#which unfortunately for them really reflects their relationship | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ms-demeanor · 10 months ago

Note

You posted about adhd and I was hoping to follow up to clarify something. I’ve explained to my partner a million times about how the borderline-hoarding mess of his space is very mentally draining to me, and he understands but we’ve both essentially accepted he won’t clean his mess because he can’t because of his adhd. You’re saying he’s actually being a shit head?

This isn't necessarily an issue of him being a shithead, but it also isn't a sustainable situation. It's not good for you and there's a level of clutter that's probably not good for him either.

Large bastard is a lot more clutter-y than I am. The solution we've come to is trying to keep our messes at least isolated from one another; he can have his messes and I can have mine, but he can have those messes in his spaces, not all over the place. Sometimes those messes migrate, and that's when it's important for him to make the effort to rein them in rather than trying and failing to make a daily effort to keep our entire shared space tidy.

I think when you say "we've both essentially accepted he won't clean his mess" what I'm hearing is resignation; you're not happy about this but you don't know what to do so you've thrown up your hands and he feels helpless and unsure of what to do to improve the situation. This is the kind of "it's fine" that isn't really fine.

I think it would be worthwhile for you to each separately think about the mess and talk about it together. Are there areas that YOU *need* to have not-messy? Both for utility and your mental health? Are there areas where you can tolerate more mess than otherwise? Are there areas that are going to be harder for him to keep the mess out of than others? Are there things he doesn't *know* about cleaning up the mess?

I'm obviously a big "communication communication communication" person so I'm going to recommend a lot of talking about stuff, which is probably going to mean a lot of thinking about and interrogating stuff. I'm going to say "talk to him about why the mess bothers you" which means you also have to really articulate to yourself why the mess bothers you (for instance I'm not actually *bothered* by a messy kitchen, but I know it's going to reflect badly on us - and me specifically b/c of presumed gender roles - if someone pops by and the kitchen is a disaster, AND a messy kitchen is going to be harder to use). Genuinely, sometimes knowing *why* something is a problem might make it easier for someone with ADHD to do something. And it's not that he doesn't care that it upsets you, it's just that "Oh if I don't wash my breakfast dishes Anon won't have clear counterspace to make lunch" might be stickier in his brain (and less hard to look at emotionally) than "this thing I forget to do upsets my partner so I should do it."

For the record, I think that people with ADHD should read up on Demand Avoidance and see if it might explain some of the issues that they have in their day-to-day life; I've seen some really unfortunate situations with friends where trying to do things that their partner needed became the subject of demand avoidance. *I* have experienced negative outcomes of demand avoidance. The solution to that, however, isn't to stop making attempts to do the thing OR to simply try harder to do as they're asked/told (which reinforces the demand), it's to work on setting up a situation where the partners' needs are not interpreted as a demand. This is fuck-off difficult and requires a lot of patience and care and many attempts to succeed and will be different for each person and relationship.

(Also for the record demand avoidance isn't *super* strongly linked to ADHD and it's not a definitive symptom; like Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, it is something that occurs in some number of people with ADHD and can be a useful lens through which to examine various behaviors; you don't need to have DA or RSD to have ADHD, and having DA or RSD also doesn't invalidate your diagnosis; they're symptoms. For me, DA often feels like "if I don't look at it, it can't get me" - If I ignore all the messages I've got they aren't real and don't have real consequences so I'll just ignore my texts. If I don't look at the vendor email about the order, the problem with the order isn't real and it won't get added to my task list. If I don't look at the requests in my inbox I can't let people down when I don't do them. It's a self-protective coping mechanism but it's *maladaptive* and I can't just ignore the vendor email or all my texts. I need to work on a way of doing the stuff that I'm avoiding in a way that makes it less stressful and doesn't hurt the people relying on me. That takes a lot of effort, personal insight, trial and error, and )

But before I dive into specifics I want to be really really clear about one thing: sometimes people are simply incompatible. Sometimes one person has such a low tolerance for "mess" and the other person has such a high threshold for "mess" that it can't be reconciled. It sucks that this can end up being a thing that people break up over, but it is MUCH better to acknowledge incompatibility as early as possible instead of spending years and years building resentment.

There used to be a great forum called MiL's Anonymous that I spent a lot of time on. It had a lot of people in a lot of difficult situations struggling to get by and hold their relationships together. The question that was used as a litmus test to approach each situation was simple: If you knew today that everything about living with this person would be the same in five years, would you stay?

Because you can't control your partner. You can't control the future. You can only control yourself and your proximity to situations that are harmful to you. If you knew, 100%, that things wouldn't get better in five years, would you be okay with staying in this relationship? If the answer is "no," then that's that. Don't worry about questions of whether or not your boyfriend is a shithead, start the process of ending the relationship because there's a good chance the situation is going to be exactly the same in five years.

If the answer is "yes," and you'd stay in the relationship regardless of whether or not things changed, then it's time to take actions to improve your life within the context of the relationship.

(No judgement on that yes or no, btw. If you would hate living like this for another five years, and you would feel like you'd wasted your time and hadn't done the things you wanted to with your life, get out. Bail. Go. It will be better for you and better for your partner if you split instead of spending half a decade building resentments and and problems that you'll have to spend another half a decade healing from.)

Also, a note: you describe your boyfriend's mess as borderline hoarding - is the issue *mess* or is the issue *clutter*? I have friends who are very tidy, but whose homes are very cluttered. They like things, they have many things, they keep many things around, but their houses are always clean and well-dusted and orderly, just with a tremendous amount of *stuff.* I am addressing all of this as though the issue is mess, not clutter. If your boyfriend's situation is clutter (the space is busy and packed with things but it is functional and clean) and your issue isn't with *mess* (things out of place, things not having a place, things that need to be cleaned up gathering in stacks, falling behind on regular chores like laundry and dishes and taking out the trash) then you definitely need to assess whether or not you are compatible.

For instance here's a room that is messy but not cluttered compared to a room that is cluttered but not messy:

That first room is a *mess* but it would be very easy to clean up in under an hour. The second room is fairly tidy, but would take significant effort to pare down and declutter. BOTH of these can be difficult to live with but the second one is not dangerous or threatening to anyone's health. (The second one is QUITE cluttered and if every room in a house looks like this it can be overwhelming to live with; this is actually harder to deal with in a relationship than the first one in a lot of ways. I don't have a lot of advice for what to do if your partner is a high degree of tidy-but-cluttered because I don't actually think it's a problem or wrong to have thousands of books or bins full of lego or a million kitchen appliances as long as you have the space and can keep it safe and well-maintained; this is a really significant compatibility issue)

Okay, all that out of the way, here's the hard work.

Talk about this shit

Talk to your partner and define "mess." Make sure you are on the same page about what you mean when you're talking about what a messy room looks like versus what a tidy room looks like. Gather reference pictures. DRAW reference pictures.

Explain not just that the mess upsets you, but *why* and *how* it upsets you. In this context don't think of it as your boyfriend's mess, think of it as an unpleasant roommate. Discuss this using "I-statements". "When I have to pick up laundry all over the apartment, I feel like a parent more than a partner." "When there are piles of miniatures all over the table, I feel like I don't have anywhere to do things I'm interested in." "When there are dishes in the sink, I feel frustrated because I have to clean before I can feed myself."

Discuss, frankly and openly, whether he knows how to clean. I'm not trying to make excuses for him here but a lot of people with ADHD have a lot of stress and avoidance around cleaning because they spent a lot of time getting yelled at for not knowing how to clean properly.

Discuss your needs, be firm about what you require but willing to compromise. You *need* some spaces to be clean, and some spaces may be harder for him to keep clean than others. It may be MUCH harder for him to keep a bedroom tidy than it is to keep a kitchen tidy; if you need a clean and empty bedroom with everything put away and he simply cannot do that, that is a compatibility issue. But perhaps you need *your* side of the bedroom to be very orderly and can tolerate a moderate level of mess and clutter on his side. Maybe you're really really bothered by a messy kitchen, but it doesn't bug you if the dining table is covered with projects and papers. Figure out something more workable than "his mess goes everywhere and i live with it because he's incapable of cleaning" because he probably is not incapable of cleaning and you deserve to have places in your home that are comfortable for you.

Reduce friction for cleaning

Sometimes the problem isn't cleaning, the problem is the many many steps before cleaning, or not knowing where something should go when you are done cleaning. One of the absolute best things I've done for myself for cleaning my space is getting a broom holder and mounting the broom to the wall. Sweeping is now essentially thoughtless. I don't have to find the broom or pull it out from a pile of fans or go scrounging around for a dustpan it's right there on the wall, frictionless. So here are some ways to reduce the barriers to cleaning:

Make sure you and your partner both know how to use your cleaning supplies and know where those supplies are. When I switched dishwasher soap I had to re-show Large Bastard where I was storing it and how it was used, because to him what happened was the dishwasher tabs just vanished one day and he didn't know what I was putting in the machine or the process I used. He sometimes puts tools away in places that I can't see (he's more than a foot taller than me) so sometimes I can't get started on a maintenance project until he shows me where he put the battery pack for the drill.

Consider making a how-to chart to or having him make a how-to chart to keep someplace accessible so he can reference it while cleaning. Goblin.Tools Magic ToDo is great for this. Basically a lot of the time people with ADHD have trouble knowing what to do from step to step even if they've done something before, so having a step by step guide can make it easier (I have notebooks full of step-by-step guides for everything from paying for my tuition to removing licenses for my customers to weeding my yard)

Remove obstacles; don't keep cleaning chemicals in the garage in a box that's behind a stack of parts, keep them in the room you'll be cleaning. Don't keep the cleaning supplies that you use to clean the bathroom in the kitchen. Sometimes this means buying two bottles of bleach solution and two scrubbers and two sets of cleaning gloves but having fewer steps (fetch the windex, fetch the paper towels, fetch the gloves) is often the key to getting things done (open under-sink cabinet and grab windex, gloves, and paper towels that are there instead of in the kitchen).

This sort of overlaps with the next category, which is:

Create Dump Zones

One thing that I've found that seems very different between people with ADHD cleaning and neurotypical people cleaning is that neurotypical people are good at getting to a point where the cleaning is "done." They have checked off their tasks and they have finished and it is over. There are *SOME* chores that are like this (taking out the trash is a binary state, the trash has been taken out or it has not) and some chores are perpetual (horrid cursed dishes) but I think with people with ADHD, some chores that are binary for neurotypicals are actually perpetual chores. For instance "clean off the counter" is not a one and done for me. "Clean off the counter" may involve a three day reorganization project. "Clean off the counter" does not mean "wipe down the tile and put dishes away" it means assessing whether or not I need to make vegetable stock and bleaching three tea containers and reconsidering whether or not the sharps container should live somewhere else and going through the mail and figuring out what needs to be responded to and taking out the recycling and on and on and on.

We have had company at the house for the last two weeks, so I asked large bastard to clean off the dining room table, which is largely a project zone for him. Cleaning off the dining room table meant putting away his meds (and since he's a transplant patient that involves a 30 gallon rubbermade tote), throwing away some trash, and totally reorganizing his workshop. It also incidentally involved picking up a table from facebook marketplace and moving my plants, which has now involved moving my former plant rack outside (moving buckets, finding and organizing planters and gardening tools) and taking the former table to the thrift store (not done yet) and cleaning the rug that was under the former table. So "either the table is clean, or it isn't" isn't really true for us.

HOWEVER "hang on we can't eat until the table is clear so let's drive to Pico Rivera to get that console table right now" isn't a workable plan, so you create dumpzones as areas of holding between the start and the finish of the chore.

A dump zone can be a laundry basket. It can be a craft bin. It can be a back room or under your bed. It is a place to put things that you are going to deal with later because if you deal with them now it is going to derail the thing you are actually trying to do, which is set the table for dinner.

Dump zones are vital to cleaning with ADHD and I recommend them for day-to-day cleaning as well. The day-to-day dump zones might be more for you than for your boyfriend. For instance, Large Bastard works with bullets and he sheds bullets all over the house. I used to get stressed when I found bullets when I was cleaning because are these work bullets? Are these recreational bullets? Are they in testing? Do they need to be pulled? Do they go in the workshop or the office or the garage or does he need these today so they have to stay on the counter? And the answer now is "that's not my problem naughty bullets go in the jar." Which is perfectly sensible because he gets to say "mystery yarn goes in the bin" and "art supplies go in the bucket."

I feel helpless when cleaning a lot of the time. I'm frustrated and lost and I don't know where stuff goes and everything I pick up spins off into three projects in my head and every step feels like a wall to scale. Dump zones help me with that when there's pressure or a reason for cleaning beyond day to day home maintenance. People are coming over? The bedroom is a dump zone, I'll deal with that later. I'm just cleaning up because I need to? Okay I can find a permanent home for this new dish soap.

AS A VERY IMPORTANT COROLLARY TO THIS:

Active projects do not go in dump zones while you or your partner are cleaning. This may mean designating a project sanctuary area like a corner of the table or one particular chair in your main room where a project can be placed so as not to be disturbed. (if my current crochet project ends up in the yarn bin, that may mean that I don't pick the project up for another three months, it lives on the windowsill behind the couch because that's where it'll get worked on)

Do not put things away for your partner, put them in the dump zone for your partner. Your partner has to be the one to put their own stuff away in a way that works for them. I tend to find that this naturally puts a limit on the time stuff sits in the dump zone, because eventually you'll go "hey where's my thing?" and will put stuff away. If that doesn't happen, it's still generally better to have stuff in a dump zone than all over the home.

Do not decide you know what things go together from your partner's stuff and try to "put like things together." The neurotypical urge to put like things together is the mindkiller(j/k). You do not know which things are "similar" in your partner's organization schema and attempting to organize things on your own is going to end up with all of the things "organized" being functionally lost forever from your partner's perspective. Large Bastard's mom would do this and it was infuriating, she'd say "oh I put all the electronics stuff in one box" and she would mean soldering irons, transistors, ham radios, HDMI cables, and cellphone chargers. We are *still* going through boxes of stuff that she "tidied up" when he was hospitalized in 2020 and 2021.

To prevent the need for quite so many dump zones over time, you can work on setting up landing zones and "homes" for projects and tools.

Landing Zones

Landing zones are places where things go when you come inside from doing various things. Sometimes your landing zone only needs to be a tray for your wallet and keys, sometimes your landing zone needs to be a place to take off muddy boots and put a trowel and gloves down before you shower.

To make an effective landing zone, consider what behaviors you're trying to minimize and whether the people using it are ACTUALLY going to use it. For instance I was tired of the corner of my hearth getting cluttered with random junk so I hung up some hooks and put a shelf and a basket there and it became a really effective landing zone for my bag and keys and the mail, but it was VERY ineffective for Large Bastard because it's by a door that isn't the primary door he uses to enter the house. As a result I always know where my keys and bag are but he has trouble finding his keys and wallet. He tends to enter the house through our bedroom and has an overloaded valet next to the door and that's usually where his wallet ends up. Mounting a shelf to the wall above the valet and putting a basket and a hook on it will be a better place for his stuff to land. It's not that he's not using the first zone because he doesn't know that it's there, or because he doesn't care about lost time when I'm searching for my car keys after he borrows them, he's not using it because it's not by the door he uses. That's all.

I have a landing space for when I come in for gardening that's different than the one when I come in from grocery shopping. I have a landing space for when I walk into the dining room instead of the kitchen when I get home.

Landing spaces prevent stuff from piling up all over the place because they are a limited functional space that should be used frequently. Mail ONLY goes in the landing zone. If you have mystery mail or if you're not sure it's safe to toss, you put it in the landing zone. You can't let the mail get piled up too high or you won't have a space for your keys. You can't let the change in your wallet tray get too deep or your wallet is going to slide off, etc., but you also don't just put change on the coffee table or your nightstand because the landing zone is right there.

Homes for items are just what they sound like. They're the place the item goes. It lives there. My meds live on my nightstand. You would not believe how poorly I did with taking my meds on my vacation because they weren't on my nightstand. A while back large bastard lost one of his sets of sorted meds and we tore the house up looking for them because he couldn't find them in his nightstand, which is where they live. *I* found them in his nightstand because I emptied out the entire top drawer (he had only looked on the top layer) and found them underneath a radio and a hammock. Even though they were *hidden* they were in their home, so they were findable. I recently needed ink for an art class. Art supplies live in a dresser by my desk. Ink lives in the art bin or the top left drawer. The ink was not in either of these places (it was on a cabinet in the dining room behind a teacup) so it took me weeks to find it.

Sometimes the reason that ADHD spaces are so messy is because objects have been assigned homes in places that are visible and if they get moved they get lost. This is a genuinely difficult problem that requires a lot of effort to solve and can involve a lot of trial and error for creating a tidy living space. For some people, open shelving and visible storage might be a good solution. For some people, assigning a VERY clear home and inculcating that location by habit is the only way to clean up a space. For some people one very cluttered corner to at least isolate the chaos does the trick (for me and large bastard open shelving doesn't work because anything in one place for too long becomes invisible; that means that I rely on assigning things homes and large bastard relies on having contained chaos and a general idea of where to search but what that DOES NOT mean is that he is clean or tidy. His spaces look like an explosion. But he can mostly find his stuff and do what he needs to do and as long as that's limited to specific places in shared spaces I can live with it; the dining room table can be a disaster, the kitchen cannot).

People organize things differently. It often takes a while for neurotypical adults to settle into an organizational style that works for them and ADHD adults may need to settle into a new system every few months for it to continue working. The cleanup and declutter is most likely going to be a permanent project that is always going to demand some level of attention from everyone in a shared space, but "my ADHD means I can't do it" is not really going to fly. Maybe his ADHD means that he can't keep his space tidy, but it doesn't mean you can't move stuff from shared spaces into dump zones or that he can't do stuff around the house.

If he's insisting that his ADHD means that he can't clean it is possible that he's not being a shithead, he just feels helpless and doesn't know where to start and has adopted the belief that he's a useless piece of shit who can't even keep a tidy space like a grownup because he's internalized a lot of shitty attitudes (hello, my internal monologue about keeping a clean house). But it's also possible that he's just being a shithead.

It's something that's worthwhile to investigate with him. If he's unwilling to make an attempt, then he's being a shithead.

It is also not your responsibility to rehabilitate another person. If he wants to clean and it's something he feels bad about and needs some help and support with the way that someone might need help or support for learning to use a mobility aid, that is fine but you don't have to be the one who gives him that support if it's detrimental to your health, and you don't have to be the one to teach him that stuff if it's not something you're capable of. And if he is NOT interested in working on making your shared living space more accessible for you, that is not your suitcase to unpack and you just have to ask yourself the question from the start: would I stay with this person if I knew the situation was never going to change?

IDK, I'm sure a lot of this reads like "anon you must take on the emotional labor of training your partner to be an adult" but it's really meant to be more of a way of assessing yourself and your relationship. If you created landing zones do you think he'd use them? Would he get angry if you assigned a laundry basket as a dump zone for his stuff while you tidy the living room? Is living with him long-term going to be comfortable for you if nothing changes? Do you have enough of a shared definition of "mess" that you're at least in the ballpark for what counts as a clean house?

anyway good luck, and a reminder to folks that I'm compiling a bunch of adhd resources and other information on my personal website, ms-demeanor.com. It's coming along slowly but it will eventually include stuff like ADHD cleaning tips and how to tackle a hoard, so maybe keep your eye on that space.

2K notes · View notes

maxlarens · 8 months ago

Text

OP: well, that isn't fucking relevant

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: someone tries to threaten your job, oscar has some choice words for him. (OR: the trials and tribulations of being a woman in a male dominated sport)

word count: 2.7k+

an: i kinda hate the white knight trope but i still wrote this lol, it scratches an itch and i think driver!reader did a sufficient amount of defending of herself beforehand. anyway, this is a one shot that's kind of connected to my smau series just a girl. enjoy!!!!! [also standard disclaimer: this does not reflect the opinions of any real life people/companies/organisations/etc. it is fiction. thank you]

You’re no stranger to sexism in Formula racing— you knew going into this that you’d have to deal with thinly veiled remarks about your gender and purposefully obtuse questions from reporters who think they know more than you about the sport you’ve dedicated your life to. You had to deal with it when you were karting, you had to deal with it during your stint in F2, and you have to deal with it now.

The fact of the matter is that some people do not think you belong here, and therefore are entirely unable to integrate the reality that you are very much here to stay, into their worldview. You’re lucky to have somehow earned Lewis’ loyalty, which had brought the Mercedes contract and the support of Toto simultaneously. Mercedes-AMG aren’t making leaps and bounds into the world of feminism, but you’re grateful for the seat regardless. You’re here and not going anywhere if you can help it.

You try your best to stay off the bad parts of social media, so as not to be subjected to the barrage of hate comments and death threats directed your way. You’re tough— but no one’s that tough. It’s fine for the most part. You focus on the racing, how the car feels, your performance and improving it weekend after weekend. You try at least. You’d love to leave your gender entirely out of the mix, you don’t think it’s relevant frankly. But unfortunately, the reporters do. (And so do some choice individuals working on the grid, who just can’t seem to keep their big fucking mouths shut about you.)

It’s disappointing, sure— but not surprising to sit down at a press conference and get a smattering of questions about your rumoured relationships and extracurricular activities when every other driver gets fifty questions practically thrown at them about their performance, or FIA regulations, or the track conditions. The part that bothers you the most is honestly just the lack of interest. It’s like they don’t think anything you have to say about the sport is valuable so they just don’t ask you the same questions they bother to ask the men. That probably is the actual case too.

So— y’know— you’re not that shocked when a reporter from some sports blog you’ve never heard of straight out asks if you “expect to be switched out with another female driver next year?”

The room goes dead fucking silent in a way that you do actually find satisfying. It’s good to know that most of the reporters in the room do know a tactless question when they hear one, or at least that you inspire enough fear in people that they’re waiting with bated breath to hear your response. Next to you, Oscar tenses, you can feel it where your thighs are touching. You can imagine his face right now without looking, that pinched micro-grimace he does. The barest hint of a crease in the bridge of his nose as he tries not to scowl. You want to put your hand on his knee and squeeze it in thanks.

You don’t. Instead, you frown and cock your head to the side, meeting the eyes of the reporter across the room.

Slowly, measuredly, you repeat, “I’m sorry, do I expect to be replaced with another female driver next year? Is that what you said?”

He nods, bringing the microphone closer to his mouth as if you really couldn’t hear him the first time, “Yes, yeah. That is what I asked.”

You hum, pursing your lips as if you’re sincerely considering his question. You can see a few people in the crowd who are cringing already, some of them have been on the receiving end of your tendency to play with your food before you eat it. Your ego feels pretty good about that.

“Why would Mercedes want to replace me?” you ask in your most polite voice, feigning real curiosity to this man who you doubt has done any research at all on you.

“Um,” he errs, some of his former unflappable confidence leeching out of his tone, “Well, to give more women a chance in Formula One—”

You start to speak over him, done with entertaining his ignorance. You bite, “—there are other teams for that, actually. I don’t think it’s presumptuous to say that I’ve earned my seat at Mercedes, or that I’ve proven that I belong here so far this season. In which, I have not qualified or placed below a P7. And I certainly don’t think it’s fair of you to ask if I am going to voluntarily give up my hard-earned seat to another person because you think I am here because of some women’s inclusion effort by Mercedes. And, okay, who knows, maybe I am. But I am not giving up this seat without a fight, nor do I imagine that Mercedes are in a rush to find someone to replace me right now. You’ll have to ask someone to confirm that though.”

You wind down after that, punctuating your point with a firm nod; some of the fight and the fury seeping out as you start to reckon with the potential consequences of your outburst. Mercedes’ PR rep will have something to say surely, you’re just hoping you haven’t crossed some kind of uncrossable line. Another part of you doesn’t quite care as you watch the reporter gape like a fish out of water, feeling rather satisfied that you’d put him in his place.

Eventually, the room recovers and moves on from you. Checo is getting asked his opinion on tyres while you share a furtive glance with Oscar. He smiles approvingly, mouth closed and the apples of his cheeks pushed up into his eyes. You feel the urge to touch his knee again but resist, instead smiling back as covertly as you possibly can. A warm feeling spreads in your chest and you almost forget about the reporter and his stupid question in favour of watching Oscar’s slow-burn smile.

Mercedes is fine with it, it turns out. Apparently, you’re doing the heavy lifting for them in the feminism department and all they have to do is have Toto or someone come out and say a few words in agreement. It suits them fine, they don’t need to take any hard stances and you get the blame if anything goes horribly wrong. That grates at you, of course it does. But you’ve got a seat, haven’t you? You’re not going to give it up because Mercedes are covering their asses like the multibillion-dollar company that they are.

It means you’ve avoided the all-hands-on-deck PR meeting you thought you’d be stuck in tonight, but it’s left you in too sour a mood for this party. It’s some function, fundraiser, something or other and they’ve invited all the teams, drivers and ‘important’ FIA staff. This means there’s an inordinate amount of people here and you’re really not into it.

But you’re still here. You’ve shoved yourself into a cute, strappy, black top, and a denim mini-skirt and you’ve even added some cute jewellery in a feeble attempt to match whatever over-the-top outfit Lewis has arrived in. It’s at least a step up from your usual team polo and leggings, or the Mercedes hoodie that you pull on over it. You’re comfortable. You’re fine.

You pull a hand out of the pocket of your oversized leather jacket as Oscar comes back over with your beer. You smile at the expression on his face as you take the neck in between your fingers. He’s scowling openly, the corners of his lips curled up in distaste.

“Busy?” you ask, then you hold up the beer in thanks, “Cheers, by the way.”

“Hmm, too crowded,” he affirms, “I lost Lando.”

You shrug, taking a swig of the refreshingly cold beer, “Actually? Or did he run off with someone?”

Oscar snorts, “Yeah, no. He got into a conversation with Max.”

You laugh, “Yeah, in that case, I reckon we’ll see Lando in a few hours.”

“Definitely.”

The two of you share an amused smile before you’re back to looking into the crowd because sometimes, it’s hard for you to look at him— like looking directly into the sun. You’re aware of him in your periphery, standing there and rocking back and forth on his heels, occasionally taking a sip of his drink. He looks away for a moment, and you turn to look at him. Taking in the endearing swoop of his hair, the scattering of freckles and moles on the side of his pale face, the long line of his neck disappearing into the collar of his shirt. You shift your eyes slightly to the right of him, to the patchwork of vents and scaffolding in the ceiling, feigning as if you’d only been casually looking his way.

“That reporter was a piece of work,” Oscar says once he’s drifted his attention back to you.

You roll your eyes on instinct, and groan, “Tell me about it, holy shit, Osc. What an asshole. I don’t know if he was just stupid or legit didn’t know a single thing about me.”

“Mm,” Oscar hums in agreement, “and I like how no one asked you a single question after that. Way to go guys, that’s exactly how you show your support.”

You roll your eyes, still smiling a little at the contented feeling you’ve got in your chest, “I know, right. Trust, they all got on their keyboards afterwards to wax lyrical about how deserving I am of my seat. It’d be fucken’ nice if they acted like it during press conferences.”

“Yeaah,” he sighs, half-laugh, half-exhale, “It’s unfair.”

“Fucken' right,” you gripe, tipping your head back and letting a slip of fizzy beer cascade down your throat— the alcohol, though meagre, leaves you feeling loose, a little reckless, “It sucks Osc. God, I just want to be respected. If I had a dick and balls I’d be fucking killing it, dude. This is my rookie season, I’ve been scoring points every race. Except for the DNF, which was not my fault. But, fuck me, they don’t give a shit.”

You squeeze your eyes shut to stave off the angry tears that are sitting behind your eyelids, threatening. When you open them Oscar is staring at you, frowning, his brown eyes huge and sparkling and sympathetic. They’re like a black hole you want to fall into. Your heart squeezes. He’s so— ugh. Quickly, your mind supplies about a hundred answers to that question: sweet, cute, nice, adorable. Something stutters in your chest and you feel your cheeks starting to grow hot. That slow-burn smile of Oscar’s starts on his face, and you watch dimples form on his cheeks.

The moment is quickly ruined by a particularly nasally Italian accent that you vaguely recognise, “You know,” it says, clearly talking to you, “You should make sure to watch your tone. You never know who could be listening.”

Mood thoroughly dampened, you turn to face the interruption. It turns out to be one of the numerous men on the grid who won’t shut up about you, sharing unsolicited opinions left and right. He has his arms crossed against his chest and a smug expression on his face, as if he’s just caught you doing something terrible— instead of simply complaining about the subpar treatment you’re afforded.

He’s not worth your time whatsoever but God you’re angry. Maybe it’s just been too much shit on top of shit today but you cannot deal reasonably with this man right now— and you are not afforded the luxury of not acting reasonably toward someone like this, no matter how much of a dickhead they are. You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again. Close it and bite down on your bottom lip so nothing accidentally slips out. You’re trying to fish a semi-civil sentence out of a sea of fuck you fuck you fuck you on repeat and it’s not working.

“Are you threatening her?” Oscar asks, a dangerous lilt to his tone, and somewhere in the pulse of anger, you think this is the happiest you’ve ever been to hear his voice, “Because, I am pretty sure your team principal would not be pleased to hear that you’re going around threatening one of Mercedes’ drivers.”

He scoffs, trying to play it off, but you think you register a little bit of worry somewhere in there— Oscar can be threatening when he wants to be and McLaren are not exactly nobodies in this sport right now, “Please, I am not threatening her. I am just telling her that she needs to watch her mouth.”

“Right,” Oscar nods, mouth pinching, “Sure. Well, it would be our word against yours and I’m fairly sure your team principal would believe two drivers over you right now. Especially with that history, you’ve got, dude.”

A little thrill goes up your spine as his face goes white as a sheet. Oscar’s talking about the nice little list of comments he’s made that you’ve reported to your team and an FIA representative— which you’ve taken to doing every time anyone starts up a pattern of saying things about you or to you. They’re to cover your ass honestly, so you can’t be accused of making things up if push comes to shove. You’re sure they’ve made their way back to him and his boss; you’re glad they’ve made an impact (but perhaps not enough to stop him outright).

He sniffs, a nervous edge to his words, “I am not threatening her.”

“Okay. Apologise.”

“Excuse me?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, “If you’re not threatening her, apologise.”

You bite the inside of your lip and grip the neck of your near-empty beer bottle tighter. Alright, Oscar can be scary. Noted. Very much noted.

“I—” He quickly thinks better of protesting and looks at you, lips pursed in a thin angry line, “I apologise.”

He looks at Oscar, Oscar looks at you. You shrug and nod. Good enough. You don’t need him to grovel, you think he’s been sufficiently humiliated already. Although, before he scampers off into the crowd at Oscar’s approval, you manage a dry, “You think I need to watch my tone now?”

He scowls, but says, “No,” anyway.

Then he stalks off into the throng of people.

You relax more the further that he gets away from the two of you. The tension dissipates into something warm and charged with a different kind of electricity entirely. You ignore the unease that tries to take root in your stomach and instead focus on Oscar at your side.

“That was—” you scrub a hand over your face, starting your sentence again, “Hm.”

Oscar sigh-laughs again, “Yeah, what an asshole.”

“Thank you,” you say meaning it wholeheartedly, “No one’s done something like that for me before.”

Oscar looks down at you, frowning, he shakes his head, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” you answer, feeling bold as you put a hand on his bicep in an attempt to express how grateful you feel for him, for what he’d done for you, “It’s really not, Osc.”

He’s quiet, staring at you with big brown sparkling eyes for a long long moment. A long moment in which you fantasise about reaching upward and pulling his face down to yours, feeling his lips against your own. They’d be soft, you think— his hair would be too. You don’t think about it and you resolutely ignore the tug low in your gut.

“You deserve it,” he says eventually, loud enough that you can hear it, but not anyone else, “You are killing it, by the way.”

You breathe a laugh, “Yeah, I’d better be.”

You squeeze gently at his bicep, feeling the sinewed muscle underneath his dress shirt. Then you let your hand drop, trailing absently down his arm as you do so. Your fingers brush his hand, and he catches yours before it's out of reach at your side. Purposefully, he threads your fingers with his, squeezing firmly and brushing his thumb tenderly over your knuckle. You feel a little lightheaded when he lets go.

You sigh, masking the out-of-breath quality of your voice, “I need another drink.”

“Yeah,” Oscar breathes, “Me too, I reckon.”

🏎️ title taken from this song :)

#oscar piastri #f1 #formula 1 #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri x driver!reader #oneshots:op81 #driver!reader #Spotify

1K notes · View notes

wandascosmic · 2 months ago

Note

Would you write something where Wanda and reader just have like a slow morning. They don’t have anywhere to be and reader just wakes up to see Wanda staring at her and it’s just so sweet. Feel free to add your own ideas too!

slow mornings (request)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: in which you have your first day off in a year, and you and your wife decide to spend it in the best way possible.

word count: 733

tags: unedited, fluff, meet-cute, business major history, domestic wanda and reader, soft wanda and reader, slow mornings with our favorite couple, wanda has a staring problem

Wanda must have looked crazy, staring at you, her wife, for the past 20 minutes. Just watching your chest rise and fall in a slow, rhythmic state as you slept peacefully. Devoid of all the stress that usually plagued your face at your high-stakes job working as a company’s CEO.

Wanda never wanted to leave, she felt completely content, having been married to you for the past five years, she never wanted it to end.

Watching your expression, she reflected on your relationship’s history.

You had met Wanda fresh out of college, during the first week of the master’s program you two had both been accepted to, one of the most competitive in the country.

Wanda was focusing more on the management portion, while you were learning more analysis topics.

Sprinting as fast as you could to your most important class which you were unfortunately already late for since the bus got delayed, you accidentally bumped into a redhead on your way, dropping both your books and hers in the process.

Widening your eyes, you ran back towards the figure. “Oh, my god! I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean to do that. I’m just stressed and–”

The figure gave you a reassuring smile, causing every word that wanted to come out to die in your throat. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice silky smooth as she handed you your books back. “I’m Wanda.”

Nodding, you wordlessly took your books back, confused as the figure gave you an expectant look. “Um, oh! I’m Y/N. Studying business analysis.” You held out your hand for her to shake.

“Nice to meet you,” Wanda responded. “Business Administration.”

“Wow, that’s– wow.” You acknowledged, seeing as that was the best program your school had to offer. Should you even be talking to her?

Wanda laughed. “It’s nothing. My greatest accomplishment is my coffee job on the side, with my twin brother. Want one?”

“Um– what?” you asked.

“A coffee,” Wanda smiled. “Have you heard of Sokovian Sweets? Down the street?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, I love them. They have the best hot chocolate,” you said in recognition.

“Thanks,” Wanda nodded. “Pietro’s working the shop today, come on!”

Wanda grabbed your hand and began to lead you in the direction of her and her brother’s store.

“Um I really shouldn’t–” you protest.

“Don’t worry, it’ll all be worth it!” Wanda reassured, never letting go of your hand.

And it all was, because 4 years later, she became your wife.

Wanda smiles as you begin to stir, slowly coming to your senses.

With your eyes still closed, you reach towards your wife, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly.

“You know, it’s rude to stare,” you say, feeling a pair of green eyes watching you.

“Can’t help it,” Wanda shrugs. “It’s called appreciating your wonderful wife.”

Turning over to face your wife, you slowly open your eyes and greet her with a smile. “Hi,” you say softly.

“Hey,” she responds gently, giving you a kiss on your forehead.

“How long have you been awake?” you ask, moving to rest your head in the crook of Wanda’s neck, to which she immediately responds with her arm around your waist.

“Not long, I spent most of it admiring you.”

“You know, 5 years of marriage and I don’t think you’ve ever lost your ability to flirt with me in new ways every morning.”

“It comes pretty easy when you’ve got a pretty wife in bed next to you,” Wanda responds.

You hum, closing your eyes as you feel yourself relax in Wanda’s arms. “What are we doing today?” you ask.

“Well, Pietro wants me to drop off some cookies at the coffee shop later today, but we don’t have to, I can just get Sam to pick them up since I made them last night.”

You laugh. “Oh, yeah, forgot Sam owes you for nearly burning down your kitchen last month.”

Wanda groans. “How can someone mess up French onion soup that bad! He burned the broth somehow!”

You kiss Wanda’s cheek. “Let Sam know, I have my first day off all year and I want to spend every minute of it with you.” You wrap your arms around Wanda’s waist and snuggle into her chest, dozing off once more.

“You got it,” Wanda agrees, kissing the top of your head before texting Sam, and going back to sleep alongside her wife.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wandamaximoff #wanda maximoff fluff #marvel mcu #mcu #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda marvel #anon #answered asks #wandascosmic answers

464 notes · View notes

vnti-vnxiety-recs · 1 year ago

Text

Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better (M)

★ PAIRING: Academic rival!Haechan x afab/fem!reader

☆ WORD COUNT: 4.8k

★ GENRE(S): Smut, E2lover, Rival2lovers

☆ SUMMARY: Haechan and you have never gotten along, and your friend group is sick of it, so they make a bet that the two of you can't ignore. When put to the test, will your hatred for each other still stand?

★ ☆ WARNINGS: 18+, minors do not interact, Meandom! Haechan, aphrodisiac drug, mentions of drinking, sexual bet, sexual intercourse, swearing, unprotected sex, creampie, Haechan being mean, lowkey forgot what I wrote, so just BEWARE.

☆★ NOTES: Yuh! This idea has been stuck in my head for a while. Another saga of me failing the Don't write another hate2love challenge! FYI, I'm not a writer; I'm just a person who writes occasionally. Lovers in e2l not found more of a fuck buddy type relationship. Anyway I just wanted to say thanks for the support on my other fics. I don't usually write that often but the good feedback encourages me.

At this point, your friends were getting tired of it. You two were constantly at each other's throats. They initially believed you could'nt stand one another, but recently, the atmosphere in the room after your shouting matches was too intense to be fueled solely by animosity. The flames behind your eyes burned too brightly for them to be caused by resentment alone. They used to hold you back from lunging at him, but now they wondered what would really happen if you got your hands on him.

Haechan and you had known each other since middle school. You two shared a lot of the same classes, and unfortunately, you both had parents who expected you to excel in school. You were always trying to one-up each other or stamp out the other's resolve. Your relationship was rocky from the start, and even if you two weren't fighting for the top spot, you doubt you would find him likable.

Haechan was a natural at everything. He didn't have to try very hard to be the best; he just got it. On the other hand, despite spending hours studying, you could just barely match his performance. You were jealous of how easy he made it look. The fact that he would flaunt his success in your face didn't help.

“Can't keep up?” He would say after outperforming you on the final exam by 10 points, he had that same smirk that seemed permanently etched onto his face on full display. You had spent days preparing for the test, even skipping a few hours of sleep. Haechan never studied; the most he ever did to prepare for an exam was to quickly skim the material a few hours before the test. Even then, he would still ace it.

You expected to grow up and put the rivalry behind yourselves during high school, but he would jump at any chance to make you look like an idiot. You could say the sky was blue, and he would argue that it was actually the reflection of the ocean that gave the sky the illusion of being blue. Back in middle school, you limited all interactions with him for your own sanity. However, in high school, he somehow managed to join your friend group, so you were forced to endure him during hangouts. You eventually got used to his presence and the non-stop teasing. It wasn't until you received your acceptance letter to the college you would be attending with your friends that you thought you would finally be free from him. Haechan's parents had wanted him to go to a college that was 4 hours away from your hometown, and you counted down the days until graduation.

Luck was never on your side.

Due to Haecahan's tendency to put things off, he wasn't able to submit his application in time, and as the school was very competitive, the available spots quickly filled up. Luckily for him, your college had an extended application process, which allowed him to send it in late, and he was accepted. Now here you are two years into college, and Haechan is still insufferable.

You two were on two completely different career tracks, so your classes never overlapped, so at least you stopped fighting about grades. Being at the top doesn't matter to you anymore, anyway. You hated the pressure that your parents put on you growing up. Before, you would have had a heart attack if you saw a B, but now you just shrug them off. Even still, all you two do is just have petty arguments because that's all you have ever done.

“You would not be able to see an explosion in space; it's a vacuum; fire can't exist.”

"Well, I've seen Star Wars, so I think that proves my point.”

“That's Fiction! You know, like the idea of you having a brain,” you roll your eyes.

“Almost like your sense of humor? I was joking. Of course I know that I took astronomy before you," he smirks.

He was constantly trying to get under your skin. You take a long breath and try to calm yourself down. "Well, yeah, because I took a different science asshole." Your friends say it's because you always give him a reaction, but you hate being wrong. You had to get the last word, especially against know-it-alls like him.

Despite your complaints, he isn't entirely horrible. On the days that you two aren't arguing, he's making you laugh so hard that you practically fall over. He's not a complete jerk all the time; it's just that once you two get started, it's hard to stop.

“Oh please, can you two cut it out? You have either had too much alcohol or not enough if you can still think about arguing,” your friend Johnny slurs.

It's Saturday night, and you have just finished off an exhausting exam week. Your friends felt a celebration was in order to wind down from the trying week. Now the only thing trying was Haechan testing your patience. You're at Johnny's house, and everyone is spread out around his spacious living room, bottles of alcohol scattered several surfaces. Johnny’s family was well off, and he lived off campus in one of the few estates that his family owned. The house had two stories and a pool in the backyard. On the weekends, you would spend the most of your time here.

“You're right I came here to relax, not burst a blood vessel.” You sigh and take a seat next to Johnny on the couch. You take a couple sips from whichever unopened can of cheap alcohol is nearby. Even though you could already sense a buzz coming on, it needed to hit harder if you were going to have to deal with Haechan all night.

Hyuck chuckled and found a spot on the carpeted floor. "Sorry, the princess just seemed like her day was going too well; I had to ruin it a little," he said.

Your friend Yuna raised an eyebrow in his direction and smirked as she took another sip of her drink. “For you to hate her so much, you sure do spend a lot of time thinking about her.”

“One point Yuna, '' you smile at your friend's rebuttal. Arguing with Haechan could be tiring, but your roommate always had your back.

“I think you two just need to hug it out... in a room... alone,” your other friend Mark joked.

You dryly laugh, "So funny."

“You scared?” Hyuck says with a wicked grin. He leans back on one arm as he sips on his drink, still eyeing you confidently. It's at times like these that you betray yourself the most. He looks so good with his light brown hair framing his face; it's grown so long now that it covers his eyes if he doesn't push it back. The alcohol must be hitting because now all you can imagine is pulling on the soft brown locks and not out of anger. You must have taken too long to reply, because now he's raising an eyebrow at you.

“I wouldn't want to be alone with you even if you were the last person on earth."

Johnny cuts off Haechan's response before he can start. "Want to test that theory?"

Questions run through everyone's mind as you all turn to look at Johnny after his outburst.

“What, are you gonna kill us or something?” Haechan responds wearily.

"No, but I should, with the headache you have given me.”

“So…?” You urge him to continue.

"You two keep saying how much you can't stand each other, so how about we put that to the test?" Johnny closes with a sinister grin.

“I feel like you're gonna say something really stupid next." Mark comments

Johnny ushers your other friends into a huddle and tries his best to whisper in his drunken state.

"Guys, just hear me out? We can all feel the tension between these two. They clearly need to fuck or something, so how about we help them along so we don't have to deal with them trying to tear each other apart?”

“How would we do that?”

“We can hear you, and I am NOT fucking him."

“Oh come on, we see the way you two look at each other; you're both just too stubborn to realize it.”

"Hyuck, don't just sit there; help me out here!" you plead

“They have a point, though; you do want to fuck me,” he confidently adds.

"Please, you would be lucky enough if I poked you with a stick,” you say in distaste.

“Order! Order!” Johnny slurs, "Look, I have a way for you both to prove yourselves,” using his beer can as a makeshift gavel.

“Yeah, where were you even going with all of this? Man get to the point,” Mark mutters as he gets comfortable on the sofa.

“"What if you two take an aphrodisiac together and try not to touch each other? If you can last, then you two will win and show everyone how much you despise one another."

The room is silent when Johnny finishes pitching his idea. You think he definitely had one too many drinks tonight. What kind of plan was this? There was no way in hell you would go along with ANY of Johnny's half-baked ideas, but this one was especially crazy. You were just about to shoot down the idea when another voice interrupted you.

“I'm down. What? You can't stand the idea of keeping your hands off me?” Haechan grumbles upon seeing your reaction.

“what? I was just thinking this is stupid. What do I even get out of this? I don't care what you people think,” you huff.

“How about I give you each $500 if you win?”

“Do you-” you start.

“AND Mark does your homework for 2 weeks.”

“Hey! I didn't-” mark says

“AND Yuna does your share of the chores at your dorm.”

“WHA-!” yuna argues

"Deal," you quickly say before anyone can finish their complaints.

"Dude, this is not what we discussed,” Mark complains. Johnny whispers to him about something, and he perks up a little as Johnny makes him a promise. "Fine"

Johnny lays down the rules for you two. You and Haechan will both take an aphrodisiac pill and be restricted to the upstairs bedroom. You’ll have to stay in the room with each other for 3 hours, and if you two can withstand the 3 hours without touching each other, you win. If you lose, you both have agreed to play nice with each other or at least around other people.

As soon as you both take the pink pill, Johnny starts the timer. You make your way up the stairs to the bedroom, where you often crash on the weekends. This was definitely not how you thought you would be spending the weekend.

“We’ll come knocking when the time’s up! Yuna yells from downstairs.

You pout playfully and mock her from over the railing of the stairs. She was supposed to be the reasonable one.

“Oh real mature,” Haechan chuckles as he shuffles past you up the stairs. The staircase was really narrow, and you could practically feel his body heat against you as he went. The pills' effects haven't even fully settled in yet, and you're already feeling things you shouldn't. If you were planning on winning, you would have to get it together. Maybe this wasn't as easy as you thought.

As you make your way up the remaining stairs, you see Haechan standing by the door frame, waiting for you. He rolls his eyes. "You're stalling."

You murmur under your breath, "I'll literally give you my half of the money if you shut up for the next three hours," but drag yourself into the room nevertheless.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The first 20 minutes aren't terrible. You guys make yourselves comfortable on opposite sides of the room and pick a random wall to stare at. As Haechan makes himself comfortable on the room's lone bed, you take a seat on a little bench that lines a sizable window. You're grateful he keeps his mouth shut. This was probably the longest you two have been in each other's presence without speaking.

It wasn't until about 30 minutes in that the effect hit you. Your breathing grew labored, and your blood started to flow through your veins more quickly. Your body started to heat up. To cool down, you placed your face on the window, breathing fogging the glass. When you looked up to see how Haechan was fairing, he was already looking at you with heavy-lidded eyes as his chest expanded with each deep inhale.

As much as he got on your last nerve, you had always thought he was attractive. His tan honey skin that glowed in the sunlight, his pretty moles that you would kill to kiss, and his gorgeous eyes that always made your heart beat just a little harder when he would glare at you whenever you hit a nerve. You loved seeing him worked up, but the few moments you got to see him when he was happy were moments you stored deep in the vault of your heart. You hated him; there was no time for admiring him.

You tried to shove those thoughts away, but It was as though all the thoughts you had been working so hard to suppress had suddenly surfaced. All you could think about was his plump lips and how they would feel on your body. How his fingers would feel encircling your throat, pressing the chilly rings that decorated his hands against your skin. His golden locks flowing through your fingers as you hold him close. You couldn't resist licking your lips at the idea.

“Don't fucking do that,” he abruptly spoke. He closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath. He spreads his legs further, trying to get comfortable in his spot across the room.

You try to fight the urge, but your eyes travel down his body to the bulge in his sweats. You immediately cross your legs at the sight. You had to clutch onto the pillows of the seat you were in; otherwise, you don't think you could stop yourself from crossing the room in a heartbeat.

“What? Can't handle it hyuckie?” You coo at him, using the old nickname you haven't called him since middle school. You had to find some ground in this setting. You couldn't let him see how weak he was making you.

"Out of all the times you pick to be a brat, now is not the time," he grumbles mockingly.

“Why? Am I getting on your nerves? Hmm, I could only wonder what that must feel like,” you sneered. You were so horny, it's pissing you off. You decide Haechan can use a taste of his own medicine, and what better way to blow off steam than to get under his skin?

“Maybe they were right. Maybe you do need a good fuck for you to lose the attitude.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

"Careful," he smirks, licking his lips.

You know that look; he's testing you. He's daring you to say something else.

"That's what I thought," he says, closing his eyes and attempting to control his breathing.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

You're about an hour in, and you can't take it any longer; you're practically rutting against the seam of your jeans, hoping for some kind of friction.

"Please, I can't do this anymore," you cry out for air. You turn to face him, but he doesn't answer. His eyes are closed, and his brows are drawn together as if he's in pain.

“Haechan!” You scream again; this time he slowly opens his eyes, and you suck in a breath as your eyes meet. His pupils were completely blown as sweat pricked his brow.

“Are you giving up?"

You nod in response.

“That's too bad; I still want to win,” he smirks lazily.

"Let's just forfeit; this is stupid!” You stand from where you were seated and head to the door. This prompts Haechan to finally move from his spot as he uses his long legs to cross the room in three wide strides. Before you can open the door, he stops you. For the first time since you two entered the room, he touches you. While keeping his body an arms' length away from you, he is shoving you up against the door by your shoulders. Your body is on fire at the mere touch, and you're grateful for the little bit of space he has given you.

“Calm down. Think this through,” he huffs as if out of breath. “just-just think of the money.”

“I don't care about this stupid bet! I feel like I'm going to explode,” you cry, fighting to escape his hold, but he just pins you back against the door.

“How about I take care of it then? Hmm?” He begs, never breaking eye contact. “I'll take the pain away, baby. Just work with me, yeah?"

"That defeats the point Haechan; we aren't supposed to touch each other; I thought you were smarter than that," you protest, growing increasingly frustrated.

“As long as you keep those gorgeous lips shut, nobody would ever know.” He slowly closes in on you as he speaks. “I help you out, and when we get out of this room, we pretend like nothing happened, and that we still can't stand each other, deal?” He's a breath away. The close proximity, the way he's practically breathing down your neck, and the look in his eyes that tells you he is only about 2 seconds away from devouring you were all you needed to go along with Haechan's scheme.

You stopped listening about halfway through anyway so you nodded mindlessly before closing the remaining space between the two of you. You're pushing off the door and pressing your body against his as you guide him towards the bed. Even though you can both feel your lungs starting to burn, neither of you has the strength to break the kiss. When his legs met the edge of the bed, he sat, giving you both time to regain your breath. He's resting back against his hands, looking up at you, and his legs are spread wide as if he were offering himself to you.

"Come on princess, take whatever you want from me," he smirks as you get into his lap and nestle down against the tent in his pants. You push him until his back is flush against the mattress, then mindlessly grind down on him. You use his chest to steady yourself as you throw your head back and drown in the feeling. You feel Haechan's hands gripping your waist and then traveling up your torso. His hands explored your body as you got lost in each other. Haechan sits up to meet your lips in another passionate kiss. As he deepens the kiss, he clutches your waist tightly to restrict your movements. You whine at the lack of stimulation, but all he can do is smile against your lips in return.

“Be patient baby; let me love on you.”

“This…was…not…a part of…the deal,” you try to finish as he lovingly pecks your lips.

"Didn't I tell you to keep your voice down? Shut up,” he says, ignoring your insistent whining, lavishing your face and neck in wet kisses. Any “loving” he was going to give vanished at your bratty behavior.

“Stop teasing, hyuck seriously. I think I'm going insane.”

You were on the verge of tears at this point; you needed him to give you some type of relief. That's exactly how he wanted you—desperate and needy—not like you already weren't, but he liked to push you to your limits.

“Lay down for me,” he says, releasing his grip on your hips and patting your thigh to signal you to get up. You swiftly move to lay on the bed, and you watch him as he pulls his shirt over his head and takes off his sweatpants, leaving him only in his underwear. He climbs the bed and helps you remove your jeans. As he's tugging the material down your thick thighs, you remove your shirt and bra. He settles between your legs, and you reflexively wrap your legs around his waist. He has to press his palm down against your lower stomach to stop you from grinding against him again.

"You promise to behave?" He prys your legs free from his waist, trapping them against your chest and restricting your movement.

You nod mindlessly, reaching out to grab him and trying to draw him into another kiss, but he pins your hands above your head, using his hips instead to further pin you down.

"Uh-uh princess, use your words," he adds coldly.

“Please hyuck, I promise I'll be good.”

“You going to be a good girl and keep that mouth shut?”

You were exhausted from having to use your brain to come up with a coherent response; you were at your limit. All you could think about was him filling you up, and every second he didn't, it felt like a year of your life span was shaved off. You did cry this time. You were so frustrated with him; he did this all the time. He never plays nice; he always makes you work for it.

"Oh you poor baby," he coos lovingly as he kisses your eyelids and wipes away your tears. "I'm sorry, but I have to hear you say it," he continues.

"I promise to be your good girl; I swear I won't make a sound, please," you sniffle, trying to hold back your tears.

“If I hear one sound, I'm stopping, and you can walk out of this room and finish yourself off, got it?”

You've learned to respond quickly when he asks you a question, so you nod your head with a "yes sir."

This makes Haechan smile wickedly. Who would have guessed that the same brat who walked into the room with him no less than an hour ago could be so obedient? He was definitely never letting you live this down when this was over. He finally decides to take pity on you, kisses down your body, and removes your panties. He threw your legs over his shoulders, and a quick kiss to your inner thigh was all the warning you got before he nuzzled his nose up against your clit as he licked into your entrance. He savored the taste with his tongue before licking up to your clit and sucking it into his mouth. The sounds his mouth made as he devoured you were wet and noisy as he slurped away at your essence.

You were fighting for your life above him. Reaching for a pillow that was just almost out of reach, you used it to smother your sounds. A sharp slap on your outer thigh served as a warning to keep your voice down. It was the only warning you were going to get. Soon the pillow is long forgotten as you gasp for air. Your thighs began to shake as you choked on your moans. Your back arches, and you can feel your eyes begin to roll. You were going to come, and you would have welcomed it with open arms any other time, but you knew how loud you could get. He was not letting up, and you knew if you came like this, you wouldn't be able to hold back the scream that's been dying to echo against the walls.

You try your best to fight it off. You frantically push at his head, begging him with your eyes as you trap your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to bite back moans. He shakes his head no, but the movement simply adds to the pleasure, and you're about to lose it. You try to get away from his mouth by shifting up the bed, but his powerful arms wrap around your thighs and pull you back down onto his mouth.

"Hae-" His look silences you, and your mouth hangs wide in a silent cry as you spasm on his tongue. It was the most intense orgasm you'd ever felt. Once he helps you ride out the wave, he kisses your pussy one more time before pulling away. As soon as he does, you snap your legs shut, still reeling from the orgasm. His face was practically dripping as he stared you down, hungry.

"Better?" he asks, brushing the back of his palm across his face.

"Mhm,” you reply, causing him to raise a brow, "better,” you quickly follow, using your voice.

Your eyes travel down his body until they reach what you’ve been craving for the most. Haechan was harder than you thought could even be possible. His tip was a furious shade of crimson, gleaming in precum.

"One more baby," he strokes his length before hissing and gripping the base. "Just be my good girl one more time," he begs.

You almost feel bad. The whole time he was teasing you, he was also teasing himself. You're amazed he's maintained this level of self-control up to this point.

“I don't know if I can keep quiet if we continue,” you plead.

“Open your mouth” is all he says as he prys your legs open and settles between them.

You comply, and Haechan shoves your panties into your mouth. You try to object, but he covers your mouth with his palm for added security.

"My turn," he grins before bottoming out inside you. The first few strokes are so deep, you can practically feel him in your stomach. He's trying to keep control; he's trying to be gentle with you because he knows how sensitive you are, but he's slowly losing it. He's going to use you like a doll. His thrusts pick up pace, and all you can hear in the room is skin slapping against skin unforgivingly. The hand around your mouth clamps down harder as he buries his head into your neck.

“Im sorry... fuck” was all you got as he hiked your leg up higher on his waist, trying to hit deeper. His hot breath fanning across your neck and the soft staccato groans he lets out are the only indications that he is close. Your head is in the clouds, and you can't think straight. You barely register the fact that you came again until he bites at your neck to muffle his deep groan at the feeling of your walls tightening down on him. Next thing you know, he's snapped.

He quickly sits up, throwing your leg over his shoulder as he drives his hips down into you, practically fucking you into the mattress until his hips are stuttering. He pulls the panties from your mouth to kiss you in the hopes of drowning out his own sounds of pleasure. His kiss is messy. It's nothing but tongue and teeth as his thrusts grow slopy. He's practically whimpering into your mouth when he cums.He rides out his high before pulling away from your lips. All you can do is stare at each other as you catch your breath. There is a brief moment of silence before you both burst out laughing. He collapses next to you and pulls you close.

“You think they heard that?” he asks, panting.

"Oh, we definitely heard everything." A muffled voice can be heard through the door, and you assume it's Yunas.

You're too sleepy to feel embarrassed as your eyelids begin to droop.

"Don't worry, you two; we'll say you won as long as you don't try to kill each other again." Johnny's muffled voice can be heard next.

"I don't think she'll be able to do much for a while," Haechan muffles. Speaking to your sleeping form more than anyone else.

"I'll get the plan B girl. I gotchu," Yuna voice fades as she walks down the hallway.

She was definitely gonna grill you for the details. She always wanted a run-down play by play of everything that happened.

Soon, you found yourself drifting off to sleep in haechans warm embrace.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Johnny would call his mission a success. You two stopped arguing for the most part, and the group was able to enjoy more peaceful outings without the two of you turning every conversation into a debate. Your friends were fond of your bickering, but at times it could get to be too much. But now that your relationship with Haechan has blossomed into a….situationship? They were running into another problem.

You two fuck like rabbits.

No matter where you were, you two were slipping off to do who knows what or being all touchy-feely with each other, and your friends didn't want to see or hear any of it. But because you two seemed happier, they learned to cope with it. Yuna bought new noise-canceling headphones to use whenever Haechan would spend the night at your dorm. Johnny upgraded the speakers in the house so that when he had a party and you two snuck away, the music could blast louder to drown out your noises. Mark downloaded more mobile games on his phones to ignore you two when you would get all lovey during movie nights.

Haechan still picked on you, but he saved it more for the bedroom, and you still tried to test his patience any chance you got. You didn't know what you two had, but you didn't mind enjoying it while it lasted or even furthering it. You learned a lot more about Haechan and discovered that you two had more in common than you believed. You also learned he could be a real sweetheart sometimes. Maybe your friends were right all along, and maybe Johnny isn't as crazy as you thought. Maybe you didn't have to be better than Haechan all along.

Rushed ending opps

#haechan #lee haechan #haechan smut #nct smut #nct dream #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #smut #right before i post a fic i get the worst case of anxiety it makes me wanna puke #like whats stopping me from deleting this rn 🤔#imma let yall have it tho 🤪

2K notes · View notes

dansevilpianotea · 3 months ago

Text

bc dan acts SOO different now compared to wad. sth mustve really clicked in him after doing a solo tour. go watch any video/stream now from that era (ideally not dd bc that was a hightly conceptual character apparently) and you can see that he was trying so hard to be seen as someone else. to get approval from the wrong crowd, as he recently talked about dont get me wrong, i love wad the show itself, but you have to admit that dan hadnt really decided who he wanted to be seen as yet (in a post-coming out, post-phouse univers) before he went on tour, so the person he was during that era reflected that.

it was very hard for me to distinguish the dystopia daily persona to his usual online character because he hadnt really shown enough of that (at the time, post-coming out, mid-hiatus) to be distinguishable from his pre-pandemic, pre-ywgttn depressed lol xd dan character. he just wasnt around a lot. [i think thats what he got wrong with dd. he thought we knew him better than we did at the time but he also wanted to establish his independence from the dnp branding which unfortunately expressed himself as a form of resentment against people who still associated him with that (us phannies). this is why it felt regressive and made me sad, because the dd character seemed like an old, unhappier version of the same dan.]

but now.. look at how happy he is. he is smiling. dan is shining like the sun on a beautiful summer day and is fully embracing his past and his audience.

he doesn't feel the need to crack jokes about whoring it up all over america because he doesnt like commitment or making jabs at his audience for falling for clickbaity 'we are in a relationship'-type titles. he is not resentful anymore. he's not just laughing with us but he is IN on the joke now. he thinks we are funny! and in fact admitted that he doesn't really care about flirting with strangers and is oblivious to being flirted with because he doesnt have any need to.

it seems like he has healed a lot of old wounds regarding his audience. during wad he saw with his own eyes that we arent out to get him but in fact will support him in whatever he's doing. and now this new tour is the victory lap. he's taking phil with him. he is proud to be down bad for his man. 'no fucks left to give' for dan means not putting up the wall anymore protecting his inner child from what it fears are the bullies. he's doing it for himself now, for phil. for them. not for the attention of the wrong people. not for the approval of straight men like those who bullied him. he's doing it for his community of queer people. he knows he's safe here. he trusts us. 'we know you know'. i'm proud of both our community and proud of dnp for that. we really made ourselves get here despite how draining and back-and-forth the hiatus was. maybe the real phan really were the phriends we made along the way <3.

#you know its real bad phandom wise when i write a detailed textpost past midnight while having a uni essay due in 5 days...#im sorry if this is gibberish btw. i spend an hour writing this past midnight and will fuck off to bed now #sage posting #dnp #phan #dan and phil #dnptit #daniel howell #amazingphil

314 notes · View notes

fool-tarnished · 2 months ago

Text

"Remember me" - Chapter 1 - Kakashi Hatake x Reader

Synopsis : Born in Konoha, [Y/N] wasn't necessarily known as the most impressive or powerful ninja, but rather for her kindness and compassion. She became like an older sister to Naruto and a loyal, faithful friend to many ninjas in Konoha. Without even realizing it, she had earned a special place in the heart of one particular ninja with grey hair. But everything changed the day the Third Hokage entrusted her with a mission from which she would not return unscathed. Pairing : Kakashi Hatake x Reader If you want to read Yamato's version, you can find it here.

Warnings : Violence, memory loss

Inspiration : Remember me - d4vd

Words : ~ 3000 A/N : Hello there ! Here's the first chapter of a new story for Kakashi. There'll be many chapters (i don't know how many yet) and i'll do the same one for Tenzo/Yamato if some are interested (with a similar first chapter, but the rest won't be the same). So I hope you'll like it ! Thank you all for the likes and reblog ! And sorry for the mistakes, I'm not a native english speaker.

Next chapter →

Long before Naruto left with Jiraiya, the Third Hokage entrusted you with a mission. A mission that, of course, you wouldn’t undertake alone, but whose duration was impossible to predict. A mission that wasn’t supposed to be particularly dangerous either, but it still worried the young ninja, who had asked you to decline it and stay in Konoha.

You and Naruto had known each other for a few years now, and a sort of sibling-like relationship had formed between you. You didn’t necessarily show it, but you cared for each other as if you were almost family. The young blonde deeply appreciated having someone by his side he could consider an older sister: because yes, you were much closer in age to his famous sensei Kakashi than to him.

On the day of your departure, Naruto couldn’t help but ask you to promise that you’d go to Ichiraku together upon your return. That you’d promise to come back as soon as possible and, of course, without a scratch. A promise you made without hesitation and one you hoped to keep.

Kakashi, on his end, with whom you had built a connection during your time in the Special Forces, also came to say a few words before you left. Your relationship with the Copy Ninja was quite peculiar. You were close yet distant, making it complex between the two of you and in the eyes of others. You had never really put words to what it meant, and it hadn’t seemed to bother either of you.

At least, until things began to change for you. You were afraid of not returning, not just for Naruto’s sake but also for Kakashi’s. Yet, the fear was drastically different for each, which led you to question how your relationship with him had evolved. The feelings you experienced at the thought of leaving without knowing when you’d return and see him again weren’t the same as those you had for your other friends—Kurenai, Iruka, or Asuma. Something had shifted within you, and you hadn’t had time to reflect on it before being assigned this new mission.

"Be careful, [Y/N]. You wouldn’t want to miss the promise you made to Naruto. And don’t forget, you also owe me a replacement for that Icha Icha volume you ruined during our last training session," the grey-haired ninja said, with a smile you could easily discern beneath his mask. You left with your team, giving them one last look and a wave. Kakashi didn’t take his eyes off you until you were out of sight. ________________________________________

Crossing the Land of Wind had proven to be more arduous than expected. Whether due to the weather, unfortunate encounters, or other unforeseen events, it took you several weeks to reach its far edge. The team leader was the only one privy to the mission's details, and your task was to ensure their safe passage and protection. After finding the messenger, you set out again, this time for the Land of Earth. It was a particularly lengthy mission, but it seemed to be of critical importance to the Third Hokage, who had strongly emphasized its success at any cost. As for the contents of these messages? None of you had the slightest clue.

The journey through the various lands and the delivery of these messages ultimately took several months. You hadn’t faced any overwhelming challenges—just minor injuries, small delays, but nothing insurmountable. Nevertheless, the desire to return home grew stronger with each passing day. Every team member began to feel the absence of their loved ones, some even missing their children. As for you, you missed Naruto’s antics, the humor of your friends, and… the Copy Ninja, but for reasons that had become much harder to define.

It was during the final leg of your journey that these new feelings surfaced most clearly.

In the Land of Lightning, things took a turn for the worse. While crossing the vast expanse of rocks and mountains at night, you encountered a group of ninjas whose origins and true intentions you couldn’t discern. Everything happened far too quickly for you to fully grasp what was going on. A confrontation broke out, and the team leader made the decision to prioritize delivering the message, splitting the group in two.

This left you with just one teammate to try to hold off the enemies and buy time for the other two to escape.

The opponents didn’t seem particularly strong, but fighting at night clearly put you at a disadvantage. Fatigue began to take its toll, likely contributing to the event that would change everything for you.

As you saw several shurikens speeding toward your teammate, you decided to deflect them with your kunai to prevent him from being injured while fighting one of the attackers. What you failed to notice, however, was the unstable ground beneath your feet. Perhaps it was a combination of exhaustion, an unstable surface, and a strike from one of the enemies that caused you to begin a long fall from the rock where you had been standing. Without fully understanding what was happening, you desperately tried to grab hold of something—but it was futile. Your head struck a rock, and everything suddenly went black.

________________________________________

After spending more than a year and a half on the mission and successfully completing it, the team leader and the member who had accompanied them set out to search for the two ninjas they had left behind in the Land of Lightning.

It didn’t take them long to find their first comrade, who had been taken in by the Hidden Cloud Village, where they were treated and waiting for the team’s return. As for you, however, the story was different.

They found no trace of you—only your headband, which did little to encourage their search given its poor condition. They spent several weeks in Kumo, hoping to uncover information or even the faintest clue about your status or whereabouts, but their efforts turned up nothing.

Eventually, they returned to Konoha, disheartened, but determined to deliver their report to the Hokage and hand over your headband. Yet, much had changed since their departure. ________________________________________

"The mission is complete, Lady Hokage. All the messages have been delivered."

Tsunade carefully observed the ninjas standing before her.

"However, we couldn’t find [Y/N]. Only her headband was recovered. We don’t know if she’s dead or missing."

After uttering these words, the ninja lowered their head and placed the headband on the Hokage’s desk. Tsunade furrowed her brow slightly before picking up the object and examining it closely.

"Tell me everything about this mission," she said, her gaze still fixed on the damaged headband.

________________________________________

"We’ll probably run out of firewood tonight. I’ll go fetch some."

The elderly woman standing beside you gave a faint smile and nodded. She was preparing one of her famous soups, a recipe you now knew by heart. Its aroma always brought you comfort, especially in the winter.

Dressing warmly to head outside, you opened the door and carefully closed it behind you, letting out a sigh. The cold was so biting that you hurried to gather the wood and return inside. It was a ritual you had carried out every winter for the past two years, and to you, it felt as though you had never known anything else. In truth, you weren’t even sure if you had known anything else.

Everything was hazy—you remembered nothing beyond these moments spent in the little house nestled deep in the forest. How had you ended up there? Where had you come from? Why did it seem as though you couldn’t recall anything from before this home?

Poor Yubaba didn’t seem to know any more than you did. She would simply tell you that you asked too many questions whenever you embarked on this inner quest about your past. She’d say that everything would come back to you one day, but for now, your mind and body needed rest.

And you didn’t understand those words either. Why would you need rest? Was it tied to the headaches you frequently experienced?

Taking a deep breath, you firmly grasped the bundle of wood before stepping back inside the house. You placed it in front of the large fireplace that illuminated the modest living room where the old woman spent most of her time.

"This should be enough for tonight. But I’ll have to chop more for tomorrow," you said.

She turned to you gently, lifting the large pot and carrying it over to the table.

"Take off that heavy coat, Fubuki, and come warm yourself up and eat. It’ll do you good. Don’t forget your tea—it’ll help with your pain."

Nodding, you finally shed your warm layers, returning to your usual attire, and sat down at the table. Fubuki. It sounded strange, almost like it wasn’t real. Like everything around you.

And yet, how could you truly question the only things you knew when the rest of your existence was nothing but a massive void?

"Thank you for the meal, Yubaba," you said softly.

________________________________________

"So, how did the training go? Did it pay off?" Tsunade asked, seated at her desk.

"You really think we’d have come back if we hadn’t made any progress?" Jiraiya retorted, hands on his hips.

"We’ll see about that," she shot back, before Naruto jumped in with questions.

Kakashi was outside, seated near the window. Book in hand, he was quietly listening to the conversation inside. Naruto was back, and while the Copy Ninja was glad to see his student again, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of unease at the possibility of a certain topic coming up.

Tsunade had informed him months earlier that your team had returned from its mission. While Kakashi hadn’t shown it openly, he had been eager to see you again. The unpleasant news of your absence had shaken him more than he let on. Something deep inside him had stung sharply when the Hokage mentioned your damaged headband, accompanied by a lack of any additional clues—no body, no clear information about your fate.

He had stayed silent, though his face betrayed more than he intended. The Hokage hadn’t known what else to say and had simply expressed hope: the absence of a body might mean you were still alive, somewhere. And that one day, you might find your way back to Konoha.

Kakashi hadn’t responded. Instead, he abruptly changed the subject, redirecting the conversation to Naruto’s return and what lay ahead. The abruptness of his shift had startled Tsunade, but she didn’t push him further. She could tell he had emotionally shut himself off, erecting a barrier around him that might take time to dismantle. While she had tried to offer hope for your return, even she was unsure if there was anything left to hope for after so much time had passed.

"Well, Naruto, you’ve certainly grown," the silver-haired ninja remarked as Naruto leaned through the window, looking for him.

"And you haven’t changed a bit!" Naruto shot back.

With that, Naruto vaulted through the window. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a copy of the book that always seemed to brighten his sensei’s day.

"I’ve got a present for you, Kakashi-sensei!"

Shaking with surprise and joy, Kakashi accepted the book from his student under the watchful eyes of Sakura, Tsunade, and Jiraiya.

"By the way, do you know where I can find [Y/N]? It’s been so long! I’ve got a gift for her too!"

Kakashi’s gaze froze on the book in his hands. He took a moment to compose himself, considering how to respond.

Sensing that the conversation might take an unpleasant turn, Tsunade stepped in.

"She’s on a mission. She’ll be back soon, Naruto. For now, I believe you have plans with Kakashi."

Kakashi let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes briefly.

"I’ll be waiting for you at Training Ground 3. See you later," he said before disappearing.

Naruto turned to the Hokage, stepping back into the room with a questioning look.

"Do you know exactly when she’ll be back? She promised me ramen at Ichiraku!"

"Maybe we should head to the training ground, don’t you think, Naruto? You’ll see her when she gets back," Sakura chimed in with a soft smile, trying to steer him away from further questions.

"Fine, I guess. Anyway, Kakashi-sensei is probably already devouring his book—did you see his face?!"

________________________________________

After the young ninjas left the room, Jiraiya stepped closer to Tsunade. "Was she killed on the mission?" he asked bluntly.

"We don’t know yet. But I’m not sure it would be good for Naruto to know about the situation right now, especially since he’s just come back. Let him settle in first."

"I’m not so sure he’ll appreciate you keeping this from him. I only saw her briefly before leaving with Naruto, but he cares about her deeply."

"He’s not the only one. But I don’t think he’s ready to hear the truth just yet."

Jiraiya sighed and lowered his gaze. Glancing outside for a brief moment, he turned his attention back to the Hokage.

"The Anbu will eventually find her—or figure out what happened to her," Tsunade said firmly.

The ninja let out a small sound of surprise before smiling. "I see. You haven’t given up. Who knows about this?"

"No one, aside from the Anbu team assigned to the search. It’s better that way."

"And Kakashi?"

A brief silence hung in the air before she replied. "Kakashi doesn’t know either."

________________________________________

Months had passed, and Yubaba’s health had continued to deteriorate. The herbal treatments she made herself no longer seemed to be enough, and no matter what, she refused to see a doctor or go to a village to seek treatment. Despite your attempts to convince her to go to Kumo, she stubbornly insisted that it was pointless and that it would pass on its own. The day she could no longer even get out of bed, you decided, despite her protests, to take her to the Kumo hospital in one last hope of helping her.

________________________________________

After long hours of walking, you had finally arrived at the Hidden Cloud Village. Thanks to some passersby, you were able to get the old woman to a safe place so she could receive care. The doctors informed you that it would take some time, and that it was best for you to return in a few hours while they did what was necessary. This is how you found yourself wandering through the village, exploring the area as if you had never seen anything like it. It was pleasant to walk around in a place with other faces besides Yubaba's, to discover new places outside of the forest you knew by heart. But the noise of the passersby gave you a headache, and you would sometimes grit your teeth when sudden bursts of pain hit you. After a few hours of wandering, you made your way towards the hospital. Night was beginning to fall, and there were fewer and fewer people outside. The small street you were walking through was particularly quiet and empty, which reminded you of the calm of Yubaba's little house. But this calm only lasted for a brief moment. “[Y/N]?” The name you heard seemed to resonate inside you, but you didn't stop walking, simply furrowing your brows slightly. Your progress was halted when two figures suddenly dropped down from the rooftops and positioned themselves in front of you. Ninja uniforms, definitely, with a mask on each face. Exactly the same outfit. You stopped dead in your tracks, opening your mouth slightly as if to protest, before turning your head to see if you could retrace your steps. But two other figures had just landed as well, blocking your way. “I don’t know what you want from me, but I have nothing on me,” you said, your gaze filled with concern as you slowly raised your hands in front of you. The two figures facing you exchanged a glance before looking back at you. “You don’t recognize us, [Y/N]?” one of them asked. You couldn’t even identify who had asked the question, as fear was starting to rise within you. “You must be mistaken... I’m not [Y/N]...” “We’ve been searching for you for months.” “I... Why? I’m just here to care for the woman I live with. I don’t know what you want, but I don’t know you.” One of the two ninjas facing you leaned toward his colleague to whisper a few words before turning back to you. “Did you desert? And Naruto?” The headache was intensifying, and emotions were surging inside you, though you didn’t really understand why. “I... I don’t understand... What are you...?” Your vision was starting to darken, and breathing became more and more difficult. You began to feel an icy chill in your chest as the figures in front of you became increasingly blurry. Before you could finish your sentence or find your words again, everything went black.

#naruto #naruto x reader #naruto reader insert #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi x reader #kakashi x you #kakashi sensei #reader insert

192 notes · View notes

isabelawritesthings · 5 months ago

Text

My headcanons for EVERY (I think) Mortal Kombat 1 character

— Liu Kang is a big fan of Chinese food, because well, in the previous timelines he was Chinese, so he constantly goes to Madam Bo's restaurant to eat.

— Johnny Cage is a great dramatic actor, but unfortunately, Hollywood studios always cast him as comedic characters or male characters who are himbos, wasting his potential as a dramatic actor.

— Kenshi met Suchin after saving her from being attacked by thugs in Tokyo, and the two's connection was almost instantaneous, with Suchin agreeing to run away with him after Kenshi left the Yakuza.

— Raiden has a huge crush on Kitana, and constantly draws pictures of the two of them kissing (he's a cartoonist btw)

— Kung Lao loves Chinese and South Korean comedy dramas, his favorite South Korean comedy drama is "True Beauty".

— Kuai Liang is extremely protective of Harumi, like, if Harumi gets a scar, he won't rest until the person who did it pays dearly. When he was dating Cyrax, he was also quite protective of her as well (He's not a sexist who thinks women are too defenseless to protect themselves, he just wants to keep Harumi safe because he loves her so much).

— Bi-Han trusts women more than men, thanks to the complicated relationship he had with his father and the loving relationship he had with his mother (thanks to his daddy issues, he doesn't trust masculine nature very much, even though he is also a man).

— Shang Tsung is not a "victim of Liu Kang's intrigues", this guy is a sociopath to the core!

— Tanya is not Mileena's first lover, she had a girlfriend as a teenager, the daughter of an archduke, but was forced to end the relationship because the archduke's daughter had to marry a man, breaking Mileena's heart.

— Kitana is a voracious reader, she loves books, especially about the history of the Earthrealm and Seido, her favorite historical figure of Earthrealm is Queen Mary Stuart, a queen of Scotland, reflecting the thinking of some outworlders who think that she should be empress in place of Mileena, just as some 16th-century English Catholics wanted Mary to be Queen of England in place of her cousin, Queen Elizabeth I.

— I don't usually do SMUT headcanons, but I like to think that Sindel and Jerrod had an active sex life, and she never married any man after Jerrod because she only liked to have sex with him, she herself was impressed that she only had the twins and not like, three more children!

— The souls within Ermac have been in the living forest for so long that over time they have become one big family.

— Quan Chi was a thief when he was young and was sentenced to work in the gold mines as a way of paying for his crimes, which is why he hates Sindel so much.

— Tanya was not given to the Umgadi when she was a child, she was actually stolen from her mother's arms like several other Umgadi (a bit cruel, but I wanted to make it similar to Marvel's black widows).

— Li Mei has always been in love with Sindel, but she never had the courage to express her feelings.

— Takeda is destined to meet and fall in love with Jacqui, even though in this timeline she is not Jax's daughter.

— Sektor is a lesbian and has a fraternal relationship with Bi-Han.

— Cyrax can speak several African languages, including Zulu and Arabic.

— I'm going to join @rasta-bot AU that Nitara is also a lesbian, there's a 19th century irish lesbian book called "Carmilla" that I really like, it's about a sapphic vampire, just like Nitara.

— Reiko was a mommy's boy, just like Bi-Han.

— Shao suffers from narcissistic personality disorder.

— Syzoth and Ashrah's love language is physical caresses, such as kisses on the forehead and cheek.

— Ashrah is pansexual (yes, another wlw woman, it's "Mortal sapphic Kombat" for me) she has always felt lonely, so she would like any romantic companionship, no matter the gender.

— Baraka prays to Delia every day that a cure for Tarkat will be discovered (this is actually canon btw).

— Slavery is (unfortunately) legal in Seido, and Havik was enslaved (also canon), so he is an anarchist.

— Tomas is a polyglot, he can speak Czech, Chinese, English and Japanese.

141 notes · View notes

sadhornydemons · 24 days ago

Text

The Other Possible Stepfather and Daughter

Because it may be awhile until we see Blitz and Via interacting, I wonder what (if any) relationship Loona and Stolas could develop, living under the same roof, working at the same job and basically being two of the most closest individuals in Blitz's life currently.

I've seen some harsh takes, some claiming that Stolas simply thought of Loona as Blitz's pet, not knowing she was his daughter until the hug moment in Mastermind, ect, ect.

The current storyline hasn't given us many clues or interactions, but here's what I've gathered and some of my own thoughts:

The first among the few times these two shared the screen was in Truth Seekers were they don't really interact but Loona manages to record Stolas in his full demon form as he possesses and terrorizes their captors.

She's among the group as Stolas scolds them for getting caught, but Blitz, Moxxie and Millie seemed to receive most of his focus for these few seconds.

Grimoire in hand, Loona leaves the portal before Stolas can pick up Blitz to have an exchange of words and tongues.

Seeing Stars is when Loona shines as the only one with the nose and social media skills to locate Stolas' runaway daughter. (Nevermind that she was the one who allowed Octavia to break in and steal the Grimoire, because Blitz is certainly not going to tell Stolas this.)

And despite being a low ranking demon by Hell's standards, she's the only one besides Stolas who can take on a human disguise.

(not that anyone comments on this in universe)

So yeah, until the group is separated, they share a few scenes, but no dialogue.

Later when Loona does finds Via, she defends Stolas a little, while also reflecting on her own relationship with Blitz.

"You know, your dad's really worried about you."

"..try to cut your dad some slack."

That said, Loona still decided her own father needed a nice kick to the groan to make things right upon seeing him next, something which seems to freaks Stolas out a bit:

But Loona seems to brighten upon seeing seeing Via, whom she recently bonded with, making peace with her dad.

In Western Energy, Stolas' kidnapping takes place the same time as Loona's hellbies shot appointment, which took Blitz 5 years to book. During their phone call, Blitz explains this, to which Stolas responses:

"Oh, ha, ha. Well, I do agree that is very important…But, I-" Before Striker takes his phone away.

Which, while not the best reaction, is pretty short to base a lot of opinions about. Does Stolas know what a hellbies shot is? I'd say definitely not. Does Stolas believe he's in real danger at this point? Seemingly not, since he utters "Oh, shit. Am I in danger right now?" in realization after Striker crushes his phone.

Full Moon opens with Loona waking up to her father making breakfast while singing about his "Nice arrangement," situationship with Stolas,

But upon hearing at work that Stolas been giving Blitz excuses to not see him, she brings up the idea that Stolas is getting bored of him.

Blitzo: "Whaaaat?"

Loona: "Yeah, man. If someone wants to see you less and less, big red flag. If they give you chances to ditch, they probably want out themselves. Just wanna be more passive aggressive about it. Dicks."

Later in the episode, Loona is seen with Moxxie and Millie, following Blitz, in which they encounter and fight the members of C.H.E.R.U.B.

Loona: "Find ya? We were already following our dumbass boss to make sure he doesn't fuck up and lose our meal ticket."

Unfortunately the falling out of that night leads to Blitz abandoning his job duties and spending all the company's money on frivolous purchases including 300 taxidermy owls that he makes Loona burn.

Blitz eventually is able to recover emotionally, but his involvement with the grimoire is used to bring him to trial, sentencing him to death until Stolas intercepts,

taking the blame and losing his power, title and home as a result.

Upon hearing that Stolas needed a place to live, Blitz walks him back to his and Loona's apartment.

Blitz is greeted with cheers from the crowd, while they throw things at Stolas. Loona, rather wisely, tries to step away from the two, less she gets pelted with anything herself.

But when they are back home, she takes the time to embrace the father she nearly lost:

"Hey, um. I'm so glad you're okay."

"I love you, Dad."

Already in a depressed state, Stolas is further reminded that he is separated from his own daughter and appears to shut down physically and mentally, resulting in Blitz helping him clean off in the bath. During that, he hears a knock.

Unprompted, Loona gives Blitz two pieces of her own clothes so that Stolas has something to change into, apart from his old stained royal attire. Stolas gets a lot of use out of this outfit until Blitz attempts to purchase him more (which instead turns into a theft).

Weeks pass, and when Sinsmas comes, Blitz brings Stolas into the office with him and Loona, with the intention of Stolas helping or learning Loona's job.

Stolas is none too pleased about going to work, but gives a nervous wave to the room when Blitz introduces him and a second wave to Loona when Blitz asks her to teach Stolas how to "secretate".

Loona: *sighs* "It's literally this: Ring, ring. 'Hello? I.M.P. Yeah, we can kill that asshole. Wanna schedule an appointment? Thursday cool? See you then, dipshit.' Click. It's easy as sin."

However, after being placed at the desk, Stolas manages to have a breakdown upon realizing that he no longer has any of his personal wealth. An action that doesn't go over well with his new coworkers, all whom are all among the lower or middle class money bracket:

After an aborted mission, the group return to find Stolas missing and discover he went back to his mansion in an attempt to see his daughter. However, in the process, he is captured by Andrealphus. Blitz instructs the group to separate before fighting and Loona makes the first attempt to free Stolas:

Andrealphus is ultimately defeated, by Stolas is left devastated by Octavia informing him that she no longer wants to see him.

Blitz, Loona and Stolas return home, where Loona announces plans for the rest of the holiday.

Loona: "Whew. That was intense. I'm gonna see if my friends can still come tonight. I need some drinks after what happened today."

Despite being preoccupied with Stolas once again shutting down, Blitz makes sure to give Loona the okay. Seemingly, he spends the rest of the evening with Stolas until the party starts. But someone does gradually put Sinsmas decorations throughout the apartment.

And we've reached our end.

So, Loona and Stolas. Not many interactions, but I don't see any bad blood between these two.

Loona appears to have some respect that Stolas tries to be a good father. And although Stolas' relationship with her own adopted father started out in a very messy transactional manner, their disastrous fallout following the Full Moon episode, and fomer's actions in Mastermind might have clued her in that from Blitz's perspective, Stolas had become more than the company's "meal ticket".

Loaning out her own clothes at the end of Mastermind, speaks volumes, even for someone like Loona who doesn't hesitate to speak her mind. Her father suddenly brings his complicated, homeless ex home to live with them, but Loona shows her support.

She keeps her space, living her own life, but still supports her father as he begins something new in his own.

Stolas seems nervous around Loona. I think, despite them living together, Loona may spend the majority of the time in her room, while Blitz is constantly keeping watch over Stolas. Blitz's affection for Loona as his daughter is quite obvious. Stolas was even witness to it as each ran to their daughters at the end of Seeing Stars, so I doubt he would be unaware of how important Loona is to Blitz. I think that that may be where some of the nervousness, which wasn't present in their early scenes, comes from.

Time will tell if these two will have reason to interact or work together in the coming seasons. Or if Loona's brief bonding with Stolas' daughter will come up again.

#helluva boss #loona buckzo #helluva boss loona #stolas #stolas goetia

88 notes · View notes

xa3r1s · 12 days ago

Text

✧⭑----⋆✩⋆-------⋆ 𝔾𝕌𝕀𝔻𝕀ℕ𝔾 𝕃𝕀𝔾ℍ𝕋 ♡ [l. mark]

⠀⠀ ☆ (⠀ 꽃⠀ ) ...

﹢﹒ ✦⊹﹒..𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗.: “ MARK LEE ; ✧ ”

✦⊹﹒synopsis:ㅤafter getting used to being self-reliant it was really hard to coax you out of your shell but mark's determination didn't wavered. ✦⊹﹒warnings: ㅤsfw, gentle!mark, non-idol!mark, comfort, idk angst?, fluff, skinship, closed off reader, depictions of anxiety and emotional distress, established relationship ✦⊹﹒word count: ㅤ0,9k

a/n.: hi guys! I'm doing a little bit of a self reflection here and I mostly wrote this for my own comfort but I'd like to share it with you all and providing something to help your feelings! I never actually wrote comfort, or something dedicated as that so I wanted to give it a try. Since Mark is a leader too and has a sibling I'm pretty sure he knows how to comfort really well and gosh it is just my dream to be comforted by him.

↩ navigation

↩ bouquet

you had always found a way to solve your own problems, on your own. after all, you were an adult.

you’d learned early on that your parents wouldn’t always be there, and as the years passed, the distance between you and them grew quietly, steadily. without complaint, you adapted. like most teenagers, you figured out how to take care of yourself and that went on to your adult life.

mark on the other hand, tried to shatter this type of image you built up in your own little bubble, yet still not forcing you to open up to him from one day to another so suddenly. with gentle and steady movements, moving the wall away from brick by brick you had forced around yourself.

still, it wasn’t enough unfortunately to always let your emotions free from the restrains you kept them securely in, making sure no one can access them. so instead, of course you bottled everything up, storing it deep down inside you but when that place filled, the glass cracked. that was when there wasn’t return anymore and the dam broke. when that happened, you distanced yourself further more not just from him but everyone and everything you could that ever tried to help you out and make things better for you.

‘what if he thinks it’s stupid?’

‘i’m probably just overreacting again.’

‘i shouldn’t even bother him with useless things like this’

these toxic thoughts swirled in your mind uncontrollably in the past times, surfacing again and again, making your chest tighten to the very point where your lungs felt like they could rip from between your ribs. breathing normally seeped into a complicated task and just gasping for air over and over to no avail. your throat tightening and burning with every sip of oxygen, ringing getting painfully loud in your ears and the word almost spun around you. your fingertips itched, your cheeks burned red, everything seemed so blurry and your eyes unfocused when the gentle scratch of his tone perked up your attention.

“stop that.” the voice came behind you, persistent yet smooth and velvety soothing your stiff and aching nerves, putting all the effort he could to not have you spiral further. snapping your head back in the matter of milliseconds, you met with firmness in his eyes, your own dilating at the small surprise he caused you just now.

clenched your fists on your sides, your feet felt like taking root in the kitchen’s hard and cold beige tiles.

his expression stoic as his intense gaze made you think he saw right into your soul, which in fact was true, he knew you more than himself by now, of course, when his main focus was rarely on himself anyway. with determination he reached out, taking both of your hands in his, his hold so gentle and caring. the sheer contrast in his behavior made you wonder about this man: how could he be so firm and still so caring. putting your well being above everything else that mattered for him, his pure focus was on you.

“your hands are trembling.” to his words, your eyes flicking down to the grasp as he held you in steadily, realizing that he was right. at this point you yourself was stunned at the reactions your body was giving out.

you opened your mouth in the intention of providing an answer for him but unfortunately nothing came out. your lips trembled as you did your best to stay composed, your head turned towards the floor, intently scanning the floor.

“you don’t have to say anything.” small steps. he took small steps towards you with quiet but reassuring words and actions, carefully approaching your closed away zone you were fearing from others. “don’t say anything, just look at me, okay? i’m right here..” he muttered, one of his hand making its way to the side of your face, resting gently against it, the pad of his thumb brushed back and forth on your smooth skin, writing down small circles in an attempt to soothe your further. in- and out exhale suddenly became easier, as if a heavy rock got lifted from your shoulders, everything becoming more clear and focused.

rewarding him with a small nod as he angled your head to gaze into his orbs, his eyebrows narrowed as he contemplated on what to say now.

“i’m here. you don’t need to tell me about anything if it’s something you don’t want to.. that’s all you need to know, i’ll always be here.” and in that second, he embraced you in a warm hug, guiding your head by placing a palm on your nape and your face coming to rest in the side of his neck, providing comfort.

“you don’t need too..” was all you could muster up as a response, voice faint and unsteady. just a small push was enough to make everything spill right now to the surface. it would have you messy and ugly, sobbing like a child.

“but I want to.” yeah, you’re right. iIt would be unappealing and very, very sloppy. but it would be his, just like your problems you thought you had to solve alone, he felt the overwhelming need to worry himself about it too. it was his mission to have you melt into his arms and comfort and hold you at any time you needed to be comforted and held. it wasn’t just you, all along. it was with him. and it will be you two tomorrow too and always.

▚▚ @xa3r1s ▚▚ my works belongs to me! do not translate them, copy them or publish them on another site.

75 notes · View notes

delulujuls · 1 year ago

Text

papaya nails and everything nice | op81

hi! i dont really know how to comment on that one, i just get this idea from few videos where oscar actually admitted that he has very interesting relationship with his nails

anyway, is this original? i think it is. is this wholesome? hell yes, we do be supportin in this household. enjoy!

summary: oscar is having an unusual problem but it's nothing a manicure cant fix

warnings: none, i hope that painted nails on a boy arent a trigger

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!mclarendriver (ft. lando)

Oscar had been struggling to get himself together for some time now. As far back as he could remember, he considered himself as organized and put-together person who kept everything in check. However, for the past few weeks he had been the complete opposite—nothing seemed to go his way, he was incredibly scattered, sleeping poorly and was always last-minute everywhere.

This day was no exception to the rule that had persistently dominated Piastri's life for the past few weeks. Hurrying, he entered the garage running late and quickly started changing, not wanting to delay the start of training. His hair was messy, clearly having just detached from the pillow a few moments ago. Y/N observed her friend from the corner of her eye, seeing him struggle with unzipping his jumpsuit. Without hesitation, she approached him and eased his suffering, helping him with the zipper.

"Thanks," he mumbled, throwing a fleeting glance at his friend. Only then did Y/N noticed that Oscar's face was marked by several red streaks.

"Something happened?" she asked, clearly concerned. The recent strange behavior of Oscar had not escaped anyone on the team and she was no exception.

"I overslept, nothing new lately," Piastri casually replied, putting on the jumpsuit and fastening it around his neck. He brushed his hair off his face and only now did Y/N have a full view of his face, where red stripes were visible on his even paler-than-usual skin.

"Yes, that too, but that's not what I meant," she said.

Y/N took her phone and showed him his reflection. He furrowed his brows in surprise but took the phone from her and looked at his face. It was a fact, there were strange red marks on it. After a moment, he figured out why he looked like so this morning.

"They're probably scratches; I must have done them in my sleep."

"Scratches?" she scrunched her eyebrows and involuntarily glanced at his nails when he handed her the phone. Indeed, Oscar's nails could make many girls envious.

Y/N still had something to ask, but she was called to take her place in the car. She didn't have the chance to exchange a single word with Oscar until lunchtime. The couple sat in the cafeteria and as Y/N was familiar with both the old Oscar, whom she had known for several years and the slowly emerging new Oscar, she had never paid much attention to his hands or, more importantly, his nails.

"Has this happened to you before?" Y/N asked when they were both eating lunch and Oscar focused all his attention on what she assumed was his first eagerly awaited meal of the day.

"That I took two portions of rice with vegetables for lunch?" he asked with his mouth full, glancing at her in the meantime "No, honestly, this is my debut."

She rolled her eyes. "No, I'm not asking about that. I mean, have you ever looked like you've just met Wolverine?"

"Still have those marks?"

Y/N nodded in response as she continued eating.

Oscar sighed, swallowing what was in his mouth and wondering whether to tell her about the embarrassing nonsense that had haunted him for as long as he could remember. Seeing her curious gaze he decided to confess to her an unusual fact about himself.

"I can't cut my nails."

Oscar threw this statement into the air without much ado. Honestly, at this point in his life where he was and with all the things happening, most of which didn't go the way they should, thinking about things like his unfortunate nails would be total foolishness.

"Oh, really?" she was surprised, but it was the kind of surprise when you hear some fun fact you didn't know before.

"You reacted like I just told you that there are twice as many kangaroos as people in Australia."

"It's quite an unusual thing, you're probably the first person I know who can't do it."

"I don't know if it's something to feel special about, although probably yes since for the rest of the day, I look like I do."

Oscar replied, pointing to his scratched face.

"What's worse," he continued, not interrupting his eating, "Even when I manage to deal with them, it takes a moment and they look the same again. They grow terribly fast."

"If you want, I can help you with them," she offered, glancing at him.

Oscar hesitated for a moment and after that he looked at her uncertainly.

"Could you?"

"Of course!"

Shortly afterward, Y/N's hotel room turned into improvised nail salon. She took her task very seriously, pleased that Oscar allowed her to do anything extra such as cutting his cuticles or giving his hands a massage with a cookie-scented cream.

"You have nice nails," he said when she massaged his hands. Her nails had short square shapes with a matte finish. The color was no surprise; it was papaya orange. "Do PR people dip their fingers in this too?"

Y/N laughed and shook her head.

"No, I just noticed this nail polish in the drugstore and I thought I'd take it. It amused me that this color haunts me everywhere."

"Do you do your nails yourself?" Oscar looked at her with a slight shock. "It must be terribly hard and time-consuming."

"I've been doing them for a few years now and as you can see they are pretty simple, so with each time I get better at it."

She replied, taking a bit more cream. She noticed that he was silently looking at her hands; it seemed that he was particularly paying attention to her nails.

"I can paint yours too if you want."

"Mine?"

Y/N nodded and Oscar looked at her, shocked by how effortlessly she seemed to read his thoughts.

"Painted nails aren't for boys. "

Y/N rolled her eyes.

"Anyone can have painted nails, Oscar."

"Zac would be pissed at me. PR people probably too."

"Fuck Zac, fuck PR people," she looked him in the eyes. "Everyone has the right to look how they want, so if Lewis can have earrings and tattoos, Alex could have red hair, then you or any other guy can have painted nails."

Oscar hesitated for a while, looking at her uncertainly. He was silent for a moment, thinking hard. However, he decided that it was time to finally do something contrary to the norm. He has stuck to the rules and regulations all his life, so it's time to make a small concession that won't harm anyone.

"Can you make them for me with a shiny finish?"

Y/N smiled and nodded, hurriedly getting off the bed and grabbing her bag with all the supplies. The smile on Oscar's face appeared with each painted nail, pushing away his fears and insecurities.

When the girl started finishing his other hand after more than an hour, Lando came into the bedroom without any warning, complaining about his friends and the fact that none of them had replied to any of his messages for over forty minutes.

When Norris noticed what he was witnessing, he opened his mouth in shock and his eyes almost fell out of his sockets. Both Oscar and Y/N knew their friend's unfiltered chatter, so they mentally prepared themselves for some comment from him. But beside that, he hurriedly took off his shoes and all excited sat on the bed, rolling up his sleeves.

"Oh my God! Will you do mine too?"

#f1 imagines #f1 one shot #f1 oneshots #op81 #formula 1 #f1 #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader

754 notes · View notes