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smiteswrites · 1 month ago

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A Different Kind of Pain

Part One

Description: After losing a gem of a next door neighbor, Jack worries what the new resident will be like. Instead of a young obnoxious college kid, he meets you. Instantly struck by your warm nature (and good looks but he won't admit to that), Jack finds himself drawn to you in a way he hasn't experienced in years.

Tags: reader is a chemistry grad student bc i say so, shameless self insert, fem!reader, trying to avoid too many specific descriptors on readers appearance but i am new to this, reader is shorter than jack, widower!Jack, Jack talks ab therapy, trying to do justice to the fact that Jack is an amputee, but again I am not an expert, just some fluff and feelings, eventual smut, and so mdni 18+

A/N: Thank you all for the encouragement on the first version of this! It has been really really amazing to know people enjoy my ideas and writing and absolutely wild that y'all want more. I really love this idea and have many many plans for these two. I hope to get part two written and out this week. I am thinking around 3-4 parts total, but we shall see. This is starts similar to this post, but I made some changes and expanded quite a bit. I hope you enjoy and please send me asks/dms if you have any suggestions/comments/feedback on anything! I am always open to improving and learning.

gif credit - @iluvseb | divider credit - @cursed-carmine

Part One - 3k

Jack has been living in the left half of a red brick duplex, unit 101A, long enough to see a handful of tenants come and go on the right side, 102A. There was a college kid whose prefrontal cortex was just underdeveloped enough for him to be nothing but a pain in Jack’s ass. Needless to say, not his favorite neighbor. Then there was a young couple who were perfectly lovely until they had to move somewhere with two bedrooms to accommodate an incoming little one (Jack had been sure to give them his number in case they ever needed a friend in the ED). Most recently an older woman, Mrs. McAlister, who had regularly brought Jack all manner of baked goods and leftovers, had moved out and into her daughter's house.

The unfortunate loss of Mrs. McAlister’s cooking meant that the right half of his duplex (and yes he thought of it as his by this point) was empty. Jack couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread creep in as he watched the last of Mrs. McAlister’s things be packed into a UHaul on Saturday afternoon. Would his new neighbor be another sweet elderly woman? Or would he get stuck with some obnoxious twenty something with no common courtesy?

Fortunately for Jack, he didn’t have to wait long to find out. Housing got snatched up fast in a city like Pittsburgh, especially housing that was halfway decent and affordable, so it was no surprise that 102A was empty for under 48 hours.

His first glimpse of the new tenant comes when Jack is arriving back home from a shift, just before 8 am on a Monday. He isn’t surprised to see a moving truck out front, nor is he surprised to see you directing the two movers on where to put furniture and boxes. He can tell you're young, in your twenties is his guess, which immediately sets his nerves on edge. Jack doesn’t think he can handle anymore house parties or loud hookups or trash left out. But you have a quiet, competent air about you that seems to indicate you aren't going to cause a ruckus. You appear to be alone, aside from the movers. He finds himself looking for evidence of a partner, husband, wife, without really meaning to. Forcing himself to not be overly nosy, Jack moves past the two men, now carrying part of a bed frame, and lets himself into 101.

After a shower and the last of Mrs. McAlister’s roast (bless that woman), Jack is dressed in grey sweats and a black t-shirt, ready for bed. Despite the sleep threatening to overcome him, he finds himself looking out his window to check in on the status of your move. Apparently you had gotten here early, because he can see you handing the movers a wad of cash and sending them on their way. Before he really knows what he’s doing, he’s grabbed his prosthetic and is hurrying to get the damn thing back on so he can step back outside. He may as well catch you as you’re heading back inside, introduce himself, make sure he doesn’t need to be concerned about having another pain in his ass next door. It is the neighborly thing to do after all, he reasons.

Another moment finds him a couple steps outside his door, clearing his throat to catch your attention from where you’re examining the front facing window of 102.

“I’m Jack. Abbot. I’m in 101. Figured I should introduce myself, welcome you to the neighborhood and all.” He outstretches his hand, wondering if a handshake is still what people do these days.

Smiling, you shake his hand firmly and give him your name, he lets out a quiet sigh of relief. It is at this moment Jack finally takes you in fully. He was right, he thinks, you must be in your mid twenties, no ring on your finger, and certainly not a pain in his ass. You stand a handful of inches shorter than him, just enough that you have to look up to make eye contact. The smile you are giving him is radiant in a way that makes his stomach feel tight. He can see you’re flushed from the exertion of carrying boxes and helping to move furniture, and your hair has begun to fall from where you had it back.

But even though you aren’t at your most put together, Jack is left feeling off balance, as he can only see you as the most raw and real kind of beautiful. The kind of beauty that comes with a bright smile, dewy skin, and pink chinks. The kind that has as much to do with physical appearance as it does a person’s character. The kind of beauty that reminds him of his late wife when they first met. Even though he is just meeting you, Jack likes to think his gut is usually right about people, and his gut is telling him that you are exactly the type of kind, caring, intelligent person that spells nothing but trouble for him.

“It’s very nice to meet you Jack! I hope the movers weren’t too much of a disturbance, it seems like a quiet little haven around here.”

“About as close to a haven as you can get in the city,” he agrees with a small smile. “And don’t mention it, you weren’t a disturbance at all.”

In the few minutes the two of you spend chatting he finds out you’re a fourth year graduate student, “A PhD in chemistry? You might just be a bigger masochist than me.” You somehow work nearly as many hours as he does, and he finds your work ethic dizzyingly attractive. You moved to the area in the hope of finding somewhere a little quieter, some place where you didn’t feel like people were packed in like sardines. You aren’t from PA, but you have a couple close friends in town and your family tries to visit often. You confirm his suspicions when you tell him you’re single and don’t have any kids or pets so there shouldn’t be any noise waking him up through the night.

“Actually, I’m an attending in the ED, usually on night shift. Sounds like you aren't home much during the day, but-”

“Don’t worry Jack, I’ll keep it down during the day too. You can always bang on the wall if I’m being to loud,”

He feels the corners of his mouth twitch up. “Thanks, sweetheart.” It slips before he can catch up to his mouth. Even though he knows he shouldn’t be giving you nicknames, and definitely not that kind, the pink that dusts your cheeks at the term of endearment is enough to make him want to call you nothing else.

“Uh- listen I’ve gotta get to bed, but let me give you my number in case you need anything. Neighbor or doctor wise,” he says, shooting you a wink.

“Thank you, that’s very sweet of you doctor.”

And god, he knows you mean it in a teasing way, but it does nothing to help the steadily growing attraction he feels towards you. He knows he is at least 15 years too old, and far too emotionally unavailable to even entertain the idea of being with you. He knows. But when you smile at him like he’s just offered to hang the moon and stars for you, he really doesn’t know what to do with himself.

It’s just his number, no harm in you having it, and certainly no reason it has to have any underlying intention behind it. That’s what he tells himself anyway.

He puts his number in your phone when you hand it to him, putting “Jack Abbot” as the name and “the guy in 101A and doctor at PTMC” in the notes for good measure. You thank him again, giving his hand a squeeze as he returns the phone. You say your goodbyes, and he retreats into his black out curtain and noise machine generated paradise. The last thing he sees before shutting his eyes is a text from an unknown number with your name, just so he can save your number too.

You are going to be a pain in his ass alright, a kind he didn’t even think to be worried about.

After your initial introduction, Jack assumes (worries) the two of you won't see much of each other. During your initial meeting, in an effort to reassure him you wouldn’t make too much noise during the day, you had inadvertently given him your schedule: 6:45 am leave for work, 7-5 ish suffer, 5:30 pm arrive home from work. With anyone else he would be glad to know that there would be no one next door to disturb his sleep, but instead he could only focus on the fact that he would rarely, if ever, run into you.

His assumption proved to be correct for the first two weeks of your time in 102A, only seeing you on occasion as he left for work. But, about halfway through week three, Jack wakes up earlier than normal. By the time 5:30 pm rolls around and he’s supposed to be on call for another 13.5 hours, he feels himself starting to get restless. It’s a nice day outside with a high of 75 and a low of 52, the sun has set enough to cast an orange glow on the city, but not enough that it’s going to be dark soon, and Jack has a rare burst of energy. His therapist has been telling him some sunshine goes a long way, and he didn’t spend all that money on the fucking sports prosethic to not use it.

By 5:42 pm Jack is in athletic shorts and a t-shirt, sports prosthetic on. He makes it about two steps out his front door, still adjusting the stupid prosthetic, when he senses he isn't alone. Straightening up, he realizes you’ve just come out of your front door as well. His gaze travels upwards from your feet as he makes his way to his full height. You’re dressed similar to himself in athletic shorts with a matching jacket, and he has to force himself to not linger on the exposed skin of your legs. When he does meet your eyes, he finds you smiling at him in a way that suggests you caught his little slip up, but are too polite to mention it.

“Hey Jack! Are you heading out for an evening run? Well- I guess it would technically be morning for you, sorry,” You laugh at yourself lightly, cheeks coloring only the slightest bit. Whether it’s from embarrassment at the slip up or something else he can’t be sure.

Either way, he gives you what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I still consider this to be evening. I am a proud night lurker, there is no part of me that wants to be waking up before 3 pm.” A small fit of giggles overtakes you, and he feels his smile turn into something more genuine.

“But no, not much of a runner,” he gestures to his right leg where the prosthetic is on display. “I’m on call tonight and can’t do much besides hang out here, figured a walk might do me some good.”

To your credit, your expression only falters slightly when you take in his leg, quickly recovering to match his eye contact as you listen. You nod, humming warmly in agreement, still keeping your eyes locked on his. “I have to agree. I’m also not much of a runner but I try to walk after lab most days. I think it’s a great way to reset after a long day.”

“Sounds like you’re the evening walk expert then?”

“Something like that,” you joke back.

Jack knows that the conversation is winding down, it’s time for him to wish you a good walk and find a reason to hang back until you go on your way. Wait to see which direction you turn before beginning to walk in the opposite way. But Jack also knows that you’ve been looking at him with an attentiveness that, while he gives freely, is rarely if ever matched. If there were ever a sign of not wanting a conversation to end, he thinks the way you’re looking at him is surely it.

Fuck it.

“Well, I’m new to this whole walking for fun thing, maybe you could show me the best route to take?”

Your eyes brighten, “Of course! I mean, obviously I’m new to the area, but I think I’ve found a good path. It’s about 30 minutes, if that’s good with you?”

“Of course, lead the way,” he gestures forward with his hand, indicating for you to lead the way, leaning forward slightly as he does so. If you notice the way he stumbles forward slightly as his weight shifts on an unfamiliar right foot, you don’t say anything. But Jack swears he you’re biting the inside of your cheek to fight off a grin as you walk down the steps.

Fucking sports prosthetic.

The walk is… nice. Nicer than Jack expected. He can hear the birds chirping in the trees that are awkwardly implanted in the sidewalk. He can hear the sounds of the city too (sirens, honking, a plane overhead) but they’re less pronounced than normal. The two of you walk side by side as you lead him through parts of his neighborhood he’s never really taken the time to look at. You point out a café that apparently ‘makes a mean oat milk latte.’

“I hate to fulfill the old white guy stereotype, but I only drink my coffee black.” Self-deprecation as a form of self-defence, the oldest trick in the book.

“As horrifying as that information is,” you begin, closing your eyes and placing a hand on your chest, “I also can get behind a black coffee, so if you’re calling yourself old you’re gonna have to call me old too.” You smile at him and make eye contact for only a moment before breaking looking at the pavement a few feet ahead of you.

“Besides, you have got to be the sexiest ‘old guy’ I’ve ever seen so I’d be wearing that badge proudly if I were you.” You put your hands up in mock defensiveness and accentuate your point with air quotes.

He really isn’t sure what to do with himself besides laugh. Looking at you now, he could tell that even if you were uncertain, you were not the type of woman to let him get away with putting himself down. Nothing to do but admit defeat.

“I think I’ll be quite happy with that title.”

By the time the duplex is coming back into view Jack has learned that you’ve been walking everyday for years after a suggestion from a therapist. He’s learned that you “actually thought about going to medical school, but turns out biology and me don’t get along.” He’s also relearned more about chemistry than he ever hoped he would have to after asking the simple question “What does your lab research?”

He had told you his own therapist had suggested he ‘get his ass outside’ more often, and that maybe the shrink was right more often than he wanted to give the guy credit for. He also shared one of his gorrier work stories and had been impressed when you were hanging on to his every word rather than going green. More importantly, he had only let himself spend about 3 minutes total looking at the way the sunlight caught your hair, or the way it framed your face as it fell from the loose bun you had it in, or at your lips as you spoke rather than your face, or at the necklace laying against the soft place where your neck met your collar bones. Just 3 minutes, not bad at all, practically a record.

As you approach the front steps you hesitate, and he feels it too, he thinks. The uncertainty of where the two of you stand with one another. Jack knows where he stands, and he has a feeling he knows where you do too, he hadn’t been the only one with a staring problem. But even if Jack thinks he knows, he doesn’t really know.

“Thank you for sharing your route with me, I think I was right to call you the walk expert.” He shoots you a trademark Abbot smirk, trying to put a lid on whatever feelings may or may not have been simmering during the past 30 minutes.

“Anytime Jack, it was nice to have some company.” The smile you give him in return is softer, warmer than his own. For not the first time, and certainly not the last, he feels torn about how to approach you. He knows this feeling, he’s felt it before and it landed him in a world of heartbreak and pain. It was a place he’s worked hard to move on from, and thank god he can see now that while yes feelings, raw and vulnerable, can end in pain they are also what make life worth living.

He isn’t sure where the two of you stand, after all you’ve barely started to get to know each other. However, he is sure that he wants to at least give himself the chance to find out, no matter how scary or stupid a choice it might be.

“Well… maybe we could do this again sometime? I know my therapist would throw a fucking party if he got word of me not only being out in daylight but also socializing outside of work.”

“I’d love that,” you smile wider now, staring at your feet briefly and rocking back on your heels slightly before looking back up at him. “I’ll be here a little after 5:30 pretty much everyday, join me whenever you like. Okay?”

“Okay,” he feels his own expression melt into something so sickly sweet his cheeks hurt. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Jack.”

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbot #the pitt #smites writes #smites fics #a different kind of pain #jack abbot fluff #jack abbot x female reader #neighbor!jack

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always-a-slut-4-ghouls · 2 years ago

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Is refreshing my Spanish more useful in my day to day life? Yes. Do I end up doing that? No, because I’m a fucking idiot who can’t focus properly unless I’m into something. I keep saying “I’ve taken three Spanish classes through elementary and highschool. Re-learning it has to be easier than learning a whole new language!” and then when I open Duolingo I go like “ooh, Norwegian. I would love to be able to read that!” and take the Norwegian lessons instead 😑

#emma posts #to be fair to myself while I do encounter Spanish more often #I don’t actually have to use it very frequently here #I do. however. get more frustrated when I reach a translation dead end in Norwegian more often #genealogy has been a sort of side hobby since I was a kid and my family came to america relatively recently #so if i try to go back past the immigration I need to find translated sources #but there just aren’t that many unless it’s something that’s already been translated by family #i don’t have as much trouble with Icelandic family because people who were interested in this before I was went hard on getting information #but I’m my dad’s side it’s harder #and we have this postcard that Norwegian family mailed the American immigrant family decades ago #and we know what it says because someone found a guy to translate it #but it infuriates me that I’m looking right at it and i can’t even read it without help! it’s not even that big a deal #it’s just a skill issue that pisses me off #no idea what I’m going to do with the Dutch records I found. they aren’t even about people from the Netherlands. they just straight up have #records about the countrys my family comes from available online and I’m like???#me looking at papers in a language my grandparents either stopped speaking or weren’t encouraged to learn. and glaring #what secrets do you hold? and it’s literally just the Icelandic version of the Bible and I know it #but some of it is actually not the Bible okay?#and I do imagine I may have to put extra work in when it comes to older sources since I’m learning modern Norwegian #but i have to start somewhere

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thelostconsultant · 18 days ago

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Oscar Piastri x reader

Summary: Oscar finds out he has a son, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to be the father he deserves.

Note: Oscar is in his early 30s in this. Also, I've been going through the trash can (exported posts from the old blog), so most of it might be familiar.

“We would like to meet Oliver’s father. His biological father,” the principal clarifies as he glances over at your boyfriend. You’ve been together for three years, he has been by your five-year-old’s side for over half his life, why isn’t he enough?

But he insists on meeting him, saying if he was dead and you could prove it, or if your boyfriend was your husband, they would move on with the enrollment, but you have confirmed that you aren’t married and the biological father is alive, so now they want to have a chat with him. He doesn’t even care about the tiny little detail that said father has absolutely no idea he has a child.

What a bunch of morons.

In the evening, while your son is reading a book about cars in his bed with your boyfriend, you sit by the dining table with your phone in hand, trying to figure out what to do. This fancy private school is perfect, they know how to handle intelligent kids like Oliver, and you want the best for him. You want to make sure he doesn’t get bored, that he will get the kind of intellectual challenge in school that he needs.

At the age of five, he can read on his own just fine, he even learned some Spanish from your boyfriend, and he’s a quick study in general. It’s infuriating how he’s a mini version of his father, from his intelligence to his looks, everything reminds you of him.

And if you meet F1 fans together, someone surely goes, “He looks so much like Piastri at his age!” Sadly, that isn’t a coincidence, and the poor kid picked up on the whole you-look-like-him thing and chose him as his favorite driver.

Sometimes you consider telling him. Oliver, not Oscar. God, there’s no way you will ever tell him the truth. He has his own, certainly busy life and he probably doesn’t need a child in it. Yes, you saw the photos, he’s good with kids, but meeting one for a few minutes isn’t the same as having your own.

Your son on the other hand can find out when he gets old enough to understand why you left and went no contact with his father. That was over five years ago anyway, so you had time to figure out what to do. Until then, you make sure the few photos of you and Oscar are stored somewhere safe in case he wants to see them when the time comes.

Now you are cornered, your hand forced by that damn principal. You have no idea if he’s still using that old social media profile of his, but you have to try. So, you take a deep breath and start a video call, deep down hoping he won’t answer. You aren’t ready to talk to him, not yet, but you have no choice. And then his face shows up on your screen, the sight bringing back memories you’ve been trying to forget for years.

“Hey. Are you sure it’s me you wanted to call?” he asks, although there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

Nodding, you let out a sigh. “Hi. Yeah, um… I don’t even know where to start.”

“At the beginning?”

Silence follows his words, your brain in overdrive as it try to find the best way to start. But maybe being straightforward is the right answer. “I have a son. He’s five,” you add, hoping the meaningful look you’re sending his way can be seen over the screen.

After a few seconds of heavy silence, you can see the wheels turning in his head as he does some math. “Wait, five? We… That was a bit over five years ago. Could he…?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “He’s your son.”

His face is emotionless for a while as he tries to process the news, but this is nothing new, he’s the king of hiding emotions. But then, just as you think he will end the call, he lets out a sigh. “Why now? What do you want from me? Money?” he asks, although you can tell he’s unsure about this whole situation.

The fact he assumes you want money only makes you angry. “It’s not your money I need. Hell, I don’t even want you to meet him,” you snap. “The thing is, there’s this private school I want to send him to, and they have this stupid rule to have both parents present at a parental interview. Since my boyfriend and I never got married, they want to see the biological father. That’s all I want. A meeting with the principal.”

Oscar puts up a finger as he bites on his lower lip, his eyes focusing on something behind his phone’s camera. “Let me get this straight. After all these years, you say I have a son, but I’m not allowed to meet him?” he then asks, looking back at you.

“Yeah.”

“One meeting,” he then states, his voice serious. “You let me meet him once and I’ll talk to that principal.”

“Oscar, come on.”

“That’s the deal I can offer.”

You don’t have a choice, you know that. If he doesn’t do it for Oliver, he will have to go to another school. Letting out a sigh of defeat, you nod. “But we don’t tell him that you’re his father. He watches F1, and since he looks a lot like you, he decided that you’re his favorite driver. That’s all you’re gonna be, nothing more.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I,” Oscar begins hesitantly, and you can see as he sits down on his couch and looks up at the ceiling. “You just told me I had a son. What do you want from me, to forget it? I want to meet him. I want him to know who I am.”

“He’s five. If he finds out, he’ll want to see you again. He will want you to be a part of his life. I don’t want that.”

You can see he’s uncertain about this. He probably understands that becoming his father would mean he will have to regularly visit the two of you, and even if you all kept it a secret, there is still the risk of the truth slipping out and making it into the headlines. “Is he anything like me?” he suddenly asks, his eyes softening as he watches you.

A smile creeps on your lips as you think about this, because it’s so painfully obvious to you that you can’t deny it, no matter how badly you want to do that. “He’s a highly intelligent little smartass, just like you. And his looks… A mini you, no doubt.”

Oscar nods. “Then I want to be a part of his life. Let me spend time with him,” he asks, seeming relaxed.

“Two hours.”

“No, I’ll stay for a week, and I want to see him every day,” he’s quick to clarify. “I can look out for him while you’re at work.”

Whatever happened to the idea of meeting Oliver once? That’s not what you have just discussed, and now he’s changing his demands? “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” is all you say in the end.

“You said it yourself, I’m his favorite driver,” he points out with a smug smile. “We’ll be fine.”

You are doing this only because of the school. You remember what Oscar can be like; if he makes up his mind about something, he definitely isn’t about to let his plan go. Now he wants a week with his son, and you know that’s the only way he will do what you need from him. “All right. Can I send you the school’s number so you can make an appointment? I told them you travel a lot, so they’ll need to be flexible.”

“Sure, I’ll call them as soon as I can.” You thank him, and are just about to say goodbye when he speaks up again. “Wait, can you send me a photo or a video?”

“Yeah, I have a few hundred of those,” you reply with a smile.

Oscar remains silent, but he lets out a sigh and you know something is on his mind, something he wants to tell you. “I still have a hard time believing it, you know.”

“You seemed pretty confident when it came to getting to know him.”

“I wanted to use my chance to corner you,” he admits. “But this? That I have a son? Hard to believe.”

“Well, he’s yours. You’ll understand it when you meet him,” you tell him kindly.

After you say goodbye, you go up to check on Oliver and your boyfriend, but by the time you get there, they are sleeping soundly with the open book resting on your son’s chest. With a smile, you take the book and lean down to give both of them a soft kiss. You can’t help but wonder how your little family’s dynamics will change with Oscar’s presence.

Well, it isn’t really your son you are worried about, the main issue is your boyfriend. Oscar is a famous F1 driver, someone your son idolizes, of course he feels threatened. You told him it would be okay, that you didn’t have feelings for him anymore, but he didn’t seem convinced. Maybe if they meet and he sees you are indifferent, he will finally trust you a lot more. One can hope, right?

A bit over a week later Oscar is sitting in his rented car in the school’s parking lot, thinking about how this conversation could go. According to you, they are aware of the fact he didn’t know Oliver existed until recently, so he hopes they don’t expect him to talk about what he’s like. Sure, over the past week he asked you about him, he wanted to prepare for meeting him, but they haven’t met in person. How could he know what to say? After taking a deep breath, he gets out and goes inside, feeling more nervous than he does when he’s getting in the car before a race.

If he’s this nervous now, what will he feel like before meeting his son?

Spending years in a boarding school prepared him for this meeting, and the principal is everything he imagined him to be. He’s polite, not making a fuss over the fact he is–let’s say–famous. He even apologizes for the mess he caused, saying he understands it was probably quite a shock for him, but this is the protocol, and they can’t make an exception. Oscar keeps nodding, even assuring him it’s okay, although deep down he’s still confused and unsure of things.

All of this despite his conversation with his mother, who was overjoyed when she saw a video of Oliver, saying he was truly just like him, and she couldn’t wait to have the chance to meet her grandchild in person. But she also told him maybe this was the best thing that could happen to him. Having a child is truly an experience, and since he was still five, they had the chance to have a wonderful relationship. “You say he loves F1. Just imagine how happy he would be if he could go to some race weekends with you. You could teach him so much about racing, and you could bond over that,” she said.

After he parks in front of your house in the afternoon, Oscar goes to the trunk to get everything he brought with himself. From signed merch from both himself and Lando–just to be sure–to toy racing cars, he has a wide variety of gifts. Something will hopefully become a favorite, an item that he will keep close to himself. Maybe he went overboard, maybe he could’ve brought only one thing, but he had no idea what Oliver liked, so he couldn’t pick just one item.

“Please, don’t tell me you brought all this for him.”

He looks up with a questioning hum, only to find you standing next to him on the sidewalk. Seeing you again brings back memories of your time together, of all of your little adventures during the short time you spent together, and he can’t help but wonder if you fled because you found out you were pregnant. If you didn’t leave him so suddenly, would things be different now? Would you be a big happy family?

Clearing his throat, he flashes a sheepish smile at you. “I couldn’t choose,” he admits as he grabs the duffel bag and follows you to the front door. He can’t help but wonder what he can expect, and he has to ask you the most important thing. “Did you tell him that he was meeting his father today?” You nod. That’s good. “Is he excited?”

You bite on your lower lip as you watch him, clearly thinking about how to answer the question. But after a short break, you let out a sigh. “He’s a little confused, I think. My boyfriend, Alejandro, met him when he was only two, the three of us spent a lot of time together, and he moved in last year. Oliver… He assumed my boyfriend was his dad, which in a way he is, but we had to sit him down and explain the situation to him,” you say, looking sad all of a sudden.

It’s clear now why you were so against telling Oliver the truth. You want him to be close to your boyfriend, and you’re probably afraid things between them will change once he gets into the picture. Maybe you’re even afraid things between you and your boyfriend will change too. He can’t blame you for that, but now that he knows he has a son, Oscar wants to be a part of his life. He doesn’t want to be some asshole who ignored his own blood.

Once inside, he puts the bag on the floor and follows you to the living room where Oliver is watching some cartoon on TV. Now that he sees him in person, he feels warmth spread through his body, because this kid looks exactly like he did at his age. You clear your throat next to him to get your son’s attention, and when the kid notices him, his eyes grow wide from surprise. He gets off the couch and slowly walks over to them, his eyes never leaving his face as he tries to process who their guest is.

“Hello, Oliver,” Oscar says as he crouches down.

“You’re Oscar Piastri!” he yells excitedly.

Oscar can’t help but chuckle at this. “I am.”

You reach out to ruffle your son’s hair, then lean down to be on somewhat eye level with him. “Honey, remember when I said your daddy was going to jump in to see you?” The little boy nods. “It’s Oscar. He’s your dad,” you tell him softly.

Suddenly the excitement is replaced by disbelief, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of you as he tries to process what he’s just been told. The corners of Oscar’s lips curl into a smile as he watches him, waiting patiently for the child’s decision.

“So he’s my dad?” Oliver asks, earning a nod from you. “Does this mean I’m a Piastri?” It’s Oscar’s turn to nod. “Mom, why am I not called Piastri?”

His eyes move over to you just in time to see you gulp, clearly having trouble figuring out what to say to that. He can’t blame you for your confusion, it probably haven’t occurred to you that one day you will have to respond to this question.

With a kind smile, he puts a hand on your arm, then turns to his son. “Because I’ve been away for a little too long. But I’m here, your mom and I can discuss if we could change that if you want,” he finishes, barely daring to glance up at you, expecting to meet an angry look in your eyes.

But you don’t look angry, if anything, you seem relieved that he came to your rescue. There’s a glint in your eyes, though, that tells him you aren’t happy that Oliver brought up his surname. As he thinks about it, it occurs to him that you have mentioned how you considered your boyfriend to be his father in a way, so maybe you will have rather given him his name.

You place a soft kiss on your son’s head, then inform him that you will leave the two of them alone so they can get to know each other. Father and son watches you leave the room, then he turns back to the child with a smile. “I brought you some things. Wanna see them?” he asks him, and when the little boy nods, he goes to grab his bag.

As he opens the zipper, Oliver stands by his side, watching his every move with a happy smile on his face. Oscar pulls out the gifts, one by one, and can’t hold back his laugh as he watches his son proudly wearing his new baseball cap and shirt as he examines the toy car in his small hands. He begins to talk about the last race, excitedly recounting the most memorable moments, including the end when his father crossed the finish line first. His big brown eyes turn to him, then he says that he’s so happy he’s here.

When he wraps his short arms around him, Oscar does the same and even presses a kiss on the kid’s head. There is undeniably a certain connection between them that he can’t explain, but they both know it’s there, otherwise his son probably wouldn’t be this chill with the idea of being alone with a stranger. Okay, that and the fact he’s his favorite driver.

They sit down in the middle of the living room, and Oliver decides to talk about his favorite books, proudly telling his father that he knows how to read, and that, according to you and your boyfriend, he’s really good at it. “The other kids can barely read yet,” he says with a smug smile, “and I’m already learning math!”

“Do you know how to play chess?” Oscar asks him, but the boy only shakes his head. “I should teach you. I started when I was younger than you, and my mom refused to play with me after a while.”

“Because you were so good?”

With a shrug, he stretches his arms above his head. “I don’t know, but I guess I was better than her. Not sure about other people, though,” he admits with a warm smile.

Oliver lets out a thoughtful hum. “Is she as awesome as my mom?” he suddenly asks, looking back at him.

A laugh escapes him at the thought, which makes his son tilt his head to the side in question. “That depends on who you ask. She loves to embarrass me online, which isn’t always a good thing, but I love her, she’s the best mum I could ask for. And there are a lot of people, especially my fans, who absolutely adore her for this gentle bullying,” he adds with a laugh.

“My mom would never do that,” Oliver states, his little nose scrunching at the thought. “She loves me too much.”

The two of them spend the next hour or so talking, sometimes stopping when the little boy gets distracted by something he caught on TV. But he seems interested, he wants to learn as much as he can, and it’s true the other way around, because Oscar asks a lot of questions too. He hasn’t even noticed how much time have passed until you walk in to tell your son it’s time for dinner, a statement that comes with the question whether or not his dad is allowed to stay.

You don’t let him stay, saying he’s probably tired from traveling so much, then give him a begging look to make him speak up too. Oscar lets out a sigh and forced a smile on his face. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll be back tomorrow. I’m staying for a few days and your mum let me come to see you every day,” he says happily. “In fact, I’ll be looking out for you tomorrow while she’s at work. How does that sound?”

Oliver squeals from happiness before he hugs you both, thanking you over and over again for letting him come over. “Can we go to the zoo?” he asks with bright eyes as he looks over at his father.

“Sure, whatever you want,” Oscar responds with a nod.

“Okay, time to wash your hands, Alejandro will be home soon, so we can start to eat,” you ask your son. Once he says goodbye to Oscar and disappears, you turn to him with a forced smile. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

With a sigh, he steps closer to you. “You were right, he’s a lot like me,” he begins quietly, then stops to consider what to say.

He knows deep down that you want him to stay away, you don’t want him to ruin the balance of your little family, but how can he give you that after getting to know his son? Oliver is his blood, he’s truly a mini version of him, there’s no way he will turn his back on him now.

You know. After all these years, despite your time together being so short, you still know him well enough to know what was going on in his head. “Just don’t break his heart, okay?” you ask, earning a nod from him. “Thanks for… everything. Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow. Have a good night.”

“Are you a hundred percent sure you want to take him to the zoo?” his mother asks later that day when he calls her.

Despite being excited to hear everything about her grandson, she seems a little uncertain since hearing about his plan for the next day. Oscar, obviously, knows the problem. Oliver looks just like him, if people see them together—and they will, there’s always someone who recognizes him—the rumors will spread like wildfire along with some photos to prove it.

And then some journalist will figure out he’s your son, and they’ll check every paparazzi photo of him with his past girlfriends.

So, yeah, he knows the risks, but deep down he doesn’t care. And if they find out, then what? He likes this kid, he wants to be a part of his life, he wants to be the kind of father Oliver deserves.

“Sooner or later the secret would be out, Mum,” he points out.

She lets out a sigh. “Yeah, but are his mother and her boyfriend ready for this?”

Crap. This he selfishly didn’t consider.

The two of them chat a little longer, and this time he’s willing to listen to a lecture and some advice without interrupting his mother. He needs all the help he can get at this point. Anything to make the right decision at the end of the day.

Two hours later he’s standing in front of your house, leaning against the side of the car with his phone in hand. His thumb hovers over your name as he’s trying to decide whether or not to call you at this time of the night.

The clock says it’s almost midnight. Maybe you’re already sleeping, maybe—

“Oscar?”

His head snaps up, and he sees you stand in the door. Gulping, he pushes himself away from the vehicle and walks over to you. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late, but we need to talk,” he says.

You nod. “Okay, I’m all ears.”

And then he explains everything; the zoo, the possibility of the world finding out his connection to Oliver, the rumors, the gossip sites, the scrutiny. This is more than what you went through while dating him, and it will affect all three of you.

He can see the exact moment you understand the weight of it all, he sees the way the blood drains from your face and you rub your eyes with the heel of your palms.

This is the point where you’ll say that’s enough, Oscar’s sure of it, but then tears appear in your eyes, and he instinctively cups your face to force you to look at him. He doesn’t have to ask anything, you start to talk without his question.

“Alejandro moved out. Temporarily, at least that’s what he said. Oliver… He kept talking about you, about how cool it is that you’re his father, and he got a little upset that I didn’t point out he was technically a stranger unlike the man who’s been raising him.”

With a sigh, Oscar pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay. I can talk to him if you want me to,” he offers.

You look him in the eye, then shake your head. “No, and… I think you shouldn’t be around Oliver either. Birthday, Christmas, one visit during the summer break. The only times you can see him,” you state quietly.

“What? No!”

“Do what’s the best for him. Please.”

For a moment, Oscar hesitates. Yes, he understands your point, but he doesn’t want to let go of his son. Not now that he knows what a cool kid he has. Anger slowly takes over, and before he can stop himself, he says, “Don’t want me to start a custody battle,” he says.

“Come on, you travel around the world for the best part of the year, you’re single as far as I know, no judge would give you custody.”

He’s not like this, he barely loses his temper, but now he’s so angry he might blow up. “Why do you have to complicate things every single time?!” he spits. “I’ll talk to your boyfriend and put an end to this nonsense. He’ll have to accept that I’m here, and I’m here to say. Damn it, I’ll even move here if that’s the only way I can be around Oliver.”

This leaves you speechless, and then you just slap him across the face and march back inside the house.

Well, that’s not what he expected.

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1

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noisilyscreechingsong · 1 year ago

Text

Image this:

Danny is sixteen. He just found out he is to become King, with a capital K, when he becomes a mature ghost, which is at least 20 years after his death. So he’s got time. Everything’s fine. Except for the Observants pushing his education. Tutors shoving information down his throat like he’s cramming for finals. Princess Dora, Pandora, Frostbite, and even Clockwork checking on him frequently and making a schedule for him to come visit their territories for little learning sessions. Fright Knight has been following his every move. And let’s not forget the other random ghosts he’s never even met before coming to ask for favors or to complain or just give him their problems in general and expect him to fix it.

He can’t even let his frustrations out! All his regular rogues avoid him now! Even Vlad doesn’t want to get involved, but that could be because he’s still bitter about not getting the crown like he wanted.

Good thing he knows a king that has probably been through the same thing.

King Arthur of Atlantis. In other words, Aquaman.

Because Danny wasn’t technically king yet, crowned prince is probably the right title?, he couldn’t just call him up or send a letter asking to meet. So Danny decides to go give the man a visit himself.

Using process of elimination, he was able to find Atlantis after about two months of research and searching. He didn’t have a whole lot of free time, okay?

Turning invisible and flying through the water was a lot easier than he thought. Getting through the barrier was a piece of cake and the castle was obvious to find. What wasn’t obvious to find was the king himself. He wasn’t in the throne room, or his study, or the training grounds, or literally anywhere in the castle. He checked.

No. He finds the king playing some game with some kids in the underwater city.

It was surprising to find him there, especially after the etiquette lessons from Dora, but it gave Danny some hope that maybe he wouldn’t be miserable and burdened with paperwork and boring meetings when he becomes king.

Danny turns visible. They were still invested in the game but the guards noticed him. Spears were pointed at him in a second.

“Halt! State your business,” the guard demands.

The shout caused everyone in the area to stop and look, including the king.

Danny raises his hands in surrender.

“Uh, hi. Sorry to stop the game, I just wanted to talk- sorry, speak to King Arthur, if- if that’s okay? There wasn’t an address to mail to that I could find-“

“It’s okay,” the king interrupts. “Let’s go somewhere private to talk then. Do you have any weapons on you?”

Danny perks up at the opportunity to finally talk to him.

“Yes please! And no, no weapons, sir.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” the king replies with a smile. Danny smiles back widely.

“My king-“

The king holds up a hand to stop the guard’s worries.

When they finally arrive to the throne room of the palace King Arthur turns to Danny.

“Who are you?” He asks in a tone that was a bit more serious than it was before.

“Oh! Sorry. Hi. I’m Danny. Danny Phantom. It’s nice to meet you, King Arthur,” he answers quickly with a nervous smile.

The king nods, obviously thinking about something else as he watches Danny with guarded eyes.

“How can you breathe underwater if I may ask? I’m curious.”

“Well that’s easy, I’m not breathing.”

“You’re… not breathing,” the king repeats with skepticism.

“Yea,” Danny agrees freely. “I don’t have to breathe if I don’t want to. You know, because of the whole ghost thing.”

“Ghost?”

“Yea. Can turn invisible, walk through walls, fly- you know. Haven’t you ever seen a ghost before?”

Danny tries a bit of humor with a crooked smile, but it falls when he sees the contemplative expression on the king’s face.

“Wait, seriously? You’ve never seen a ghost?”

“I’m aware of a ghost named Deadman apart of Justice League Dark but he is invisible to everyone.”

“Really?! I didn’t know that! I need to go talk to him! Where can I find him?”

“Hold on there, guppy. Didn’t you want to talk about something?”

Danny is drawn back to the topic at hand.

“Right, okay, so I was recently told I was gonna be king in like twenty years, which is news to me, and now they are just throwing everything at me with all this information I don’t know what to do with and I’m getting complaints and requests and everyone is expecting so much from me when I’m literally sixteen years old! I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, whether I want to go to college or if I’ll even graduate high school, and they want me to solve territory disputes and create new laws and provide protection for those who want to go into the living plane. I just- I don’t know what I’m doing and the only king I could think of was you, so I guess I was wondering if you could, I don’t know, give me some advice or if I could shadow you for a bit to see what an actual king should do or act. I know it’s a lot to ask coming from someone you don’t even know, but I’m just a bit overwhelmed with everything and I don’t really know where to go from here and was hoping you would at least understand. My friends don’t get it and the other ghosts are kinda afraid of me now because of my title and they wouldn’t get it anyway…” he trails off awkwardly.

Arthur had never had this conversation before. He was honestly flattered and the kid looked genuine. Maybe he’d wait until one of the magic users okay-ed the young ‘ghost’ before revealing any information about himself.

He pulls out a device and throws it the kid. Danny dodges just to snatch it out of the air from reflex alone.

“That’s a communicator. I’ll send Deadman and Constantine your way and call when I get the okay. Where are you located?”

Danny’s toxic eyes were big and hopeful, shining brightly through the water.

“Thank you, sir! Amity Park, Illinois, the most haunted city in America!” He answers proudly.

The king just smiles.

#dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #aquaman #dp x dc writing prompt #prompt idea #john constantine #dc x dp #dc x dp prompt

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rosy-hollow · 2 days ago

Text

｡ﾟ•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ꒰ა ʚɞ ໒꒱ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈• ｡ﾟ╰┈➤ @ssstaryy ⦂ i saw this tiktok where this mom was talking to...uh....ehem....(bonnie blue) and she said her son was turning 18 and she was rage baiting saying stuff like "oh send him over to me" so..... bakugou with pro hero wife and she gets baited too and she just kinda.....gets really SCARY quiet. i just wanted to see bakugou kind of like "welp i tried to help you" kinda thing lmao

》 ✐ᝰ shortened the ask for all intents and purposes BUT THIS WAS SUCH A GOOD PROMPT I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING ITTT thank you for your contribution to the badass reader universe hehehe

｡ﾟ•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ꒰ა ʚɞ ໒꒱ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•

You swear your husband, Katsuki Bakugou, is rubbing off on you — for better or for worse.

It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes into this godforsaken interview for Tokyo’s Hottest and already, you feel the beginnings of a migraine clawing at the base of your skull

You had shown up expecting a conversation about your career — your rise to becoming the number four pro hero, the operations you’d led, the rescue missions, your combat stats, your innovative use of your quirk.

Instead?

All you’ve been fielding is a series of thinly veiled gossip questions about your marriage.

You try — multiple times — to shift the conversation back to your work. The meaningful things. But each time, the interviewer, this woman with teeth too white and a voice too shrill, giggles and steers it right back.

To him.

Now, let’s be clear — you love your husband. You’ve loved him since you were both dumb kids, and if it were Mina in front of you, you’d gush about him like you’re still twenty and head-over-heels (which, let’s face it, you are).

But this isn’t about love.

This is about respect.

And right now, you are very aware of the way it’s being chipped away with every loaded, invasive, disrespectful question this woman throws at you.

“So,” the interviewer purrs, crossing her legs slowly as if she were the one being filmed for a commercial, “we know you and your husband are totally head over heels — swoon — but come on, what’s one thing about him that just drives you crazy?”

You blink. “Uh… no? We’re pretty good.”

“Oh, come on~!” she coos, leaning forward like she’s your best friend at brunch. “Just a little thing. Don’t worry, we know you’re still obsessed with him.”

The frustration bubbles up like boiling water under your skin. But you rein it in. You always do.

“...I guess he leaves his gear everywhere?” you offer weakly. You hate yourself the moment the words leave your mouth, but in all honesty, you just wanted her to stop her nagging.

The interviewer grins like she’s won. Like you just handed her a headline wrapped in a bow.

“Ohhh, well if that’s the case,” she purrs, her voice dropping into something sultry and entirely unprofessional, “you could always send him over to me. I can handle a little mess~”

Silence.

Complete, thick, suffocating silence.

You still.

The rage is instant. Hot, electric. But you don't explode. No, you’ve learned from the best.

You don't throw a chair. You don't curse her out. You don't even blink.

You just stare.

Expression blank. Smile gone. A flicker of fire burning slow and deadly in your gaze.

She shifts in her seat. She knows.

Everyone in the room knows.

You don’t need to yell to be terrifying.

Still, she tries to recover with a nervous laugh, tugging at the hem of her skirt.

“Well, I’m just joking, obviously-!”

“Oi. Cut the fucking cameras.”

Your heart squeezes.

Katsuki.

You don’t even have to look to know where he is - somewhere just offscreen, barely holding back the urge to burn this studio to ash. But as much as you adore him for storming in like your personal hellfire…

This isn’t his fight.

This is yours.

You raise a hand toward the cameraman, who’s frozen like a deer in headlights.

“Keep rolling.”

The room stills.

You turn back to the woman, and you smile. Not sweetly. Not kindly. A slow, cold curl of your lips that spells nothing but trouble.

“Look,” you start, voice smooth like poison, “Hikari, was it?”

She nods once. Slowly. Carefully.

You lean in.

And twist the knife.

“I’ve worked my goddamn ass off to be the number four pro hero in Japan,” you say softly. “I’ve trained until my body broke. I’ve had to endure hours of torture and not say a word. I’ve walked out of burning buildings carrying children while my skin peeled off in strips.”

Her smile falters.

“But sure. Let’s talk about my husband domestic flaws”

You tilt your head, faux-friendly.

“I am not here so you can drool over the man I married like some thirsty little gremlin in red lipstick. My life? My work? My worth? None of it belongs to the man I’m married to - and treating him like a trophy on a shelf for you to paw at just shows how desperate and disgusting you really are.”

You lean back, letting the full weight of your fury settle into your words.

“He’s not for sale. I’m not here for your views. And you sure as hell aren’t getting anything from either of us.”

You sit up straighter, smile sharp.

“And that’s a wrap.”

The crew is frozen. The room? Silent. The air? Thick.

And the camera? Still rolling.

— You go to sleep that night thinking it’ll all blow over.

Spoiler: it does not.

When you wake up the next morning, your phone is vibrating so violently off your nightstand it might file for harassment.

You scroll. And scroll. And scroll.

You're viral.

Like, break-the-internet viral.

Screenshots of your face, lip curled, eyes burning; clips of your brutal monologue with remixes in the background. Edits of you walking out of the studio in slow motion with music that would make Endeavor himself flinch.

Comments flood every corner of the internet:

@ shotatochips13: mommy??? i mean- mommy?? @ kamijiroushipacc: dynamight’s definitely kicking his feet rn @ redriotinmybed: lowkey the interviewer is me but i’d flirt with HER instead @ ilovedekudotcom: book boyfriends could never.

You stare, open-mouthed. This is… a PR nightmare. But also? Kinda badass.

You wander into the kitchen in a daze, only to find Katsuki at the counter.

He's got his phone out.

And it is very clearly playing an edit of you - with some concerning angles that you don;t bother asking about.

He looks up, completely unbothered, smirking.

“What?” he shrugs. “Tried t’warn you, baby.”

You sigh.

You are never going to hear the end of this.

But when his arms slide around your waist, when he presses a kiss to your shoulder and murmurs, “Proud of you,” against your skin…

Yeah.

It was worth it.

A/N: badass reader is my roman empire now

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aakeysmash · 8 months ago

Note

prompt:

reader getting injured because she slipped in the shower, sukuna has to help her get to the hospital, where reader gets some pain meds making her kinda high. she confesses to him while being high

content: fluff, crack. reader is in the hospital and blood is named but there’s no gore. yuuji and sukuna are siblings. i love sukuna and i need him in my life so bad… someone PLS be my sukuna

“So, just to be sure: one margherita for me and one with sausage for you?” Asks you Yuuji while putting on his shoes.

“Yup,” you answer, popping the p. “Can I just have a quick shower while you’re gone?”

“Uhhh, sure, let me go ask Sukuna,” your friend tells you smiling and rushing up the stairs of his home.

You and Yuuji have been best friends since forever. You remember the first time you both cried your eyes out at the park in kindergarten because a lizard had just eaten the ladybug you had been watching for half an hour. Since that moment you’ve been attached at the hip, your homework filled afternoons in high school turning to pizza nights when both of your work schedules allowed you to now.

“Big bro said sure,” comes Yuuji’s voice from the end of the staircase.

“I did in fact not say that,” growls Sukuna from behind him. Sukuna is the same age as you and Yuuji, but he always seemed older. Sometimes wiser, but sure as hell more annoying than his brother. Hotter, too, but that’s a topic for another time.

“I didn’t ask you to join me, big boy,” you say sarcastically, fake smiling. He crosses his arms, leveling you with a bored look.

“Yuu, if you aren’t fast enough you’re not going to find her corpse when you get back,” he tells his brother, still staring you up and down. Yuuji sighs, tired, then opens the front door.

“Make sure to not kill each other. I have a shift after this, stop bickering. You two act like siblings more than I do with you, Sukuna,” he reprimands you both. You and his brother roll your eyes at the same time, then you push him out, closing the door in his face. You turn around and find yourself face to face with Sukuna's menacing grin.

“You have 5 minutes before I come knock at the bathroom door with a kitchen knife, doll.”

You’re scrubbing yourself clean with a random pine body wash you found in the shower when the playlist you put before entering the stall stops. You’re annoyed, because now you’re forced to listen to Sukuna’s ugly songs from the bathroom wall (that he’s blasting just to annoy you), so you try to reach your phone. You’re on your tippy toes, not wanting to get out completely, when you trip and fall since you didn’t wash the soap away from your body. You bump your head on the sink in front of the shower, hard, and you muffle a whine. You close your eyes as hard as you can and open the shower head with the room spinning inside your skull.

“Don’t open your eyes, don’t open your eyes or you’ll fall… fuck, it hurts so bad,” you tell yourself while you speed run the end of the shower and blindly put your shirt over your head. It’s not the first time you've bumped your head on something, you were a crazy kid, so you’ve learned to open your eyes only when you physically can’t function anymore or you'll start seeing stars immediately. You barely get to put your pants on when you notice your forehead feels wet, and you didn't even wash your hair. As you get out of the bathroom wobbling you touch your head. When you open your eyes, you see blood on your hand. The room spins. You barely have time to look up and watch Sukuna coming out of his bedroom frowning before seeing black dots in your vision.

You try opening your eyes, but they feel so heavy. Your body feels rather stiff. What's this smell?

"Oh, she's waking up," a female voice softly says from somewhere next to your right.

"Thank you, miss, I got it from here," a rough voice responds.

"Make sure she drinks a lot, and keep a couple of painkillers near you. The scans show she doesn't have any internal damage, but she hit her head pretty hard. She's going to have a big bruise for a couple of days," the female voice continues. You hear the man making a sound of affirmation.

There’s a brief pause. "Your wife is very lucky. It's not every day that a man takes a woman up four flights of stairs by simple arm strength," the woman concludes sweetly, getting out of the room after he responds with a grunt and closing the door behind her.

"Your ass is lucky I lied or they wouldn’t have let me in, dumbass. Open your eyes, I know you're awake," the voice you now recognise as Sukuna says, getting closer. You try opening your eyes, managing to focus your gaze on him. Everything feels so fluffy, apart from your throat. You cough, and you think you see him rolling his eyes before getting you a glass of water and sitting beside you on a chair. You gulp it down, still feeling fuzzy, then you blink a couple of times.

You gape at him. He's cute. “You look funny,” you say, poking his cheek. He’s so squishy. Like a little mochi. A little mochi filled with strawberries. Strawberries and cream. He slaps your finger away, and you put on a hurt expression. He huffs.

“Why am I here?” You ask. The more you look at him, the more heads he seems to have.

“You fell in the bathroom,” he says, straightening up from the chair and covering your right leg with the duvet the hospital gave you. You raise an eyebrow at his gesture, and he just rolls his eyes again. “Don’t want you to also catch a cold. Yuuji would kill my ass.” You just hum.

“I caught ya when you already fainted. Yuuji came back home and panicked, but he couldn’t back out from work, so I was stuck with your ass. Took ya here but the elevator broke down. And I ate your pizza, by the way. All this is gonna cost ya 200 dollars, cash,” he lists, sprawling back onto his chair, deadpan.

Silence engulfs the both of you, and you don’t know what to say. You heard what the nurse said and you are searching for a way to bring it up, but the words in your mind are all scrambled. It’s probably the morphine that you realise they gave you, IV still attached to your left arm. You open your mouth to say something along the lines of “I’d like to thank your gym membership for this,” but instead the words that leave your mouth are-

“I’d like you to be my husband.”

His eyes snap to your widening ones. “Wait that wasn’t what-“

“Huh?” He just replies, dumbfounded. You panic, waving your hands in the air between you two.

“No, what I meant was- like- thank you for getting me up here- can you stop looking at me with your weird 16 eyes?- not that you aren’t attractive! You’re super hot! But that’s not- oh god,” you whimper, rubbing your face, noticing how you’re just making the situation worse. You prepare yourself for his snarky comeback, closing your eyes, but everything is silent.

Suddenly, you hear him snort. You crack your eyes open, touching the big cotton gauze they put on your forehead. You must be hearing things. It’s definitely the morphine, there’s no way Sukuna is actually laughing.

“Yes, I’m laughing, doll,” he says, chuckling. You widen your eyes.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” You cringe.

“Yeah, you kinda did,” he responds, smirking. You groan.

“Take me out to dinner first, damn,” he yawns. You jut your bottom lip out, frowning and giving him your middle finger. Then you register his words.

“You’d come? I mean, if I asked you out.”

“Well, if you’re paying,” he responds, shrugging. That’s still a yes, isn’t it?

He ruffles up his pink hair, black t-shirt straining across his bicep. You can’t contain the urge to poke the muscle.

“Stop touching me like I’m made of play dough, doll,” he sighs, slightly less annoyed than 5 minutes ago.

“Would you let me play with you if you were made of play dough?” you ask, words a little slurred, still poking his arm, and he flexes it. “Don’t show off,” you mumble.

“You’re even weirder when you’re drugged,” he grins. He kinda looks scary, though. If you didn’t know him, you’d piss yourself by looking at his sharp teeth.

“But would you or would you not?” You whine, dragging out the last word, letting your hand fall next to you. He misses the warmth of your hand, so instead, he just puts his on your thigh. To be warm, of course. The room is so cold. Yeah. Definitely because of the missing heat.

“Yeah doll, I would.”

#thank you to the anon who dropped this in my inbox months ago!!#sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna oneshot #sukuna jjk #sukuna crack #jjk x y/n #jjk fics #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic

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inseobts · 1 month ago

Text

Hey Princess pt.1

zoro x fem!reader

part 2

you find freedom, love, and a true family among pirates—only to risk everything, even your life, to protect them from the chains of your past.

words count: 4.2k

tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, banter, mystery backstory, angst and fluff

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The sea glows soft and orange under the sunset. The Thousand Sunny cuts through the waves like it’s dancing. Luffy leans over the railing, grinning like a kid with candy.

“She’s cool, right?” he says.

Zoro crosses his arms and stares at you with one eyebrow raised “She hasn’t said ten words since she got here.”

“I’m observing.” you answer, voice calm. You stand straight, posture perfect, one hand lightly on the sword at your hip. Not because you plan to use it yet, but because it’s habit. You were trained that way.

“She’s mysterious!” Luffy laughs “That’s perfect for a spy. I always wanted one of those on the crew!”

You look over your shoulder at him “I’m not a spy.”

“But you sneak around like one,” he says “You climb walls and vanish. That’s spy stuff.”

You sigh “That’s just training.”

“Same thing.”

Zoro scoffs “Spy, huh. You look more like a princess pretending to play ninja.”

You stiffen. It’s small, but Sanji notices.

“Don’t talk to her like that, mosshead,” he snaps, stepping between you and Zoro with a hand on his chest like a knight “She’s a lady.”

“She’s hiding something” Zoro mutters.

“And you’re hiding brain cells” Sanji shoots back.

You sigh again and turn toward the door to the girls’ quarters “I’m going to unpack.”

As you leave, Zoro’s voice follows “See you around, Princess.”

You pause, just for a second. But you don’t look back.

Later, after dinner, Nami leans on the table, watching you clean a dagger with a white cloth.

“You’re really good,” she says “Where did you learn that?”

You smile “Somewhere far.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I know.”

Usopp leans closer “Are you like… an assassin? Or like a ninja? Or—”

“I’m just me,” you say “I help people. When I can.”

Robin smiles softly “That’s vague. I like it.”

You return the smile. Nami doesn’t press. Not tonight.

Outside, Zoro trains on the deck. You watch him from the shadows of the upper floor. He moves like a force of nature. Sharp. Focused. Angry.

He pauses. Looks up “Enjoying the show?”

You step into the light “You make too much noise for a swordsman.”

“You sneak too much for a crew mate.”

You raise an eyebrow “Not everyone needs to swing swords like a caveman.”

Zoro smirks “Still think you’re too fancy for this crew?”

“No,” you say “But maybe you are.”

He laughs once “I’m not the one with perfect hair and manners.”

You smile politely “Maybe you should try both sometime.”

His grin widens “Sure, Princess.”

Your smile fades “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” he asks, wiping sweat from his face “It fits.”

You don’t answer. You just turn and leave.

Inside, Sanji greets you with tea “You okay, mademoiselle?”

You nod “Just tired.”

He watches you a little too long “If he bothers you again—”

“I can handle it.”

He nods. But you can tell he still wants to say something.

You go to bed and stare at the ceiling. You hate that nickname. You hate that it still hurts.

But tomorrow is another day. Another show. Another fight.

You’ll stay calm. Classy. Like always. And maybe Zoro will stop... Eventually.

Right?

It’s been three months.

Three months of shared meals, sea storms, and late-night watches under the stars. Three months of hearing Luffy laugh so loud it shakes the whole ship, of Sanji offering you tea every evening, and of Zoro calling you Princess every damn day.

But now, when he says it, you roll your eyes instead of going quiet. And you call him something back.

“Hey, Princess, your fancy dagger’s missing. Lose it in your closet full of gowns?”

You glance up from the map you’re helping Nami mark “Careful, Muscle-for-Brains, I might mistake your head for a training dummy.”

He smirks like it’s a compliment “You’re starting to sound more like a pirate.”

“And you’re still sounding like a caveman” you shoot back.

Usopp snorts from the side “I give it a week before one of you throws the other off the ship.”

Franky whistles “I give it three days.”

Zoro sits down across from you like he’s making a point “Bet you still sleep sitting up like some stiff little soldier.”

“I’ve seen you nap in the crow’s nest with your mouth open like a confused seagull” you fire back.

“Oooooh!” Luffy howls with laughter “She got you, Zoro!”

You smile. Not perfect. Not practiced. Just real.

Time passes and you start laughing more. Playing cards with Robin and Nami. Racing Chopper through the ship. Letting yourself eat two slices of cake, not one. You wear your hair messy sometimes. You yell when Luffy breaks the kitchen door again. You fall asleep in the sun with a book on your chest.

And it feels… good.

Even if the past still taps on your shoulder sometimes, like a shadow you can’t shake.

It’s a quiet night when you and Zoro end up on watch together. The sky’s clear. The stars are sharp.

You lean against the rail. He sits nearby, sword across his lap.

“You always this serious when it’s your turn?” you ask.

He shrugs “I take my job seriously.”

You glance at him “Didn’t expect that.”

“Didn’t expect you to stop walking like a statue” he says.

You laugh under your breath “Statues don’t trip over Luffy’s sandals.”

“You did?”

“I absolutely did.”

You both fall quiet for a minute.

Then he asks, “Why do you hate it?”

You look over “What?”

“The nickname. Princess.” His voice is steady, not mocking.

You stare out at the waves “Because I wasn’t one.”

He doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t look away either.

You add, softer, “Not even close.”

Another pause.

Zoro finally says, “Well. Now you just sound like a gremlin with good posture.”

You huff “Thanks, Seaweed Samurai.”

“New nickname, huh?”

You smirk “You started it.”

Zoro shakes his head, but he’s smiling. Just a little.

You let the silence stretch after that. But this time, it’s comfortable. Not perfect. Not polished. But real. And maybe real is better.

The Sunny rocks gently on calm waters, shining through golden light. The crew’s loud somewhere probably arguing over snacks or music, but you’re on deck, stretching after training.

You reach up, arms high above your head. Your shirt lifts slightly, damp with sweat.

“You always do that in front of people, or am I just lucky?”

Zoro’s voice comes from behind you.

You don’t turn.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Seaweed” you say coolly.

“Didn’t say I minded the view” he mutters.

You do turn at that, raising an eyebrow “You watching me, Zoro?”

He shrugs, resting against the mast, towel slung over his shoulder “You’re hard to miss. Always moving around like a damn cat in silk.”

You walk past him slowly, purposefully “Careful. If you keep paying attention, you might fall in love.”

He scoffs, but something flickers in his eyes “Yeah? Then what?”

You pause beside him, eyes narrowed “Then we have a problem.”

He leans closer, voice low “I like problems I can fight.”

You smile sweetly “You’d lose this one.”

“You sure about that, Princess?”

The name doesn’t sting like before. Not now. Not when it rolls off his tongue like a dare.

“You know,” you murmur, stepping in close enough to brush shoulders, “you keep calling me that like it means something.”

“It does,” he says. His tone is light, but his eyes aren’t “Means you’re trouble wrapped in expensive taste.”

“And you’re what? A blade with no brain?”

“Damn right” he grins.

Your lips twitch.

The air between you hums. Too hot for the distance. Too close for comfort.

Then someone yells.

“LUNCH!”

Zoro steps back, breaking the tension “You coming?”

You arch a brow “You offering to carry me there, swordsman?”

He smirks “Please. You’d stab me for touching you.”

“…Maybe,” you say, already walking past him “Unless you asked nicely.”

Zoro chuckles under his breath, following you toward the smell of Sanji’s cooking.

Neither of you says it, but it’s there, building, beneath the insults, behind the banter. It's something hot, something sharp, something waiting.

The new island is small but full of noise. Music drifts up from the port, and colorful flags wave in the wind. Luffy’s already halfway down the dock before anyone can stop him.

“Let’s split up!” he shouts “Find meat!”

Nami sighs “He means food and information. Let’s go.”

Everyone starts filing off. You linger on the deck.

“I’ll stay behind...” you say lightly “Someone should guard the ship.”

It’s too casual. Too controlled. And it’s not like you.

Zoro notices first. Sanji notices next. Then Robin. Then everyone. But only those two speak.

Sanji steps toward you, soft and sweet “Ma chérie, I’ll stay. I don’t trust this island either.”

You force a smile “Sanji… they might need you for supplies.”

He hesitates. You never push him away, not like this.

Then Zoro’s voice cuts in, low and lazy “Didn’t you hype up the food here all morning, curly-brow? Go drool over a buffet or something. I was planning to nap anyway.”

Sanji frowns “You? Volunteering?”

Zoro shrugs “Less talking, more walking.”

You glance at Zoro. He’s leaning on the railing, looking like he couldn’t care less. But you see it in his eyes, he does. He’s not tired. He’s not bored.

He just didn’t want to leave you alone.

You nod once “Thanks.”

And then you go inside.

Hours pass. The ship is quiet. You sit in your room for a long time. Not reading. Not training. Just… sitting.

Eventually, your stomach grumbles.

You make your way to the kitchen, silent as ever.

There’s a plate waiting for you. Still warm. Covered gently with a cloth.

You blink at it.

When did Sanji even…?

You smile, small but real. You grab the plate, then pause. Maybe…

You carry it up to the deck.

Zoro’s sitting with his back against the mast, one leg up, one arm resting lazily on his knee. Eyes open. Bored.

“Nap’s over?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He doesn’t move “Didn’t feel like it.”

“Liar.”

He smirks “Didn’t want to dream about curly-brow feeding seagulls again.”

You chuckle and sit down beside him, cross-legged.

“I brought food.”

“Thought you said you were guarding the kitchen like a dragon.”

“Even dragons eat.”

You hand him half the plate. He doesn’t say thank you. He just takes it, like it’s normal now. Like you are.

You both eat in silence for a bit. Then you nudge him with your foot.

“Wanna play something?”

He raises an eyebrow “Like what?”

You think. Then smirk “It’s called One Truth, One Lie.”

He looks suspicious “Sounds dumb.”

“Chicken?”

His eye twitches “Fine. Rules?”

“I tell you two things. One is true. One is false. You guess which is which. Then you go.”

Zoro snorts “You made that up just now.”

“Maybe… or maybe not.”

He leans back “Alright. Try me.”

You grin “Okay. First round: I’ve stolen a crown before. And… I’ve kissed a prince.”

Zoro narrows his eyes at you “Stealing sounds like you. Prince kissing? Too much sparkle.”

You give him a look “Wrong. I kissed a prince.”

He coughs “What?”

You grin “I stole his crown after.”

Zoro stares “What kind of missions were you on?!”

“My turn’s done.”

He shakes his head “You’re insane.”

“You’re stalling.”

He rolls his eyes “Fine. I once drank thirty beers in one night. And… I can play the shamisen.”

You blink “You? Play an instrument?”

“Make your guess, Princess.”

You squint at him “The beer one’s true. No way you’re musical.”

Zoro smirks “Wrong.”

You gasp “You don’t drink like a tank?”

“Oh no, that part’s true. I just also play the shamisen.”

You blink “You’re messing with me.”

“Swear on my swords.”

You laugh, head shaking “Okay. Next round.”

You both go back and forth. The questions get bolder. The lies get riskier. The truths get more intimate.

You’re both smiling too much.

Then he says, “Last one. I call you Princess because it annoys you… and because it doesn’t suit you at all.”

You pause “And the other option?”

“I call you Princess because it annoys you… and because it suits you more than you think.”

Your heart trips a beat.

Zoro’s watching you now. Really watching. His voice is low, but not teasing.

You look at him, try to read past the usual smirk “The lie is that it suits me.”

He stares at you a moment longer.

“Wrong again.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

So you look away. And laugh. Softly “That’s cheating.”

“Don’t like losing?”

“I don’t like being seen.”

“I like watching…” he says as if there was something more to that phrase. As if he actually wanted to day “I like watching… you”

“Then if I was you I’d use my good eye to watch something more interesting.”

“There’s none.”

You blink at the surprise of that answer and then reply “There’s way too much actually.”

He doesn’t respond. But the silence is different now. Not heavy. Just… full.

You stay like that, side by side under the stars, the empty plate between you.

Staring softly at each other, and for once, you don’t feel like running from the quiet.

It happens fast.

One moment you’re finishing the last crumbs of food with Zoro under the stars, still warm from laughter and the closeness you’ve been too scared to name.

The next, the ship shudders.

BOOM.

Smoke. A cannonball explodes against the sea just yards away from the Sunny.

You both stand instantly.

Zoro unsheathes Wado Ichimonji without a word. You pull two blades from your thigh holsters.

“Marines,” Zoro growls, already scanning the distance “Too close.”

You nod “Too fast. We need to leave the island.”

He turns to you “Go get the others.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says, eyes sharp “Go. We can’t take them all without the crew.”

You take a step forward “I’m not leaving you alone—”

“I’m not alone,” he snaps “This is a delay squad. I’ll handle them. But if you don’t bring the others back, we’re all screwed.”

Your hands tighten around your blades. You hate this. But he’s right.

You nod once, heart pounding “Don’t get yourself killed.”

“Not planning on it, Princess.”

You hesitate at the nickname. His voice is tight, focused, not teasing this time.

Then you run.

You’re halfway to the port when it happens.

A young marine stumbles out from behind a cart, gun raised, shaking slightly. He’s too fresh. Probably new. Definitely not ready.

He sees your face and freezes.

“…Princess Y/N?”

You stop.

Time stops.

Your blood turns to ice.

Zoro’s voice calls from behind “Oi! What did he just call you?”

Before the boy can speak again, Zoro’s blade is already on him. He hits the marine hard and fast—non-lethal, clean, efficient.

The boy crumples.

Zoro’s breathing hard now. He looks at you “Go.”

You don’t move.

“Go!” he barks.

You run.

You find Sanji first.

He’s flirting with a waitress, of course. But one look at your face and he’s dead serious.

“Trouble?” he asks, already cracking his knuckles.

“Marines. Zoro’s holding them off. We have to go. Now.”

“On it.”

He grabs your hand, not romantically, just tightly, and you sprint together. You find Luffy, Chopper and Brook next, then Nami and Robin shopping for books and jewelry.

Jinbe’s the last. He’s speaking with a merchant about fish when Sanji nearly drags him mid-sentence.

Back to the ship. Fast. No time.

The battle’s already started when you return. Smoke. Screams. Blades. Zoro is fighting six marines at once, shirt ripped at the side, blood at his temple.

But he’s still standing. Of course he is.

Sanji launches into the fray, kicking through two men with one move. Jinbe bellows like thunder and slams into a marine squad. Nami brings down lightning. Brook sings a haunting note that freezes the air. Robin grows arms and breaks weapons. Chopper hulks out and punches straight through their front line. And Luffy is Luffy of course.

You fight too, elegant and brutal. Quick and precise.

You don’t look like a princess now.

You look like a weapon.

Eventually, the last marine ship flees.

The Sunny sets sail fast, with Franky shouting commands and everyone catching their breath.

You finally sit. Arms shaking. Blood drying. Exhausted.

But you feel his eyes.

Zoro stands a few feet away, arms crossed, a new bruise on his cheek.

His gaze is not angry. Not smug.

Just… focused. Tight.

He’s thinking.

You look down at your hands.

He starts walking toward you.

You panic.

“I’m going to bed” you blurt, already turning.

“Wait—”

You don’t.

You walk away before he can say what you know he wants to.

Because that word the marine said "Princess Y/N" wasn’t a joke.

It was your name.

And Zoro just found out that he’s been teasing you with the same title you’ve spent your whole life trying to escape.

You’ve mastered the art of avoiding him.

For days, you change your training hours, your nap spots, even your routes to the kitchen. Zoro is a hunter by instinct but you’re trained to vanish. And for now, you’re winning.

The rest of the crew, though? They’re not blind.

Brook whispers to Robin, “The lovely lady keeps dodging the swordsman. Ah… the rhythm of tension, yohohoho.”

Chopper tilts his head “Are they mad at each other? Should I make tea?”

Even Luffy notices “Hey, why don’t you and Zoro fight anymore? I liked the yelling!”

Nami gives you a sharp look every time you enter a room and Zoro leaves it or the other way around.

Still, no one says anything outright.

Until the morning she does.

“Mail’s here!” Nami calls, flipping through the newspaper and a thick envelope dropped off by News Coo “Looks like updated bounties—oh.”

She goes still.

You pause at the edge of the deck, where you’re pretending to study the sea charts.

“What is it?” Robin asks, sipping tea beside her.

Nami turns the paper around. Slowly.

Your face stares back.

Not the one they know now, no. The one from before. The mask you buried.

Perfect hair. Polished clothes. A cool, too-composed stare.

Above it: “WANTED – PRINCESS Y/N OF VIRELIA – 300,000,000 BERRIES”

Below it: “ONLY ALIVE.”

The world stops.

Luffy blinks “Wait. Princess? That’s not—like—Zoro’s joke, right? OMG they heard Zoro adìnd thought he was being for real??”

Sanji’s already walking toward you, newspaper clenched “Y/N. What is this?”

You don’t answer.

Your feet feel heavy. Like someone chained your ankles.

Franky whistles low “Only alive? That’s a weird order.”

Jinbe looks serious “That bounty… is political.”

Robin’s eyes are on you now, soft but sharp “You ran from something powerful.”

And then Zoro walks in, towel around his neck, sword at his hip.

He stops mid-step. Sees everyone circled. Sees you. And the poster in Nami’s hands.

He says nothing. But his jaw tightens.

He looks right at you. Like he already knew… but needed to see it.

You meet his eyes for the first time in days and you want to disappear.

So you run.

The moment you meet Zoro’s eyes and see the weight behind his silence, your feet move on instinct.

You don’t even realize you’re breathing hard until the door slams shut behind you.

Your room is dark, lit only by the sea-colored light slipping through the porthole. You lock the door, press your back against it, and slide down slowly to the floor.

You hear voices outside.

Sanji: “What the hell is that bounty about—”

Nami: “Did she really—”

Brook: “A real princess? How poetic!”

Chopper: “Should we check on her?”

Then Luffy’s voice cuts through everything. Loud. Sharp. Final.

“Leave her alone.”

Silence.

You close your eyes. That was Luffy’s captain voice. The one no one questions.

Time passes. You don’t move. You don’t cry either, you stopped doing that a long time ago.

Then… a soft knock.

You freeze.

Then, gently “Y/N, it’s me.”

Sanji.

You unlock the door slowly and open it a crack.

He’s holding a covered tray, the smell of your favorite dish escaping into the room.

“I figured you wouldn’t come out to eat,” he says softly “Can I… come in?”

You nod.

He steps inside like he’s entering a shrine. He doesn’t push. He sets the tray down on your small table and gives you space.

You sit opposite him, quiet.

“You knew” you say.

“I knew something,” he replies “Not this.”

He lifts the lid of the tray. Steam curls up, warm and fragrant.

You don’t eat right away.

Sanji watches you for a second, then leans back “You know… my poster once said Only Alive, too.”

You look up.

He smiles, but it’s not a happy one “Back then, I thought it was funny. Felt like a joke. But the truth? Someone out there wanted me under their control. Wanted me alive so they could put me back in a box I crawled out of.”

You stare at him.

He gives a small shrug “I’m not saying I know what yours means. But that look in your eyes? I’ve worn it.”

He pauses “I also know what it feels like to run away and finally be free, only for the past to reach out and grab your ankle again.”

Your throat tightens.

Sanji doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask. He just watches you like you’re something delicate but not weak. Like he understands what silence can mean.

You nod, just once. Barely. But it says everything.

He stands slowly “I’ll leave you to rest. There’s no pressure, Y/N. Not from me. Not from the crew.”

He heads to the door, then stops. Opens it.

You hear it too late. The sound of boots.

Zoro is standing right outside.

He doesn’t look surprised.

Of course he was listening.

Sanji steps out, lowers his voice “Don’t hurt her.”

Zoro’s eye narrows “What the hell do you think I’m gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” Sanji says, calm but firm “But I saw your face when you saw that poster with that name. And I know yours isn’t just about teasing anymore.”

Zoro doesn’t answer. He just watches Sanji walk away, slow and deliberate.

He turns his head toward your door.

Still closed.

Still locked.

And on the other side, your hand is still resting against it. Holding it shut.

You can feel him there. But you don’t open it. Not yet.

You sit at the edge of your bed, tray balanced on your lap.

Sanji’s food is still warm. Perfect, even hours after it was made.

You take a bite.

It’s just rice and meat, just seasoning and sauce, just something meant to bring comfort... but your throat closes anyway.

You chew slowly, blinking. Another bite. Another wave of heat but not from the food, but from something buried so deep inside you that you forgot it could still rise.

And then the tears come. Quiet. Stubborn. They roll down your cheeks with no sobs, no drama.

Just… exhaustion, guilt and shame.

You’re not the person on that poster anymore. But the world doesn’t care. It still sees the crown they forced on your head.

Outside your door, Zoro hears the sound of your breath hitching. He hears the scrape of the tray, the stifled sniff, the silence that wraps around.

He doesn’t say anything.

He just stays seated, back to the wall across from your room. Elbows on his knees. Fists tight. Jaw locked.

He doesn’t knock. Doesn’t ask to come in.

But he stays.

Minutes pass. You eat. You cry. And finally…

You open the door.

It’s quiet. Careful. Like you might change your mind.

He’s the first thing you see right there in front of you, still sitting like a sentinel. His eyes snap up when the light hits his face.

You stop in the doorway. Neither of you speaks.

Then, slowly, you reach down.

You take his hand.

Zoro doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t joke. Doesn’t move. Until you tug lightly.

You don’t have the strength to pull him up but he rises anyway. Not because you can force him, but because he lets you. Because he wants to.

His hand is warm. Rough. Bigger than yours. You keep holding it as you guide him down the hall.

He doesn’t ask where.

He just follows.

The kitchen is full.

Luffy is chewing meat with his usual noise. Nami is nursing a drink, eyes sharp. Robin has a book open. Brook is playing soft notes. Chopper’s legs swing from a chair. Franky and Usopp are arguing about cola refills.

But when you enter, silence falls like a curtain.

Every head turns toward you, and toward your hand still laced with Zoro’s.

Zoro stiffens slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t even look confused, just still. Focused. Watching you.

You feel every stare in the room. But for once, you don’t shrink under it.

You just walk over to the table and sit down.

Zoro sits beside you. His calloused hand holds yours beneath the table, unmoving, steady.

You’re not sure why you started holding it. You’re even less sure why you haven’t let go.

The others don’t ask questions. But they’re waiting. Gently. Silently. Like they’re giving you the space you need to begin.

Your eyes stay on the table.

On your joined hands.

“I’m a real princess.”

732 notes · View notes

sunarryn · 2 months ago

Text

DP X Marvel #30

Dani Phantom wasn’t exactly trying to join a government-sanctioned group of reformed (read: questionably reformed) assassins, mercenaries, and general menaces to society, but in her defense, she didn’t know what a Thunderbolt was. She thought they were just a bunch of really cool weirdos with snappy outfits who didn’t mind that she phased through walls sometimes or accidentally vaporized a training drone.

It started when Dani, on the run from some GIW idiots, phased through several realities and crash-landed in the middle of a Thunderbolts operation — specifically, right between Bucky Barnes (grumpy, armed, tired) and Yelena Belova (chaotic, armed, also tired but hiding it better).

“Is that a child?” Yelena asked, peering over Bucky’s shoulder like he was a slightly inconvenient lamp.

Bucky, gun still raised, frowned. “That’s a floating child.”

“I can see that, Captain Obvious,” Yelena snapped, flipping her knife casually in her hand. “Why is she floating like—”

Before she could finish that thought, Dani spun midair and zapped the rogue Hydra agents sneaking up behind them with a giant neon green energy blast. The agents went flying into a brick wall like someone had yeeted them across a football field.

“…Okay,” Yelena said brightly. “I like her. She can stay.”

“I—what?” Bucky sputtered, lowering his gun slightly. “She’s a kid, Yelena.”

“And she vaporized five men without blinking,” Yelena pointed out, beaming like a proud aunt. “I say we keep her. She’s Thunderbolt material. Very murder-y. Very spunky.”

“She’s like ten.”

“Exactly. She’s moldable. We can teach her the good stuff early,” Yelena insisted, already imagining Dani learning to throw knives and argue over which snacks were superior.

Meanwhile, Dani floated down to their level, blinking wide green eyes. “Are you guys… superheroes?” she asked hopefully.

Yelena immediately lied through her teeth. “Yes. Very professional. Very respected. No felonies.”

Bucky choked on absolutely nothing.

Thus began Dani’s unofficial, highly illegal induction into the Thunderbolts.

Nobody officially signed paperwork. Dani just started showing up. She helped steal Hydra files. She broke into a SHIELD safehouse for snacks. She haunted a couple of corrupt senators for laughs. The team decided if the government didn’t want her around, they should have given them actual HR training.

The real problem started when Bucky and Yelena decided they were both, separately, her legal guardian.

“You are not responsible enough to raise a kid,” Bucky said one evening, arms crossed while Dani hovered upside down from the ceiling chewing bubblegum she definitely stole from somewhere.

“And you are?” Yelena scoffed, tossing popcorn at Dani, who caught it in her mouth mid-flip. “You still get confused by TikTok.”

“That’s not the same as raising a kid!” Bucky barked. “She needs stability. Structure. Rules.”

“She needs to learn how to properly dismantle a car bomb in under thirty seconds,” Yelena said cheerfully. “You Americans are so boring.”

“I fought in World War II, of course I’m boring!” Bucky exploded.

“You’re ancient,” Yelena sniffed. “You probably think letting her get a tattoo is ‘dangerous.’”

“She’s a kid!” Bucky nearly screamed.

In the background, Dani giggled and skated on a conjured green energy hoverboard through the briefing room, knocking over chairs and sending a very concerned Red Guardian flying out of the way with a yell.

“This is fine,” Yelena said as Bucky watched in silent horror. “She is thriving.”

Thriving was one word for it.

Things escalated when Bucky tried to enforce an 8 PM bedtime.

“I’m literally a half-ghost,” Dani said, deadpan. “I don’t sleep.”

Bucky blinked. “What do you mean you don’t sleep? Everyone sleeps.”

Yelena, sitting smugly on the couch with a tub of ice cream, smirked. “Ha! The child sides with me. We binge-watch shows until 3 AM.”

“You’re killing her brain cells,” Bucky growled.

“Undead,” Dani corrected sweetly, phasing through the ceiling to avoid capture when Bucky tried to confiscate her ghostly hoverboard.

Meanwhile, other Thunderbolts members slowly realized there was a child among them and had no idea how to handle it.

Red Guardian tried to teach her Russian wrestling moves.

Taskmaster, after three failed attempts at babysitting, locked themselves in their room and refused to come out without bribes of coffee.

Ghost (Ava Starr) just accepted Dani as a background gremlin who occasionally made her coffee float across the room when she was too tired to move.

The real bomb dropped when Jazz Fenton stormed into the Thunderbolts’ compound.

Not walked. Stormed. Like an avenging angel armed with binders full of academic papers, parental rights lawsuits, and the righteous fury of an older sister forced to deal with supernatural nonsense since age twelve.

“What. The hell. Is going on,” Jazz asked, her voice eerily calm as she stared down Bucky, Yelena, Red Guardian, and Taskmaster at once.

Nobody moved.

Even Dani froze, halfway through trying to fit a stolen grenade into her backpack.

“You—” Jazz pointed at Bucky. “—brought my minor sister to an assassination mission.”

Bucky immediately tried to stand at attention like she was a general. “In my defense, she’s very good at it—”

“And you—” she pivoted to Yelena, who grinned unrepentantly. “—taught her how to hotwire a motorcycle!”

“Useful life skills,” Yelena said brightly.

“And you—” Jazz growled at Red Guardian, who tried to blend into the wall. “—gave her vodka!”

“It was for medicinal purposes,” Red Guardian said weakly.

Jazz took a deep breath, cracked her knuckles, and pulled out a thick legal document titled “Fenton v. Thunderbolts: Custody Hearing” that somehow already had signed pages, notarizations, and citations of obscure interdimensional child protection laws.

“I am taking her home,” Jazz said, enunciating every syllable like she wanted to bludgeon them with the concept of language.

Dani immediately wailed, “Nooooooo! Jazz! I like it here! They let me have grenades!”

“You are eleven!”

“Twelve and a half!” Dani insisted.

“I was giving her a flamethrower for her half-birthday,” Yelena said proudly.

Jazz pinched the bridge of her nose like she was resisting the urge to start swinging.

“I don’t even know how you people are still alive,” Jazz muttered.

“Luck,” Bucky offered helpfully. “Mostly luck. And sarcasm.”

“And murder,” Yelena added. “Don’t forget murder.”

Jazz turned to Dani, crouching so they were eye-level.

“Sweetie,” she said in the voice adults use when they’re seconds from committing a homicide, “you cannot just…join a government hit squad.”

“But they have matching jackets,” Dani said, voice wobbling. “And Bucky taught me how to punch people really hard without breaking my own hand!”

“She is surprisingly good at it,” Bucky muttered under his breath, rubbing his jaw where Dani had accidentally socked him two days prior during sparring.

Jazz looked up at the group, expression utterly blank.

“You realize that she’s technically a meta-human, a half-ghost, and a minor with no legal documentation in this universe, right?”

There was a pause.

Bucky blinked. “Technically…?”

Yelena shrugged. “Technicalities are boring. She lives here now.”

Jazz threw her hands in the air. “That’s not how this works! That’s not how any of this works!”

Dani, sensing weakness, clutched Jazz’s arm and put on the biggest, saddest puppy eyes she could muster.

“But Jazz…I finally have a family here…” she sniffled, lip trembling.

Bucky and Yelena, without missing a beat, immediately looked at Jazz like how dare you break her little heart you monster.

Jazz stared at them. “You are manipulating me.”

“Yes,” Yelena said brightly. “It’s working, no?”

Jazz closed her eyes, counted to ten in Esperanto, and resigned herself to the fact that apparently her life was now a living sitcom.

“I want a full academic curriculum. Supervision. No war crimes without prior approval. And absolutely, absolutely, no assassinations unless it’s self-defense and I’m there to supervise.”

Dani fist-pumped midair. “YES!”

Bucky and Yelena high-fived behind her back.

“I’m going to regret this,” Jazz muttered.

“You already regret it,” Bucky said, smirking.

And that’s how little Dani Fenton, half-ghost clone, menace of Amity Park, became the official junior Thunderbolt, the semi-official godchild of two retired assassins, and the proud holder of a laminated “Certified Baby Badass” card that Yelena made with glitter pens.

There were explosions. There were lawsuits. There were training montages.

There was Jazz drinking an entire bottle of wine while watching Dani yeet herself at Taskmaster with a battle cry of “YEET OR BE YEETED!”

There were Bucky and Yelena arguing over which martial arts Dani should master first (“Russian Sambo!” “No, Krav Maga!” “SHE’S A CHILD YOU MANIACS!”) while Dani snuck off to teach herself breakdancing instead.

There was Dani winning the team sparring competition by phasing through everyone’s attacks and slapping sticky notes labeled “LOSER” on their foreheads before they even realized what was happening.

There was Jazz realizing too late that she was now somehow not only Dani’s sister, therapist, and guardian…but also the unofficial mom of the entire Thunderbolts squad, a title she did not want but was too tired to fight.

And there was Dani — floating over the compound at sunset, arms spread wide, grinning so hard her face hurt — who realized for the first time in a long time that maybe, just maybe, being a weird half-ghost clone kid wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Especially if you had a dysfunctional murder family to back you up.

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jenosbliss · 2 months ago

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🍃 nct dream! teaching you how to drive

MARK. “Wait, WAIT! BRAKE!” he yells, even though your foot hasn’t left the brake pedal. “Are you kidding me?! I’m barely moving!” you yell back, throwing him an incredulous look. “Better safe than sorry!” he defends himself, clutching the door handle like it might save his life. “Relax, it’s an empty parking lot. There’s literally no one here!” You groan, rolling your eyes as you attempt to ease the car forward a couple of inches. “That’s what they want you to think!” he counters, pointing out an imaginary threat. “What if a kid runs out? Or a squirrel? Or a—a runaway shopping cart?”

“Are you listening to yourself right now?!” you ask, exasperated. He gasps when you accelerate—by a whopping three miles per hour. “You’re going too fast! Too fast!” By the end of the lesson, you’re ready to scream. But when you stop the car, he lets out the deepest sigh of relief and pats your hand. “Okay, that wasn’t too bad,” he says shakily. “Same time tomorrow?” “No,” you deadpan. “Never again.”

RENJUN. “Didn’t I just tell you to go into first gear before the speed bump?” He pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s holding himself back from losing it entirely. “I was going to!” you snap back, already regretting asking him to teach you. “You don’t have to keep reminding me every five seconds!” He scoffs. “I wouldn’t have to remind you if you actually listened the first time!” You glare at him, hitting the brakes just a little too hard to spite him. He lurches forward, gripping the dashboard. “What the hell, babe?! Brake gently! GENTLY!”

“Maybe if you weren’t micromanaging me like I’m a toddler—” he cuts you off, throwing his hands in the air. “You’re driving like a toddler!” It’s a full-blown argument by the time you park the car, both of you red-faced. But when you finally sit in silence, you see the tension leave his face. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay… sorry for nagging. I just… I don’t want you to get hurt.” You soften, though you still can’t resist muttering, “Could’ve fooled me with all the yelling.”

JENO. “Alright, just take your time,” he says, his voice soft and steady. “There’s no rush. We’re just practicing.” You glance over nervously. “Are you sure? I don’t want to mess this up.” Placing a reassuring hand on your knee, He says. ““Hey, you’ve got this. Everyone starts somewhere.” His calm demeanor helps you relax, and soon you’re moving through an empty lot, following his simple instructions. “Okay, now turn the wheel a little more… perfect. See? You’re a natural.”

When you accidentally brake too hard, he chuckles, but there’s no judgment. “It’s alright. It happens. Just remember to ease into it next time.” By the end of the session, you’re smiling, and he’s looking at you like you hung the moon. “I’m proud of you,” he says, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Next lesson? Parallel parking.” You groan, but he just laughs. “Don’t worry, we’ll get there.”

HAECHAN. “You’re doing so great, babe. Honestly, better than me when I was learning,” he says, practically glowing with pride. “Thanks,” you mumble, though you’re painfully aware of how clunky your turns are. But the moment someone honks at you for taking too long at a stop sign, he’s out for blood. “WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?” he shouts, leaning halfway out the window. “SHE’S A LEARNING DRIVER, YOU JERK!”

“Oh my god, stop!” you hiss, mortified, pulling him back into his seat. “No, they need to respect you!” He crosses his arms, glaring at the car as it drives away. “Unbelievable. Don’t let them get to you, okay? You’re perfect. You’re amazing. You’re basically a driving prodigy.” You cringe when he starts clapping as you make a slow turn. “Wow, look at you go! That was flawless!”

“Can you not?” you ask, your face hot with embarrassment. “What? I’m just showing my support!” By the end, you’re ready to crawl under the dashboard, but at least he’s smiling like you’ve won a race.

JAEMIN. “Wow. That was amazing,” he says after you manage to turn onto a quiet street. “You’re exaggerating,” you mutter, but he shakes his head. “No, seriously! You’re so good at this. I mean, I knew you’d be great, but this is next level.” When you accidentally swerve too close to the curb, he calmly says, “That’s okay. Just pull back a little. You’re still doing awesome.”

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it,” you grumble. “I’m not sugarcoating!” he insists. “I’m being honest. You’re learning super fast.” By the end of the lesson, you’re feeling more confident, even if you know you have a long way to go. “See? I told you you’d be a natural,” he says, grinning. “I’m so proud of you.” You roll your eyes, but you can’t help smiling. “Thanks, I guess.”

CHENLE. “Yeah, yeah, just, uh… hit the gas,” he says, barely looking up from his phone. You shoot him an annoyed glare. “Do you even know what you’re doing?” “Of course,” he replies, scrolling through something. “Just keep going straight. You’re fine.” You huff but keep driving, your grip on the wheel tightening when he starts texting someone. “Are you serious right now?!”

“What?” he says, glancing up. “You’re doing great!” “You haven’t even looked at the road!” He finally puts his phone down, giving you a lazy smile. “Babe, you’ve got this. I trust you.” “Then why did I even bother asking you to teach me?!” you snap. By the time you park the car, he’s still nonchalant. “See? Told you didn’t need me.” You glare at him. “Next time, I’m asking literally anyone else.”

JISUNG. “Are you sure you know which pedal is the brake?” he asks, wide-eyed, as you start the car. “Yes!” you reply, exasperated. “I’ve seen people drive before, you know.” He doesn’t look convinced, gripping the door handle like it might fly off. “Okay, just… go slow. Really slow. Like, turtle speed.” You ease forward, and he winces. “Too fast! TOO FAST!”

“We’re going five miles per hour!” you shout, shooting him an annoyed look. “Yeah, and that’s plenty fast! Do you know how much damage a car can do at five miles per hour?!” You sigh, trying to ignore his panicked muttering as you turn a corner. He lets out a yelp when you brake at a stop sign. “Oh my god, we’re going to die,” he says dramatically. “Relax, we’re fine!” you snap. He glances at you, then at the road, then back at you. “I think I need a drink after this.” “Join the club,” you mutter.

a/n. please leave asks or comments about your opinions! let’s talk!!

#nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct dream fluff #mark #mark lee #renjun #jeno #haechan #Jaemin #chenle #jisung #park jisung #nct #nct dream fanfic #nct dream reactions #nct fluff #nct fics #nct imagines #nct fanfic

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 3 months ago

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roommate! dick grayson teaching you how to suck dick... cause you're an eager learner, and of course friends help eachother out and all that!

word count: 1.8k

You felt embarrassed to say the least.

But Dick was the last person you should feel embarrassed to tell. Or to ask, persay. He was your best friend, your roommate and your closest confidant.

So why did you feel so anxious?

You had kissed before, a few times after a couple drinks (sometimes even sober), it was all innocent fun. He was your first kiss- and he almost seemed flattered when you asked him to teach you that. So why wouldn't he react the same when you asked him to teach you to give head?

You were anxious, some of your other girlfriends were talking about their experiences while out for dinner and drinks, but you had nothing to contribute.

You didn't feel left out, moreso… just innocent.

Which was almost funny to say, considering you had your nipples pierced, and Dick had done so much as to feel them. You weren't oblivious to sexual activity, you just hadn’t found anyone you had really wanted to… partake in it with.

But then there was Dick. Whenever you were around him (every single day) you felt butterflies flutter in your stomach, and honey like liquid fire pool to your lower core.

He had that effect. He was charming and handsome, sweet and kind. What was there not to like?

No- you had your mind set out on this. You were sure it wouldn't be weird.

Maybe a little awkward, but what would be the worst that could happen? You’d retreat back to your room and smush your face into a pillow for a few hours with embarrassment, Dick would tease you and urge you to come out- you’d apologise and it would be like nothing had ever happened.

Or, you’d learn how to please a man.

So either way, there was Dick Grayson interaction.

He had seen your boobs for christs sake. Although to you, it wasn't so much sexual as it was… friendly. Or something along those lines.

So after a few deep breaths, you tossed your phone somewhere in the mess of your bed, peeling yourself up from the blankets and tugged down your oversized sleep shirt. You had stolen it from Dick, and though it was quite large on you, you instinctively tugged it down to attempt some form of modesty.

But who were you kidding? You two were past that point.

You creaked open your bedroom door, peering out to the dim blue glow of the living room. Dick was sprawled on the couch, nothing but plaid pj pants on as he watched some old movie you had little interest in. But anything he liked, you wanted to try.

So you shimmied out, trying not to make too much noise as you tiptoed over to where he was spread. He heard every little creak of the floorboards though, so it was no use. That man could hear everything.

“Hey sweetheart. What's up?”

“Can I watch with you?” you asked softly, and his smile instantly widened, and he patted a spot on the couch next to him. “Get over here sugar.”

You giggled at his cheesy pet names, sitting down- trying not to sit too close in case he wanted some distance. But that wouldn't do for him.

“What are you afraid I got cooties or somethin?” he teased, wrapping an arm around your middle and tugging you in close, so you were snuggled right in his side, breathing in his scent. You hummed softly, praying he didn't notice the way your nipples had hardened at the contact with his body (he did, of course), and the way your breath seemed stuck in your throat.

You were way more anxious than you needed to be. It was a simple question.

You held off for a few minutes, pretending to be interested in the film, but mainly peering up at his face, the way his eyes seemed to darken in the moonlight that filtered through the loft windows. His arm was wrapped around you, hand tracing little patterns back and forth on the exposed skin of your arm, making you shudder- goosebumps leaving in his wake.

You clenched your thighs together tightly, reaching a hand up to rest on his chest, to which he grabbed and placed to his lips, kissing each fingertip as if it were made of the finest china.

Finally, you gathered the courage to spit out.

“Doyouthinkyououldteachmehowtoblowsomeone?” you sputtered out- words trampling over eachother so fast they wouldn't even be detectable if they were slowed.

His eyes widened, staring at you with utter confusion. “Come again?”

“Can you- I just-” you gave up, sighing, putting your head in your hands.

“Okay, promise not to laugh?” you asked and he nodded, face contorted into concern.

“I’ve just never given anyone head before. And I wanna learn just because… I don't know. I just want to know how to do it, in case I… need too? I guess? And I was wondering if maybe you could… teach me?”

Silence.

A wide smirk formed on his lips as he forced you to look into his eyes. Despite the embarrassment that flared in your cheeks, you obliged, doe eyes wide as you peered over at him.

“You wanna suck my dick?” he asked and you winced, shrugging.

“Okay well when you put it that way… I guess its not something friends do. I shouldn't have asked-”

“No, sweetheart, I want you to. God, fuck I’ve wanted this for so long. You’re sure you wanna do this though?” he asked and you nodded.

“I just… I feel comfortable with you.”

His cheeks tinged pink, making you giggle. “Well honey I’m flattered. And seriously, I mean it. I’ve wanted this. I’ve wanted you.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. It made him even harder somehow, seeing the shock in your eyes- seeing how obvious and innocent you truly were.

How you couldn't see his advances, he didn't know. But somehow, that turned him on even more.

“You wanna get on your knees for me honey?”

You nodded, sliding off the couch, thighs poking out as your shirt melted against your body. He bit his lip, groaning at the mere sight of you.

All pretty and eager on your knees, desperate to please him. To learn how to please him.

“You tell me if you want to stop at any time, or you're uncomfortable yea? No shame in that sweetheart. I want you to be comfortable.” he held your chin with his thumb, tilting it up to meet his eyes.

You were a shy one. He liked that though. “I know Dickie. Thank you, again.”

He almost scoffed. He should be the one thanking you. He smiled. “Good girl. Y’wanna take it out for me sweetheart? Don't go all shy on me now.”

You nodded, tugging down his pj pants, his cock hard and heavy- hitting his chest. “That looks… painful.” you whimpered, eyes looking up at him with concern.

“M’okay baby. Just needed you, is all. Always get like this around you. Especially when you trot around in my shirts.”

You reached out, wrapping your fingers around the base- eliciting a hiss from him. “Is this okay?”

“Fuck yes sweetheart. Gotta get it a lil wet for me kay? Spit on it.” he growled, and who were you to deny him? Looking up at him, you spit, letting drool and saliva trickle down, mixing with his precum.

“Atta girl. Just take the tip okay? Don't want you hurting yourself now.” he cooed and you nodded, opening wide as you slowly took him in your mouth, whining.

He already wanted to finish.

Holy. Fuck.

You were so fucking sexy it made him feel physically dizzy. Like the room was spinning.

“Thereee you go baby. Does that feel okay?” he asked and you moaned, trying to nod. “I guess you can't really talk that well, can ya? S’okay. House is finally quiet for a change.” he teased, grabbing your hair and forming a makeshift ponytail, slowly guiding you a bit deeper.

He’d train you so one day he could fuck your mouth after a hard day, have you waiting for him on your knees like you were now. But he was a patient man. For now, this was more than enough.

When your eyes started to drift close he tapped your cheek, jolting you back to look at him. “Keep your eyes on me sweetheart, there you go. You’re doing so good for me. Think you can take a little more?”

You nodded, his hand guiding you a little deeper, until he hit the back of your throat, making you gag. He moaned, guiding you back and forth, watching as your eyes started to tear up, drool coating his cock and spilling out the sides of your mouth.

“Atta girl. Aren't you a pretty picture?”

Your moan in response sent shockwaves through his cock, and he gripped your hair even tighter, speeding up his thrusts into your mouth.

“You don't even know how many times I’ve thought of this. Wishin it was your mouth wrapped around my cock instead of my hand. Even better than I imagined.”

Your cheeks heated at his confession, though you were past embarrassment now. His cock was down your throat for christ sake. You probably looked a mess, mascara streaming down your cheeks. But somehow, with the way he was looking and talking to you- you felt like the prettiest girl alive.

And god, did you ever love when he talked.

“Betcha you’ve thought about me with your hands down your panties, haven't you? Thin walls baby, I think you forget. It's cute though.”

He winked, and before you knew it, his thrusts were erratic, and warm liquid coated your tongue.

“Fuck, sorry honey. I should've warned you. You can spit, it's alright. You did so fuckin good.”

But you had already swallowed, sticking out your tongue to show him. Something like pride filled your chest as his eyes widened in shock, a little fuck me leaving his lips.

You giggled, getting up on shaky legs as you plopped back down on the couch beside him. “I did good? That felt good?” you asked.

“Baby that's the best head I’ve ever had. You sure you've never done that before?”

You shook your head. “Guess you gotta mouth on ya. Just wish you’d put it to use like that sooner.”

You laughed, grabbing a pillow and smacking his head with it as he teased you. “How do you feel though? You okay?” he asked, serious once again and you nodded.

“M’all good.” You were just proud you didn't puke- thank god. Dick was massive, especially for your first time- so you were so thankful he was gentle with you.

You’d take more next time, you were sure of it. “Practice makes perfect I guess.” you shrugged, implying there would be a next time.

He smirked. “Oh you little minx.”

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that-student-that-has-homework · 1 year ago

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Portgas D. Ace Headcanons 01

Excuse me Oda-sensei, but that 40 year old Ace is simply criminal. Thank you so much for blessing us with him

Anyway! Have some Husband!Ace headcanons For more Ace content please head to my Tumblr MasterList

Ace is, respectfully, a huge simp for his wife

To the extent that the Whitebeard crew straight up jokingly awarded him with a “Biggest Wife Simp” Award

They made it look official and had Whitebeard sign it and everything. There's even a stamp.

Ace has it framed and hung proudly on the wall next to your bachelor’s degree / college diploma / degree in general.

I feel like despite his own personal insecurities, Ace still manages to be an amazing father

I imagine Ace originally setting out for like one or two kiddos at most (because y'know...what if he's not good enough) and ending up with 3 or 4 kids

Thing is, that’s both your faults.

Ace is tender and goofy with his kids, and he’s so friggin caring: to the extent that…well wouldn’t it be neat to see him with maybe another 2 or 3 kiddos of his own?

(Your husband is hot okay?)

In his case, he swears you have a unique glow about you when you’re pregnant. But more than that when he sees you with your first born, he suddenly wants a big family with you.

I imagine his kids are an eldest son, then his princess, then the youngest boy who takes after his uncle Luffy.

His kids aren’t parentified. He keeps his issues far, far, away from them. Besides, he’s got you by his side.

He was dedicated to making sure they got as much playtime as possible.

He heard about learning through play, and he is DEDICATED to doing that as much as possible

Ace’s kids are spoiled with affection, but not spoiled brats.

While it’s true he’d give them the world, he’d rather let them go get it themselves.

For example: when they asked for a tree house, he gave them the greenlight immediately.

But they had to build it themselves.

It was a super fun project lasting a little over two months with the whole family involved.

Oh and the Whitebeard crew helped too.

It took a while to get the design down initially, then the shopping logistics and whatnot (they used a lot of math here - see education via play)

Building the thing took maybe a weekend or two because the Whitebeard Crew and even the Strawhats came over to help

(It was mostly Franky and Usopp doing work, Sanji was cooking with Thatch)

Uncle Luffy was not allowed near the construction zone after an accident.

They almost destroyed the tree house with their partying once

Ace’s kids were not happy and no one was allowed in the backyard for the rest of the night

He makes sure they have proper manners and self-defense skills

You had to help out here, no lie.

He admitted he needed your help, especially after a dinner with Garp where Makino tagged along to see Ace again

He puts all of his kids into martial arts classes

especially his princess - he’s so proud of her when she beats up bullies

He’s not great at discipline though to be honest. He probably goes about it similarly to Garp.

Ace will not tolerate any of his kids being nasty to their mother. No matter the phase.

You will have to hold him back if you want to let them get their frustration off their chest.

He’ll let them talk, but you’ll have to keep a hand on him somewhere, his arm, his hand, his knee, his shoulder, his back and rub soothing circles

Let’s just say, “talk shit, get hit,” is Ace’s attitude towards anyone being demeaning towards you (more so with adults, not his kids, but that's why they get a scolding)

"Ace my love" (he melts every time you call him that) "the kids’ll start thinking you love me more than them if you do that"

"My kids won’t disrespect their mother though!"

"They’re just venting darling, and when they say or do something that violates my boundaries, I'll be sure to reinforce it. Lead by example right?"

If they ever feel like pissing Ace off for fun they can just say something kinda not nice about you and he'll get mad and they'll flee from him giggling like the little gremlins they are

Ace is veeeeeeeeerry physically affectionate and he isn’t shy about it at all.

At gatherings with the Whitebeard family, he will gladly seat you in his lap, he will happily hug you as you are seated.

His arm is on your waist most of the time.

They tease him to make him tone it down, he does not.

He, in fact, dials it up. Turns up the heat lol.

You have kids? Not in front of them? What do you mean, not in front of the kids? It’s important they know just how much he loves their mama!

So he will continue to be playful with his hugs and kisses and other displays of affection.

It’s nothing too over the top. Just hugs and quick pecks wherever.

Your entire head is fair game for his smooches, your arms (he loves kissing your pulse and then making eye contact, sneaky guy that he is), your shoulders.

Maybe lifting you and spinning you around. Cuddles. Little bites.

He will play-wrestle his kids to “fight” them over getting to cuddle you, and then he’ll just put all his weight on all of you in a group cuddle

Just to let you know, your kids also receive all the warmth and love of his affections.

When his sons are still tiny and adorable, he smooches them all over. The kisses grow less frequent as they grow older, but the hugs do not stop.

Oh no, hugs galore.

Ace still pecks his little princess on her forehead though

When they’re all under ten he’ll wrap them in a hug (after he chased them down and caught them so they’re laughing and screaming) and start smooching their cheeks while they laugh and try to get out of his grasp

Also yes she’s his princess, but that girl has no problem throwing a fully grown man twice her size around, he made sure of it.

I reiterate: Ace is not remotely shy about displays of affection

Like his eldest could have a friend over, and Ace would still launch a full scale hug attack using the rest of his troops (daughter/youngest)

It's complete with screeching, screaming, and a lot of laughter

His kids used to get teased for it, but it didn’t take more than a few conversations for them to instead jeer at the kids that teased them.

"You’re all jealous your parents don’t love you like ours do"

"How sad, your parents don't hug and kiss you"

Their dad, grandpa, uncle - uncles really, are all gremlins - it's in their DNA

The kids are really physically affectionate with each other as a result

Deadass they’ll be kicking the shit out of each other one second and the next they’ll be all cuddled and huddled up playing Mario Kart or something

Ace is his kids’ hero.

His sons aspire to have his level of fitness.

His daughter, when she’s older, uses him as a standard for dating

You're relieved

Ace is touched and a touch nervous, because he is aware of his shortcomings, though he works hard to keep improving

Of course when you look at him, a twinkle in your eyes, and tell him, “I’m so proud of her, I’m so proud of you!” He feels better

When you continue: “if she can find a guy like you, who cherishes her as much as you cherish me, I’d be so happy.”

Ace loves you so much he swears

#portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #one piece x reader #one piece x you #portgas d ace x you #portgas d ace fluff #portgas d ace #portgas d ace fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece #ace one piece

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fireinmoonshot · 4 months ago

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second impressions | joaquín torres x fem!reader

READ PART ONE HERE Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: After making a terrible first impression on you, Joaquín goes back to the Avengers Training Facility in hopes of making a better second impression on you... but you have other ideas. Warnings: Mentions of fighting/combat and food Word Count: 2.1k A/N: I had a few people requesting that I write a second part to First Impressions so I have been working on this for the past couple of days. I am also going to be writing a third part to it as well which will hopefully be up in the next couple of days. Not much happens in this tbh but I still hope you guys enjoy it. I think it has some fun elements to it 💗

When Sam asks Joaquin if he wants to join him for some training at the Avengers Training Facility, there isn’t a second of hesitation before he says yes. He does truly want to learn the art of being the Falcon… the fact that you’re also going to be there is just a bonus.

He even puts on an extra spritz of cologne before he leaves his apartment. The fact that he’s wearing gym gear and therefore doesn’t need cologne doesn’t even cross his mind.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Sam asks him as they walk into the training room. “You seem a little distracted.”

Joaquin shakes his head and tries his best to pretend that he’s not looking for you. He is a little distracted, he can admit that. But it’s just because he’s here and you’re also here somewhere and he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since you body slammed him in this very room two weeks ago. “Nah, man. I’m ready. I’ve never been more ready.”

Sam gives him an amused look. “Yeah, sure…”

He drops his gym bag by the corner of the mat and starts to do some stretching. His body is tense from the drive and he needs to loosen up big time before he starts to train with Sam. He’s fully aware he’s probably going to be getting his ass kicked, but he has to start somewhere, right? He’s a pretty decent fighter when it really comes down to it, but he knows he can do with some improvement.

“So,” Joaquin begins, stretching one of his legs. “Do you think that if I can win in a sparring match with you today, you’ll let me face off with that Black Widow we saw here last time?” He purposely doesn’t use your name in an attempt to make Sam think he’s nonchalant about it all. Sam is well aware he’s the entire opposite.

Sam snorts. “Yeah, in your dreams. Even I wouldn’t fight her.”

Joaquin frowns and stands up straight, momentarily pausing his stretching. “What do you mean you wouldn’t fight her? You’ve fought Super Soldiers, you’ve fought aliens. You even fought a Red Hulk and won. I mean, come on – you totally could!”

Unbeknownst to Joaquin, you’ve slowly been walking up to them for this entire conversation, a small smile on your lips. As you reach them, you casually drape your arm around Joaquin’s shoulders, enjoying the way he tenses beneath your touch.

“Yeah, listen to the kid, Cap. I reckon you could totally take me on.”

Sam rolls his eyes and continues his own stretching. “I could, but I don’t need that kinda humiliation. By the sound of it, though, Joaquin sounds like he’s up for it.”

Joaquin’s eyes widen. “I did not say that.”

You look over at Joaquin, still smiling. “What, are you scared, Torres?”

His breath hitches as he looks at you. Your face is so close to his, closer than its ever been before, and your arm is still wrapped around his shoulders. He’s never been electrocuted before but he’s pretty certain it must feel something like this. “Me, scared?” He attempts to scoff but it comes out as more of a choking sound.

You remove your arm from around his shoulders and move to stand a little in front of him. “Aren’t you here to learn some fighting techniques? C’mon, Torres. I’m a good teacher.”

For the first time probably ever, Joaquin is a little lost for words. He’s looking at you, trying not to think too much about how attractive he finds you, and also trying to convince himself that maybe he should accept a match against you. It’d be a good way to learn… and to get his ass kicked. But if you are the one doing the ass kicking, he could definitely get behind it…

“I’m just teasing,” you say, breaking his train of thought. “I’m not fighting you today.” There’s not a single bone in your body that is willing to fight against someone with such little training compared to your usual partners. When he was better and could really hold his own against you? Sure, that was fair game. But you hadn’t been able to help yourself today when you’d walked into the gym and heard them talking about you. “Do you mind if I watch though?”

Sam shakes his head. “Nah, that’s fine. It’ll probably be good for him to have another set of eyes to see what he needs to improve on.”

“Okay, great,” you hum, starting to walk over to the edge of the mat. You pause by Joaquin and place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You got this, Torres. Oh, and by the way, you smell good.”

Joaquin stares at you, a little bewildered, as you move to sit on the floor by the edge of the mat, leaning up against the concrete wall behind you and stretching your legs out in front of you. Did you actually just say that to him? How the hell was Joaquin meant to fight under these conditions? He’s all hot under the metaphorical collar now.

“Joaquin, you ready?” Sam asks, finishing off his stretching and stepping up onto the mat.

He clears his throat, looks at you one last time, and then nods. “Yeah, I’m ready.” Oh, he’s so screwed.

~~~

You stay, watching the two men as they spar on the mat in front of you. Sam is good, as you had expected him to be with so much experience under his belt. Joaquin, though, is better than you’d expected. He fights almost as effortlessly as you, although some of his movements are a little clunky in places and he could definitely learn a thing or two about predicting his opponents movements. All things considered, though, you’re impressed.

After the training wraps up for the day, you excuse yourself from the gym and head into the kitchen – a popular place among the Avengers while using the Training Facility. You’re making a sandwich when Joaquin walks into the room.

He has a towel resting over his shoulder and there’s still a sheen of sweat over his skin from the fighting. His hair, which had been neatly styled before, is now a little messy, some strands of it falling over his forehead and softening his face. It’s the first time you’ve seen him outside of the gym and even though you knew that he was good looking before, nothing can prepare you for the strange feeling that erupts in your stomach as he saunters into the room.

“I guess Avengers eat sandwiches too,” Joaquin says, breaking the silence as he sits on one of the stools on the opposite side of the counter from you. He notices that your eyes are a little unfocused as you look at him, but then you blink and you’re back to normal.

You chuckle. “You say that like we’re some kind of special breed, Torres. I’m a human, too, sweetheart. We humans eat sandwiches.”

Joaquin is pretty sure he feels his heart stop as you call him sweetheart. He’s not even thinking about the sandwich anymore. All he can think about is the fact that you never refer to him by his first name and the fact that you just gave him a nickname that he hasn’t been called since he worked in a supermarket as a teenager and the older ladies would fawn over how kind and lovely he was.

“Yeah, sandwiches are pretty great…” is all that he can manage to say, his head swimming with thoughts about how you’re so tough, so strong, but how the word sweetheart sounds like music coming from your mouth.

You look at him for a moment. “Are we really gonna stand here talking about sandwiches, Torres?”

He pauses and attempts to clear his thoughts. “What else would we talk about?”

“I don’t know, but I really don’t feel like trading sandwich secrets with you,” you admit as you grab a knife and cut the sandwich in half before putting it on a plate. You push it to the side, then, and lean down on the bench, looking across it at Joaquin. “I wanna talk about the fact that you wore cologne to a sparring session at the gym.”

Joaquin is glad he’s not eating or drinking. He’s certain he would’ve choked on it. You telling him that he smelled good had been on replay in his mind for the entire sparring match against Sam and had definitely been the reason Sam had gotten a few punches in. He hadn’t thought you’d notice it, letalone mention it, and he’s pretty sure it’s worn off by now considering he’d sweated so much during the fight. But here you are, cornering him about it.

“I wanted to make a better second impression on you than my first one,” he explains, a little sheepishly.

Truthfully, his terrible first impression on you had been weighing on his mind. He’d made a total fool out of himself, even though you’d assured him that he hadn’t. He had decided very quickly that he needed to do better next time.

You look at him for a second and then extend your hand towards him. “Give me your phone for a sec,” you say.

Joaquin furrows his eyebrows. “Why do you want my phone? He replies, mid-way through grabbing it and handing it to you across the counter. There’s nothing on there that he’d be worried about you seeing. Well… apart from a few selfies in his camera roll.

“Because,” you start, taking the phone from him. “I want to put my number in it. We’re on the same team now and if you ever have any questions about fighting techniques or anything similar, shoot me a text and I can help.” You open up his contacts, adding yourself to them. “And because you are not going to make a good impression on me simply by wearing cologne to a sparring session, Torres.”

He takes his phone back from you after you finish adding in your number and places it on the bench in front of him. “How am I going to do that, then?”

“We may be Avengers, Torres, but that doesn’t mean every interaction we have has to be within the walls of this training facility. I’d honestly prefer that they aren’t,” you admit, shrugging your shoulders. “We should meet sometime out in the real world, where we’re just you and me instead of a Black Widow and the Falcon. Get to know more about each other rather than just our fighting styles.”

Joaquin finds himself smiling. He hadn’t expected that from you. According to Sam, you’re one of the best fighters and a damn good Avenger. He’d thought you’d want to keep things that way – co-workers and nothing more. He’s never been an Avenger before so he assumed that would be how it was – his friendship with Sam being the exception. But apparently not.

“You’d actually wanna do that?” He asks, a little in disbelief.

“No, actually. I just said all of that but I didn’t mean a single word,” you reply, deadpan. “Yes, of course I would want to do that, Torres. I do actually have a life outside of being an Avenger, you know. I don’t only exist in this facility.”

A thought pops into Joaquin’s mind… you have a life outside of this place, which means there’s a very possible chance that you might have a partner. Someone you go home to every night, someone that listens to your troubles and fears when it comes to your job.

Almost like you can read his mind, you speak again.

“I’m basically asking you on a date, Joaquin.”

His head snaps up, eyes meeting yours. “You– wait, you and me? You want to go on a date with me? You’re– you’re asking me?”

“What is with you and not believing me when I say things to you?” You laugh a little, shaking your head. “I’m not talking anything serious, hence the word basically, but yes. You don’t need to give me an answer straight away. You should take some time to think on it. This is only the second time we’ve met, after all.”

You stand up straight and pick up the plate with the sandwich before walking around the counter and sliding the plate in front of Joaquin.

“Eat. You need to regain your strength after getting your ass kicked by Sam,” you hum. “And then text me yes or no once you’ve had some time to think, yeah?”

Before Joaquin can even recover from his shock enough to actually say yes to you, you’re gone. He spins around in his chair, eyes falling on the empty doorway. Then, he turns back around, picks up his phone and types out a message to you.

I don’t need time to think on it. I’m in. Yes.

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #marvel #marvel x reader #captain america brave new world #listening to the new sf9 album as i did my last edit on this #and i'm surprised i actually got any writing done #a bop

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goosewriting · 4 months ago

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idk about you but joaquin drunk confessing that he's been in love w you since he first saw you is so personal to me

Enamorado

summary: Joaquín’s drunken love confession.

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: alcohol, drunk behaviour, established relationship

word count: ~760

A/N: i’m honestly not even sure if this was meant as a request or not but it was too good not to write something for 😩💕 you're so right anon,, have this lil blurb mwah (be safe when drinking, kids)

[all masterlists] 🪶 [mcu masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(title means "in love" in spanish)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Usually, you don’t go to bars much, but this time it was a special occasion, so you went out with Joaquín and Sam. Even Bucky joined you, but now that he's a proper citizen and all, he left early.

You glance at the time on your phone, it’s 2:46 am. Looking over your shoulder from where you sit at the bar, you see Sam on the dance floor, and smile to yourself. He’s having a good time, it seems. Joaquín is next to you, and as your eyes go back to him, he’s putting down his drink he just emptied. He looks at you with a goofy grin.

“Alright, then, that’s enough for you,” you say with a gentle smile, pushing his glass a little farther away from his hands. “Let’s take a break, yeah?”

You’re fairly tipsy yourself, but Joaquín is proper drunk now. He doesn’t let himself get to this point often. Luckily he doesn’t get angry or physical when intoxicated, instead he turns to absolute mush, incoherent mumblings about how much he loves you and Sam leaving his lips incessantly, muttering about how glad he is to be part of the group, how badly he wants to meet the Avengers. He also gets a little clingy, not that you mind. His hands will always be on you somewhere, your leg, your back, your face.

Right now, he’s leaning his forehead on your shoulder, grumbling under his breath, but you can’t make out what he’s saying.

“Wanna go take some fresh air?,” you offer.

Joaquín nods, getting off his stool, and he lets you pull him to the back, where you exit to a small patio. You breathe in the cool night air, the buzzing in your ears starting to dissipate. You lean onto the wooden fence and look out to the city below, the lights moving and dancing in the distance like a painting. Or maybe you just can’t focus your eyes right now.

You feel something warm coming up behind you, and Joaquín’s arms snake around your middle as he hugs you into his chest. He hums, swaying you both lightly from side to side, and you laugh, turning within his hold to face him, and you cup his face. His skin feels hot, and you can see the redness on his cheeks even in the dim light.

“You need to learn to pace yourself,” you say.

“Ssshuddup. Sam’s fault,” he retorts, and he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck.

“Right,” you chuckle. Sam and Joaquín did make some bet or other about how many drinks they could have before losing the ability to walk a straight line.

When he pulls back, his chocolate eyes find yours, albeit slightly out of focus, but his gaze holds so much warmth and affection, you can’t help but get lost in them. He hums again, a smile spreading on his lips. You tilt your head.

“Whatcha thinking about?” you ask.

“You.”

“Yeah?” Your heart flutters.

“Always,” he confirms.

“Anything specific?”

“I, when you…” he starts, struggling to form real words. “Desde el primer momento en que te vi…”

You chuckle, softly pinching his cheek, then cup his face again.

“English, please.”

“You, it’s always been you,” he speaks more clearly this time, and quickly turns his head to place a kiss to your inner wrist. “From the very moment I first saw you, I’ve been in love with you.”

You swallow, tears stinging behind your eyes as you smooth over his cheekbones with your thumbs. Joaquín’s hands slide from your waist to your back to push you closer into him.

“Madly,” he says, and places a kiss on your forehead. “Entirely.” Another on the tip of your nose. “Desperately.” His speech is a bit more slurred on that one, and he kisses the corner of your mouth, giggling goofily as he pulls back to look at you.

You mirror his love struck gaze, softly running your fingers through his curls before you hold the back of his head to pull him close, capturing his lips. It’s not as elegant as it could have been, kissing somewhat sloppily in the dark of night, but you can feel how earnest his words are in the way he holds you, breathes you in. And with every wet kiss he places wherever he can reach, he whispers ‘I love you’s into your skin, the press of his lips leaving a trail of fire, burning his words into your body, to remind you that you’re his and he’s yours. Madly, entirely, desperately.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @f1-tennisgirlie @magikdarkholme @tsunchani @Chuchu8293 @bitchy-bi-trash @guynamedaurel @crumbledcastle28 @sarahskywalker-amidala @crazy4lyricb

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

#listen. i’ve never really had celebrity crushes #but this man😳#good lord #yt keeps recommending interviews because i’ve been watching so many fjdskjfhk #he’s got the cutest accent when speaking spanish too #he’s just a couple years older than me im just sayin #haha jk (...unless)#beyond delulu i know #i might be in love bye #goose feathers #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #tfatws joaquin x reader #tfatws joaquin x you #brave new world joaquin x reader #the falcon x reader #marvel #mcu x reader #mcu

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cryinggirlnamedhelen · 3 months ago

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inspired by the incredible beautiful amazing perfect absolutely scrumptious timeskip artwork of isagi and rin by @pennim4 🫶

cause i feel so high school; every time i look at you

ft ; timeskip!isagi, timeskip!rin (separately)

content ; gn!reader, hc format, isagi fanart linked HERE, rin fanart linked HERE (once again, thank you to the wonderful artist!)

synopsis ; what’s it like being their lover in their adult lives?

song ; so high school by taylor swift

isagi yoichi

‎♡ if it wasn’t already obvious, isagi is the sweetest. always making sure to not allow you to carry heavy items, always picking up groceries or take-out after practice. although the latter is done with a cap, sunglasses, and a mask to make sure no fans see him.

‎♡ his schedule is tight, as he has to wake up and go to sleep at unimaginable times to practice. he already feels bad enough, considering how you have to do online classes for college just to live with him in germany, as he plays for bastard münchen; meanwhile, you’re in the university of tokyo. because of this, he always makes sure to spend time with you, no matter how tired or busy he is.

‎♡ he will always talk about you at press conferences and interviews. “oh, my jersey? yeah, it’s pretty popular, right? my lover wears mine all the time.” “what do i think about when i score goals? oh, my lover.” the media and journalists are all fed up with him; he literally can’t answer anything without bringing you up. but his fans—crazy fans who are obsessed aside—all find it adorable.

‎♡ you both visit japan every once in a while, always staying at both of your parents’ homes. they’re always asking when you’ll get married, but isagi always just turns beet red every time. whenever you both visit his parents’ house, they’re always fawning over you. they both adore you; after all, you were his childhood best friend. whenever you both leave to go back to germany, your bags and suitcases are full of items that both of your parents’ gave.

‎♡ whenever his fans see you in public, they’re always immediately running over to you. you’re fairly active on social media, and although many people only see you as “the person isagi is dating”, you have your own collection of fans from how lovable you are, most of them also being isagi’s fans. plus, if you’re out, that means isagi’s somewhere around you too. he knows better than to let you go out alone, with so many creepy fans of his.

‎♡ sometimes you’ll take out your phone and pull up a picture of isagi when he was a kid, bringing it next to his face and comparing it to him. in the end, you would just sigh from the nostalgia and leave him confused and a little embarrassed, although he found it funny too. you missed the days when he was too shy to talk to you whenever your family was talking with his parents, back when he was still the cutest kid around.

itoshi rin

‎♡ rin isn’t someone who screams “im the nicest guy ever!” but he tries. over the years, he’s become more mature; he’s mellowed out. he still gets flustered easily, but he’s learned how to control it and how to stop being so undeniably unlikable. he still has a pretty foul mouth, but his anger issues have toned down…a little bit.

‎♡ he also has a pretty damn busy schedule, but not nearly as bad as isagi’s. rin practices a lot, but unlike isagi, he doesn’t constantly entertain or talk to the media or paparazzi or even fans for that matter. he just finishes practice and drives straight home unless you want him to pick something up from the store or if you need him to run a few errands. otherwise, he wants to spend as much time as he can with you, especially since you were willing to move to spain with him since he plays for re al.

‎♡ never ever ever ever EVER doubt his loyalty. whenever someone asks him anything about romance, even if it’s something as simple as “what type of person are you into?” he just immediately answers “my lover.” unlike many of the other adult former blue lockers, rin had never once been involved in a sex scandal or cheating gossips. he’s never seen interacting with any celebrities other than his teammates and fellow former blue lockers, and most other celebrities seem pretty scared of him.

‎♡ his social media account is practically inactive, with no liked posts and no reposts. and yet, on each platform, he has over 25 million followers. but he doesn’t need to scroll the posts mindlessly; he has you to do that. strangely, at night, when you’re both alone surrounded by nothing but the comfort of each other (and your cat laying on top of him), his chin is on your shoulder as you’re both watching tiktoks on your phone together. he makes comments every once in a while, sentiments such as “that’s stupid” or “damn. just break up already”, but he usually just stays quiet to bask in your presence.

‎♡ a lot of fans always ask you which side of the itoshi brothers beef you’re on, and you always just brush it off with a comment or two. “@(y/nnnnnn)_rin’s #1 fan, which side of the itoshi siblings angsty beef r u on???” “@itoshisiblingsmakesmesad, idk it’s just funny imo. their miscommunication is fr worse than kazehaya and sawako’s😭 my husband and brother-in-law beefing lmao” the fans love you, rin’s pr team hates you. rin doesn’t really know how to feel about your comments, so he usually just stares at you for a few minutes before continuing with his day.

‎♡ the media hates rin just as much as they hate sae, which is quite the accomplishment. rin never answers any of their questions unless it’s about you, in which it’s usually a snappy or snarky remark to the interviewer. he’s stoic, and doesn’t really have a reaction to anything that they ask him unless it’s about you. once, he was trying to get home after practice especially quickly since it was your anniversary, but the paparazzi and media wouldn’t stop bothering him. he almost got physically violent with them before he manager pulled him away, in which rin immediately drove home to you and played with your cat for the rest of the night.

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