#imagine trying so hard to connect to another world | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

777bae · 3 months ago

Text

WITH YOU JACK HUGHES

Summary :: After a brutal injury, you’re left to navigate recovery on your own. But Jack, despite the distance, becomes your lifeline—calling every day, offering comfort, and doing everything he can to be there. When he finally returns, his unwavering love and support help you heal, proving that together, you can overcome anything.

Warnings :: description of injury

Word count :: 5.6k

It all started at an NHL-run community skate event. You’d been invited along with a few other women’s league players to skate alongside the NHL stars, giving young fans a chance to meet their idols in a laid-back, personal setting. You didn’t expect much from the event—just another community outreach, another day to interact with fans and grow the game you loved. But that was before you met him.

Jack Hughes had been one of the NHL’s rising stars for a while, and despite the buzz around him, he was surprisingly down-to-earth. Tall, with his bright blue eyes and easy smile, he was exactly as you’d imagined him—charismatic, charming, and somehow completely approachable.

As you laced up your skates, adjusting the blades on your boots, you’d heard his laugh first, a genuine, warm sound that made it hard not to smile. You hadn’t even looked up when you realized he was skating toward you until you felt the brush of a glove on your shoulder.

“You here to show us how it’s done?” Jack’s voice was playful, but there was a hint of curiosity behind his words. You glanced up, met his gaze, and for a moment, both of you seemed to just… stop. He wasn’t towering over you, but there was a light in his eyes that made you feel like you were suddenly the center of attention.

“Me?” You raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You’re the one who’s been stealing all the spotlight. I just came to get some practice in. You know, to make sure I don’t show you up.”

He laughed again, this time shaking his head as he lowered himself into a comfortable skating stance. “I’m not worried. I’ve seen how fast some of the girls on your team can skate.” He leaned in a little, his voice a touch quieter. “But I have to admit, I’m hoping I’ll learn something today.”

It was all playful banter, but somehow, there was a connection that flickered between you in that brief exchange. Something about his easy confidence mixed with a genuine curiosity about the women’s game. It wasn’t like the typical interactions you had with male players; there was no condescension, no weird power dynamic. Just a guy who appreciated the game and the players—regardless of their gender.

The rest of the skate went by in a blur of friendly competition and shared laughter, with Jack occasionally pulling you into a race around the rink. You couldn’t deny that his speed on the ice matched his charm off it. It was fun—refreshing, really—especially since you were used to competing against men who sometimes didn’t seem to understand the level of skill and commitment women brought to the game. But Jack, he didn’t seem like that at all. If anything, he seemed eager to learn, to listen.

Afterward, while most of the other players were heading off to grab something to eat, Jack caught up to you again as you were packing your gear away.

“Hey, you wanna grab some dinner?” he asked, his voice casual but with that little spark of hopefulness. “I promise I won’t make it weird—just thought it’d be nice to hang out, talk about the game… maybe see if you’re as competitive off the ice as you are on it.”

It was a little unexpected, but something about the offer felt right. You’d spent so many years in a world of competition, sometimes too focused on the next game, the next practice. The thought of having a simple, easy evening, talking about something other than hockey, sounded like a refreshing change.

“Sure,” you agreed, trying to hide the small smile creeping onto your face. “I could use the company.”

That first dinner was nothing extraordinary—just a low-key meal at a local diner, where you both dug into greasy comfort food and swapped stories about your respective teams. But the conversation never lagged. Jack talked about his early days in hockey, his family, his goals, and somehow, you found yourself opening up in ways you hadn’t expected, sharing things you usually kept locked behind a barrier of professionalism. It felt natural, easy, like you’d known him much longer than just a few hours.

By the time you were leaving the diner, you felt something click. It wasn’t just the conversation. It was the way Jack made you feel seen, valued. He didn’t view you as just a player; he saw you as someone who belonged in the same conversation as the men he idolized.

That night, as he walked you to your car, he hesitated before speaking.

“Do you think we could do this again?” His tone was soft, uncertain—nothing like the cocky attitude you sometimes saw from athletes. There was a real vulnerability in his question, an openness that you hadn’t expected from someone with so much attention on him.

You smiled, already knowing the answer before you even said it. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

The following months passed in a whirlwind. The connection you’d felt that night only deepened as you found yourselves spending more time together, whether it was over quick dinners after games or stolen moments between practices. The distance between your homes had been a challenge at first, but Jack made it work. His busy NHL schedule and your packed NWHL calendar had their limitations, but you made it a priority. Phone calls, FaceTime, and text messages became lifelines, bridging the gap when you couldn’t be in the same place.

And then came the moment when it all felt a little more real. One night, after a game where you’d scored the game-winning goal, Jack called you to congratulate you. As you chatted about the game, the conversation shifted.

“So, I was thinking…” Jack’s voice dropped a little, a teasing edge creeping in. “What if we make this official? You know, like, ‘dating’ officially. I mean, we’ve spent enough time together at this point, and I’m kind of starting to like you.”

You’d laughed at first, but when you heard the sincerity in his voice, you felt that flutter in your chest.

“I think I could be okay with that,” you’d said softly, feeling something in your heart shift.

And just like that, what had started as a casual meeting at a community skate turned into something real, something deep. The spark between you two grew into a full-blown flame, one that, despite the distance and the challenges ahead, seemed unstoppable.

That was how it all began. From a community skate to something much bigger. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t just fighting for your place in the game—you were fighting for something real, with someone who understood and shared your passion for both hockey and life.

It had been a few months since you and Jack had officially started dating, and even though the connection between you two had only deepened over time, the long-distance nature of your relationship had taken its toll. Jack was a rising star in the NHL, and your team’s season in the Women’s Hockey League was just as intense, if not more so. So, when Jack had to leave for a week-long stretch of West Coast games, the distance felt particularly harsh. But you both had your routines, and you had become experts at making the most of what time you had together.

The first night Jack was gone, you walked through your shared apartment, the silence of the space more apparent than usual. You had been here before, used to being away from each other for stretches of time, but it didn’t make the loneliness any easier. Still, you had your own games to focus on, so you pushed aside the feeling and settled into your familiar routine of stretching, preparing, and strategizing for your upcoming match.

That week, your team was on a roll. You managed to secure comfortable victories in your first two games, and no matter the late hours or time zone difference, you made sure to FaceTime Jack after each of your games. His voice was always a small anchor that pulled you back into a sense of normalcy. His tired face would appear on the screen, grinning with excitement or offering words of encouragement as you recapped your performances. The calls were a lifeline, a reminder that even though the miles between you stretched across the country, you weren’t alone in this. You’d FaceTime on his days off, too, taking solace in the familiarity of his presence, even if it was only a screen away.

But it was that third game that shook everything.

You had been feeling sharp and focused, your team’s momentum riding high. You were confident going into the match, your movements on the ice instinctively flowing with each pass and play. The puck was on your stick as you skated into the offensive zone, eyes locked on the net ahead, the crowd’s roars swelling around you. But just as you prepared to make your move, you felt a brutal shove from your side. The force was unanticipated, and before you could brace yourself, you were sent spiraling off balance.

The hit slammed into your leg, pain shooting through your entire body like a bolt of electricity. Your vision flashed white for a moment, the rink around you spinning as you crumpled to the ice, unable to register anything other than the excruciating ache in your lower body. You could hear voices, distant and muffled, but you couldn’t focus on anything but the raw agony. Your leg felt like it was on fire, every inch of it screaming at you in ways you didn’t think possible.

The next few moments were a blur. You were helped off the ice, each movement sending shocks of pain through your leg as your teammates rushed to your side. You were placed in an ice bath to try to numb the swelling, but it was clear from the first glance—the leg wasn’t just bruised. It was broken.

At the hospital, the diagnosis hit like a hammer to the chest. You had multiple fractures in your leg—some clean breaks, some more complicated. Surgery was the only option, and it needed to be done as soon as possible. You were too overwhelmed to process anything. The pain was all-consuming, and the physical shock of it was enough to dull your thoughts. The one thing that kept repeating in your mind, though, was that you hadn’t messaged Jack. You had forgotten. You had promised him you’d let him know if anything happened, but now, you couldn’t even remember if you had the energy to tell him.

You were rushed into surgery, the doctors prepping you quickly for the procedure, but you couldn’t shake the guilt of not reaching out to him. When you fell unconscious from the anesthesia, your thoughts faded, but that nagging feeling remained.

Meanwhile, in California, Jack had just finished his game. He had played well—scoring a goal and getting an assist—but his mind was elsewhere. His phone buzzed as he walked into the locker room to cool down. As he picked it up, his heart stopped for a second. It was a video message from one of his friends, a clip from the game he had just missed. It was you.

The footage was grainy, taken from the stands. He saw the hit happen in real-time, the moment when your body was slammed to the ice. And then, the terrible sight of you crumpling, unable to move as pain clearly overtook you. His breath caught in his throat, and panic surged through his chest.

Without thinking, he immediately called your number, but it went straight to voicemail. His hands were shaking now, his mind racing with worry. Why hasn’t she answered? He called again, and again, his anxiety growing with each unanswered ring.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself, growing frantic. He tried texting you, then calling your teammates and coaches, but no one picked up. The seconds seemed to stretch into hours as he dialed number after number, panic creeping up his spine.

Finally, one of your coaches picked up. The calm, steady voice on the other end didn’t help to alleviate Jack’s mounting panic.

“Coach, what happened to her?” Jack’s voice was tight, strained. “Is she okay? Why isn’t she answering? What happened? I saw the hit—she looked… she looked like she was in so much pain!”

Your coach’s voice was reassuring but firm. “Jack, calm down. She’s in surgery right now. She fractured her leg pretty badly. The doctors are taking care of her. They’re going to monitor her recovery closely. But she’s going to be okay.”

He froze, his heart still pounding. “Surgery? Is she awake? Can I talk to her? I need to talk to her.”

“She’s still under, Jack. They’re finishing up. She’ll be okay. You can’t be here right now, and I know that’s hard. But she’s in good hands.”

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself. “How long is she going to be in the hospital?”

“At least a couple weeks. They’ll want to monitor her closely to make sure everything heals properly.”

The words barely registered at first, but Jack’s mind finally began to slow, even as frustration and helplessness gnawed at him. He had a whole week of games ahead. There was no way he could be by her side—he would have to wait. And the thought of being this far away from her, with nothing but the distance and his uncertainty, felt unbearable.

After the call ended, Jack sat in silence for a long moment, trying to collect himself. He wasn’t sure how he would make it through the next few days, but he knew one thing for sure—he couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. He would call her every day. He would check in, even if it was through a screen, and he would make sure she knew he was there for her, even if he couldn’t be there physically.

Hours after the surgery, you began to stir, the soft beeping of machines pulling you from the thick haze of anesthesia. Your body felt heavy, your head foggy, and the ache in your leg was muted but persistent, a constant reminder of what had happened. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights, you slowly registered your surroundings—the sterile white hospital room, the IV taped to your arm, and the faint murmur of voices outside the door. Everything felt surreal, like you were caught between waking and dreaming.

The door creaked open, and your coach stepped inside. She offered a soft smile, her familiar presence grounding you amidst the disorientation. “Welcome back, kid,” she said gently, pulling up a chair beside your bed. “How are you feeling?”

You managed a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a croak. “Like I got hit by a truck,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s about right,” your coach replied, crossing her arms. “But the surgery went well. They said you’ll be back on your feet eventually—it’s just going to take some time.”

You nodded slowly, letting the information sink in. The details of the injury and the hit felt blurry, distant, as if they belonged to someone else. What you did remember, however, was the pressing need to call Jack. You opened your mouth to ask about him, but your coach beat you to it.

“Your boyfriend,” she said with a knowing smirk, “has been losing his mind. He’s been calling non-stop since he found out. I had to take one of his calls during your surgery just to calm him down. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone freak out that much in my life.”

Despite the lingering grogginess, you chuckled softly, though the motion tugged at your sore muscles. “Did I… Did I at least tell him I’m okay before I went under?” you asked, your voice cracking slightly.

“Not a chance,” she said, shaking her head. “You were out cold before you could even grab your phone. But don’t worry—he knows you made it through the surgery. Barely, though. The poor guy sounded like he was about to hop on a plane mid-road trip.”

You smiled faintly at the image of Jack pacing in some hotel room, his phone glued to his ear as he pestered anyone who would answer. Your heart ached at the thought of how worried he must have been. You motioned weakly toward the bedside table, where your phone sat, its screen dark but promising missed calls and messages. “Can you hand me that?” you asked.

Your coach retrieved the phone and placed it in your trembling hands. As you fumbled with the screen, your fingers clumsy and unsteady, you saw the barrage of missed calls and texts from Jack. Over a dozen calls, countless messages—all timestamped from the moment he must have seen the hit. Swallowing hard, you tapped his name and brought the phone to your ear.

It barely rang once before his voice burst through the line. “Hey!” Jack’s tone was frantic, a mix of relief and worry. “Are you okay? Are you in pain? Is there someone there with you? Do you need something? God, I should’ve been there—I should’ve been with you—”

“Jack,” you interrupted softly, but he didn’t stop.

“I saw the clip. I saw it. That hit—it looked so bad. You just went down, and I—God, I felt like my heart stopped. I’ve been calling everyone, and no one was picking up, and then your coach finally called me back and said you were in surgery. Surgery! I should’ve been there—”

“Jack,” you said again, more firmly this time, though your voice was still weak. His words slowed, but the panic in his tone was still evident. “I’m okay,” you assured him, even as your own voice wavered. “The surgery went well. I’m sore, but I’ll be alright. I promise.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, the silence filled with his uneven breathing. “You’re sure?” he asked finally, his voice quieter but still laced with worry. “You’re really okay?”

“I’m sure,” you said, your lips curling into a faint smile. “They said I’ll make a full recovery. It’s going to take a while, but I’m okay, Jack. You don’t have to worry.”

His sigh of relief was audible, but it was short-lived. “How could I not worry?” he said, his voice rising again. “I saw the hit, and then I didn’t hear from you, and I was stuck here, a thousand miles away, with no idea if you were okay or if you were—” He stopped himself, his voice breaking. “I hate this. I hate that I’m not there with you.”

The raw frustration in his voice was enough to bring tears to your eyes. “It’s just hockey,” you said softly, trying to reassure him. “Stuff like this happens. It’s part of the game.”

“Not to you,” he snapped, the sharpness of his words catching you off guard. “It can happen to anyone else, but not you. You’re the last person I want to see getting hurt, and now you’re stuck in a hospital bed, and I can’t even be there to hold your hand.”

“Jack,” you whispered, but he was on a roll now, his frustration spilling over.

“I can’t believe this stupid schedule,” he muttered. “I should be on the next flight home. Screw the games. They can deal without me for one night—”

“You can’t do that,” you said quickly, your voice firmer this time. “Jack, I need you to focus on your games. I’ll be fine. You’ll see me soon enough.”

He sighed again, the sound heavy with reluctance. “I just… I feel so helpless,” he admitted. “You’re hurt, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“You’re doing plenty,” you told him gently. “Just hearing your voice right now is enough.”

The conversation eventually calmed, though Jack’s worry never fully faded. He promised to call every day—and he did. Over the next week, he became your lifeline.

The first night after your surgery, Jack called you just as he promised he would. The moment your phone buzzed with his name on the screen, a sense of comfort washed over you. You answered immediately, his face appearing on the screen before you could even get out a greeting.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft but still edged with worry. His hair was damp from a post-game shower, and you could see the dark circles under his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” you admitted, shifting slightly against the pillows propping you up. Your leg throbbed dully beneath the cast, but seeing Jack’s face helped dull the ache. “Sore, but okay.”

“You look pale,” he noted, his brows furrowing as his eyes scanned the screen, like he could physically assess you through it. “Are you sure you’re okay? Have you been eating? What about water—have you been drinking enough?”

“Jack,” you interrupted gently, your lips quirking into a faint smile. “I’m fine. They’ve been taking care of me here, and the doctors said the surgery went well. You don’t have to worry so much.”

His sigh was audible even through the small speaker of your phone. “How can I not worry? I hate that I’m stuck here while you’re dealing with all of this alone.”

“You’re not stuck. You’re doing your job,” you reminded him. “And I’m not alone. My team’s been in and out, and the nurses here are great.”

“It’s not the same,” he muttered, his tone low. “I should be there.”

You reached up and adjusted the angle of your phone, so he could see your reassuring smile. “You’re here, Jack. Maybe not physically, but this? These calls? They help more than you know.”

His face softened slightly, though the worry in his eyes didn’t entirely disappear. “I just wish I could do more.”

“You’re doing plenty,” you said firmly. “Now, tell me about your game. How’d it go?”

Jack hesitated for a moment, but when you raised an expectant eyebrow, he relented. “It went alright. We won, but it was closer than it should’ve been. I missed an open net in the second period, and the guys gave me hell for it.”

“Missed an open net?” you teased, your tone light. “Wow, Jack Hughes is human after all.”

He groaned, though you caught the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’ll make up for it next game.”

“I’m sure you will,” you said with a grin. “You always do.”

The conversation shifted after that, Jack asking about your day in the hospital. He wanted to know everything—what you ate, what the doctors said, how much pain you were in. His questions were relentless, but you didn’t mind. If anything, it warmed your heart to know how much he cared. By the time the call ended, your eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but the lingering sound of Jack’s voice in your mind made falling asleep a little easier.

The calls became your anchor over the next week. Every night, without fail, Jack would call you after his game, no matter how late it was. Some nights, he’d FaceTime you, propping his phone up on a stack of pillows in his hotel room while he lounged on the bed in sweats and a hoodie. Other nights, he’d call you during his downtime at the rink, his voice echoing faintly in the empty locker room as he checked in on you.

On the third night, after another win for his team, Jack’s call came through just after midnight. You answered groggily, your phone resting on your chest as you blinked sleepily at his face.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asked, his voice soft with concern.

“No, it’s okay,” you murmured, shifting slightly to prop yourself up against the pillows. “How was the game?”

“Good,” he said, though his expression was a little sheepish. “I scored a goal, but I got into it with a guy on the other team. He cross-checked me, and I might’ve, uh, shoved him a little.”

“Jack,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him playfully. “You can’t get yourself hurt. One of us in the hospital is enough.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “Don’t worry, I can take a hit. But seriously, how are you feeling? Is the pain manageable? Do you need me to call someone for you?”

You shook your head, smiling at his endless concern. “I’m fine, Jack. They’ve got me on some good meds, so I’m not feeling much pain right now.”

“Good,” he said, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if trying to detect any hidden discomfort. “Tell me if that changes, okay? If you need anything—anything at all—you call me.”

“Jack, you’re on the other side of the country,” you pointed out, your tone teasing. “What could you possibly do from there?”

“Plenty,” he said stubbornly. “I could call your coach. Or your doctor. Or the president, if I have to.”

You laughed, the sound soft but genuine. “I don’t think the president can help with a broken leg, Jack.”

“Then I’ll find someone who can,” he shot back, grinning. “I’m serious, though. Just tell me if you need anything.”

“All I need is for you to win some games,” you teased, your voice light. “That’s all the help I need.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but you could see the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling back. “But you love me anyway.”

By the end of the week, the calls felt like second nature. Jack would update you on his games, sharing every detail with the enthusiasm of someone desperate to distract himself from his own worries. In turn, you’d tell him about the progress you were making in the hospital, even if it was slow. You joked about how the nurses were starting to recognize him just from the sound of his voice, and he teased you about how bossy you were getting with your requests for snacks and drinks.

Through it all, Jack’s constant presence—whether through a screen or a phone call—was what kept you going. And even though he couldn’t be there in person, he made you feel as though he was never truly far away.

Finally, after what felt like the longest week of your life, the day finally arrived when Jack’s West Coast road trip came to an end. He had called you every day, just like he’d promised, but it wasn’t the same as having him by your side. Through the screen, you could see the worry etched into his face and hear it in the tone of his voice. He hated being so far away from you, and every conversation ended with him muttering how much he wished he could teleport home.

The waiting had been agonizing for both of you. Jack barely slept, the guilt of not being able to be there gnawing at him, and you had spent your days in the hospital, frustrated by your immobility and longing for his comforting presence. So when you finally got the text that he had landed and was on his way, the anticipation became almost unbearable.

You sat up in the hospital bed, your leg propped up in a brace and wrapped in layers of bandages, staring at the door like a puppy waiting for its owner to return. You heard the sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway, and then the door swung open.

“Jack,” you breathed, and there he was.

He looked exhausted. His hair was messy from the flight, his eyes shadowed from lack of sleep, but the relief on his face was so palpable it nearly brought tears to your eyes. He crossed the room in three long strides, not even bothering to set his bag down before he wrapped you in the gentlest hug he could manage. His arms circled you carefully, mindful of your injuries, but the embrace was so full of love that it made your chest ache.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands. “God, I was so scared. Watching that hit… hearing you were in surgery… I didn’t know what to do. I felt so useless.”

You could see the guilt swimming in his eyes, and you shook your head, resting your hand on top of his. “Jack, you’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

“I should’ve been here sooner,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I hate that I wasn’t here when you needed me most.”

“Stop,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his wrist. “You did everything you could. You called, you checked in—Jack, I knew you were with me, even if you weren’t here physically.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his emotions flickering across his face like a storm. Then he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m here now,” he murmured, as though saying it aloud made it more real. “And I’m not leaving until you’re back on your feet.”

The first day of Jack’s visit was spent catching up—he pulled a chair close to your bed, his fingers intertwined with yours as he asked about every detail of the surgery and recovery process. He flinched when you described the pain of the initial hit and visibly winced when you told him about waking up after the surgery. His worry was written all over him, and it didn’t fade even when you assured him that you were healing.

But he didn’t just stop at sitting by your side. By the next day, Jack had transformed into a one-man care team. He brought you your favorite coffee every morning, carefully maneuvering around the hospital room as though he’d been doing it for years. He kept your water bottle full, adjusted your pillows to make sure you were comfortable, and even insisted on helping you wash your hair when you mentioned you felt gross from lying in bed for so long.

“Jack, you don’t have to do all this,” you said one evening as he helped you shift positions, your leg still immobilized in the brace. “You just got back from a road trip. You should be resting, not waiting on me hand and foot.”

He scoffed, his hands steady as he fluffed your pillows. “Resting? What kind of boyfriend would I be if I wasn’t here taking care of you?”

“A tired one?” you offered, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked, but his expression softened as he leaned down to kiss your temple. “I’m exactly where I need to be. Don’t fight me on this—I’m taking care of you whether you like it or not.”

And he meant it. Jack spent every moment he wasn’t at practice by your side, helping you with the little things that had become impossible with your injury. When you were finally discharged and sent home, Jack took charge of setting up the apartment to accommodate your limited mobility. He rearranged furniture, set up a cozy corner on the couch where you could elevate your leg, and made sure your favorite snacks were within reach.

At night, when the pain was at its worst and sleep felt impossible, Jack was there. He’d sit beside you, his hand resting on your arm as he talked you through the discomfort. Sometimes he’d read to you, his voice low and soothing, and other times he’d just sit quietly, his presence enough to calm your racing thoughts.

One evening, as you lay curled up on the couch with your leg propped up on a stack of pillows, Jack sat beside you with a bag of takeout from your favorite restaurant. The smell of your favorite dish filled the room, and you smiled up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude.

“You’re kind of amazing, you know that?” you said, watching as he carefully plated the food for you.

He looked up, his face flushing slightly. “I’m just doing what anyone would do.”

“Not everyone would fly across the country after an exhausting road trip and spend every waking moment taking care of their injured girlfriend,” you pointed out. “You’ve been… incredible, Jack. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through this without you.”

His eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss you, his lips lingering against yours as though he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t say. “You don’t have to go through anything alone,” he murmured. “Not as long as I’m here.”

In the weeks that followed, Jack became your rock. He helped you through the frustration of physical therapy, cheered you on as you regained strength, and reminded you every day that you were stronger than you thought. And though the road to recovery was long and grueling, the love and support Jack gave you made it feel a little less daunting.

As you sat together one evening, your head resting on his shoulder and your cast resting across his lap, you realized something profound: this injury, as difficult as it had been, had only brought you closer. Jack’s unwavering dedication had proven, without a doubt, that he was in this for the long haul. And with him by your side, you knew you could face anything.

433 notes · View notes

callikari · 27 days ago

Text

──────── 🕶️ PAPARAZZI

。 i'm your biggest fan, i'll follow you until you love me. i won't stop until that boy is mine

... 西村力 x fem!reader 🖇️ fan to idol , angst if you squint, slow burn 1238 wc ( • ᴖ • ｡) idol pressure, hints of unrequited love (in beginning), obsessive tendencies

【 more like this 🎬 】

it was never supposed to be this way.

you never imagined the glittering world of k-pop would consume you this much. it all started when you were a teenager, watching idols on tv, dreaming of standing on that stage yourself. but dreams are never as pretty when you’re trying to chase them.

you were sixteen when you entered the trainee system at hybe, surrounded by hundreds of others with the same goal. at first, it felt like a whirlwind. you had no real idea what you were doing. the rigorous training, the constant pressure, the competition—it was overwhelming. but every night, you returned to that same dream. one day, you’ll be an idol.

it wasn’t until you met him that you started believing it.

nishimura riki. the effortlessly charismatic maknae of enhypen.

at first, you only saw him from afar. he was a senior by a few months, already known for his talent, his looks, his undeniable stage presence. every time he walked by, it was like the air around him shifted. you’d be training in the same building, and for some reason, every time he passed by, it felt like time would slow down. maybe it was his aura. maybe it was the way his smile made everything around him light up. but you, a mere trainee, couldn’t help but watch. you didn’t dare speak to him. you were too far out of his league, or so you thought.

he was perfect. and you were just trying to get through one more training session.

the day you finally debuted as part of aeris arrived, and the reality of it hit you all at once. this was your dream come true. but what they didn’t tell you was how hard it would be to keep it.

aeris wasn’t just a group. aeris was an experience. bold, futuristic, and intense. your concept was about power, control, and breaking free from expectations. the styling, the music, the choreography—it was a perfect reflection of the unrelenting pressure you felt as an idol. the whole world was watching, and for once, you were ready for it.

people called you enhypen’s sister group. at first, it didn’t mean much. but over time, the comparisons grew louder. the media would always bring up him—riki. how much your group resembled enhypen in both style and talent. it felt like there was always this connection between your two groups, one that you could never quite escape.

and then, there was that interview.

you were sitting on the bright stage, the lights of the camera flashing in your eyes, as the reporter sat in front of you, his pen poised. another interview, you thought. just another day in the life of an idol.

“so, y/n,” the reporter began, his voice cheerful and warm, “aeris has made a huge impact in such a short time. tell us, what made you decide to become an idol?”

you smiled, trying to calm your nerves. you’d answered this question a thousand times, but for some reason, today felt different.

“honestly,” you started, your voice a little more vulnerable than usual, “it was seeing the way idols like nishimura riki pushed themselves. he made me believe that even though I was just a trainee, I could become something bigger. he inspired me to chase my dreams, even when everything seemed impossible.”

you could feel the room go still for a moment. the reporters exchanged glances, and a few whispered under their breath.

“nishimura riki? enhypen’s riki?” the reporter asked, clearly surprised.

you nodded, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “yeah. he was always someone I looked up to, even before I joined hybe. I didn’t think I’d ever get close to someone like him, but the way he performed, the way he carried himself—it made me want to be better. to push myself beyond my limits. he’s the reason I’m here.”

the reporters seemed to hang on to your every word. “and now, your group is being called enhypen’s sister group. how does that feel?”

you tried not to think too much about it. it wasn’t like you wanted to be compared to enhypen—you were your own person, with your own identity. but still, you couldn’t deny the strange mix of pride and pressure that came with it.

“it’s an honor,” you said with a smile, your voice steady. “but I think we’re more than just a sister group. aeris has its own identity. we want to make our mark, too.”

you smiled politely, but in the back of your mind, all you could think about was riki. the one person who unknowingly pushed you this far, who made you feel like anything was possible. you were here, in front of the cameras, trying to show the world who you were—but was he even aware of you?

the night was buzzing with excitement. the atmosphere was electric as your group prepped for the next performance, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. something about tonight felt different, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

as you walked down the hallway, you heard familiar voices and laughter coming from around the corner. you turned, your heart racing. and there he was.

nishimura riki.

he was talking with some of the enhypen members, but when his gaze met yours, everything around you seemed to fade away. for a split second, it felt like time had slowed. he smiled at you, a knowing, almost teasing look in his eyes.

you froze. did he hear the interview?

riki’s gaze softened as he excused himself from the group and walked over to you. his footsteps felt like they were echoing, but you couldn’t look away.

“y/n,” he said, his voice low and smooth, “I saw your interview.”

you blinked, a small knot forming in your throat. “you did?”

he nodded. “yeah. I didn’t know I was such an inspiration to you.”

there was something in the way he said it—playful, but also sincere. you had no idea what to say. you weren’t prepared for this.

“thank you,” you whispered, your heart racing. “really. you were the reason I kept going. even when things were hard, I thought about you and how you pushed yourself. it made me believe I could do it too.”

there was a quiet pause before riki took another step closer, his eyes now focused entirely on you. “you did,” he said softly, the smile fading slightly, replaced by something more intense. “you really did.”

the tension was thick between you two. and then, before you could say anything else, riki reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m proud of you, y/n. you’ve come a long way.”

your breath caught in your throat. did he really just say that? did he mean it?

“thanks,” you managed to whisper, your hands trembling.

he smiled, the edge of it more knowing than before. “you’ve been chasing something. but now, maybe you don’t have to anymore.”

he gave you one last look before walking away, leaving you standing there, heart pounding. your thoughts raced. what did that mean?

but even as the night went on and your group performed with all the fire and intensity you’d promised the world, one thought stayed with you.

maybe you were no longer chasing that boy. maybe, just maybe, he was chasing you.

enhypen taglist : @ash-engen @chrrific @cheruphic @jungwonbropls @ijustreallylike2read

294 notes · View notes

rizzanon · 5 months ago

Text

Background Info 2 (Tim, Cassandra, Stephanie, Damian, Duke Centered)

I think your relationship with Tim is more complicated than you wanted it to be. When he first came about to the family, he was the reason you found out about your family’s secrets. The ones that they’ve been hiding from you from the start. And for some reason, as a kid, you didn’t know whether you should be thankful, or hate him for that.

Why? Because the truth was a double-edged sword. On one hand, you had always felt like something was off about your family—the late nights, the unexplained bruises and injuries, the way they avoided topics like they were landmines. Tim revealing the truth was like solving a puzzle you didn’t know you were piecing together. But on the other hand, the truth came with a weight you hadn’t been prepared for before.

A part of you wanted to be grateful—Tim had given you the truth when no one else had. But another part of you couldn’t help but resent him. It was as if he had stolen the illusion of normalcy you clung to, replacing it with danger, secrets, and an overwhelming realization how much more you actually needed to do to get the approval of your family.

For the first few months of Tim being Robin, you didn’t see him as anything other than Jason’s replacement.

Jason had been your brother in every sense of the word. A little rough around the edges, sure, but he had a way of making you feel seen, even when the rest of the family was too caught up in their own world to notice you. So when he died, it left a gaping hole—not just in the family but in you. When Tim came along and slid into Jason’s place like it was as simple as filling a role, it was hard not to hate him for it.

You avoided him at first, ignored all of his attempts to be friendly or cordial. You refused to acknowledge him as anything other than “the new Robin.” You knew it was childish, but you were only 12 then. It wasn’t fair, you knew that, but grief doesn’t lend itself to rationality. Eventually, though, you started to let go of that resentment. He wasn’t Jason, but he wasn’t trying to be him either. He was just Tim.

So, you decided to try. He was close to your age, after all, and you figured, at the very least, you could be friends. But Tim didn’t seem to feel the same way. To him, you were Batman’s daughter, that was it. He kept things polite and distant, never letting you close enough to feel like anything more than an acquaintance.

That dynamic didn’t really shift until the death of his father. When Jack Drake was killed by Captain Boomerang, and Bruce formally adopted Tim, you felt for him in a way you hadn’t before. Losing a parent was a kind of pain you couldn’t imagine, and for the first time, you saw him as more than just “the new Robin”. You pitied him.

You tried to comfort him, offering him a shoulder to lean on and small acts of kindness. But Tim didn’t want your pity. If anything, it seemed to make him pull away even further. He started treating you less like family, and more like a roommate—someone he tolerated living with but didn’t go out of his way to connect with.

You didn’t push him. If that’s what he needed, fine. But you still wanted to be close to him, so you found other ways to try. You’d ask him for help with missions and cases, knowing how smart and capable he was, hoping it might bridge the gap between you. For a while, it worked—or at least, it felt like it did. But over time, Tim’s frustration began to show. He never said it outright, but his body language spoke volumes: the tight set of his jaw, the way he’d sigh when you approached, the way his answers grew shorter and more clipped.

Eventually, you stopped asking.

And that’s how it’s been ever since. The two of you drifted into a rhythm, more like estranged colleagues or roommates than siblings, or in the very least, friends. You didn’t mind—at least, that’s what you told yourself. But deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder if things could’ve been different, if you had acted differently from the very start.

When Cassandra first joined the family, you were slightly excited because, for the first time, you had a sister. An older one, in fact. It felt like a chance to have someone who might understand you in a way the others didn’t.

But then you found out that she didn’t speak. She couldn’t speak, write, or even read. The excitement you felt faltered, replaced by confusion and uncertainty. How were you supposed to bond with someone when you couldn’t even talk to them? At the time, you didn’t fully understand the extent of her struggles or the horrors she had endured. All you saw was the surface—a girl who communicated through body language and a few cryptic gestures.

At first, you weren’t sure how to approach her. Conversations were one-sided, and you found yourself rambling awkwardly, trying to fill the silence. She would watch you intently, her dark eyes seeming to take in every word, every movement, but she never responded. It made you feel exposed, like she could see through every layer you tried to hide behind.

Still, you tried. You offered to help her learn, even though you weren’t exactly the best teacher. You’d leave sticky notes with simple words written on them, hoping she’d start to recognize them. Sometimes she’d glance at them, but other times, she’d brush past them as if they weren’t there.

It was disheartening at first, but then there were moments that gave you hope. A small smile when you handed her something. A nod of acknowledgment when you rambled about your day. Slowly, you began to realize that Cassandra spoke volumes without ever saying a word.

But even as you grew to understand her, there was a part of you that wondered if she ever really saw you the same way. She bonded so quickly with Bruce, with Barbara, even with Tim. They seemed to understand her in ways you couldn’t, and it made you feel like an outsider all over again.

You wanted to be close to her, to have the sisterly relationship you’d always imagined, but it felt like you were chasing something that was always just out of reach. Cassandra was kind, patient even, but there was always a distance—an invisible wall that kept you from getting too close. You weren’t sure if it was something she put up or something you did.

But when she was getting mire familiar with speaking and reading, you noticed that she started to avoid you. Subtly. Cassandra didn’t see you as someone to guide or protect. In her eyes, you were fragile, someone who didn’t belong in the same world of violence and shadows that had shaped her. She didn’t want you to go down this path, in a way, she wanted you to live your life away from this.

But that’s not what you wanted. When you tried to train with her, hoping to gain her approval, she’d effortlessly disarm you, her movements almost lazy. “Not ready,” she’d say bluntly, walking away without further explanation. You were left feeling small, unworthy. And in a way, that sparked the initial tension between you and her.

As the years went by though, you hated that you were feeling jealous over the fact that your father seemed to see Cassandra as more of a daughter than with you. You’ve seen the way they bonded, seen the way Bruce’s usually stoic demeanor softened ever so slightly when Cassandra was around. It wasn’t like he ignored you, but it was different. With Cassandra, there was a shared understanding, an unspoken connection forged in the language of the battlefield—a language you never quite mastered.

You tried to convince yourself it didn’t bother you. After all, Bruce was distant with everyone, wasn’t he? But the more you watched him mentor her, the more you saw the effort he put into helping her grow—not just as a fighter, but as a person—the harder it became to push those feelings of inadequacy aside.

Cassandra, for her part, didn’t seem to notice how much it hurt. Or if she did, she didn’t say anything. She was focused, always pushing herself to be better, stronger, faster. And you… you felt like you were standing still, trying to catch up but never quite reaching her.

The jealousy festered quietly. You hated feeling that way toward her, especially when she hadn’t done anything wrong. She deserved Bruce’s attention. She deserved to be seen. But so did you. And no matter how hard you tried, it felt like you were always coming up short in his eyes.

Over time, you started pulling back. You stopped asking her to train with you. Stopped leaving notes or trying to initiate conversations. Instead, you kept to yourself, throwing yourself into missions and tasks that didn’t involve her or Bruce. Maybe if you worked hard enough, fought hard enough, they’d finally see you as an equal.

But the distance didn’t fix anything. It only made the loneliness worse. You missed the small moments with Cassandra, the fleeting smiles and quiet nods. And even though you’d never admit it out loud, you missed the rare moments of connection with Bruce too.

The truth was, you didn’t know how to bridge the gap between you and Cassandra—or anyone in the family, for that matter. You were stuck in a cycle of trying too hard and pulling away, and no matter what you did, it never felt like enough.

And as for Stephanie, you two have never actually been close. At first, you just saw her as Tim’s girlfriend, and that was it. You didn’t pay her much attention beyond that. But things shifted dramatically when Barbara and Dick allowed her to take up the Batgirl mantle while your father was “dead.”

The first time you saw her in her version of the Batgirl costume, it felt like the world stopped. That symbol, that legacy—it was supposed to mean something, and seeing her wear it felt like a betrayal. Dick brought her along as Batgirl during his time as Batman, with Damian as his Robin, and the sight of them together cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

You felt replaced. Tossed aside. Forgotten. And that feeling lit a fire in you—a desperate, burning need to prove that you deserved to be Batgirl more than Stephanie ever did. This wasn’t just about the costume or the name; it was about everything it represented. Respect. Recognition. Family.

So, yes, it became a one-sided rivalry, fueled by jealousy and betrayal. You trained harder, worked yourself to the brink, but no matter how much you pushed, it never felt like enough. Stephanie had been doing this longer than you had, and her experience showed. But that didn’t make it sting any less when you watched her work alongside Dick and Damian with an ease you couldn’t seem to replicate.

When your father returned, you thought things would change—that maybe this would be your chance to finally step into the role you’d been striving for. But even then, Stephanie remained Batgirl, and Bruce seemed to call on her more often than he did you. For recon missions, patrols, you name it—she was his go-to. It hurt, deeply.

And when Stephanie eventually stepped down from being Batgirl to return to her original mantle as Spoiler, it didn’t bring you the satisfaction you thought it would. You didn’t “win.” There was no triumph, no validation that you were the better Batgirl. Stephanie left on her own terms, and that only made it worse.

You felt like you’d lost. Lost the unspoken competition you’d waged in your own head, lost your chance to prove your worth. And that sense of failure—it ate away at you, leaving behind a bitterness you couldn’t shake. Instead of quelling your insecurities, it only made them worse, fueling a toxic cycle of self-doubt and a relentless need to prove yourself.

Maybe in another life, things would’ve been different. Maybe you and Stephanie could’ve been friends, allies even. But the weight of your own jealousy and toxic mentality made that impossible. You wanted to reach out, to connect, but every time you tried, that voice in your head reminded you of all the ways you’d fallen short. And so, the distance between you and Stephanie only grew, just like it had with everyone else.

As for Damian, your relationship with him has always been a mixed bag. When he first showed up at the manor, you didn’t know what to make of him. He was brash, arrogant, and entirely too confident for someone so young. At first, you thought he was just some spoiled brat with a superiority complex. And honestly? You weren’t far off.

He didn’t waste any time asserting himself, loudly proclaiming that he was the true heir to Batman’s legacy and making it clear he saw you as competition. Not a sibling, not even an ally—just someone to outmatch. He called you soft, mocked your fighting skills, and dismissed your efforts to keep the peace as weakness. It was exhausting, to say the least.

At the same time, though, you couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. He’d been thrust into a completely unfamiliar world, taken from the League of Assassins and dropped into the Wayne family chaos. It was clear he didn’t know how to connect with anyone, and for all his bravado, there was something lonely about him.

You tried to bridge the gap at first, hoping to at least build a sense of camaraderie. But Damian made it difficult. He was quick to push you away, and any attempt to be friendly was met with biting remarks or scornful looks. Over time, you learned to keep your distance, picking your battles carefully.

What made it worse was how Bruce and Dick always seemed to take his side. When he antagonized you or picked fights, their solution was always the same:

“Be patient with him,” or, “He’s still adjusting. Give him time.”

But how could you? He was the one who started the fights, who insulted you at every opportunity. No one seemed to care about that part.

Still, as much as Damian constantly undermined you, there were moments—fleeting and rare—when you noticed something different. He wasn’t as dismissive as he pretended to be. There were times when you’d find your weapons repaired after training or your notes on a case mysteriously corrected. He never said anything about it, and you never brought it up, but you knew it was him.

Even his insults, as cruel as they were, sometimes felt… purposeful. Like he was testing you, pushing you to be better. At first, you thought it was just an excuse you made up to deal with his attitude, but over time, it became clear that his criticism wasn’t entirely baseless. Damian had a way of pointing out your flaws in a way no one else did—harshly, yes, but sometimes accurately.

As the years went on, your dynamic shifted. The outright animosity faded, though it never disappeared entirely. There were still arguments, snide remarks, and moments where you swore he was intentionally trying to get under your skin. But there was also a strange, unspoken understanding.

You’d never call yourselves close. You’d never confide in each other or share heartfelt moments. But there was a bond, however tenuous, forged by shared experiences and blood. There was a mutual, begrudging respect that neither of you would admit out loud.

At the end of the day, Damian was still Damian. He still had his sharp tongue and holier-than-thou attitude, and you still had your resentment. But underneath it all, there was a flicker of something—rivalry mixed with loyalty, disdain mixed with a reluctant sense of family. It wasn’t perfect, and it probably never would be. But it was enough.

For Duke, it’s a bit different. He joined the family relatively later than the others, and Bruce didn’t officially adopt him into the family—he only fostered him. That distinction didn’t seem to matter to anyone else, though. From the moment Duke stepped into the manor, he fit right in.

Whenever you and Duke crossed paths, he was always nice. Friendly, even. But just like with the others, there was this invisible wall between you and him. Why? You weren’t entirely sure. Maybe it was because you noticed how easily he got along with the rest of your siblings, how seamlessly they accepted him. They included him in more things, leaned on him more during missions, and spent more time with him than they did with you.

It wasn’t like you hated him for that. No, never. Duke wasn’t the problem—it was the growing realization that once again, you were on the outside looking in. You couldn’t help but feel like you were being edged out of your own family. And that hurt, both your pride and your heart.

There were moments when you tried to connect with him, telling him about a lead you’d found or an idea you had for a case. Duke always listened, but his responses left a sting. Comments like, “Are you sure you can handle this stuff by yourself?” or, “You don’t want any help?” or even, “Maybe you should get Dick or Cass to help you out with this.”

You knew he probably meant well, but those words dug deep. It felt like he didn’t think you were capable, that he saw you as someone who couldn’t hold their own. You never said anything about it, of course, but it only strengthened your resolve to prove yourself.

And maybe that was the problem. The more you tried to show him—and everyone else—that you were competent, the more strained things became. It wasn’t outright hostility, not by any means, but there was a tension that lingered between you. A mutual awkwardness neither of you ever addressed.

At the end of the day, though, Duke was Duke. You weren’t enemies, and you didn’t resent him. You were friends, at the very least. But there was always that wall, a quiet reminder that, even in your own family, you were never quite enough.

I hope this was able to effectively portrag the fact that the reader is far from a perfect person, because I don’t think I was able to show that in the first background info. I feel that growing up in such an emotionally stunted family would inevitably shape her into someone complex and flawed. She wouldn’t be endlessly hopeful or optimistic. How could she be? She’s not just some perpetually kind, selfless girl with no negative emotions. Instead, her experiences have made her someone who struggles with jealousy, insecurity, and a need to prove herself, even if it leads to toxic behavior… but i hope y’all enjoyed this part!! lmk what you think <3

Part 1 (Alfred, Bruce, Dick, Barbara, Jason Centered)

m.list

taglist (open): @tricksters-maze @dusk-muse @quethekillerqueen @silverklaus @isupportorbitalbombardment @nxdxsworld @vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @redsakura101 @what-0-life @idkwhattoputhete @secretyouthcomputer @witch-waycult @allycat4458 @dazed-lavender @eclecticfurylady @wizzerreblogs @marsmabe @daddysfangirls-dc @hoeinthehouse @beeweensblog @ilxandra @agent-nobody-knows | ask to be added <3

(idk why i can’t tag some of y’all, must be your settings i think 😓)

511 notes · View notes

buzzinrusso · 4 months ago

Text

Disapproved love

You sat in the car outside the stadium, the keys dangling limply from the ignition. The hum of the world outside—distant chatter, the occasional roar of a car engine—felt muted, like it wasn’t real. Patri was inside with her teammates, probably laughing and joking about the game like they always did.

You wished you could be part of that world, but you knew better.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t tried. You’d spent months showing up to their dinners, cheering at their matches, and doing everything you could to blend in. But no matter what you did, you always felt like an outsider. Like you weren’t enough.

You reached into your bag and pulled out your sketchbook, flipping to the page where you’d drawn your latest Caitlyn cosplay design. The character had always been one of your favorites—strong, intelligent, and fiercely loyal. Everything you wanted to be but didn’t feel like.

Lately, even your cosplays couldn’t give you that spark of confidence they once did. How could they, when Patri’s teammates constantly made you feel small?

You clenched the sketchbook tighter, your chest aching with a mix of frustration and sadness. How much longer could you keep pretending it didn’t hurt?

It had started weeks ago, at another team dinner. You were seated beside Patri, the table filled with laughter and conversation. You’d thought, for once, that the evening was going well.

Then Claudia spoke.

“So, y/n,” she said, her tone sugary sweet in a way that set your nerves on edge. “How’s the... dress-up business going?”

You froze, heat creeping up your neck. “It’s not dress-up. I’m a cosplayer. I design and make costumes based on characters from games and shows.”

“Oh, right,” Claudia said, smirking. “And people actually pay you for that?”

“Claudia,” Patri warned, her voice low.

“What?” Claudia said, feigning innocence. “I’m just curious. It’s not exactly a real job, is it?”

Your stomach churned. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat.

“well, she works harder than most people I know,” Patri said, her jaw tight.

“Relax, Pat,” Mapi said, waving a hand dismissively. “She knows we’re joking.”

But they weren’t. You could feel the weight of their judgment pressing down on you, stealing the air from your lungs.

That night, you cried in the shower, letting the water mask your tears. Patri had held you afterward, whispering reassurances, but the damage was already done.

Another situation that made you feel bad was one night at a post match party / dinner.

It started as a faint unease. At first, you told yourself you were imagining things. Patri’s teammates weren’t outright rude; they never said anything overtly cruel to your face. But their disinterest in you was palpable, like an invisible wall you couldn’t break through no matter how hard you tried.

You began to notice the subtle ways they excluded you. At team dinners, the conversations would shift to inside jokes and stories you weren’t a part of. When you tried to contribute, they’d either politely nod or continue talking as if you hadn’t spoken.

Once, at a post-match party, you’d decided to wear one of your more subtle cosplay-inspired outfits. It was a casual homage to one of Caitlyn’s looks—just a hat, a sleek blazer, and a few accessories that hinted at the character without being over the top. You’d hoped it might spark a conversation, a way to connect with them.

But when you arrived, Claudia had smirked and whispered something to Alexia. The two of them burst into quiet laughter, their eyes darting toward you. You didn’t need to hear what they said to know it wasn’t kind.

“Nice hat,” Mapi had commented later, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

You forced a smile. “Thanks. It’s inspired by Caitlyn from Arcane.”

“Right,” Mapi said, raising an eyebrow. “The cartoon cop.”

“It’s not a cartoon,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s an animated series with complex characters and a really compelling story.”

But she wasn’t listening. She’d already turned back to Claudia, dismissing you with a wave of her hand.

Patri had been on the other side of the room, deep in conversation with her coach. You didn’t want to interrupt, so you swallowed the lump in your throat and found a quiet corner to sit in for the rest of the night.

---

The little moments added up, chipping away at your confidence bit by bit.

One afternoon, you arrived early to pick up Patri after practice. You parked outside the training ground, scrolling through your phone while you waited. The windows were down, and you couldn’t help but overhear the conversation happening nearby.

“I don’t get it,” Claudia was saying. “What does Patri even see in her?”

“She’s pretty,” Cata offered, though her tone wasn’t particularly kind.

“Sure, but she’s not exactly... grounded, is she?” Claudia replied. “I mean, cosplaying? Who even does that for a living?”

You gripped the steering wheel, your knuckles turning white.

“She’s so clingy,” Alexia added. “Always hanging around like she belongs here.”

“She’s a distraction,” Mapi said bluntly. “Patri could do so much better.”

You sat frozen in the car, every word sinking into your skin like tiny barbs. They hadn’t even tried to lower their voices.

---

The worst part was that you couldn’t tell Patri. Not really.

How could you bring it up without making things harder for her? She already had enough on her plate with her demanding schedule, the pressure of the sport, and the endless scrutiny that came with being a professional athlete. You didn’t want to add to that burden.

So, you kept it to yourself.

You stopped wearing cosplay-inspired outfits to team events, opting for neutral, nondescript clothes instead. You avoided lingering at practices, making sure to arrive just as Patri was finishing up so you wouldn’t have to interact with her teammates.

You even started turning down invitations to post-match dinners, claiming you were busy with work. It wasn’t entirely a lie—you were busy. But you also couldn’t bear the thought of sitting through another evening of veiled insults and cold shoulders.

Patri noticed, of course.

“Are you okay?” she asked one night as the two of you lay in bed.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

She didn’t press, but you could see the worry in her eyes. It made you feel guilty, knowing she could sense your unhappiness but not knowing how to fix it without driving a wedge between her and her team.

---

The turning point came during one of your solo convention trips. You’d traveled to a city a few hours away to debut a new Caitlyn cosplay and another cosplay that you were really well known for on social media. The event had been a success—you’d won a craftsmanship award, taken dozens of photos with fans, and even made some new connections for future commissions.

But when you returned home, your excitement quickly faded.

Patri was sitting on the couch, her phone in hand. She looked up and smiled when you walked in, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“Hey,” she said. “How was the convention?”

“It was great,” you said, trying to sound upbeat. “I won an award for the Caitlyn costume.”

“That’s amazing!” she said, standing to hug you.

But you couldn’t ignore the tension in her posture or the way her smile faltered when she pulled back.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your heart sinking.

She hesitated, her hands fidgeting at her sides. “The team said some things today. About... us.”

You swallowed hard. “What kind of things?”

“They think I’m distracted,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “That I’m not focused enough on football because of our relationship.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You opened your mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

“I told them they were wrong,” she added quickly. “But... I don’t know, y/n. Maybe they’re right.”

The admission was like a knife to the chest. For weeks, you’d been trying to shield Patri from the negativity surrounding your relationship, but now it felt like you were the one dragging her down.

“Do you really think that?” you asked, your voice trembling.

She hesitated again, and that hesitation spoke louder than any words could.

That night, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were losing her. And maybe—just maybe—it was your fault.

---

The coffee shop was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions brewing inside you. You sat in a corner booth, nursing a lukewarm cappuccino as your two best friends, Jade and Anya, sat across from you. Both were fellow cosplayers and some of the few people who truly understood your world.

Jade leaned back in her chair, her vibrant pink wig catching the soft light. She was mid-way through perfecting her cosplay of Vi from Arcane and never missed an opportunity to stay in character. Anya, in contrast, was dressed casually, her blonde hair pulled back in a loose braid, but her energy was no less animated as she munched on a cookie.

“So, how’s Caitlyn coming along?” Anya asked, her tone bright.

You hesitated, twirling your spoon in the remnants of your coffee. “It’s done. I debuted it at a con last week.”

“And?” Jade pressed, her eyebrows lifting.

“I won a craftsmanship award,” you said with a faint smile.

“Hell yes, you did!” Jade cheered, clapping her hands together. “That costume is a masterpiece. You’re a genius with those details.”

“Thanks,” you said, the corners of your mouth twitching upward.

Anya narrowed her eyes, leaning forward. “Okay, what’s up? You should be glowing right now, but you look like someone just told you that jinx died.”

You sighed, your shoulders slumping. “It’s not about the cosplay. It’s... everything else.”

“Let me guess,” Jade said, crossing her arms. “The football team.”

You nodded, feeling the familiar sting of tears. “They hate me.”

“They don’t hate you,” Anya said gently, though her tone wasn’t entirely convincing.

“They do,” you insisted, your voice cracking. “They think I’m a joke. They think Patri deserves someone... better.”

Jade frowned, her expression darkening. “Better? Are they blind? You’re brilliant. You run your own business, you’re insanely talented, and you’re, like, one of the nicest people I know. What more do they want?”

“They want someone who fits into their world,” you said bitterly. “Someone who understands football and doesn’t make them look bad.”

“Make them look bad?” Anya repeated, her tone sharp. “How could you possibly—”

“They don’t take cosplaying seriously,” you interrupted, your words spilling out in a rush. “They think it’s childish or silly or not a real job. And because of that, they don’t take me seriously. They think I’m distracting Patri, and they keep telling her to break up with me.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jade said, her voice rising. “That’s so messed up. Does Patri know how awful they’re being?”

“She knows,” you admitted, staring down at your coffee. “But I don’t think she knows how much it’s affecting me. And the worst part is, I feel like they’re starting to get to her.”

“What do you mean?” Anya asked, concern etched on her face.

“She said they think she’s distracted,” you said, your voice trembling. “And that maybe they’re right. I don’t know... maybe she is better off without me.”

Jade slammed her hand on the table, making the cups rattle. “No. Don’t you dare go down that road, y/n. This isn’t about you not being enough—it’s about them being insecure and narrow-minded.”

Anya reached across the table, squeezing your hand. “Patri loves you. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, y/n. Don’t let them make you doubt that.”

You sniffled, trying to hold back the tears. “I just feel so... alone. I don’t belong in their world, and it’s like no matter what I do, I’ll never be good enough for them.”

“You don’t need to belong in their world,” Jade said fiercely. “You belong in your world. And if they can’t see how amazing you are, that’s their problem—not yours.”

“But what if Patri can’t keep fighting for me?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“She will,” Anya said with certainty. “She’s stronger than you think. And if she doesn’t fight for you, then she’s not the right one for you. But I don’t think that’s the case. She loves you, y/n. You just need to hold on and trust her.”

Jade leaned forward, her violet eyes blazing with determination. “And if those teammates of hers keep giving you grief, you let me know. I’ll show up in full Vi gear and scare the crap out of them.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. “Thanks, Jade. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Anya smiled softly. “You’re not alone, babes. You have us. And no matter what happens, we’ll always have your back.”

Their words were a balm to your wounded heart. For the first time in days, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe things weren’t as hopeless as they seemed.

The comments didn’t stop after that. They just became quieter, more insidious.

“She’s so clingy,” you overheard Alexia say one evening when you arrived at the training ground to pick up Patri. “Always hanging around like a shadow.”

“She doesn’t get this life,” Cata had added. “She’s just going to hold Patri back.”

You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, fighting the urge to storm over and defend yourself.

The worst part was that you could see how their words affected Patri. She became quieter around them whenever you were present, like she was caught in the middle of an invisible tug-of-war. And every time she chose not to speak up, it felt like another crack in your heart.

---

It all came to a head after one of Patri’s matches. The game had been brutal, and Patri was clearly frustrated as she walked toward the car. You waited for her with a tentative smile, hoping to offer some comfort.

But when she climbed into the passenger seat, her face was stormy.

“Hey,” you said softly. “Rough game?”

“Yeah,” she muttered, staring out the window.

The silence stretched between you as you drove, tension thick in the air. Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“The team thinks I’m distracted,” she said, her voice tight.

“Distracted by what?” you asked, though deep down, you already knew.

She hesitated, and that hesitation shattered you. “By me,” you whispered.

Patri sighed, rubbing her temples. “They don’t understand, Cara. They think... they think I can’t balance my career and our relationship.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your hands tightened on the steering wheel as tears blurred your vision.

“Do you think that too?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Of course not,” she said, but her tone lacked conviction.

The doubt in her voice cut deeper than anything her teammates had ever said. You felt your chest tighten, the weight of months of judgment and insecurity threatening to crush you.

“Maybe they’re right,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Maybe you’d be better off without me.”

“Don’t say that,” Patri said, turning to look at you.

“Why not?” you snapped, your voice cracking. “It’s what they want, isn’t it? Maybe it’s what you want too.”

“That’s not true,” Patri said, but you couldn’t bring yourself to believe her.

You pulled the car over and buried your face in your hands, finally letting the tears fall. “I can’t keep doing this, Patri. I can’t keep feeling like I’m not good enough for you.”

---

The next morning, Patri arrived at the training ground with a fire in her eyes. She found her teammates in the locker room, laughing and chatting as if nothing was wrong.

“We need to talk,” she said, her voice sharp enough to cut through the noise.

The room fell silent as they turned to look at her.

“What’s up?” Mapi asked, frowning.

“It’s about y/n,” Patri said, crossing her arms. “I know what you’ve been saying about her. I’ve heard the comments, the whispers behind her back. And it stops now.”

“Patri, come on,” Claudia said, rolling her eyes. “We’re just looking out for you.”

“Looking out for me?” Patri repeated, her voice rising. “By tearing down the person I love? By making her feel like she’s not good enough? Do you have any idea how much you’ve hurt her?”

“She’s not cut out for this life,” Alexia said, her tone defensive.

“She’s cut out for more than any of you will ever understand,” Patri shot back. “Do you know how hard she works? The hours she spends perfecting every detail of her cosplays? The way she brings characters to life in a way no one else can? That takes more dedication than most people have.”

“She’s a distraction,” Claudia said stubbornly.

“No,” Patri said firmly. “She’s my anchor. And if you can’t respect her, then you don’t respect me.”

---

Later that day, you sat in your workshop, surrounded by the pieces of your many cosplays. The hat sat in your lap, its intricate embroidery, a testament to hours of painstaking work. But no matter how beautiful it was, it couldn’t fill the hollow ache inside you.

You were startled when the door opened, and Patri stepped inside.

“Hey,” she said softly, her eyes red like she’d been crying.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

She sat beside you, taking your hands in hers. “I talked to them.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You did?”

“They know how wrong they were,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “I told them that if they can’t respect you, they don’t deserve to be part of my life.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as her words sank in. “You stood up for me?”

“Of course I did,” she said, pulling you into her arms. “You’re the most important person in my life, y/n. I’m so sorry I ever made you doubt that.”

For the first time in months, the weight on your chest began to lift.

---

In the weeks that followed, things started to change. Patri’s teammates made an effort to include you, to learn about your work and your passions. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.

And when you finally debuted your Caitlyn cosplay at a convention, Patri was there in the front row, cheering louder than anyone else.

As you posed for pictures, your eyes met hers, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like you belonged

#womens football #woso soccer #woso x reader #barca femeni #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso community #spain wnt #buzzinrusso #patri guijarro #patri guijarro x reader

321 notes · View notes

taelortot · 2 months ago

Text

Lemonade

Choso Kamo x y/n au

Synopsis: Y/n gets a new neighbor and he's really cute. Contents: Smooching, sad Choso past, cursing, flirty banter, not smut at all really just like leading up to it, cute ending,and fluff

Honestly it's like 12-13k words I think

July is probably one of the best months out of the year.

The summer heat, pool parties, long days, fireflies, icey pops, fireworks, late night concerts, and ice-cold lemonade. There are lots of things to love about July, so many things to enjoy about the summer month.

July has always been Y/ns favorite month, since she was a little kid. It seemed like everything great happened in the month of July for y/n. She met her best friend in July of '09. She had her first kiss with her best friend in July of 2013. Three years later almost to the date, she lost her virginity to him. The next, he asked her to be his girlfriend and told her he loved her.

But the year after, the fun of July stopped, a break screeching halt.

Turns out her best friend of 8 years, boyfriend of 1 broke up with her. In y/ns 18 year old mind. her life was over. she would never ever find love again. July fucking sucks.

and it did. for the next 4 years it sucked.

That was until y/n finally moved out of her bumfuck small southern town. Y/n finally got away, when it seemed everyone in that shitty town lived there until they died.

Y/n was finally doing it, making her own way of life. Sure, it wasn't a great living, but it was an honest living. Y/n worked her ass off to make the little income she did, spending it frugally. Y/n now lives about 3 states away from where she was born... In another small town. But this one is up north, where the residents know everyone and all the gossip. Y/n got most of her gossip from her clients at the hair salon, and man... those older women know EVERYTHING about everyone.

"You didn't hear it from me, but Janice is having an affair. I saw her at the motel off 15 with a man way too young for her. She was dressed like some sort of hooker in clothes way too small for her body."

Old women are brutal.

The community seemed to welcome y/n with open arms when she moved in earlier last year. Y/n has always had a charm about her, enchanting others with her smile and of course that cute southern accent she has. Adjusting to this new way of life was hard, but so freeing. Y/n had it mostly figured out by this point.

A pink little camper trailer sits on a small lot in the trailer park on the outskirts of town. It's quiet there, mostly older people who go to bed at 7pm. Y/n likes it here, no one knows her backstory, or really anything about her. They just know she's a 21 year old girl trying to make her way through life. They didn't need to know anything else, other than she makes the best lemonade in the whole world, taking it to every single cook out they have.

You know what y/n liked the most about living in the back of the trailer park? There was an empty lot next to hers, one that had the perfect amount of sun and shade. Y/n found herself taking a pool lounge chair (one she stole from the towns community pool) and spending most of her time sunbathing.

That was until someone purchased the lot July 1st.

Imagine the look on y/ns face when she walked out in her pretty blue bikini, sunnies perched on the bridge of her nose, and saw a single wide grey and white mobile home sitting smack dab in the middle of the lot. Yeah, it wasn't a pretty look. Walking across her small lawn, bare feet sinking into the overgrown grass, she opened the chain link gate that connected the two properties.

A curious little thing she is, good thing this isn't a horror movie.

Pushing her black sunglasses to the top of her head, she knocked on the door. What was the plan? To tell them to move? To ask them if she could still use their lawn to suntan? Y/n didn't know. Especially when the front door swung open.

"Hi there" oh fuck me.

Taking up most of the doorway, stood a man.

No.

Not just a man, a god of some sort.

He lifts his arms up, grabbing the top of the door frame, flexing his triceps as he leans down a little. His black tee raises a little, exposing delicious pale skin with a trail of dark hair leading down the center of his stomach. His hair dark brown, styled in loose spiky topknots with strands perfectly framing his chiseled face. His dark eyes look serious in their slightly narrowed manner.

"Uhm hi" y/n takes a step back, her voice uneven and slightly squeaky. Tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear, she speaks again, more clearly this time. "i-im y/n. your neighbor" Turning slightly to point towards her lot. "I just wanted to say hi"

"You always say hi to your neighbors in tiny bikinis?" his brow raises and a sly smirk pulls at his lips.

"No, I was actually coming over to tan. I bring my own chair and everythin'"

"in my yard?"

"well, you see, I always tan right over there, you see where that tree is? but when I came out today.. you were just here"

"here i am" He says stating the obvious.

"so I guess, I'll just be on my way then" y/n took the steps off his porch and made it about 10 feet away from the new man in the neighborhood before she heard him speak again.

"I never said you couldn't lay in my yard"

Turning around with that charming smile on her face, she jumped up and down. "Really? Thank you thank you!"

"Choso." was all he said with a slight nod.

"Cho-what?"

"Thats my name, darlin" and now he was making fun of her, saying 'darlin' with a twang that's so very exaggerated.

"hah hah very funny"

As a thanks, y/n knew she had to make him some of her famous lemonade. Taking a big pitcher straight to his door. Choso thought it was weird, taking homemade things to your neighbors seemed so 20 years ago. That wasn't something you did in this day of age, especially for people you just met.

And how good could lemonade even get?

Apparently it could get really fucking good. Choso was sure she put drugs in the yellow drink, it had to have gmos in it or something. He didn't know and he didn't care, she sure as hell can make the best lemonade anyone has ever had. Choso drank the whole pitcher in one day, passing the empty (still dirty) glassware back to y/n who was still laying in his yard.

There was something about this Choso guy that intrigued y/n, just from the little conversation they had she could tell he was confident with who he was and could tell he would never be anyone but himself.

And boy was he a looker.

Inky black hair that was pulled into cute little buns on the back of his head, creamy white skin, muscular arms that are thick and biteable. The way he smirks is not for the weak, any girl would fold if he even looked at her. Not y/n though. Sure, at first his striking looks took her by surprise, but after getting to know Choso a little, he was a challenge for her.

And y/n never backs down from a challenge.

It was almost like a ritual at this point. Every day for the past few weeks, y/n gets off of work around 4pm and heads to change into a bikini (today is red, because Choso stares the most when she's in red) and drags her pool chair over to the Kamo lawn. Blasting music from her small little speaker, she waits. Waits for Choso to get out of work and speed his way home, blowing through all the stops signs. Just so he has a few extra seconds to chat with (and stare at) y/n while she's soaking in the sun's rays.

And as if on cue, the sound of gravel crunching under tires and screeching breaks assault y/ns ears. Peaking over her sunnies, she watches with amusement as Choso rushes out of his Hellcat. Fumbling with several things in his hands as he tries to shut the door with his foot.

"Slow down Kamo, youre gonna hurt ya self"

“Hey pretty thing” he says as smoothly as possible, learning up against the side of his coup, crossing his ankles. "me? hurting myself? never" he laughs pushing himself off, taking heavy steps towards y/n.

"why you in a rush to get home? work couldn't have been that bad"

"to see you of course" Choso grins, tossing his keys onto the small patio table next to y/n.

"I'm not going anywhere, coulda took your time"

"Well i gotta get over here before someone sees a doll like you and snatches you up" He winks, crouching down, bouncing on the balls of he feet. Over the past two weeks, the two have been oh so flirty. Never once moving past the invisible line drawn in the sand. But there was a lot of winks, flirty banter, and eyes wondering where they shouldn't. It was just fun for them. Especially for Choso since he has never met anyone who could keep up with his flirting, let alone be a bigger flirt than him... which y/n was.

"Yeah yeah. no one wants little ole me" She shakes her head, closing her eyes to keep the sun from burning them. "Yeah whatever. Listen, imma work on my honey here in a minute, and I was wonderin' if you could hold my flashlight for me"

"It's day time, Choso. You don't need me to hold your flashlight" This guy was always trying to get y/n to hold his flash light. And at this point, y/n was 87percent sure he wasn't talking about an actual flashlight.

"Alright alright, you enjoy the sun" Choso stood up, expecting that to be the end of the conversation.

"Oh wait wait" y/n swung her legs off the chair "Let me get you something to drink for while you work" Y/n loves to watch Choso work on his car. He gets all hot and sweaty, shirt covered in various types of car gunk with his hair held back in those cute little buns. What a sight. She would even set up a lawn chair in his driveway just to watch him, not that Choso minded, the boy loved to show off his vast knowledge to y/n. "Sure thing, sugar. Always looking out for me, huh?" The man smiled wide, showing off his pretty teeth.

Y/n ran inside to grab a glass of ice cold lemonade, with a pretty straw as well. Choso couldnt help but watch as y/n hips moved while she walked. Her ass perfectly plump and round, so pretty he wanted to sink his teeth into it.. or her hips, or tummy,, or literally anywhere he could. Leave teeth marks deep enough to scar, so everyone would know she's spoken for.

"For you, my good sir" Y/ns soft voice rang in his ears, pulling him out of his perverted thoughts. "Thank you, sweets" Choso leaned forward to not only grab the glass but to also press a small kiss on the side of y/ns cheek. "Aye cho! don't want the other neighbors to think I'm taken" y/n joked swatting at his shoulder playfully. "No, I do want them to think you're taken"

Y/n learned a lot about choso in just a few weeks. Of course, the first few times speaking was just small talk or y/n taking cookies and lemonade over. Y/n honestly had no idea he would soon come to beg for them every single day. It's not like y/n minded, this opened up room for them to talk casually about anything and everything. And Choso said a lot of weird things.

The guy was very talkative, telling y/n of his past. How he grew up with like 5 younger brothers, how he always had a passion for music but was always shut down by his dad. He misses his mom a lot, but there was nothing he could do to bring her back. Y/ns heart hurt for him, hearing how his father killed his mom during a drunken fit of rage when he was 12. How there was nothing he could do other than try to protect his brothers.

Choso protected his baby siblings as much as he could, often taking most of the beatings. But within those harsh moments, he became who he is now. Music was all he had to protect himself, seeking clarity and freedom in the form of melodies.

If it weren't or his youngest brother, called Yuji, Choso would have never left. Yuji was all he has left of his family. Drugs and violence are what tore his family apart, taking most of his brothers away from him as well. Yuji only ever spoke highly of his eldest brother, telling him how he has the talent to make it big in this world. How Choso wishes he could have brought his younger brother with him but ultimately opting to leave his brother back home to finish out high school. Yuji swore he would be okay; his teacher and mentor Satoru Gojo would look after him until he graduates.

Now that hoso works at the mechanic shop and somehow landed a gig down at the shitty bar downtown, life was looking up. He found a drummer and a bassist through local ads and now has his very own band. Things were finally falling into place and he's only been in town for a little over a month now. He knew he would be able to bring his brother to town permanently as soon as he graduates.

It was a weird feeling, knowing someone else had just as bad as an upbringing as her. But maybe that's where they found common ground? A space to feel safe opening up about past traumas. Other than that, it was practically oil and water with the two, but those are always the best friendships.

Something about the smell of barbecue cookouts always made the summer heat tolerable. The smoke passed through the air for what seemed like miles, always finding it's way to y/n. It made her miss back home (where the barbeque is actually good) but something about a simple cookout always made y/n wish she had friends to share it with. Sure, she had work friends here and there, but nothing that stuck. Choso would be the closest thing she had to a friend.

"Choso!!" Y/n yelled as her fist pound against the Kamo door. She heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming from the inside as she continued to bang against the wood. "Relax sweets" Choso flung the door open. Today, y/nis wearing a jean mini skirt and a yellow bikini top. Her hips look so perfect as the skirt hung low on her hipbones, creating the most feminine figure.

"You know how to light a grill?" Y/n asked batting her eyelashes. "Only if you feed me too" he leaned against the door frame, his arms long enough to reach the top of the framing while he puffed his chest out slightly. He looked so good in a black wife beater, the color always looked so pretty against his skin. Especially with the way he was holding onto the doorframe, accentuating his muscular arms.

"What kind of person would I be if I didn't feed my favorite neighbor?" Y/n asked already turning around to head back to her home. "I'll be out there in a minute, sugar" Choso chuckled watching as y/n padded bare foot across his lawn.

The two sat outside on the little fold out chairs y/n had purchased from an estate sale months ago, eating almost burnt hotdogs smothered in mustard and sharing a bag of potato chips. Two now almost empty glasses of lemonade occupied the little space left on the small table, the bendy straws were always such a cute touch, something Choso thoroughly enjoyed. Listening to the crickets' chirp and the howling of the wind as it hit the trees, taking in the cool breeze the atmosphere had to offer on such a warm day like today. It was moments like this they both cherished. Something so sweet and thoughtless, always seemed the have the most meaning.

"Stay for a movie?" Y/n spoke after she took a sip of her freshly made lemonade. "Dinner and a show!? You must like me" Choso teased with as smile, then took a sip of his lemonade. "Ehh I guess you could say that"

They never sat too close, but it was hard not sitting right next to each other. Y/n didn't even own a couch.. well she couldn't fit one inside of her tiny camper. It was just her bed, so the two would lay next to each other as they watched the movie. Movie nights were not a common occurrence for the two young adults, but it was something that has now happened a few times in the past 2 months.

When it did happen, they would wake up tangled together in the early morning. Faces burrowed into necks, legs intertwining, arms wrapped snugly around each other, and nothing but a— "good morning, sweetheart" And a — "did I say you could spend the night?"

A coffee and a bagel was the normal send off for Choso during mornings like this. A quick kiss on the cheek before he went to work always left y/n a blushing mess. Whatever the two had was something special, it was rare. How many people can make you feel extraordinary? Y/n knew choso was the only person in the world who could make her feel that way. Something about this type of friendship was hard to come across, but when it did happen, it always grew into something beautiful.

"Teach me how to play" y/n said as choso was walking up the steps of his trailer. His guitar case in one hand and his keys in the other. "Oh shit!" Choso jumped from the sound of y/ns voice, hair flying about in the air as he whipped around to see y/n peaking from around his front porch. It was like she was waiting for the most opportune moment to say something, hiding in the shadows of the bushes and all. "Sorry" a giggle came from y/ns lips as it wasn't her intention to scare the tall man. "God, sweets. Can't be jumping up on me like that" Choso relaxed as he flipped through his key ring to find the one to his front door. "I didn't mean to, just wanted to see you tonight" y/n shrugged as she followed him up his steps. She wore a blue tank top with lace trimmings around the edges paired with some cute care bear pajama shorts, a big cashmere cardigan and fluffy house shoes. "Is that so?" Choso smirked as he pushed the door open, moving to the side so y/n could walk first.

"It is. Since I couldn't make it to your show tonight, but had to see you" slipping in past him, y/n made herself comfortable on the metal heads small sectional couch, kicking off her shoes and sitting criss cross. "You want a drink?" The sweaty man asked as he closed the front door, locking it shut. "Whatcha got?" Y/n perked up, instantly feeling so much better now that she was in Choso's space. "I got coke, beer, and the last bit of your lemonade you brought over the other day" He threw his keys in a large bowl by the door and set his guitar down. The way his muscles moved as he pulled of his leather jacket; wet is what y/n became. His hips in those tight fucking jeans—oh fuck yeah y/n was definitely wet. Something about Choso being all sweaty made y/n go absolutely wild, the way he smelled, the way his skin glistened, the way it made her want to drop her panties and spread her legs.

"Cho! I brought you that lemonade this morning! It was a full pitcher!" Y/n laughed trying to cover up her obvious stares. "What can I say, sweetheart? You make the best lemonade in the state— maybe the world" "Coming from a southern gal like me.. it's not the best. But it makes due up here" "You're from the south? Is that why you talk all funny and say iron and oil all weird?" Choso winked with a teasing smile just before turning to head to the kitchen. "Hey! You said you would stop making fun of me for saying iron and oil all funky" y/n shot up. "Oh I did say that, huh?" choso mocked y/ns voice with a smile on his face. There was nothing he loved more than riling y/n up. "I don't talk like that!" Y/n walked up to him, standing up on her tip toes to seem more intimidating. "You do sweets." —"but it's to die for!" Choso took a fake jab at his chest with his fist and stumbled back dramatically. "Youre annoying" y/n faked a scowl. "Go sit down so I can get you a drink" choso shooed y/n back to the living room.

"You'll teach me to play tonight?" Y/ns voice called from the living room as she plopped herself back on the couch, shuffling through the several magazines Choso had lying about. "Sure thing, sugar" Choso set down two glasses on the coffee table, one with lemonade and one with coke from a two liter. "Take your pick" "Coke, I know you like the lemonade so much" "So considerate of me always, huh?" A wink from him was enough to fluster y/n all over again. One thing Choso enjoyed, was watching y/ns cheeks heat up in the prettiest shade of pink he'd ever seen

Late nights were always so pretty at the trailer park, even more so when Choso had y/n in his lap, showing her different cords on his first true love. It wasn't that y/n really wanted to learn to play the guitar, it was for her to spend time with Choso. Although he would have spent time with her no matter what time of day and without a lousy excuse. But she did look so pretty with her hair over one shoulder while Chosos chin sat gently on the other, looking over to watch as their fingers played together. "M'gonna need a lot more practice if I want to be as good as you" "My door is always open for you" Choso whispered with a soft kiss to her shoulder.

The night continued until about 2:30am, taking breaks from playing the guitar— badly— to sitting and talking about their day, talking about Choso friends back home, how one would effectively rob a bank, and how old they were when they had their first kiss. Y/n being 13 and Choso being 17.

"You were a total slut back then huh?" Choso teased, which earned a shove to his shoulder from the girl sitting across from him on the couch. "Don't be an ass! He wasn't even cute and it was after lunch— his breath totally smelled like cheeseburger and milk" y/n shuddered at the memory of the kiss that haunts her. "he was my best friend at the time" "Go on, tell me his name" "Beau Cooper, he was about two inches shorter than me and was the running back on our schools football team" "That name just screams backwoods hick" Choso laughed taking his final sip of his lemonade. "Hey! That's all I had to work with, and it wasn't worth it" y/n laughed along with Choso. "he totally broke my heart when i was 18, but that was years ago"

"Go on tell me yours now, Kamo" Y/n wiggled her eyebrows, needing to know the details of chosos first kiss.

"Her name was Shelby Chase, she had pretty red hair and played the drums, I met her at this bar back home—She asked me to meet her backstage and I don't know we kind of kissed. It was so lame, y/n. I turned into a mumbling mess and just left" Choso shook his head in embarrassment.

And for some odd reason, y/n felt a surge of jealousy rip through her body. It was silly, of course choso has kissed many girls since then. y/n has kissed many boys since her first kiss, so it didnt make sense why she felt so jealous.

Well, she wasnt jealous that choso has kissed girls that werent y/n. it was the fact that he kissed girls that looked nothing like her.

Of course, Choso would want someone who's like him, not someone who looked like y/n. A girl with piercings and who wore dark clothes and likes the same music as him. not y/n who wears bright clothes and only has one tattoo and who listens to harry styles.

"Thats very embarrassing Cho" y/n forced a laugh that Choso didn't seem to notice was fake. "it was so embarrassing. Just happy i never saw her again after" Choso was still laughing as he relived the memory.

"Do you think you're a good kisser?" Choso asked after their laughter died down.

Again y/n wasn't really laughing. It was more like a fake laugh fueled by the rage of fire igniting in her person from the jealousy. AND what was there to be jealous about to begin with? Absolutely nothing at all! She had kissed plenty of guys and Choso has surely kissed plenty of girls since then, so no reason to be upset over something so little. But maybe all the girls Choso has kissed and liked were metal heads and liked 'The Metallics' or 'Maids of Iron' or whatever they were called.

Oh god! Should y/n put more effort to liking what Choso does? Maybe that will get his attention in a romantic way.

"I mean, I hope I'm good. No one has ever complained. What about you?" y/n finally answered. "I've been told I kiss like a princess— i don't know if that's good or bad" "That probably means you kiss really soft and pretty." Y/n nodded, oh god to kiss those lips and see how pretty he kisses. "So is that good? Or bad?" He was curious, how can a guy kiss like a princess? Did he need to put more pressure? Did he need to use his tongue more? It was killing him and he hasn't kissed anyone in months. What if he got worse in his time lost?

"I don't know, I've never kissed someone that kisses like a pretty pink princess" y/n laughs leaning forward to play with a loose strand of hair next to his face. "No one said pretty pink princess, just princess" "Are you going to show me or what... princess?" Y/n smiled leaning a little closer, enough for Choso to feel her breath on his face.

He almost choked.. a breath caught in the back of his throat, not expecting y/n to ask. Sure he wanted to kiss her, hence why he asked her if she was good at kissing or not. But he didn't think she would actually be okay with it. "I mean, not if it'll change anything between us" Choso answered honestly, he would hate to lose y/n over a stupid kiss. "It's just a kiss Cho, means nothing" a lie. A fucking lie. That kiss was going to mean so much to y/n. "Y-yeah yeah of course. Just a kiss" it kind of stung a little to hear that it wasn't going to mean anything to y/n, because since day one he just wanted to kiss her and take good care of her.. like a good man does. "You have to show me what you got though, not a little peck, I want to feel your princess power" she whispers, eyes dropping down to his lips then back up to those molten chocolate eyes. "Lay back then, sweetheart" he whispered back, voice barely audible.

Dripping.

That's what y/n was.

His voice so soft yet had so much assertiveness to it. It was dark and rich, like molasses, but so smooth like warmed up syrup.

Nodding, y/n moved back, laying on her back. Head laid on the arm rest of the couch, waiting for Choso to climb on top of her. It was agonizing, having him crawl over her body felt like it was taking too long. His arms holding his upper body steady, caging y/ns head between his forearms, one knee resting between her thighs and the other smushed between her and the back of the couch. His breath heavy, matching y/ns, both of their hearts felt like they were going to explode. The anticipation was killing them.

Leaning further down, y/n could smell what was left of his cologne before it was sweated off, still smelling so delicious. Choso could smell y/ns body wash, like sugar cookies.. so fucking sweet. Noses bumping together before their lips could actually touch, making y/n giggle softly.

"Kiss me" y/n whispers, she needed it.

The feeling of Chosos lips was like something else, on her bare skin it made her legs wobbly, but in her lips.. fuck she would have collapsed if she were standing up.

Like a fucking princess is right.

Chosos lips were so soft and slow in movement, taking his time exploring y/n. Their lips slotting together slowly in a mix of changing directions and who's bottom lip was between the others. Soon enough, Chosos tongue was taking languid swipes across y/ns bottom lip, begging for a taste of her own tongue.

His hips resting more weight on y/ns body as he wanted to feel more of her person. It was so soft and pretty, their tongues touching ever so gently together. Sucking on y/ns tongue tenderly before continuing to kiss her lips was making her want to rip his clothes off.

Y/ns hands went from Chosos hips to his neck, holding him as close as possible, slotting her fingers through his hair. Tugging gently on his hair at the nape of his neck was enough to pull a moan out of him, slipping into y/ns partially open mouth.

"Fuck- I'm- I'm sorry" Choso pulled back to look at y/ns eyes. "It's okay. I'm sorry" y/n apologized for taking what was happening too far. "No, don't be" Choso pushed himself back, so he was no longer on top of y/n, holding his hand out to her to help her sit up as well.

"You definitely kiss like a princess" y/n laughed while adjusting her tank top to properly cover her chest. "Yeah?" Choso let out a low chuckle closing his eyes. God what does that even mean? "It's a good thing. Its good— great actually. You're very soft and kind. Like you want to take your time and not rush anything"—"And your tongue too, a lot of guys don't know how to make them not pointy, yours was soft and flat but still knew direction"

"Well, that's a lot more helpful than when I asked the girl who originally said that I kiss like a princess, she just said, 'i don't know you just do' so thank you" Choso blushed softly, now knowing he probably does kiss really well. "Oh and you sucking my tongue, god I've never done that before" y/n blushed, eyes flashing to his lips quickly. "You like that, yeah?" Choso got a boost of confidence.

Sitting before him is the most beautiful, confident, and intimidating girl he has ever met... and he's making her blush. "Yeah, it was new and fun. I liked it a lot actually." "Want to do it again?" Choso teased, an actual question but one he could play off as a joke. "Cho! No— okay yeah, can you just go slow though" putty in his hands. "Anything you want, sweetheart" Choso cupped y/ns face pulling her closer to him.

Fuck.

That second kiss was better than the first. Not fireworks or movie magic or anything like that. But fucking amazing.

Choso took his time once again. The man is slow and methodical in the way he kisses. "Stick your tongue out, sweets— yeah just like that pretty girl.. yeah just like that" his voice rugged in a low calm whisper sent y/n reeling.

"mmm taste so good" Choso mumbled against y/ns tongue before going back in for more.

Fuck you Choso.

Gentle sucks from Chosos lips on y/ns tongue has her clenching her thighs together, trying to suppress the feeling that was happening between her thighs. "Such a pretty tongue" Choso groaned pulling back for just a second, still holding y/ns face between his calloused hands.

"Again" y/n whispered. "Again? You like it that much?" His voice smooth like the coffee y/n gives him in the mornings. "Mmhmm please" She squeaked with her eyes still closed, waiting for Chosos lips to touch hers again.

"Want me to kiss your neck too, sweets?" Choso asked letting his right hand slip from her face down to her neck. His thick fingers tracing over her pulse point while he waited for an answer. "Yes please" y/n let out a shaky breath.

"You'll never be able to mow that lawn with the choke you got on that" Choso called leaning over the fence that separated the two yards. "Hah hah very funny, if you don't think I can do it, how bout you come and do it for me?" Y/n stood up straight, placing her hands on her hips and cocking her head to the side.

That's how she got him every time, pretending she didn't know how to start up the lawn mower. She got him, every single time, wearing those daisy dukes, a bikini top, hair in a messy ponytail, with hands on her hips. the silly boy didnt know any better. that and he couldn't resist her.

"What's in it for me this time, sweetheart?" Choso questioned making his way to the gate that separated the yards. The weeds in the small yard were substantially overgrown, blossoming into an eyesore.

"Lemonade? Maybe a sandwich"

"Oh you know I could never pass up your famous sandwiches and lemonade" Choso chuckled walking into the yard. He had just gotten back from his day shift at the shop. He was already pulling off his work shirt, leaving him in just his dark wash jeans.

How is this man so ripped?

What a sight.

Tattoos littered his arms and chest, something about the contrast of his pale skin and the dark ink was so pretty. Something y/n could never seem to take her eyes off of. Y/n has mentioned time and time again how pretty he'd look with some sort of face tattoo. What y/n didn't know was he had finally made the appointment for this coming Friday.

"Get to work then, handsome" Y/n smiled stepping away from the beat up lawn mower she purchased from a neighbor down the way. "Play some music for me sweets" Choso nodded towards the small radio y/n always had sitting outside the camper.

It was a week after their kiss.. well kisses. Y/n was littered with hickeys from her jawline to her shoulders for days. Even now choso could still see the faint markings on her chest.

Choso was even gentle giving hickeys, again taking his time, making sure they were in the perfect spots. Nothing happened passed that. Other than y/n going home to finish herself off after what Choso had started. When she got home her panties were completely soaked through, wanting—no— needing any sort of relief.

"Wow you really outdid yourself today" y/n smiled at chosos handiwork. While Choso was outside, y/n was cleaning up her home, Sundays were always deep cleaning day. Scrubbing top to bottom, every nook and cranny. She held onto a small laundry basket with one arm, propping it on the side of her hips as she walked down the small steps of the camper. "I washed your shirt. I'm just gonna to hang it up to dry" y/n set the basket down and began to clip up various articles of clothing on the small wire set up she had going for her.

"What did I deserve to have someone as perfect as you?" Chosos sweaty front pressed to the back of y/ns body, arms circling her waist and a wet kiss to the side of her neck. "Gross!"— "now I'm all sweaty, Cho!" "Guess you'll have to shower, maybe we can save some water and do it together" Choso continued to press gentle kisses to the side of y/ns neck.

Y/n felt butterflies fluttering in her tummy as Chosos lips traced a line from her ear to her shoulder, retracing where his hickeys were just a few days ago. "In your dreams Kamo. Go shower and I'll make you that sandwich" y/n pulled his arms from off of her, earning a whine from the boy. "Fine! Continue to play hard to get. But jokes on you baby, the more you push is the harder I try"

Baby

That was new. It was normally 'sweets' 'sweetheart' or 'sugar' that Choso called her.

Y/n called it the three S's, it was the holy trinity of Choso Kamo.

'Baby' definitely had an effect on y/n, one that was subtle, but still noticed. He didn't even mean to call her baby, honest, it just slipped.

Now that Choso was all fresh and clean, he smelt of a dreamy pine tree— if that was even possible— and his hair always smelled of lavender, he was now ready for his late lunch.

"For you, cut just how you like it" y/n smiled as the ceramic plate hit the small wooden table. Choso preferred his sandwiches cut down the middle, not diagonally, very controversial to many who prefer triangles. Before y/n could even finish filling up a fresh glass with his lemonade she heard a deep moan come from the man in her dining area.

"God damn y/n you seriously make the best sandwich in the whole world, what do you do to it?" Choso mumbled with his mouth full of food.

Turning around she set down the lemonade and places a bendy straw inside. Y/n smiled as she reached for a napkin and wiped the edges of his mouth before answering.

"It's a secret." "You can tell me" Choso pushed, he didn't want to really know, he just knew y/n made the best sandwiches.

"No can do. You'll go off and make them yourself and then who would I make my sandwiches for?" Y/n sat down in the seat across from him, reaching over to take the other half of the sandwich.

"I would never do that to you, I know you love to make me food, like a little housewife"

"Watch your mouth Choso, I am nobody's housewife" y/n said before taking a bite of the turkey sandwich. A comfortable silence consumed them as they ate, once finished y/n began to make Choso another sandwich. Only because y/n knew this man can eat. (Once, for scientific purposes, they found out Choso can eat 8 full sandwiches before feeling completely full)

"Sooo... my brother and a few friends are flying in this weekend. They were able to get a week out here. I really want you to meet them. They think I made up that we are friends"—"Actually one of them said there was no way someone so hot would even talk to me" Choso rolled his eyes.

Y/n wondered how they even knew what she looked like. It totally was because Choso sent a picture of y/n sunbathing in his yard to the group chat. (And the smart mouth was Toge.) Pretty mouthy for a guy who didn't actually speak with his words.

"Well now we have to keep them guessing, keep me your little secret" Y/n threw a wink over her shoulder. "Please please please, I'll do anything!" Choso fake whined, standing up. "You want me to get on my knees and beg? I will" Choso began to kneel down.

"Choso no" yn giggled grabbing his wrists and pulling him back up. "you know I'd love to meet your brother, but whats in it for me if i also meet those losers you call friends?"

"I will do anything you want! Whenever you want!" Again, the large man began to lower himself to his knees, and a part of y/n wanted to watch him beg pathetically.

"You have to be more specific than that, Cho" Y/n shook her head, pushing him to sit at the small dining table.

"I'll buy you those pretty sunglasses you told me about" Choso was hoping that would be enough, he once listened to y/n rant about some sunnies she saw in a magazine, telling him how badly she needed them in her life.

"And a new bikini, your pick" y/n continued to bargain.

"Deal, oh and can you bring some lemonade, they also say that lemonade can't be that good"

"I'm gonna have to throw in a new lipstick to the deal if you want lemonade"

"Whatever you want, baby"

Baby.

There it was again.

That one little word that had y/ns insides a scrambled mess. Sure, she had her fair share of flings throughout her life, but not once had a man made her weak in the knees the way Choso does. This sort of feeling has never happened to her before. She was one to walk with a purpose, plump lips, hips swinging, perfectly shaved long legs, the embodiment of divine femininity, a goddess in Chosos eyes. But with the way Choso is making her feel, she no longer felt like the girl she used to be.

"Okay, I'll meet your friends when they come down"

They fall back into a comfortable silence, enjoying the sandwich they shared, taking turns sipping that perfectly flavored lemonade, playing footsie under the table.

Don't get Choso wrong, he loved to try to make y/n crumble, but her rubbing her pretty foot along his shin, working her way up to his thighs— fuck it made him so weak. Her perfectly manicured toes with those silver toe rings and anklet made him almost lose his mind. And on top of that, she was able to have a perfectly normal conversation as if she wasn't just grazing his inner thigh with her foot.

Y/n had many questions on how Yuji and the others were able to come down to visit while school was still in session. And for the most part Choso answered.

"I just don't understand how the absences will be excused?"

"Gojo will take care of that, so there's no need to worry"

"yeah, but like.. won't they be missing out on some of their education?"

"it's just a week, plus they will probably have a trip right when they get back"

"what kind of trip?"

"I don't think I can disclose that information"

"and one of the little ones can talk but chooses not to?"

"he says things like 'salmon tuna' and 'mustard leaf'"

"is he autistic?"

"no"

"i don't understand any of this"

"it's better if you just don't ask questions"

"are they like secret agents?"

"sorta but not really"

"so they are your brothers' friends, not yours?"

"My brothers friends are my friends, plus their teacher will come with them"

"do you know this teacher?"

"he's a good friend of mine"

"This is really weird. How many of them are coming?"

"Just 4, they can't bring the panda"

"there's a guy named panda?"

"no, he's an actual panda"

"an actual panda? And the teacher guy had a son that's not really his son?"

"yeah Gojo kinda like adopted him after his real dad abandoned him. Then the dad tried to kill Gojo"

"thats insane"

"yeah Gojos rich, like filthy rich."

"and he's just happy being a teacher?"

"yeah the dudes like super happy and energetic all the time"

"I'm gonna go to bed. This is exhausting"

The week flew by, and y/n was getting nervous about meeting Chosos brother. This was a big step in their relationship... well it wasn't even a relationship. The two shared several more kisses throughout the week.. again, nothing went past sloppy kisses and some heavy dry humping.

Friday came around and Choso didn't come home when he normally does. Y/n figured he was out drinking, or he had a gig she didn't know about. So, she chose to lounge around watching whatever movies she had on DVD.

Until she heard a knock at her door. Grinning, y/n stood up and softly padded her way to the camper door.

"it's about time you- CHOSO!!!" Y/n screamed seeing the fresh markings on Chosos perfectly smooth skin. "Oh my god oh my god" She immediately pulled him in her camper, not caring if the door was shut or not. The whole structure shaking and rocking from her frantically shoving the bulky man down on her bed.

Nothing but giggles came from Chosos lips as y/n inspected his face. Holding his cheeks in her hands, she turned his head from side to side, eyes scanning the tattoo.

"Do you like it? It's a little splotchy since it's got the wrap on it and all my plasma is leaking out of my body"

"Did the parts on your eyes hurt?" Y/n wanted to touch it, to trace the line across his nose and the ones falling down his cheeks that resembled tear marks.

"Yeah a little. But I'm a big boy"

"Jesus Christ you look so fucking hot"

That night ended in a pretty hot and heavy make out session.. just letting you guys know that now.

and choso may or may not have came in his pants from y/n grinding on him.

It was kind of cute. Seeing this big man all tatted up becoming a whimpering mess under y/ns touch. Him begging for more. The way he panted into y/ns open mouth. His little "please pl-please please" And the guttural moan that escaped his throat as he bit down on y/ns shoulder as he came.

"Hey Cho!" Y/n walked into Chosos home, now filled with his friends sprawled all out in the living room.

"Hey sweetheart, I'm glad you could make it" Choso sprung up from the couch, walking over to y/n and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Everyone this is y/n, y/n this is everyone" Choso turned around to see everyone with wide eyes, surprised that y/n actually showed up and to see that she allowed him to kiss her.

"Hi, nice to meet y'all" y/n waved with a pretty smile, goddamn that smile made every person in the room feel some sort of way.

Something about y/n was that she was the most confident person in the room, she radiates it. She knows she is that girl, the one that gets the guy, the one who could steal anyones man, the one who got asked to prom by many potential suitors, the one who was captain of the cheer team, the one who had it all.

"I'm Gojo!" The boy with a white hair blurted out unprompted.

"That was so cool of you" another one said holding a thumbs up to the guy. This one was lanky and had black hair that looked like he just ran his fingers through it in the morning and called it a day. Y/n could tell from the banter that he was Megumi, Gojos kinda son.

Y/n couldn't help but think they all had weird names.

"Come on sweets, I saved you a spot next to me" Choso held his hand out for y/n to take, walking her to the couch. "Here put the lemonade down first" y/n held out the pitcher full of—"the best drink in the whole world"— as Choso would put it. "Sure thing" He smiled taking the pitcher, pouring himself a glass in the process.

"You smell so pretty" one of the smaller ones said as y/n sat down on the couch. He has pink hair and y/n instantly recognized him as Yuji.

"Yuji, shut it" Choso snapped as he stepped back into the living room.

"Thank you cutie" y/n smiled down at the boy who sat on the floor with his back resting on the couch.

"You do" Choso whispered in y/ns ear as he sat down. "It's the perfume you like" y/n smiled while crossing her legs. She smelt of marshmallows and warm white chocolate, so sweet, just how Choso likes it.

Everyone wanted to know more about y/n, where she came from, why she's friends with Choso, literally everything. She them how she grew up, information Choso already knew, how she used to get into fights all the time, how she has learned to make a living for her own.

"Did Choso pay you to come over?" The one called Gojo asked cocking his head to the side. "What? No of course he didn't, Cho is a dear friend of mine" Choso silently thanked God for y/n not mentioning that he did have to beg her to come as well as the new things he had to buy for her.

"Are you his girlfriend?"

"No, Choso is just a friend, although he is such a flirt" "Hey! You are the flirt not me" Choso defended himself. "Yeah yeah Kamo, didn't you ask me to shower with you last night?" y/n smirked making everyone's eyes go to Choso. "Hey! Is nothing sacred between us?"

"Choso you can't just ask hot girls to shower with you" Gojo said with a head shake. "Gojo you can't just call hot girls hot!" Megumi added in along with a "tuna tuna" From the quiet one. "Stop calling her hot!" Choso yelled with his hands in fists, glaring at all the friends with a look of warning. "And you might not be able to say shit, but you too Inumaki"

He didn't think this get together would be a bad idea at first, but now seeing as they were all basically star struck with y/n, he wished he could have just kept her his little secret. But now they know about her lemonade, and how amazing it tastes, now they won't be able to resist her.

"Real quick, Choso said it would be better if I didn't ask questions... but like, why are you wearing a blindfold, and why do you keep saying fish things?" Y/n had been dying to say something since she first laid eyes on the weird bunch. "oh and what about this panda guy? Choso said he's an actual panda? Like a stuffed animal or what?

"You didn't tell her?" Gojo laughed loudly, bellied over trying to catch his breath. Honestly no one else laughed, for some reason the eldest of the group found things funny when they shouldn't have been.

"Tell me what?" y/n looked over to Choso with puppy dog eyes.

"Don't look at me with those eyes baby. You know what they do to me" Choso said in a low voice.

"You really didn't tell her?" Yuji cut in.

"someone better tell me or im gonna kick someones ass"

"like you'd be able to fight us off" Megumi scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Okay Edward shut up" Yuji laughed (his girlfriend made him watch twilight a few days ago and has been waiting to bring it up nonchalantly) which earned a glare from Megumi, that had Yuji cowering.

"Oh I love twilight" y/n high fived Yuji "but really what hasn't Choso told me?"

"Other than that dude is like a master sorcerer, which is a life he's choosing to leave behind to become some sort of rocker guy, I'm sure he's told you everything"

Now it was y/ns turn to laugh.. alone. Because for whatever reason no one else found what Gojo just said funny. There was a long string of silence that followed. No one said anything, just staring at y/n and then back at Choso.

"oh shit you really didn't tell her"

"I've known her for like 4 months, how do I just bring up the fact that I'm not completely normal and have a super sick blood manipulation technique?!"

The conversation that followed took a few hours. Y/n had so many questions, so many fucking questions. By the end of it her head hurt and she felt sick. But at the same time, she understood a little bit why chosos was a little off from the start.

It was also super cool going outside and watching all the boys show off. Especially the little bunnies Megumi has shoved up his sleeves, like some sort of magician.

Choso walked y/n back to her camper once she said her goodbyes, stepping in for a minute while y/n got her pajamas ready.

"That was a lot" y/n let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding in.

"you dont think of me any differently do you?" Choso frowned, expecting the worst.

"No you're still Choso" y/n shook her head with a smile, trying to reassure him. He let out a sigh of relief as he sat down on y/ns bed, rubbing his fingers against his temples.

"you okay?" y/n asked softly standing infront of him between his spread thighs.

"yeah just a little embarrassing, I guess. I dunno, I just thought I could keep that part of me a secret"

"Don't embarrassed" y/n whispered slowly making her way into Chosos lap, straddling him. Her shorts riding up even more, exposing more of her deliciously soft thighs, if that was even possible. "It's pretty cool" "Sugar— what are you doing?" Choso craned his neck back to look at y/n, his hands gripping her hips, ignoring the last part of what she said, only because he wanted to forget that part of his life. "Just sitting, you seem frustrated" y/n batted her eyelashes in the most innocent manner. "I mean I guess, just wish I could have told you on my own terms and they all just wanted to talk to you and Gojo had no shame trying to flirt with you" Choso whispers as he looks over y/ns body, not being secretive at all with the way he stares at her chest and her thick thighs.

"So you were jealous?" y/n giggled wiggling her eyebrows at him in a teasing way.

"Maybe... just want you to myself" Choso whispered, making sure not to look y/n in the eye, quite literally looking at anything but her face.

"You can have me all to yourself" y/ns voice low and gentle taking her hand to cup the bottom of chosos chiseled jaw, raising his head to look in his pretty brown eyes. "I can?" Choses voice hoarse with the anticipation of whatever was happening between them in this moment. "All you had to do was ask, Cho" "Can I take you on a date?" A burst of confidence surged through Chosos body, tightening his gripping y/ns hips, making sure her bum was grounded to his crotch. "No"

thud

Choso could hear his blood rushing to his ears, he could barely hear y/n turning into a giggling mess. That was until y/n pepper kisses all over his face and cheeks, avoiding the parts that have been freshly inked.

"You are the meanest person I've ever met" Choso broke the kiss, pushing y/n off his lap, tossing her on the bed, making her bounce on the mattress. "It was just a joke Cho, of course we can go on a date" "Well you just teased me and got me all going and then told me no to the date" Choso groaned throwing his whole body weight on top of y/n, nuzzling his face in y/ns neck. "Don't be such a cry baby. I had to tease you just a little. So we going next weekend after your friends leave? "Course baby"

The drive in was the best option for Choso, it's cheap and intimate. The two talked for most of the movie facing each other, with y/ns legs across the middle console and in Choso's lap. His warm hands rubbed her thighs, pushing his limit to see how far she would let him touch.

"Keep those grubby little paws to yourself, Kamo" y/n swatted at his ring clad fingers as they pushed a little under the hem of her shorts. "Can't resist, your skin is so soft" Choso almost moaned, rubbing his thumbs into the fat of her upper thighs. "You wanna touch something else?" Y/n raised her eyebrows at her best friend who looked stunned. It was her turn to now tease him. Normally.. as showed before, they take turns teasing each other, pushing each other to their absolute limits.

Y/ns fingers danced on her collarbones, reaching for the straps of her tank top tugging them softly down her shoulders. The look on her face was so innocent, teasing Choso's dick driven emotions.

"Y-yeah yeah" he nearly drooled nodding his head rapidly.

"Maybe you can start with just a look, yeah?" Y/n nodded softly, encouraging him that a look was all he needed for right now.

"Sweetheart, anything you wanna give me I'll take with pleasure"

"Real quick, yeah baby?" The way this man was drooling over y/ns words, over her soft lotioned skin, he was putty in her hand. Choso gulped as y/n pulled her top down a little, teasing him with her cleavage. Palms sweaty with excitement, his fingers digging into her thighs, waiting to see the most perfect set of tits he was ever going to see. "You liked Pierced nipples Cho?" Y/n asked with the top of her shirt barely covering her nipples. A verbal response from him wasn't needed, his head nodding with his heart shaped pupils was enough. "I just got them done yesterday actually, on my lunch break, so they are still tender" y/n said in a low voice, almost like she was trying to hide how nervous she was.

What if he didn't like them?

It was like slow motion for Choso, taking in every inch of skin y/n showed him, her pretty nipples pierced with a silver bar, on the end were little hearts that just matched her personality so much. Her skin looked so soft from where Choso was sitting, wanting nothing more than to reach out and massage her breast in the most intimate way. It was only a few moments of y/n exposing herself to him before she pulled her tank top back up.

"So what do you think?"

"They- yeah- so pretty" Chosos face full of flush and almost embarrassment from how flustered he got. Sure the guy had seen many tits in his life, but none so perfect.

"You think?" Y/n smiled at his words.

"Yeah baby, so fuckin pretty" Choso had to adjust the way he was sitting to hide the evident hard on he was rocking.

"Now you have to show me yours" y/n smirked, nudging her foot against the zipper of his jeans. "What?" "I showed you mine, now you're gonna show me yours" "My nipples?" Choso almost choked on his spit. "No your cock Cho, I can feel it. Come on now"

Now Choso has the prettiest cock y/n has ever seen.

But we already knew that.

Thick and just the perfect size, it curved to the left just a little with a silver piercing at the tip. Choso fucking Kamo has a dick piercing. The tip of his angry head dribbling out precum just from y/n looking at it.

"You like it?" Choso dragged his thick fingers along the vein on the underside with a cocky grin. "I do, he's so pretty. God I want my mouth on it" she was actually drooling! A pool of saliva in y/ns mouth took over, as if her body knew she needed it to suck him off. "Yeah?" "Yeah." y/n nodded her head, trying to move in a better position to wrap her lips around him. "I want that so bad.. but I think we shouldn't just yet"

Choso cock blocked himself. Not wanting to ruin what they had, he stopped them from doing anything else that night. Sure y/n was a little disappointed, but she understood why he did it. But damn that night was filled with moans and sticky fingers from both of them. Just it was done separately, in their own rooms.. all alone. Both of them moaning out each other's names into the empty air, wishing they were with each other.

They felt like teenagers for the next following weeks. Late night runs to the liquor store and gas stations, kissing at stop light, and sharing cigarettes. Sharing secrets and past memories with one another, sharing very intimate details of their lives. The beginning of a blossoming relationship.

"You're so fucking perfect" Choso told her after almost every kiss they shared.

And she felt like it too with Choso constantly telling her and praising her every move.

The first time they had sex was so special, it was slow and passionate. Choso still whispering into y/ns ear- "you are fucking perfect baby"

the very next time they had sex was a little different... okay very different. sweet and soft choso was long gone the second y/n asked him to choke her.

"ha-harder" y/n barely got out. there was something so pretty about the way her face got all purple and the way her eyes rolled into the back of her head, how could he say no? Especially with the way she was so pliant when she was knocked out for a few seconds every time.

"Such a fucking good little slut" Choso growled removing both his hands from around y/ns neck.

Life was fucking good.

Sex literally every single day (sometimes multiple times)

Chosos band was finally getting somewhere!

Y/n went to every single one of his shows and watch ow the crowd grew and grew every single time. Everything was finally falling into place for these two young adults.

It wasn't until July the following year that Chosos band got picked up by a record label.

The next year they went on tour, and everyone knew Choso Kamos name.

July of 2025 Choso proposed to y/n.

The next year they became Mr. and Mrs. Kamo on July 15th.

And on July 28th, 2027, y/n gave birth to two healthy baby girls.

July had always been the best moth out of the year, y/n already knew this, and now Choso understood y/ns love for July.

Thank God for July.

I think I'm bad at ending stories. sorry.

Pls tell me if this was good?

Thank you for reading!!!

Taglist: @vellichor01 @loveyislost @koreluvsspring @gradmacoco @ersharyzst @emlient @orikixx @namjooningera

200 notes · View notes

tiredeyesight · 4 months ago

Text

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ coffee order (jake peralta x fem! reader)

summary : you have a complicated coffee order that no one can remember, and out of all people jake begins to perfect it, creating suspicion in the office.

“i’ll have a venti iced vanilla latte with oat milk, please. can you use ristretto shots and a little extra vanilla syrup? if you can add just a bit of cold foam on top, that’d be great. thank you so much!", you spoke to the barista. the squad was shocked at your request. “how the hell do you remember that!?”, terry exclaimed in a high pitched tone.

———

“i’m doing a coffee run, tell me your orders people!”, charles announced. people began calling out their orders whilst charles wrote them down. everyone’s eyes turned to you. “uhh ill have my usual?”, you said. “no one can remember that but i’ll try.”, charles responded. “venti iced vanilla latte with oat milk. can you use ristretto shots with a little extra vanilla syrup and a bit of cold foam on the top.” you casually spoke. “venti iced vanilla latte with.. yeah im lost”, charles spoke, “message me it?”, he questioned and with a simple nod from you he was off.

———

you and jake were out on your third date. keeping it a secret from the squad, especially from a probing gina who constantly wanted the love life gossip, was hard to say the least. however, the small details made it so obvious that you and jake were seeing each other. the long stares accompanied by little smiles, the way your hands would linger for a second too long for ‘just close co-workers’ when they’d come in contact, the way you would softly smile when the other was brought up. the small things.

you were sitting in a cafe with your hands intertwined with each other under the table. a waitress came over to your table, “are you guys ready to order?”, she questioned. “yes! i will have a chocolate shake while the lady will get a venti iced vanilla latte with oat milk using ristretto shots with a little extra vanilla syrup and a bit of cold foam on the top. thank you!”, jake spoke. he remembered your order?

as the waitress left, jakes eyes met yours. you looked head over heels in love with him bringing a shy smile and chuckle out of him. “you remembered my order?”, you asked. “of course!”, he answered as if it was the silliest question in the world. “you’re so sweet jake.”, drawing another shy smile from him. you leant over the table and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. a blush creeping up on both of your cheeks at the action.

———

it was the crack of dawn on monday morning, everyone called in early due to an important case. everyone was exhausted and gloomy. so jake, wanting to brighten the mood a bit, was going on a surprise coffee run. he got everyone’s usual and brought them back to the office excited for everyone’s reaction. a murmur of gratitude and elation was bounced off the walls of the office at the sight of coffee.

as everyone was drinking their coffee down, gina noticed that you were drinking a coffee too. surely not right? “hey y/n, did jake get your order right??”, gina called out. “uhh yea why?”, you responded back in puzzlement. dots connected instantly in gina’s head. of course! rosa and charles heads rose with a piqued interest, sharing looks about this theory.

gina ushered you to come with her to god knows where. after ensuring no one was around she whispered, “you and jake are seeing each other!!”. oh shit. your face told her everything. “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!!”, she exclaimed.

authors note : i feel like this is total shit but whateversss! also i could never imagine ordering something like this, please take no offence if you do but oh my gah. hope you enjoyed and as always, requests are oppeeennnn!

word count : 595

#fluff #jake peralta #jake peralta x reader #brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn 99 #fluff fluff fluff

219 notes · View notes

wendichester · 3 months ago

Text

⋆ ° ⊹ lost and found,

summary. you don't remember anyone--not even sam.

pairing. sam winchester x reader ; angsty

wordcount. 514

There’s a beeping. A slow, rhythmic sound. It tethers you to consciousness, pulling you up from the thick fog that wraps around your mind. Your body feels heavy, limbs sluggish, but it’s the emptiness in your head that’s worse.

Your eyes flutter open.

White walls. The harsh scent of antiseptic. The thin, scratchy feeling of a hospital gown against your skin. A dull ache presses against your skull, and when you lift a hand to touch your forehead, there's a bandage there.

Then, movement.

A man stands by your bedside. Tall, broad-shouldered, with hazel eyes that are wide and rimmed red, like he hasn’t slept in days. His face is a storm of emotions—hope, fear, heartbreak. He grips the rail of your bed so tightly his knuckles are white, like if he lets go, he might fall apart.

You blink at him, searching your mind, trying to place him in your life. But there’s nothing. Just static where a connection should be.

Your lips part. You wet them, voice raspy when you finally manage to speak. “Who… are you?”

His face cracks like glass hit with a hammer.

He swallows hard, his throat working around the pain. His grip on the railing tightens, like he’s bracing himself against a physical blow. But then, he pastes on a soft, careful smile—one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m Sam,” he says, and the way he says it—like the name should mean something to you—makes your stomach twist with unease.

You shake your head, trying to push through the haze in your brain. “I—I don’t know you.”

His name is on the chart at the foot of your bed. Emergency contact: Sam Winchester. He lets out a slow breath, nodding like he expected this, but it still guts him.

“You don’t know me now,” he murmurs, voice thick. “But I swear—I’ve loved you longer than you can imagine.”

Something inside you stirs, deep in your chest, like a whisper of something familiar. But it’s gone before you can grasp it.

You look at him again, really look at him. He looks so lost. So wrecked. Like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, watching everything he’s ever known crumble beneath him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, guilt creeping in for something you don’t even understand.

Sam forces another tight smile, stepping closer. “No. Don’t be. This isn’t your fault.”

His hand twitches at his side, like he wants to reach for you. Like maybe, if he touches you, it’ll all come rushing back.

He sits beside you, leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees. His voice is quieter now, filled with something raw. “I know this is scary. I know I must feel like a stranger to you, but… you’re my whole world. And I will remind you every single day, in every single way, until you remember.”

You don’t know why, but his words make your throat tighten. You feel the weight of them, the weight of him, like a presence that’s always been there.

You don’t remember him.

But, damn, you wish you did.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @idk6505

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester angst #sam winchester fic #supernatural #.docx

202 notes · View notes

undiscovered-horizon · 2 years ago

Text

[Zoro is jealous of how impressed you are with another man's strength. A few insults and broken breezeblocks later, he makes sure he's the only man you have eyes on.]

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

Roronoa Zoro is a man too busy to boast. He perceives his skills and attributes as a means to an end and not a goal in itself; achieving unmatched swordsmanship is but a method of becoming the world's greatest swordsman.

It's completely useless to waste one's potential only to earn fame and admiration. If one sees their abilities as a goal, they tend to abandon their growth once the goal is achieved, never discovering what they can really do. Therefore, boasting is a manmade border between the current state of things and the wonderful possibilities.

Or so he tells himself.

The crowd cheers again as the blue-haired boy breaks another stack of planks. Each time he adds one more obstacle, the mob of onlookers is sure that this time, he's bound to fail. They've been wrong so far.

Zoro and you have been watching the show from affair but only because you refused to walk away. Sure, on your adventures you have seen people or unimaginable skills and attributes. Nevertheless, the man on the makeshift stage is just that - a man. No Devil Fruit, no canons-for-arms or anything of this sort. Just a person with determination and years of practice.

"Damn, that's some strength," you say in awe. "It's amazing."

Zoro only scoffs, scowling while he stands with his arms crossed. "Come on, this is nothing."

"Oh, right, breaking a stack of five wooden planks with your bare fist is just a regular Tuesday, eh?"

"Definitely not for a twig like him," he answers while still glaring at the boastful plank-breaker. "A gust of wind could break his bones."

Something about his huffing and puffing doesn't sit right with you. After all, why does he care in the first place? Zoro is not the kind of person to be interested in things that are not directly connected to him. It's almost as if...

Is he jealous of the attention?

"You know what, Zoro?" When you turn to look at him, he notices the challenging glint in your eyes. You're up to no good, aren't you? "I'd love to see you try and break even one plank."

He scoffs again but this time he looks almost offended at the implication. "I wouldn't even get out of bed for one."

"That's not a good measure." You shake your head decisively. "It's already hard to make you get up." Then, an idea sparks in your thoughts - something he's sure not to reject. "Let's do it like this. If you can one-up that guy, I'll do whatever you want."

Zoro's brown eyes stare into yours with a new intensity. He seems to be trying to guess how serious you are about your promise. "Anything goes?" he asks suspiciously.

"Nothing that will tarnish my dignity." As a warning, you point your finger at him. "Or dirty my shirt."

Then, to your utmost satisfaction, he gives you a smirk beaming with confidence.

"You're going to regret this."

"I hope so," you answer.

He clenches his jaw at your frivolous tone, his mind racing in a thousand different directions at once. What do you mean you "hope to regret" your wager? What exactly do you think he'll ask of you?

No matter the answers to his questions, Zoro has found a new source of motivation inside him. He can ask anything. As nice as that sounds, and he's sure to let his imagination run amok, the more satisfying prize will be the look of awe you're bound to give him. If you're impressed with this boastful twig of a man, how dazzled will you be with Zoro when he beats him? Maybe you'll finally stop looking at other men like they're actually worth even a second of your time or a speck of your attention.

"Hey, wood boy!" Zoro exclaims at the top of his lungs while making his way through the excited crowd towards the makeshift stage. "Let's see who's stronger."

"A brave challenger appears!" The blue-haired man announces. Whispers erupt among the onlookers. "Or maybe he's stupid?" he directs his question at his fans. Then, when Zoro enters the stage, the man looks at him with a feeling of superiority smeared across his face. "I'll have you know, I'm the local champion."

Up close, the blue-haired man looks even less impressive than from the ground. He's rather scrawny compared to men of similar strength and he could definitely use a long bath. Zoro is almost offended that you'd look at this poser of a clown instead of him.

"Only local?" Zoro asks. He erupts in laughter, making his opponent's expression visibly falter. "Not much of a title. I've seen rocks bigger than this island."

The whispers turn into loud conversations as half of the crowd demands Zoro to take back his words and the other half begs for a showdown to see who's the true master between them.

"Ambitious!" the blue-haired man exclaims with fake casualness, clearly trying to hide his own uneasiness. "That's what I like to see. But I must warn you that breaking wood with the sheer power of your bare fist is neither easy nor simple. Are you sure you can manage?"

Zoro laughs again. His posture only grows with confidence while the other man seems to be becoming smaller with each of Zoro's insults. "Wood is for children."

The blue-haired man swallows nervously. Sweat trickles down his neck. "Alright then." He clasps his hands together, rubbing them to ease the arousing tension. "What do you propose?"

"Breezeblocks."

The crowd audibly gasps and you're not any different. To break something that can render someone unconscious, if not dead, without having to use much strength? Even for someone like Zoro, the suggestion seems more than audacious. True, you wanted to see him prove his bold talk but not break his hands.

But before the blue-haired man can protest or diverge the discussion, a group of eager men bring a load of breezeblocks on stage. Their eyes shine with impatience and desire to see uncommon strength as they take away the wooden boards and set up the first breezeblock for each of them to break. The hollow bricks are placed atop regular, clay bricks that the blue-haired man has used to lay the planks on.

With a light gesture of his hand, Zoro allows the apparent master to begin. The man stretches his arms and cracks his joints. Despite being visibly experienced in this art, there is a noticeable nervousness in his movements, too. As though he's not as confident as he was five minutes ago.

Measuring one or two times beforehand, the local champion slams his fists on the breezeblock. A muffled thud resounds and the crowd falls silent. Then, a loud grunt fills the tense air but not a speck of cement is lifted. The breeze block did not break but considering the agony on the man's face and the deep red of his hand, something surely did break.

Zoro laughs for the third time. Strangely enough, he seems almost suspiciously laid-back. He reaches for the blue-haired man's unbroken breezeblock and places it atop his. If the crowd was silent before, it's deathly quiet now. They don't even dare breathe, awaiting the resolution of this unforeseen wager.

His eyes meet yours and never stray as he punches the stack of breezeblock. They break, fall and crumble on the stagefloor. Zoro doesn't look phased in any way, nor does his hand look to be injured. Judging by his casual attitude, he can easily break a lot more than just two breezeblocks. Maybe one day he'll find out but not at the moment - that's not the point of his little show of strength.

Some people try to accost him or talk to him as he makes his way back to you but Zoro's usual glares and silence quickly mitigate their enthusiasm and soon the mob of onlookers just cheers among themselves.

"Alright, I'm impressed," you admit with a nod. "In capital letters."

"So, anything I want, huh?" He can't help the smile curving his lips. It's a big word that you've used - a little too big for Zoro's imagination because it too happily strayed in directions that might break his heart permanently if you reject him.

"I suppose you do deserve compensation for holding yet another title of a champion. The dreadful weight of success," you say in a dramatic tone. "Now, what is this 'anything' you've decided on?"

Truthfully, he hasn't decided yet. If this "more than friends, less than lovers" situation he has with you was a game of chess, he's just made his opening move. You played back and put him in a place where there are simply too many options to reconsider. So what choice does he have to make to have you in a checkmate?

#roronoa zoro x reader #one piece zoro #roronoa zoro #zoro #zoro x reader #one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece imagine #one piece fanfic #one piece x reader #one piece x you #zoro x you #roronoa zoro fanfiction #roronoa zoro x you

2K notes · View notes

yanderes-galore · 4 months ago

Note

Since Lies of P is on the menu, would you write a concept for Pinocchio/P with a Human Darling? -🐈

Sure! I watched a lore video so I know most of the background (That's... one way to cope, Geppetto....). P's personality is ambiguous just like the game, but he is trying to be human (Totally not for you, definitely....)

I got really into this... So that was fun.

❗️Spoilers For Lies of P Lore❗️

Yandere! Pinocchio/P with Human! Darling

Pairing: Platonic -> Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Overprotective behavior, Jealousy, Violence, Blood, Kidnapping implied, Isolation, Forced kiss, Dubious companionship/Forced relationship.

Pinocchio is certainly a... lost individual throughout the events of the game.

By the time he awakens, he's barely aware of his purpose.

He's clueless to Krat's problems until he encounters them.

There's the puppet frenzy, the disease plaguing humans, the undead....

Pinocchio, due to how he was created and his purpose, is in a strange middle ground.

He's a puppet... but also not.

Due to his unique creation, he's more akin to a human the longer he interacts with his world.

Unlike other puppets, he chooses his actions, he's sympathetic.

So imagine if he meets you, a human, and starts feeling... strange.

The big mechanic in Lies of P is choosing between two paths.

You can either stick to your programming and stay a puppet, or you can aim to be something more... human.

Imagine Pinocchio trying to be more human because he's attached to you?

Maybe you knew Carlos... or maybe you're entirely unrelated?

Either way, you meet the puppet during his quest through Krat.

Humans were rather scattered in the city due to everything going on.

You either perish from sickness... or one of the mechanical monsters in this place.

You had been scraping by the best you could.

However, just when you thought you'd meet your end...

A puppet stepped in, slaying another robotic automaton and preventing it from harming you.

This puppet... was different from the others.

You don't understand it at first... The puppet is oddly quiet as it observes you.

Yet this one speaks... and you can understand it.

It's a bit stilted at first, as if struggling to find its voice.

But you manage to learn its name... P.

It's a simple name, no doubt a nickname.

You deem Pinocchio/P harmless, despite its surprisingly curious gaze.

Something about this puppet seemed more human and controlled than the others.

All other puppets in Krat are frenzied... This one is not.

Your first meetings with the puppet are... mutually curious.

You've never seen a puppet like him.

He felt so human even as he led you to where most other humans were hiding with Sophia.

It's... uncanny, actually.

For now you can tell the difference... but later it's nearly impossible.

Pinocchio, on the other hand, is just as fascinated with you.

As I said before, this would make more sense if you had some sort of connection to Carlos.

Since Pinocchio seems to act on the memories of Carlos... Maybe you were friends like Romeo?

That or you remind him of someone similar and that makes him keep an eye on you.

Pinocchio is a puppet you end up encountering more than you'd think.

The puppet's attachment to you feels... real in a way.

At first you thought the puppet was simply trying to protect you, no doubt some sort of programming that makes it so humans aren't harmed....

The thing is... It isn't anything like that.

This attachment comes entirely from his decisions.

No one is making him follow you around...

He's choosing to.

When Pinocchio isn't out searching for his father, he looks for you.

You could be scouting or staying in Hotel Krat... and still find that mysterious puppet.

You swear he's following you... and maybe he is.

Something in him wants to understand you.

You can read curiosity in his cold gaze... bug you don't want to acknowledge the thought.

This is a puppet... just like the ones out there... yet it's so hard to convince yourself of that.

Each time you see Pinocchio, he's less like a puppet.

You try to tell yourself it's just because you're used to him...

Although, who keeps changing his appearance then?

Pinocchio is gentle with you, always observing you like you're easy to break.

You can't tell what the puppet wants from you....

At the very least you assume friendship... You see that in the way he talks to you, slowly getting more used to using his voice.

He listens to you, mechanical gears clicking as he watches you.

It's like he's fond of you.

You begin to question his motives once he gets bolder.

Whenever you're busy, you'll feel his cold touch tentatively prod at you for attention.

He often sticks around you to see what you do, watching your every move like he's trying to learn from you.

There's times the puppet will mimic you... and other times he acts on his own accord.

You feel like you never get answers when it comes to Pinocchio.

The puppet is determined to talk to you, to learn from you...

He wants to learn everything.

Pinocchio is used to fighting.

Any weapon he uses is often covered in the life blood of whatever beast remains in Krat.

He's a skilled and determined fighter... he never seems to really die as long as his heart is intact.

He has such a pretty face... yet violent tendencies.

Although, with you, there's no trace of that.

With you he's a genuine pretty face, even if it's all to cover up lies.

You begin to worry as Pinocchio becomes more human... and more bold

If you're upset or scared, he sits beside you and attempts to mimic human comfort.

That... That is okay... at least, you try to tell yourself that.

It's when you notice Pinocchio getting more... insistent? Affectionate?

Pinocchio only ever seems to greet you with a hug the more human he becomes.

It's all very strange... You swear you felt him warmer...

Must just be you.

Others comment on his changed appearance, yet you struggle to grapple with the thought.

He's a puppet... but with you he acts too human...

He hugs you, tells you he missed you...

Yet still observes you from a distance, as if cautious about you being around other humans.

Things hit a peak when Pinocchio's actions can no longer be described as friendly.

At first you thought the puppet wanted you as a friend.

Maybe he has a basic view of friendship?

Somehow... unfortunately for you... it appears he's learned new behavior.

During a conversation with Pinocchio in Hotel Krat, you notice the oddly human puppet acting strange.

As you lament about something, you immediately stop in your tracks when Pinocchio leans closer.

You freeze when the puppet is nearly against your side and chest, mysterious eyes watching you.

When the puppet goes in for what you can only assume is a mock kiss, you gently tilt his head away.

You aren't sure if you should even be surprised anymore when Pinocchio gives a confused expression, neck clicking as he tilts his head.

It feels too wrong... too strange... too artificial yet not....

You apologize to the puppet, stating you can't go through with... that.

The puppet merely blinks, but nods with a mumbled agreement.

Unfortunately, you see the puppet trying again once more time passes.

He keeps trying to gain more humanity, to be more human.

Do you not love him because he isn't a human?

He doesn't get it... He recalls memories of him feeling this way to someone like you...

Why aren't you reciprocating?

The puppet tries to become more human to win you over.

By the end of it with long hair in a silver blue tinge... He hopes it's enough.

He wants to feel your warmth, your lips, your touch...

He wants to feel human.

Even if you refuse him as his most human state, perhaps the puppet may just snap.

He's tired of this, he's tried so hard...

He'll never be fully human or chase those memories again...

So he just needs to force it.

At your final rejection, the puppet pins you.

His eyes are cold, body much stronger and sturdier than your own.

With a click, his eyes look to your lips, before you feel cold porcelain lips on your own.

You push on the puppet, it doesn't budge.

The kiss isn't invasive... but it's bruising, a fabrication of the real thing.

By the time Pinocchio pulls away, he's already decided what he wants.

You'll realize he's human enough for you... He just needs to be patient.

You'll love him like you would a real human, won't you?

Even if it means him keeping you away from any other human?

Perhaps Pinocchio just needs to learn new tricks....

You'll love the puppet eventually...

Especially if he makes it so he's all you have.

#yandere lies of p #yandere lies of p x reader #yandere pinocchio #yandere pinocchio x reader #yandere p #yandere p x reader

175 notes · View notes

aetherraeys · 2 months ago

Text

late nights, early mornings

sirius black x fem!reader ⊹ 0.9k

cw ⟢ newly established relationship, fluff, slightly suggestive, regulus being regulus, domestic.

You and Sirius both weren't the biggest fans of early mornings, especially if it's paired with a late night. The safety and warmth of your bed is something you really can't forfeit.

The bed you shared was plush and warm with the heat of your tangled limbs, the room still—bar the soft rhythm of breathing that fills the space between you and Sirius. The duvet cover, a jumbled mess, parts woven between both you legs, others stretched over your resting forms.

The light outside is crept through the curtains, neither of you were in any hurry to move. His arm is draped lazily around your waist, fingers tracing absent patterns on your skin, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

You shift slightly, trying to get impossibly closer to Sirius; breathing in all of him—the scent of roasted coffee, cigarettes, sweetened by a tinge of honey. So distinctly Sirius, he tightens his hold on you without even opening his eyes. His breath brushes the back of your neck, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Mornin’ love,” Sirius murmurs, his voice low and gravelly with sleep. His lips skim the side of your neck, the softest of kisses, just enough to make you feel his heat radiate on you skin. His hand slides lower, resting on your hip, pulling you even closer. You lazily hum in acknowledgement, this proximity feels too perfect, your heart beating in rhythm with his, the softness of his touch making it hard to imagine being anywhere else.

His hands now firmly planted on underside of your thighs, bringing you to straddle his hips as soft suprised giggles fell from you lips. His face dorned a smug satisfied grin, and Merlin did he look just enchanting, the rays of light dancing along the strands of the curly mass that spread across his pillow, eyes so endearing; pupils blown and drinking in your appearance.

You truly couldn’t help it, and Sirius knew this all to well—the invisible pull of his lips drawing you in, truthfully you did little to fight it.

It started out as smile-filled pecks and soft hums, but as time slowed, the kisses followed, deepening, a hint of desperation spreading—blooming between them. His hands travelling from the curve of your hips to your waist, finger tips gently caressing up and down your spine, retreating back to your thighs, the feeling of skin on skin grounding you as the world outside faded. In the small, intimate space, nothing mattered but the connection you shared, the quiet, steady rhythm of your breath as your lips met again, lingering a little longer.

His lips began to dip lower, trailing along your jawline now, slower, teasingly light. "I could stay here all day," he whispers, voice tinged with something between a smile and a pure contentment.

Before you can reply, the first knock hits the door, loud and jarring, pulling you both away from your small paradise. Sirius groans softly, tightening his grip as you shift reluctantly.

Another knock follows, louder, more insistent. “I’m not letting you lot leave all the cleaning to me! Can you get up now?!”

Sirius ignored it, barely distracted by the rukus, running his nose along your neck, lips brushing the skin just beneath your ear. “Regulus needs to learn about patience," he mutters, his voice thick with sleep and something else—something more playful, more possessive. He doesn't even flinch when the knocking continues.

You lips parted to acknowledge and relieve Regulus from his diligent knocking, feeling your face flush from the intimacy of the moment, the way Sirius’ presence surrounds you. But before you can savor it, Regulus’s voice rings out again, louder and more frustrated.

“Oi, I mean it! The house in a right state because of your ‘spontaneous’ get together!”

Sirius, still unfazed, presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder, his lips brushing your skin with slow insistence. “He’ll give up in a moment,” he murmurs in that teasing tone of his, before finally loosening his hold on you, though not without the slightest reluctance.

You barely have time to playful scold Sirius, about to insist that it wasn’t fair on his younger brother—before Regulus barges in, eyes wide and cheeks flushed with an almost embarrassed look. He pauses in the doorway, clearly trying to pretend he hasn’t just witnessed a scene that was far too personal. His gaze flickers between the two of you, mouth still agape with unsaid reprimants, and though he seems about to say something, the words die on his lips.

Sirius is smug, his expression a mixture of amusement and challenge, as he lazily gaze meets Regulus’ eyes. “You’re really interrupting this, Reg?” he teases, voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

He didn’t stop there, no, Sirius was in his element, enjoying his brother’s shocked expression far too much to let the opportunity simply pass. “You should really wait to be let in, y’know,” he said, his tone so teasing and matter-of-fact, his lips twitched into a smirk, clearly amused by the situation.

Regulus, still frozen at the door, glares at him, his lips drawing into a thin line in efforts to stay composed. “Merlin, I... just come and help clean will you?” he finally mutters, turning on his heel and slamming the door behind him with a frustrated huff. Though you heard through the door, “Junior will be here soon—hurry up!”

Sirius chuckles, his lips curling into a smug grin as he gently kisses your forehead. “Reg’s just jealous he doesn’t get to be this comfortable,” he says softly, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. He pulls you even closer, his voice low and teasing. “But I think we’re fine here for a little while longer, don’t you?”

#sirius x reader #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius fic #sirius black x y/n #sirius black fluff #sirius black fanfiction #marauders era #marauders #hp fanfic #hp marauders #aetherraeysworks #domestic fluff #fluff #sirius fluff

129 notes · View notes

cocoandthequill · 3 months ago

Text

Beneath the Ruins

Part 2

Part 1

Shane Walsh x !Best Friends Daughter! Reader

Summary: After sucessfully escaping the chaos of the outbreak of the apocalypse it is time to get to the survivor camp in Atlanta where they can hopefully manage to get the cure to this mysterious virus.

Warnings: Age Gap, implied sexualization, mentions of death

Grief was a bitter pill to swallow, but you had no choice but to force it down. The world had already fallen apart, and every breath you took felt like it might be your last.

The infection spread quickly, faster than anyone had imagined. It wasn’t just the fear of turning into one of those things that gnawed at you—it was the fact that every day felt like a countdown. The threat of death hung like a storm cloud, and there was no safe place to hide from it.

You, your father, and Shane Walsh—your father’s best friend—were heading south to Atlanta. Rumors of the largest safe camp for survivors and a possible cure had spread, but no one knew for sure if it was real.

The road was treacherous, abandoned cars littering the highways—signs of the mass panic that had swallowed the world whole. Each time you passed a burned-out building or, worse, a body, it reminded you of how fragile everything had become. The road, once a symbol of freedom, now felt like a death sentence. Every mile, every turn, seemed to carry a heavier weight.

Shane’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, scanning the road behind you with the sharp intensity of someone who had seen too many horrors. You watched him, the rigid set of his jaw, the way his large hands gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing holding him together. He was trying to act like he wasn’t bothered, like this was just another stretch of road to cross, but you knew better. You knew Shane.

The silence between the three of you was suffocating, and no matter how hard you tried to distract your thoughts, they always found their way back to her—your mother. Her tragic end had been too quick, too sudden—like a punch to the gut you couldn’t prepare for. You tried to bury those thoughts, tried to push them down, but they resurfaced when you least expected it. That’s what grief did, after all. It was relentless. It clawed at you, just like the world outside.

But tonight, there was something else gnawing at you—something you couldn’t ignore. Something that twisted itself around your insides like a slow-burning fire.

Why didn’t Shane have any family? No wife. No kids. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen him with a girlfriend, either. He was always alone in that way. He kept to himself, let his guard down only when he was with your father. But even then, there was something off about him, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

You’d asked him before, countless times, always with the same teasing smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "You know, doll, I haven’t met the woman I’m planning on settin' down with yet."

"Doll."

It was a nickname he’d given you since you were a little girl, and in those early days, it had always felt like a shield—something warm and comforting in a world that felt so big and unpredictable.

But that answer never felt right. It was too rehearsed. Too perfect, like he was hiding behind it. And in a world that had lost everything—love, security, humanity—his indifference to settling down made no sense to you. He was more than just handsome and charming, with that rugged edge that made people stop and stare. Shane had always been the kind of man people gravitated toward, the kind of man who could make you feel seen without even trying. And yet, here he was, constantly pushing away any chance of connection. It didn’t make sense to you.

Your eyes flicked to him again as the car rattled along the desolate road, the harsh light from the headlights casting fleeting shadows across his face. And for a split second, your gazes met—his dark, intense eyes locking with yours. A brief moment, yet enough to send a chill down your spine.

He shot you a wink, that same casual grin curling at the corner of his lips, but this time it didn’t land the same way. It felt hollow. Almost forced. You saw through it. The cracks in the armor were visible, no matter how hard he tried to cover them up.

You wanted to ask him again, to push him further, but something held you back. The vehicle rattled on, the noise almost drowning out the words hanging in the air. You felt the weight of your father’s presence in the passenger seat, the quiet man who had been by your side through everything, now dozing off, oblivious to the tension between you and Shane. He hadn’t said a word in hours, lost to exhaustion, leaving the silence between you and Shane even more deafening.

You knew Shane was carrying something—a burden, a past he never spoke of. And you had a sinking feeling that whatever it was, it had nothing to do with you. He kept pushing you away, kept calling you doll, but never once allowed the conversation to go deeper. You weren’t stupid; you could see the way he watched you sometimes, the way his gaze lingered longer than it should—and in places where it shouldn’t. And you knew, deep down, that you weren't just another person to him. Not really.

The problem was that he was so damn good at hiding it. So damn good at pretending everything was fine.

You stole another glance at him. His jaw was tight, and his eyes remained locked on the road ahead. His shoulders were stiff, his posture rigid. His usual swagger had faded. This was a man at war—not with the world, but with himself.

As you opened your mouth to finally say something to relieve the tension, your father shifted in his seat, muttering under his breath.

“Where are we headed, Shane? You keep saying Atlanta, but we don’t know if it’s any safer down there.”

He still sounded tired, worn out from everything you’d all been through, but there was an edge to his words. He was trying to pull his best friend into the conversation, trying to lighten the mood. But it didn’t work.

Shane’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, and his eyes darted to your father for just a moment. His response came out cold, sharp almost. "We’re headed south. That’s where we’re goin’.” His voice was clipped, almost defensive.

You felt the air shift in the car. Your father, for all his gruffness, must have felt the change too because his eyes flickered to you. You could almost hear the question in his mind: What’s going on with him?

Shane, as always, turned the conversation back to survival. “You know the drill. Keep your guard up. We don’t know what’s ahead.” But it was just words, nothing more. The kind of words that covered up something bigger, something deeper that neither of you were brave enough to acknowledge.

The miles ticked by in silence, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional creak of the tires against the rough terrain. The sun was sinking lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the desolate landscape. It felt like you were driving through a ghost world, a place that used to be full of life, now abandoned and barren.

As the hours dragged on, exhaustion started to settle into your bones. Your father had dozed off in the passenger seat, his breathing slow and steady, but Shane remained as tense as ever, his hands gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled determination. He hadn’t said much since your last conversation, and you could feel the heaviness in the air between you, thick with unsaid words.

Eventually, you saw it—an old, run-down sign for a lake just off the road, barely visible beneath the overgrowth of weeds and vines. It was small, secluded, but it would do. A place to rest for the night, away from whatever dangers lurked further down the road.

You pointed it out, your voice soft yet carrying an unspoken urgency. “We should camp here.”

Shane glanced at the sign, then at the darkening sky. He didn’t say anything at first, just kept his eyes on the road for a moment longer, the wheels turning in his mind. It wasn’t a safe place. You could tell just by the look of it. But then again, did you have the luxury to be picky in times like these?

He let out a long sigh and finally nodded, his voice low. “Yeah. We’ll make camp. We’ll take shifts.”

You could tell he wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but there was something else in his tone—a kind of resigned acceptance. Like he was used to making hard choices in the absence of good ones. Like he knew there was no perfect place to hide in a world like this.

He eased the car off the road and slowly steered toward the small clearing near the lake. The headlights illuminated the area briefly, and you could make out the faint glimmer of the water, surrounded by trees. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and decay, but it was better than nothing.

Once the car stopped, you all piled out, the weight of the day’s journey catching up with you in an instant. Your father stretched, groaning slightly, and Shane went to the back of the car to pull out the supplies.

“Set up by the water, but stay alert,” he said, his voice carrying the edge of someone who had learned to never let their guard down.

You nodded, even though you could feel the weariness seeping into your bones. It had been too long since you’d had a real rest, and the temptation to just let everything go for a few hours was strong. But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

Your father wandered toward the water, his steps slow and measured, his eyes scanning the area as if he were searching for any sign of danger. Shane, on the other hand, was already moving with purpose, gathering the supplies and setting up a small fire. His movements were quick, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes kept flicking toward the trees, as though he was expecting something to jump out at him at any moment.

You worked silently alongside him, but as you moved to set up your sleeping bag, you caught him watching you out of the corner of his eye. His expression was unreadable, as usual, but there was something in the way his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. The air between you felt charged again, like there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t.

You wanted to ask him again, to press him for the truth. But you didn’t. You weren’t sure if you had the strength to do it tonight. The weight of the world was already heavy enough. And there was something about the way he seemed so determined to keep everything locked inside that made you hesitate.

Your father sat by the edge of the lake, his hands resting on his knees, staring out over the water. He wasn’t asleep. You knew that much. His body might have been still, but his mind was a thousand miles away, lost in the same thoughts he couldn’t outrun. He never slept soundly anymore—not after everything that had happened, not after the world had fallen apart around them.

But for now, he was at least still, the quiet of the night offering him a brief moment of peace. You could see it in the way his shoulders were slumped just a little bit less, as though the weight of it all had lightened, even just a fraction. It wasn’t much, but in a world that had stripped away so much, even small moments of peace felt like a gift.

You turned your attention back to Shane, who had pulled a blanket out of the car and was now sitting across from the fire, his posture rigid, eyes scanning the perimeter, never fully allowing himself to relax. His focus never wavered from the dark woods surrounding the small camp. It was like he was always waiting for something to happen, anticipating danger, the same way he’d lived his entire life in the chaos of this new world.

You knew he wasn’t the type to sit still for long. The longer you watched him, the more you realized just how tightly wound he was. He was good at keeping up appearances, at pretending to be unaffected by everything—by the loss, the fear, the survival—but you could see the cracks in the facade. You’d been watching him for years, and you knew the signs.

"Shane," you said quietly, breaking the silence, "you really think it’s safe here?"

He glanced up from the fire, his sharp eyes briefly meeting yours before flicking away to the trees again. "It’s safer than out there," he replied, voice calm but guarded, the same response he always gave.

But you weren’t sure if he even believed it anymore.

You wanted to press him, to ask him more, but you held back. You knew better than to push him when he was in this mood. Instead, you shifted your gaze, taking in the quiet of the night, the eerily calm water reflecting the pale glow of the moon. It was a peaceful scene—one that didn’t quite match the world outside this small camp. And for the first time in a while, you let yourself take in the quiet, knowing that it wouldn’t last long.

#shane walsh fanfiction #shane walsh x reader #twd fanfiction #shane walsh #older man younger woman #oldermen #jon bernthal #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead #walking dead #twd walkers #apocalypse #post apocalyptic #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes

129 notes · View notes