your hands now exploring the hard planes of his chest, tracing the lines of his happy trail.

As Patrick moves within you, his eyes lock with yours, and for a moment, you can almost pretend that this means something more than a temporary escape, a fleeting connection in the midst of your fractured lives. But deep down, you know the truth.

This is all you can ever have with Patrick - stolen moments of passion, brief respites from the weight of your respective burdens. Tomorrow, you'll go back to being strangers, two people whose paths diverged long ago, held together only by the tenuous threads of history and desire.

With each deep thrust, Patrick stokes the fire building within you, pushing you closer to the brink of release. The fingers of his other hand dig into the soft flesh of your hips as he drives into you with increasing urgency, chasing his own climax.

"I'm close," he pants, his breath hot and ragged. "Give me another one. Come with me, baby. I’ve got you."

The endearment slips out unbidden, a echo of the past, of the tender moments you once shared. It's enough to send you tumbling over the edge, your walls clenching around him as euphoria floods your senses. Patrick follows a heartbeat later, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he spills himself inside you, his hips jerking erratically with the force of his release.

As your breathing slows and reality seeps back in, the weight of your history, of all the unspoken words and unresolved hurt, settles heavily in the room. Patrick rolls off of you, disposing of the condom before collapsing onto the mattress and pulling you to him.

For a long moment, you lie tangled together, chests heaving, hearts racing in sync. Patrick's weight is a comforting presence, his face buried in the crook of your neck as the aftershocks of pleasure gradually subside.

But as the haze of desire dissipates, reality begins to seep in, cold and unforgiving. You feel Patrick tense against you, his body growing rigid as the magnitude of what you've done settles over him. He moves away from you, tugging on his boxers in swift, mechanical movements.

The silence that stretches between you is heavy with unspoken regrets, with the bitter knowledge that this changes nothing. You pull the sheet up to cover your nakedness, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable in the harsh light of aftermath.

You turn your head to look at him, taking in the familiar lines of his profile, the curl of his lashes against his cheek. "What are we doing, Pat?" you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighs, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "I don't know," he admits, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "I just... I needed this. Needed you."

Your heart clenches at his words, a bittersweet mix of longing and resignation. You know you should put a stop to this, to the cycle of hurt and temporary solace that keeps bringing you back together. But the pull between you is too strong, the history too deep.

"I can't keep being your escape, Patrick," you say, your voice trembling slightly. "I can't keep pretending that this means something more than it does."

He turns to face you then, his lake blue eyes searching yours, a flicker of something raw and vulnerable in their depths. "What if it could?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if we could make it mean something more?"

For a moment, you allow yourself to imagine it - a life where you and Patrick find a way to bridge the gap between your worlds, to build something real and lasting. But the dream fades as quickly as it forms, the harsh realities of your lives intruding once more.

"I wish things could be different," Patrick murmurs, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. "I wish I could be the man you deserve."

Your eyes search his face for a glimmer of the boy you once knew, the one who stole your heart with his reckless charm and unbridled ambition. "We both made our choices, Pat," you whisper, your fingers reaching over to brush a stray curl from his forehead. "We can't go back.”

Patrick moves to sit on the edge of the bed, his back to you, shoulders hunched with the weight of his thoughts. You watch him, your heart aching with a familiar longing, a desperate wish for things to be different.

“I don’t even know what you really want from me. I doubt you do either. You’re just latching onto me because I’m something steady to grab a hold of.” Your voice is soft, tentative. “Look at me, Pat.”

He flinches at the sound of his name, as if the mere utterance is a painful reminder of the intimacy you've just shared. "Don't," he says, his tone flat, emotionless. "Please, just… don't."

You swallow back the words that threaten to spill out, the confessions and pleas that will only fall on deaf ears. Because you know, deep down, that Patrick will never be yours, not in the way you want him to be. His heart belongs to the court, to the thrill of the game, to the relentless pursuit of greatness that has consumed him for as long as you've known him. And the more it alludes him, the more desperate he is to obtain it.

And you? You're just a temporary port in the storm, a fleeting respite from the chaos of his life. A reminder of the girl he left behind, the love he sacrificed on the altar of his ambition.

Patrick stands abruptly, reaching for his discarded clothes. He dresses quickly, efficiently, his movements sharp and purposeful. You watch him in silence, a lump forming in your throat as the weight of the moment settles over you.

“Will you stop?” You sit up, pulling the blanket around you. “Just sleep here for tonight, Pat. You’re being difficult for no reason.”

Patrick's steps falter as he turns to you, his grip tight on the fabric of his shirt. His face is a mix of anger and frustration, but then it transforms into a vulnerable expression that catches you off guard. He runs a hand through his hair before letting out a heavy sigh. "I know I shouldn't ask after what happened between us...but will you come watch me play tomorrow?"

#patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig imagine #challengers 2024 #challengers x reader #challengers x you #challengers fanfic #am i too late?#noriwroteit

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yuri-is-online · 8 months ago

Note

I’d like to hear a little about Idia’s Yutu. I bet he was pretty startled to see his hair suddenly catch fire + any other physical changes associated with the curse. (Do you think the yellow eyes and shark teeth are even caused by the curse?)

Idia is a popular boy and I have a lot of thoughts about him in general; I feel like I gave him a lot to deal with in this particular au... Jade is probably having a worse time mentally but Idia has a bunch of work I know he wasn't asking for.

As for the talk about the curse, I kicked it around in my head a bit and I am going to say yes the teeth are caused by it but the eyes are just something Idia got from his parents. I know I talk about thinking there is something wrong with Trey, but I don't think that's because of a curse and his eyes are definitely yellow. Idia's do seem to glow a bit so if you want your Yutu to have different colored eyes I think it would make sense if they had a bit of a glow to them, but that's just me.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, for context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here. For this post, I would recommend reading this explanation of what happened to the boys as Idia has a pretty big role in the bad timeline, and his actions will be somewhat referenced here.

Idia has the benefit and the literal curse of being in charge of S.T.Y.X., meaning that when blot investigations are conducted he tends to be in the know. His Yuu and Yutu should have been safe from anything the Marshall's decided to do but they weren't. Unlike pretty much everyone else in this AU, Idia learns what happened to his family. He knows that Yuu was cursed, he knows they were sent back to their world. But that's about it, he tries to find some sort of way to make contact with your world so he can bring you home but then things go to shit and his progress is severely delayed. By the time he has to help bury Leona it's stopped completely. Ortho tries his best to help, but Idia doesn't really want him to. As much as he wants to see you again, he doesn't want you to have to suffer through any overblots again, nor does he want to raise a child in a dying world.

Sometimes when he is alone, energy drinks scattered around his desk he'll look over to the little digital photo frame he loaded up with pictures of you, from back at NRC all the way up to your wedding and wonders if he should just let you go. There's a chance you being forced to forget about him means you would have moved on, maybe met someone else and had other kids. Was his kid anything like him? He hopes they ended up looking mostly like you, and knowing there is no way for the Shroud curse to reach them does make it slightly easier to sleep at night. He tells himself when he comes back to work tomorrow, he'll put the frame in a drawer along with his wedding ring but he never does. In his mind, he is still your husband, just waiting for fall to come so you can try to be together again. Fall might be another life, but Idia surprisingly doesn't mind. He can wait for you.

Idia! Yutu was a massive crybaby when he was a baby. Very clingy to Yuu and very afraid of his own shadow let alone his teachers and peers. He grows out of the crying as he gets older but not the social anxiety. Yutu wants friends, he just sucks at making them and is extremely stressed out by being around people. I could see Yuu maybe getting an animal of some sort to help with the stress and anxiety their son was feeling. And just by typing that I have become attached to the concept: Ida! Yutu gets a dog Yuu feels inclined to name Cerberus. Yutu adores her and takes very good care of her without any fights about his chores.

Yuu remembers Idia as being more of a cat person, but they tell Yutu they think he really would have approved of Cerb. They remember him as being a socially awkward, but extremely passionate about his work and hobbies. His love of retro games causes a lot of Yuu's cursed pains, they know he liked those sorts of games but they can't for the life of them remember the titles. Yutu tries to reassure his parent it's just nice knowing a little bit about his dad and that he doesn't need the specifics. Hearing about his dad's interests motivates him to learn about emulators as he gets older, and he builds Yuu a nice family computer after scrounging for parts.

Yutu prefers single player or local co-op games, but makes an exception if Yuu has a long term MMO or something like a genshin account because he does like playing with Yuu. It helps soothe his social anxiety to talk to people while he knows his parent and Cerberus are near by, but when they aren't online he's essentially a solo gamer.

Unfortunately for Yutu's potential inner gremlin, Yuu also remembers Idia's shut in tendencies and is determined to get him outside from a very young age. Cerb does her best to help with that too, it's Yutu's job to walk her and he swears she keeps trying to introduce him to people. He's had so many awkward conversations with the people in his neighborhood because of her. His other chore used to be helping out in the little vegetable garden Yuu started to help cut down grocery costs, but that quickly ceased being a chore and became a full blown passion.

Idia! Yutu loves flowers. He fills his windowsills with plants that are safe to be around dogs and has Cerberus help him dig a flower bed around your home so he can plant more of them. Sure the veg garden is nice too, but he loves the significance of and variety that can be found in flowers. If you live in a place that can keep bees then he will absolutely bug you about wanting to get some.

Twisted Wonderland looks horrible to Yutu. It's dark and cold, he's been snapped into a room full of people in a place he doesn't recognize, and his parent has gone non responsive as he tries desperately to shake them awake. He tries snapping at the fancy looking man that comes to help and accidentally bites his tongue, and that's when he notices it.

Mostly because Cerberus tackles him and tries to put him out.

"Owowowowowowowwww-" Yutu tries to push Cerberus back but she keeps whining and trying to lick at his face. She yelps as Yutu catches his breath as he sees what she's trying to paw at. His hair is on fire, or to be more accurate his hair is fire. He can hold it, he can tug at it, it's warm and is not burning his clothes but his hair is on fucking fire-

"STAY." The voice is so commanding that both Cerb and Yutu freeze, the strange man from before with his dual colored hair looks oddly nostalgic at his little command, eyes obviously softening at the dog as he shakes his head. "Good girl, no need to worry. Your little master is ok, he isn't going to combust." Cerberus whines, but she relaxes and Yutu stands shakily. "Though full warning you might feel like you are once I am done explaining things to you."

Idia and Ortho are called to NRC for an emergency and debriefed on their way over. Yuu holds on to life just long enough to speak with Idia a little, the first time Yutu meets his dad the two of them are saying goodbye to a now comatose Yuu. The silence is awkward, but the hold Idia has on Yutu isn't. I like to think that Idia and Yuu had talked about what they would have wanted to name Yutu, and that memory had carried across the world so there was no awkward introduction phase between the two of them. The sort of fall into each others lives immediately, the want for the other to exist overriding anything else.

Cerberus helps too. Idia might be more of a cat person but cute doggies are good too. ESPECIALLY one with such an awesome name, she's the most spoiled girl in the entire apocalypse. She's an old dog at this point, so Idia takes her back to S.T.Y.X. where she becomes a sort of unofficial mascot for the research teams. Idia makes her a uniform and everything. He regularly sends pictures to Yutu while he's busy at school.

Because of Yutu's love of gardening trumping his interest in technology, he ends up in Heartslabyul instead of Ignihyde. He is very embarrassed about this at first (he really hates the uniform) but Idia reassures him that he doesn't care about that. His kid could probably kill someone in front of him and he would not care, especially not at this point. So long as he is able to talk to his child about manga and games he doesn't care what extra circulars they're into. I can't see him being super excited about having to go to sports games, but then again maybe he would just think about it like a sports anime to help psych himself up to go (his kid would obviously be his favorite character).

Bad timeline Idia is a lot calmer than his younger self. He still loses his temper and goes on smug rants, but in general he speaks exactly like he does in book six to the S.T.Y.X. employees. His true personality only really comes out when he's alone with Ortho and Yutu, but he tries to keep his more pessimistic side in check. He wants Yutu to have some hope for the future, but the more he runs the numbers the bleaker things look.

Ortho is beyond excited to have his nephew back. He always liked hanging out with Yuu because of the lack of data he had about them. Every conversation he had with them was unique, and he was really looking forward to having the same experience with Yutu. He was just as if not more distraught than Idia when you both disappeared, so having Yutu back brings a bit more spark to his soul. Yutu was so stressed out from all of the changes he was experiencing that meeting Orhto felt weirdly normal. What's weirder: having an artificial humanoid for an uncle, technically being part alien, having fire for hair, or having a spell that literally opens the gates of hell. Yutu is not taking option one that's for sure.

Ortho and Idia are the ones who propose going back in time, but when it's their Yutu who is making the journey the suggestion is extremely difficult to make. Idia doesn't like the idea of asking his son to do this, it feels selfish. But then, Idia also feels like bringing him into existence before he could break the family curse was selfish, no matter what Yutu was always going to be doomed. But that just means he should be the one taking responsibility for this... Ortho volunteers himself for the mission but Yutu points out that that would probably be even more dangerous than sending him. It's a tearful goodbye, everyone knows that if the missions succeeds this timeline will cease to exist and they will never get to see each other again. They have a little party at NRC and Idia takes Yutu aside to visit Yuu's grave, firstly so they can say goodbye and secondly because he has a confession to make

"I was mega cringe when I was at NRC." His dad can't even look him in the eyes, and Yutu swears he sees him shaking. He has to blink a few times to make sure he is seeing things right, this doesn't look like overworked dad, or stressed dad, or angry at something mundane dad. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he was-

"Well isn't everybody?" The tips of Idia's hair turn pink at the question and Yutu's quickly mirrors him from feeling like he's done something wrong. All he's done is repeat his dad's own advice back to him though. "You're always so cool and confident-" Idia wheezes and Yutu almost has to catch him. "I mean I'm sure you can't be bad as me-"

"Oh you are going to regret saying that." His dad can't really bring himself to elaborate further but the thousand yard stare does all the talking for him.

Idia! Yutu was given three very simple instructions by Uncle Ortho about going back in time:

1) don't try to lie to me about who you are, I will run scans and figure it out. Grandma and Grandpa finding out would probably be bad and just complicate things. Easy enough, having Uncle Ortho on his side makes the transition between future and past a lot easier. Current Ortho might be a lot more innocent? Naive? He isn't sure if those are the words he would use, but he is certainly less used to having a soul and being his own person than his Uncle is. Not that this makes him any less accepting of Yutu... if anything he is even more excited about him than he was in the future.

2) try to keep who you are a secret from Yuu, but get close to them. We need them to stay alive, even if we don't know why yet... Less easy than hanging out with Uncle Ortho, but still easy enough. I tend to write all Yutus as not fully realizing how much they missed or loved Yuu until they got to see the younger version of their parent... but out of all of them Idia! Yutu is certainly up there for just how hard it hits him. Mostly because of Rule 3:

3) I am so fucking sorry for what you're going to have to deal with please be patient with me!!! I promise I love you and your parent so much I'm just not going to know-

So that obviously came from Idia and not Ortho, but Yutu really disregarded that warning until he accidentally ran into his dad while trying to find Ortho and saw him take out a tablet? That he used to talk with and got very panicky about when he asked a very simple question about it. Uncle Ortho helpfully tells him later that Idia uses it to help him speak in public because of his anxiety, and is very pleased to learn Yutu has never seen him use it in the future. But that doesn't really change how things are now...

On the one hand, Yutu gets it. He has bad social anxiety himself, but because he had a very supportive parent who worked with him to challenge himself in healthy ways he never got to the point that Idia is. He also was a lot older when he had his first experience with a traumatic loss and had Idia (who is a bit too experienced) and Ortho (who is just so understanding) there to help him through it. He knew that was not the case for his dad, they talked about it a lot in the future because Idia felt like he had a right to know, but I don't think he fully comprehended how bad Idia's mental health was.

Because no matter how much he might get it, this guy is still his dad and Yutu really wants to interact with him. He wants to impress him and maybe finally beat his high score on Star Rogue, Yutu just knows there are a bunch of stories he never got to hear because his dad was too embarrassed to tell him and this is maybe his one chance to find all of them out. But his dad is such a shut in he barely even interacts with Yuu! Yutu was always way too embarrassed to ask him about how they got together and now he swears he'll never know because him being in Ramshackle seems to have scared his dad off.

That's only half true, Idia doesn't really see Yutu as a romantic rival... like Cater he assumes you are related in some way because of the similar appearances and tastes in manga. Even when the two of you deny it he shrugs it off, hey maybe Yutu is just you from a different reality? He thinks he read a manga like that once... either way not his monkey not his circus. But like. It could be, Ortho really does like to remind him that Yuu is much less judgemental than everyone else on campus so if he wanted to make some progress on his journey of self improvement talking to them might not be such a bad idea. wink wink nudge nudge! But going over there still means he has to interact with someone other than Yuu and Mr. Grim and that's stressful.

He doesn't think about it at all when Yutu keeps finding excuses to not be there when Ortho drags him to visit because of how relieved he is to not have to socialize with him, at first anyway. He notices when Ortho excuses himself too, they certainly seem to be buddy buddy which isn't something he's going to complain about but as Idia does get closer to Yuu and *ugh* admits to himself he's got some feelings he starts to feel like he should at least know something about the kid other than his name. He does not completely figure it out, but he notices all of the relevant data points before he's slapped in the face with who Yutu is.

Like Lilia! Yutu's reveal, I think Idia finds out about who Yutu is in the middle of a fight. Yuu gets injured by a really strange blot phatom Idia has never seen before and Yutu absolutely looses it. His hair flares up and for snaps his hood to cinders as he's roaring out spells and trying desperately to make sure that thing doesn't touch his parents. Something you both hear loud and clear.

At first this makes Idia beyond excited. He probably joins the little fit his son is throwing except in raw joy because he's fantasized so much about this! He even has a little sims save where Yuu and him are married and they've got a kid and a cat and wow just look at Yutu he looks even cooler in real life than he does in a life sim! Yuu look at him, you guys have a-

A kid. You have a kid. With him. One that's got his teeth and hair and your nose and is sobbing in his arms about how much he missed you both and doesn't want to watch you die again. The sheer worry eclipses his second hand embarrassment at his own smugness as he awkwardly holds on to the sobbing Yutu and looks towards you for help. He's never been good at this whole emotional comfort thing, pls assist. So you pick yourself up and join the group hug and all three of you just sort of sit there for a bit while Yutu tells his story. About growing up in your world, how he came to NRC and his friends in Heartslabyul (Idia is blaming that on you, as a joke ofc he doesn't care what house his kid is in), and the plan to go back in time because of how hopeless the future is. It's not a story Idia takes lightly, especially when Ortho confirms it and sends him all of the data he and Yutu have collected so far. Idia is a bit gloomy and prone to complaining, but if you are in a bad place there are few people more reliable. He is a lot like death in a way, he'll always be there in the end.

Idia is a bit awkward around Yuu for a bit after the reveal, I like to think of you as being newly together at this point so Idia hasn't really revealed just how... detailed some of his fantasies about you are just yet. There are a lot of them, he has uh. Maybe written some of them down, pleasedon'tmakehimreadthemoutloud and most of them are perfectly normal and respectable (lies). It stops when you tell him Yutu had to come from somewhere and he dies, buries himself under his covers, and rises again a changed man. Yeah that's right, his kid did come from somewhere NORMIES. He had se-

He's not super big into PDA but he is comfortable being clingy around Yutu and Ortho, though he tries not to be overly cheesy around Yutu. He hates seeing his parents be all lovey dovey with one another and he likes to keep his compliments quiet and for your ears only anyway. I do like the idea of Yuu being a tiny bit more outgoing and embarrassing him a bit around "the kids" (Grim and Yutu) so his hair is in a damn near permanent shade of pink any time he's around Ramshackle. It's one thing to have your younger brother think the world of you, but to have a kid think so highly of you that he travels back in time to save you from an apocalypse? Idia feels super unworthy, it fuels his determination to work out the "problem" Yutu has given him even if his natural pessimism makes him want to give up.

"... Just leave it to your dad." It's an echo of the only other promise he 100% intends to live up to. He really does mean it, Idia is not loosing this match. Just you wait and see...

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #future kid au #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud x yuu #??? i hit a text limit on this???#girl what?#tumblr is shitting itself anyway sorry if the ending is abrupt #that's why

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colourstreakgryffin · 10 months ago

Note

HIIIIII I'M BACK, my phone was broken for a few days and even when it was fixed I had no inspo for ideas on asks... BUBUBUBUBUT I'M BACK AND I GOT AN IDEAAAA

I've been losing interest in kny recently so I think I'll go along with Hazbin Hotel!!

Hear me out so much, Husk, Cherri, or Vox with reader who does ballet... I do ballet myself and that shit is soohohohoho fucking awesome and painful at the same time, like doing a split while doing a backbend too, not even like a half assed split no no no no no. A perfectly aligned split. I've had so much moments where I thought my legs would just... *pop* like a doll's. BUT ENOUGH OF MY RANTING.

remember to take breaks and drink enough water, you don't have to rush anything. take good care of yourself, make sure you have healthy habits and treat yourself to something today, like going out to a great restaurant! idk but just make sure you treat yourself to something nice today, Chiharu :3

here's terribly deformed Charlie bringing you chocolate milk :3

Haha! I have that EXACT SAME picture! I love terribly deformed Charlie bringing me chocolate milk every Wednesday. Thanks, Lottie! You know Husk’s response to our flexibility is a resounding ‘what the fuck’ and this is my first time ever trying out Cherri! And hey, I won’t write Cherri or Vox, I’ll write both!

Husk

Husk is a sweetheart when it comes to being your boyfriend, trust me. He’s caring, he may be a bit rough with his advice but he only does so in order to protect you. He’s skilled with people and he is happy to help comfort you. His patience is high… but even Husk himself is anxious at getting to see your beloved hobby

Ballet. Well, Husk isn’t against it. He always thought it was such an old hobby. That ballet dancers don’t really exist anymore but then again, he won’t express his thoughts outloud and he gives you thumbs up when watching your practices. It’s very impressive and he isn’t against being at every single practice to performance

You know Husk is freaked out by how flexible you are. Back bends whilst doing full on splits. Satan’s fuck, he is cringing at how a human body can do that but at the same time, he’s so impressed that he just can’t bring himself to hate what he is looking at

Husk is in complete and utter awe when he can review your practice performances. Ballet may be a bit disturbing to him, due to how much it stretches the body’s limits, but it’s also so beautiful, graceful and majestic

Husk can’t pull his eyes off you and he falls into a deep state of enamour. You’re so beautiful, even more than you already are, as you dance. He couldn’t even believe it was possible

Husk is quite protective over you, like I said before, so when you land on your ankle badly, he is rushing onto the stage to check it and carry you out to make sure you’ll heal well. He won’t let you practice or stretch or practice your flexibility until you are doing better

“Honeypot. You will win this dance, I know you will. You’ve done training for years and you look incredible as you dance. Yes, I will be there in the crowd”

Cherri Bomb

Cherri Bomb is an energetic, supportive and joyful girlfriend. One that doesn’t mind getting a bit destructive and carefree with her partner and encouraging them to have more fun with her but has a soft spot. Of course, however, you know she will take your hobby seriously and help you or watch you for you, it’s actually fun to her as well

Cherri actually finds your ballet passion ‘precious and cute’. Something she is all for since it’s such a simple, innocent, harmless favourite activity. She likes making bombs to make things explode, you love to explode the competition and grace the dancefloor stage with your beauty and poise

Cherri may seem like she isn’t much of a dancer, maybe more of a rapper but seriously, she actually is and it’s canon that she is a very skilled dancer so there is no doubt that she is either passing down her own skills in dancing, training you more or dancing with you. She will dance ballet with you and practice two-dancer ballet with you

Cherri will blow up a hole in the wall at your practice ballrooms or your performance ballrooms to make it and she refuses to let anybody else try take care of you if you’re hurt so suspect her to get into a fight, in a crime of protective passion. She wants you happy and safe, she’ll fight for that

Cherri is actually quite fine with how flexible you are and how your warm-up stretching can really stretch out your limbs. The way you lift your leg up until it’s completely vertical and both your pelvis and the underneath of your thigh is visible. She is impressed and asks if you can teach her how to be so flexible. She isn’t as disturbed as the other two, she likes it

Cherri, just like Husk and Vox, falls into a complete and utter admiration at being able to watch you perform and dance. The soothing gentle music has her head dancing as well and her single eye basically widening, she’s more in love now then ever

“Hey-ya, bubblegum. Did’ya have fun on ‘dat stage? I had fun recordin’ it! You looked amazin’, you’ll win this tournament. No problem! Of course, babe, I’ll be in the front row!”

Vox

Vox is a busy man and can be a bit arrogant at times, but he is actually quite a good boyfriend. He gives off good advice and support, he is protective with his power and he is the type to spoil his lover. When he is around, he’d doting, he’s a bit overbearing but because he cares and he makes sure you’ll always feel loved and comfortable with him

Vox is actually quite supportive but he is the voice of reason. He won’t tolerate you overdoing yourself in your precious little hobby, he will encourage to dance ballet but if you go too far, he will step in and correct your behaviours. However, that doesn’t often happen so you can dance all you want at the big practice ballroom he hired out for you and/or dancing with you

Vox isn’t sure how to feel about seeing how flexible you are… it’s pretty hot but at the same time, it’s disturbing. You’re on the floor and you’re stretching your pushed-back leg over your back so much that you’re almost in a wheel-shape with your body. He’s amazed, he is already cheering you on, he’s recording it to brag about he can’t help but feel aroused

Vox, everytime he attends your passionate hobby’s practice and performance events, records it on his phone or on his own face so he can both watch it back to admire you and to show the other Vees that he is the boyfriend of the best ballet dancer in Hell. He sometimes forgets to record it since you look so… incredible

Vox is protective, extremely protective. You’re smaller, you’re weaker. You’re less wealthy and less well off. You require constant guarding to ensure you’ll be able to make it to the next day. If you even slightly land on your ankle awkwardly, he is stomping up to the stage and taking you away so he can check up on you

You know Vox almost drops the camera he is using to record you every professional dance on the stage and he can’t stop thinking about how unbelievably beautiful you look, how you’re as silly and velvety like a swan with your every spin and flex. He takes a few seconds to snap out of his awe over you

“Come now, sweetheart. You’ve done more than enough, that dance can again-kill everybody in this room and you made all those amateurs look pathetic. I want to reward you for this. Don’t you worry, I’ll be at the final performance“

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wethotcrazy · 2 months ago

Text

SYMPATHY IS A KNIFE

pairing: Yuki Tsunoda x Fem! Driver! Reader

word count: 3727

this is loosely based off of sympathy is a knife by charlie xcx, it’s a lot of world building please bear with me i have a vision (-﹏-。) also expect cursing. this is quite a long one (im working on multiple parts), i'll try to post as much as can.

part ii part iii part iv

All children are encouraged to do their best, dream big, and reach for the stars. But let's be honest: how many kids actually achieve that goal? How many adults can say they have been fighting for their place for far longer than they can remember?

Not a lot.

That kind of passion was rare. But perhaps it was more than passion; maybe it was the sick sense of wanting something bigger than yourself. Maybe she was just a workhorse that never learned when to stop.

Growing up karting was where Yn found a love for motorsports, it was her dad that introduced her to it. A part of her felt for the older man; this had been his dream as much as it was hers. Back then, it had always been just a hobby, even though she had already achieved multiple wins. She never thought it would come this far.

At 16, she was picked up by the Red Bull junior team to race in various junior categories, eventually making it into Formula 3 and then Formula 2. Even then scoring points and race wins came easy. Years of hard work and dedication had done her well, with many saying that a Formula 1 career was surely in the cards for her.

And if she was being honest, Yn was hungry for that Formula 1 seat.

Yn’s laptop lit up with an email, enclosed was her contract with VCARB. She was going into Formula 1. Was it arrogant to say she had been expecting this? Could you blame her for asserting it wasn’t a matter of if, but when?

But signing the contract should have felt like a victory, a promise fulfilled, a chance for everything she’d worked toward to pay off. But as the seconds flew by, Yn could already feel the weight settling over her, heavy as a storm cloud. The stakes had never been this high, and the whispers were already there, quietly accusing, scrutinizing. Her entrance into F1 wasn’t just a testament to her skill and ambition; it was a flashpoint, a reason for some to undermine her achievements and question her right to be here.

F1 wasn’t just a men’s world—it was a battleground where “passion” for her felt dangerously close to “obsession,” and her relentless pursuit of victory was both her strength and her vulnerability. Yn knew that she couldn’t just be good; she had to be perfect, ruthless in her pursuit for wins and podiums, and undeterred by every sly remark and skeptic. Sympathy, after all, was nothing but a knife in disguise, and she’d long since learned not to expect it from anyone, even her team.

Her first day at VCARB was a whirlwind of meetings, briefings, and countless faces both excited and skeptical. The engineers studied her, sizing up the girl who was stepping into a seat she’d earned, but one they seemed to question if she could keep. Her jaw tightened with determination—she would prove every one of them wrong, and not out of spite but out of an unyielding hunger to carve her name in F1 history.

Yuki arrived in the afternoon, a familiar face in a sea of unknowns. With an easy grin, he crossed the garage, his demeanor effortlessly lighthearted as he joked with the engineers before catching her eye. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you here so soon,” he teased, a glimmer of pride in his eyes that he knew she’d earned.

She let a small smile slip, and for a moment, the walls she’d erected came down. “Surprised? I thought you’d know better,” she quipped back, crossing her arms.

“Not surprised,” he replied. “Just excited. Maybe I’ll finally have someone here to keep me on my toes.”

But behind their friendly exchange was an edge, a reminder that this was a competition and that teammates or not, they were both vying for survival in the world’s most ruthless racing series. They had both clawed their way here, and no amount of camaraderie could change the fact that every second on the track was a chance to prove they deserved to stay.

Underneath Yuki’s easygoing nature, she knew there was a fierce competitor. She’d seen him race, seen the raw talent that made him as unpredictable as he was quick. Yn knew they’d push each other to the limits, that their friendship would inevitably become a duel of ambition. And she wanted that—it made her hungrier, sharper.

But there was something different about her fight. Being the first female F1 driver in years meant her wins were never just hers; every success and failure became ammunition for those who doubted women in motorsport. There was no room for mistakes, and any slip-up would be amplified, dissected in the press, on social media, even in private conversations she was never meant to hear.

One night, as she stared out at the empty track after hours, she felt Yuki’s presence beside her. “They’re going to be watching everything I do,” she said, voice low, a rare admission of vulnerability.

“They watch all of us,” he replied softly, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “But I know how hard you’ve worked to get here. And… well, if they think they can beat you down, you’re gonna prove them wrong. Just… stay hungry, yeah?” He nudged her shoulder gently.

“Hungry?” she scoffed, steeling herself. “I’m starving.”

Yuki chuckled, but it was laced with respect. “Good. Because that’s what it takes.”

The season had started on fire for Yn. Her first four races saw her consistently in the points, an impressive feat for any rookie, let alone one under as much pressure and scrutiny as she was. Headlines praised her talent, with journalists and fans alike marveling at her ability to keep up with more seasoned drivers. Her team, too, seemed to start letting their guard down, seeing her not as a gamble, but as an asset. But as is often the case in Formula 1, the success didn't last forever.

Her fifth race began with promise, but Yn knew almost from the start that something was off. The car felt different, twitchy around the corners, each lap feeling more and more like she was on a knife’s edge. Halfway through, she could feel her grip on the track slipping, but she pushed harder, unwilling to lose ground.

With just a few laps remaining, the inevitable happened.

The crash was swift and brutal. The car spun out in the third sector, her back tires skidding as she lost control. She hit the barriers hard, the sound of carbon fiber breaking echoing through her helmet. Her vision blurred as the world spun, then finally stopped, leaving her breathless in the cockpit, staring at the wreckage around her.

Her engineer’s voice came through her headset immediately. “Yn, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said breathlessly, trying to steady herself, adrenaline still pumping as she felt the sting of defeat sink in. “I… I’m sorry. I lost it. The car just—slipped.”

There was a pause on the other end, a moment that felt like judgment even through the crackling radio. “We’re glad you’re okay. We’ll get you back to the garage. We’ll review the data,” her engineer replied, his voice careful.

Yuki’s voice came through on her personal channel moments later, after seeing her crash on his onboard. “Yn? You alright?” His tone was laced with concern, stripped of the usual playfulness.

She swallowed, fighting the frustration building in her chest. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… pissed off.”

“You’ll be back next race,” he assured her, but she could only respond with silence. The shame of letting her team, her fans, and herself down weighed heavily on her.

In the post-race interview, Yn struggled to find the right words. The cameras focused on her, the flash of lights overwhelming as journalists fired questions, each one cutting a little deeper.

“Yn, it was a tough day. Do you think the pressure got to you out there?”

She clenched her fists, forcing a composed smile. “I don’t think it’s about pressure. Today just… wasn’t my day. The car was giving me some issues, and I did my best to control it. Sometimes, that’s just racing.”

“But after four races in the points, are you worried this is a sign of things to come?”

The question sliced through her like a knife, and she could feel the weight of the implication: that she was fragile, a fluke who’d just been lucky.

“No, I’m not worried,” she replied, her voice steady but tense. “One race doesn’t define my season. I’m here to compete, and I’ll be back even stronger next race.”

When the interviews ended, she caught Yuki’s eye across the paddock. He gave her a nod, a silent show of support that reminded her she wasn’t alone, even if it felt like she was carrying the world’s judgment on her shoulders.

The news coverage the next day was ruthless. Headlines screamed with exaggerated disappointment: “Yn Cracks Under Pressure?” and “First Female F1 Driver in Years Falters After Promising Start.” A few outlets were kinder, chalking up the crash to typical rookie mistakes and downplaying any concerns over her ability to handle the car. But most took the crash as an invitation to dissect her every move, doubting whether she could handle the demands of the sport.

Social media was ablaze, fans and critics alike chiming in, and Yn could barely stand to look. She knew this was part of the game, that everyone in F1 was under scrutiny, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that for her, the stakes were higher. Every failure she faced felt amplified, a reason for the world to question her right to be here.

Yuki called her that night, his voice calm and soothing against the chaos swirling around her.

“I’m just so pissed,” she admitted finally, her frustration cracking through her voice. “I wanted to prove that I belong here, and now… it feels like all anyone sees is this one mistake.”

“You know that’s not true,” he replied, a hint of warmth in his tone. “Everyone makes mistakes, even the greats. They’ve all crashed at some point. Don’t let them take that fire from you. Because once the season’s over, they’ll see what you’re made of.”

She took a shaky breath, comforted by his words. It was strange—she’d started this journey expecting every teammate to be a rival, another barrier to overcome. But in Yuki, she’d found someone who understood the relentless, hungry drive that fueled her, and who respected it.

The next morning, her team’s engineers ran a debrief, analyzing the telemetry and tire data from the crash. They assured her that she’d made the right call in pushing the car, that the twitchiness wasn’t imagined. Yn felt a flicker of relief; maybe she hadn’t just cracked under pressure, maybe it had been an unfortunate mix of circumstances. But no matter the reason, she knew she had to rise from this stronger than before.

It had been a long race, Jeddah was grueling and relentless, yet Yn had been on the verge of a breakthrough. She was fighting tooth and nail for P8, going wheel-to-wheel with Fernando Alonso in the final laps. She’d been holding her own, each move calculated, each corner taken with the precision she’d been honing for years. This was her shot, her chance to show everyone she wasn’t a fluke or a face in the crowd. She was ready to prove herself.

Then it happened.

They clashed in the final sector, both fighting for space. Fernando took the inside line, edging her out, and she, desperate to hold her position, stayed close, too close. Their wheels touched, and in a flash, her car lost stability, skidding and spinning before colliding with the barrier. The jolt left her breathless, her hands gripping the wheel as the rage took over.

Her engineer’s voice cracked through the radio. “Yn, are you okay? What happened?”

She clenched her jaw, trying to control the fury building up inside her. “That fucking guy, Alonso! He squeezed me—left me no room!” Her voice was shaking, frustration and adrenaline spilling over. “I had that position!”

There was a silence on the radio as they processed her words. “Copy, Yn. We saw the incident. Just stay calm.”

Stay calm? She’d given everything, and now, twice in a row, her race had ended in ruin.

After the race, Yn felt the press of cameras and microphones on her as she trudged toward the media pen. She could barely contain the frustration bubbling inside her, a storm barely held back as reporters closed in, questions already on their tongues.

“Yn, this is the second crash in a row. Are you feeling the pressure of Formula 1?”

“What’s your take on the incident with Alonso? Do you blame him?”

Yn took a steadying breath, but the calm she'd usually conjure wasn't there. “Look,” she said, voice tight, trying to keep her tone steady, “I know what happened out there, and Alonso gave me no space. I was holding my line, fighting for position like we all do. I’ll review the footage with the team, but if people think I can’t handle the pressure—they’re wrong.”

The next question felt even more loaded. “Is it challenging to maintain focus, given the scrutiny you’re under as the first female driver in years?”

She forced a smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m not here to be a spectacle; I’m here to race. Everyone’s under pressure in this sport. It’s what makes us competitors. The scrutiny just makes me hungrier.”

Her words were pointed, but she could already feel the twisting of her words forming in the reporters’ minds, their pens scratching away, headlines already buzzing to life in their notebooks.

The news the next morning was merciless. Some articles analyzed her crash with Alonso, calling it a “rookie miscalculation,” while others openly questioned whether Yn’s composure was “cracking” under the scrutiny. The worst were the opinion pieces, suggesting she might be better suited to junior categories if she couldn’t handle the rigors of F1.

Yuki found her in the paddock later that evening, her expression set as she packed up her things, clearly wanting to avoid any more eyes on her. He walked over, hands in his pockets, a gentle smile on his face.

“Hey,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “Rough race out there. I saw the footage—Alonso really gave you no room.”

She shot him a look, her expression unreadable. “Thanks, Yuki, but I don’t need anyone to say it wasn’t my fault. I should’ve handled it better.”

“It wasn’t about fault,” he countered softly, unfazed by her edge. “It was a close fight. You held your ground. Besides, you’re doing something none of these people could even dream of.”

She let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shoving her race gloves into her bag. “Spare me the pep talk. I don’t need anyone’s sympathy. Especially not yours.”

He took a step closer, not backing down. “This isn’t sympathy, Yn. You’re one of the best rookies on the grid. Every one of us has crashed. I know what you’re going through, and I know how much you want this. But maybe don’t let their voices drown out what you already know—you deserve to be here.”

She wanted to tell him to stop, to remind him that it was different for her, that every mistake was fuel for those doubting her existence in this sport. But instead, she looked away, unable to bring herself to speak. She didn’t want to be seen as weak, as someone who needed reassurance.

Yuki sighed, catching the conflicted look in her eyes. “Alright,” he said quietly, his gaze softening. “Just… don’t forget that you’ve got people here who believe in you. No matter what the headlines say.”

She gave him a brief, reluctant nod, her voice a whisper. “Thanks, Yuki. But belief isn’t going to get me P8.” She turned and headed for the exit, leaving him behind as the words hung in the air, heavy with the reminder of just how high the stakes were.

Yuki knew things had changed since those days in the Red Bull junior program. Back then, it was just him and Yn, two kids pushing limits, sharing laughs and late nights studying data, feeling like the world wasn’t so big, like maybe they’d take it on together someday. She’d always been determined, sometimes stubbornly so, but she’d had that spark, that glint in her eye when she talked about F1 like it was the only thing that mattered. But now, standing at the pinnacle they’d dreamed of, Yuki could feel the distance growing between them, a wall she was building with every race, every misstep, every setback.

He tried to remind her of those lighter times, even when the racing got intense. On weekends, he’d linger in the garage with her, cracking jokes, trying to coax a laugh out of her, like they used to do after tough sessions back in Formula 2. But it felt different now. She had this look, as if there was a weight pressing on her that no amount of lightheartedness could lift.

The night after her crash with Alonso, Yuki tried again, catching up to her outside the paddock as she was leaving. “Hey!” he called, jogging to catch up. “Thought maybe we could grab a bite together. There’s this place nearby that serves ridiculous ramen—reminds me of the spot we’d hit after races.”

She hesitated, her gaze distant, before letting out a sigh. “Yuki, I’m tired. I just want to go back to the hotel and review the data. It was a messy race, and I don’t think I have much appetite.”

Yuki’s shoulders dropped, but he shrugged, forcing a smile. “We could just hang out, then. No data. Just us. I mean… it’s been a while since we’ve really relaxed, you know?”

She gave him a weary smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I appreciate it, really. But I need to focus. I can’t afford to mess up again, not with everything they’re saying.”

He could hear the bitterness in her voice, the resentment barely hidden beneath. It killed him to see her like this—so hardened, so guarded. She was always the toughest of the rookies, fearless, but now it seemed like her own passion had turned against her, trapping her in a never-ending battle against herself.

He tried again the next day, lingering by her side during their briefing, sending her a grin every chance he got, trying to bring back that easy dynamic they used to have. But it was like she was somewhere else, somewhere far away where his words couldn’t reach her. She’d nod along, respond, but always with that distracted air, her eyes flicking back to the screen, the telemetry, the data, anything but him.

By the time they were heading out after debrief, Yuki couldn’t hold back anymore. “Yn,” he said, his voice softer, catching her arm as she went to turn away. “I know you’re frustrated, I know it feels like everything’s on the line, but… this isn’t like you. You’re carrying everything on your shoulders alone. Let me be there, like we used to.”

For a moment, her expression softened, a glimpse of the Yn he remembered, the one who used to nudge him in the ribs and joke about who could get pole on the practice track. But it faded just as quickly, replaced by that same stony determination.

“I appreciate it, Yuki. But you don’t understand. It’s different for me.” She pulled her arm back gently, looking away. “Every mistake I make gives people more reasons to think I shouldn’t be here. Every crash, every missed point. Sympathy’s a knife in this sport, and I can’t afford to need anyone’s help. I just… I have to handle it.”

He let her words sink in, feeling the sting behind them, realizing that every race, every session was turning her into someone he barely recognized. But he understood, maybe better than she thought. Yuki knew that in F1, there were those who supported you, but there were also those who’d gladly let you fall, especially if you didn’t fit their mold.

“Maybe it’s different for you,” he said quietly, keeping his voice steady. “But you don’t have to do it alone. We’re teammates. We’re supposed to be here for each other. I’m… I’m supposed to be here for you.”

She looked up at him, and for a second, he thought he’d broken through. But she just shook her head, a faint, sad smile on her lips. “Thanks, Yuki. Really. But I need to be strong enough on my own. If I rely on anyone too much, they’ll use it against me. I have to prove myself, no matter what.”

Yuki watched as she turned away again, shoulders squared, that unyielding resolve back in her posture. He knew there was no convincing her, no getting her to see that it was okay to lean on someone every now and then, that it didn’t make her weak. But as she walked away, he felt the weight of her words settle on him, a sadness mingling with frustration. This wasn’t the Yn he knew—this was someone who felt like she had the world against her, like every race was a fight to justify her existence in F1.

Later that night, Yuki found himself with Pierre, staring at his untouched bowl of ramen, his mind churning. He’d always known Yn was strong, maybe even stronger than him in ways he didn’t fully understand. But it was painful to watch her shoulder that strength like a burden, pushing everyone else away, including him.

He thought about what he could say next time, some way to convince her that she didn’t have to do this alone, that he wasn’t there out of sympathy, but out of respect and genuine friendship. But deep down, he knew that as long as she felt the world’s expectations pressing down on her, she’d keep her guard up. For now, all he could do was be there, waiting, hoping that one day she’d let him in, let him remind her that even in the ruthless world of F1, there was room for someone who’d stand by her side, win or lose.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

Text

The Dollhouse 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as fear, coercion, violence, noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: Five girls move into a shared residence for the upcoming school year but not all is as it seems.

Characters: Jonathan Pine, Captain Syverson, Steve Abnesti, Lloyd Hansen, and Peter Parker

This fic features five named readers; Ann, Lulu, Polly, Barbie, and Molly. This chapter features Polly and Ann. Please note that characters may switch but will maintain second-person POV.

Note: 💗

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all until you can’t stand it. Take care. 💖

Barbie sets up her vanity on the desk. She opens the little plastic doors on the mirror to reveal the built-in lights before bending over to plug it in. You’re amused at her efforts as she reaches around the legs in search of a socket.

You’re so excited. You’ve been counting down the days since your best friend came up with the idea. She found the ad online and forwarded it to you. It was almost too good to be true. You came together to meet the building manager, Jonathan, and he showed you all around. You can’t believe you both snagged a room.

Barbie stands and pushes a button on the base of the mirror. She fiddles with her phone and there’s a chiming noise. Music starts to play from the speakers behind the vanity. Nifty.

She lifts her makeup chest onto the desk and unrolls her collection of brushes and other tools. Her passion is admirable. You guess that’s why you are friends; she doesn’t shy away from what she loves. For her, it’s cosmetics, for you, it’s clothes.

Lulu watches her as she hovers around the door. The girl hasn’t stopped moving since you go there. She’s like a hummingbird, always fluttering. She has this nervous laugh that seems to escape her without notice.

“What are you taking, Lu?” You ask, hoping to distract her from her nerves.

“Oh, uh, mathematics.”

“Math? Wow.”

“I’m not much for numbers but I have to do accounting courses if I want my business degree,” Barbie snips as she sorts through her makeup pads.

“Business? That’s cool. What about you, Polly?” Lulu sways and tucks her hands behind her back.

“Interior design. My mom forbade me from going into fashion but I convinced her to let me do this instead,” you explain. “It’s good money and I can still sew on the side, I guess.”

“That’s interesting. I don’t know much about fashion. Vogue or whatever,” she tentatively peeks over at Barbie. “You have so much makeup.”

“I’m a collector,” Barbie trills. “You want me to do you up? I don’t mind and I’m religious about cleaning my stuff.”

“Oh, uh, you don’t have to,” Lulu waves her hands.

“I don’t have to but I want to,” Barbie insists.

“It’s her hobby,” you say, “just don’t let her get you with the glitter.”

Lulu shrugs, “okay, nothing too heavy. I have sensitive skin.”

“Oh, you don’t need much,” Barbie assures her, “your eyes are the perfect shape.”

You hide a yawn as your leg bounces, jiggling the whole bed with it. You lean back on the heels of your hand, bored but not unhappy. The music fills the lull as Barbie searches through her palettes.

You flinch as you hear something in the hallway. You get up as Barbie asks Lulu her opinion on lip gloss. You open the door and peek out. A girl carries and old looking suitcase down the hall, a box cradled in her other arm. You step out and she tosses the box in surprise.

“Oh, hi,” she touches her chest and catches her breath. She looks over in dread at the scattered contents of the box. “Uh... sorry. You scared me.”

“I’m sorry, I was just coming to say hi,” you go to her as she leaves her suitcase to the side and gets down to gather up her belongings. You help her, picking up a framed photo of a woman. She looks a lot like her. Maybe her mother?

“I’m Ann,” she says as she takes the frame.

“Polly,” you reply. “There’s some other girls in there,” you point over your shoulder. “You’re welcome to join us once you get your stuff down.”

“Uh, sure, maybe,” she lifts the box and stands. “Tired.”

“Right, yeah, I think everyone is. Been a long day.”

“Is everyone else already here?” She asks.

“I think. There’s two others downstairs. I guess you didn’t see them on your way in.”

“Just the boy, uh, Peter? He’s nice. He wanted to play some ping pong but my hands were full,” she backs up to grab her bag, “I’ll knock on the door if I get a chance.”

“Sure, yeah, we’d be happy to have ya. I know we were thinking of drinks so... maybe later.”

“Okay,” she nods and lets herself into the last empty room.

You go back into Barbie’s room as she bends to ply powder to Lulu’s face. “Someone here?” She asks.

“Yeah, the last girl. Ann.”

“Ann? That’s so pretty. Was she nice?” She asks.

“Oh, super nice. She seemed a bit tired but I think we all get that. I told her to stop by if she has the energy.”

“Awesome,” Barbie preens and stands back to examine Lulu.

You wade around the room restlessly. Now that everyone is here, you’re impatient. You go to the window and glance out at the yard. It’s green and lush and perfectly groomed. You touch the window. The glass feels peculiarly thick. You twist the latch between the panes and push out. Heavy, too.

As you do, you notice the figure below. Steve notices you too. The large blond man turns and peers up. You stand dumbly as you are. He raises a hand in a casual wave. You frown and pull back without returning the gesture.

“Oof, that pollen’s going to get me good,” Barbie sniffles, “honey, will you look in my bag for my claritan?”

“You’re always so dramatic,” you tease her as you tuck down your concern.

You go to Barbie’s purse and search around for the pills. You don’t want to worry her by asking about that man. If everyone’s here, shouldn’t he be headed out. Jonathan touted the new security system and he mentioned routine check-ins. You really don’t like the idea of constant surveillance, even if it’s for your own safety.

“You okay?” Barbie asks as you approach her with the box of tablets.

“Fine, fine, just... adjusting.”

“We all are,” she sets down her brush and take the medicine. “Right, Lu?”

“Oh, yeah, everything’s so new,” the girl wiggles on the chair and giggles. “And far from home.”

You give her a sympathetic smile. You can’t even imagine what it’s like to be in a whole different country. The more you think about it, the more your own homesickness mounts. Your family isn’t the best but you can’t help but miss them just a little bit.

You put the portrait on the empty desk next to the box. You’re too exhausted to unpack. You drag your feet and sit on the bed. There’s a tidy stack of folded sheets on top, next to a card. Strange.

You reach for the envelope and tear it open. Inside, you read the little welcome; ‘Consider this a housewarming. Please don’t hesitate to call should you have any issues with your housing. Jonathan Pine.’ Under his name, he’s written the number you already have in your phone. You lower it to your lap and something slides out of the envelope.

You bend forward to take the gift card from the floor. Huh. That’s a bit too generous. A gift card to the local mall. You wouldn’t spit in the face of kindness but this all seems a bit much, especially after staying so long with Marla.

You put it all back in the envelope and lay sideways on the bed, legs still over the edge. You were so happy to get a room there; clean, affordable, great location. Not that you’re there, you’re overwhelmed by it all. All these pretty girls, younger yet well ahead of you.

It won’t do to get hung up on age or time or whatever. You should at least try to make friends. They seem lovely so far. Besides, you didn’t just miss out on classes for all those years you took off, no, you lost out on the social scene.

You huff and push yourself up. Better be a human and go and meet your roommates. The long you wait, the more awkward it’ll be. Besides, you’re done with being left behind.

You peek out into the hall before you emerge. You step out and shut the door gently. You cross the white carpet with blue roses and knock on the same door that girl Polly came out of. The moment your knuckles hit the wood, a brew of nerves begins in your stomach.

It doesn’t take long for an answer. It’s almost like Polly’s waiting for you on the other side. You smile and give an awkward wave. Why did you do that?

“Hey, offer stand?” You ask.

“Oh, hi! Yes, come on in and meet everyone,” she steps back. You poke your head in before the rest of you and push your shoulders up, “hi, I’m Ann.”

“Barbie,” the one standing up introduces, her focus on the other as she draws on her eyelids with liner. “This is Lulu. She’s an exchange student.”

“Hi,” Lulu squeaks then giggles as she keeps her eyes closed.

“Stay still,” Barbie tuts. She gets an apology and another tinkling laugh.

“It’s just the three of you?” Ann asks. “And Peter?”

“And Molly,” Barbie answers as she pulls back and caps the liner. “Quiet but sweet.” She sucks her teeth as she looks over Lulu. “We’ll do your mascara and gloss and then we’ll go do some driiiiinks.” She shimmies as she sings the last words.

“I brought vodka if you wanna share,” Polly offers, “Barbie only drinks tequila.”

“Can’t go wrong with a margarita,” Barbie counters.

“I’ve never drank,” Lulu says. “My mom never let it in the house.”

“Oh my god! Alright, well, we’ll make sure to give you a starter drink,” Barbie chirps.

“Vodka’s fine, thanks,” you say to Polly. You look around and take in the large makeup chest with its many shelves and the roll of brushes in all sizes.

“Barbie’s really into cosmetics. We go on dates to Sephora.”

“They know me by name,” Barbie brags.

“Mm,” you nod and clasp your hands together. You don’t know what to say. “So, uh, super nice building huh?”

“Oh, it’s fucking perfect,” Barbie says. “I lived on campus last year and the showers were always clogged with hair. Ew.”

“Hah, yeah, well, just wait a couple months,” Polly scoffs.

“Mm, and there’s good security,” you suggest as you drag your hand up your arm, “I met that guy on the way in. Steve.”

“Ah, yes, he’s nice,” Barbie says.

Polly hums and her lips thin as she glances at the window. Lulu giggles again but doesn’t add anything.

“And Jonathan is a sweetheart. That accent, too,” Barbie laughs.

“Oh, uh, yeah, he’s nice.”

“Sy is... nice too,” Lulu says. “The gardener.”

“Honey, I need to do your lips,” Barbie chides.

“Sorry,” Lulu stills and lets the other girl paint her with pink gloss.

“There’s a gardener?” You ask as you share a look with Polly.

“Done,” Barbie announces and stand straight.

Lulu looks at herself in the mirror and bats her lashes, “oh my god, it’s awesome! Wow! I don’t even look like me!”

“You do. I just highlighted your beauty,” Barbie assures her. “Ann, how about it? You want a glow up?”

“Uh, no, that’s fine. Lulu, you said there’s a gardener?”

“Of course,” Barbie shrugs, “I mean, look at the yard. I’m not trimming the hedges, are you?”

“Yeah, he’s a big guy. Super helpful. The other day, I got locked out by accidents. Oh, you gotta be careful with the front door.”

“Right,” you squint. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“We got all year to complain about the house, guys, let’s go get the others and get the party started,” Barbie whines as she looks around and flits over to a Louis Vuitton bag, “let me just get my tequila. Pol, go get your bottle and we’ll ball out.”

You force a smile but it’s not entirely fake. You’re excited. You’re finally getting started on your life after dwelling so long on the end of it. You just wish your mom was here to see it. You wish you could call her so she could tell you she’s proud.

She would be, wouldn’t she?

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