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norrisainz33 · 1 month ago

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the call pt.3 || platonic grid & gr63

summary: f1 rookie, y/n, enjoys the 3 week break and races in vegas

pairing: rookie!reader x platonic!grid x george russell

fc & warnings: none and suggestive. you are responsible for the content you consume

part 1 | part 2

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

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ynuser: break is breaking!! glad to rest, read and be with friends. now on to vegas ✈️

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user1: YES GAWD

rubendias: 😍 [liked by ynuser]

user5: oh now this is a crossover i’d kill to see

user2: george being the insta bf who isn’t her bf and taking pics of her omg

georgerussell63: london suits you

ynuser: it does 🥰

user10: y/ngeorge supremacy

user3: begging to know what’s on ur tbr y/n

ynuser; you can find me on goodreads darling

user3: OMGNAUFKWT Y/N

landonorris: you can READ?!

ynuser: yeah - can you?

landonorris: not a chance

lance_stroll: see you soon bestie

ynuser: looking forward to it ✨

user4: i can’t wait to see you back on track in 1 week!!

ynuser has posted to their story

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user11: might be the best media fit i’ve ever seen

yourbff: trying not to drool you look amazing girl

ynuser: thank you 🥹

alexandrasaintmleux: i love everything about this outfit especially that it’s red 😉

ynuser: hehe merely a coincidence

user29: it must be hard being the only one serving in that paddock

landonorris: ok daddy long legs

ynuser: 🕷️

rubendias: looking good y/n

ynuser: why thank you ruben

rubendias: let me know when you’re back in europe. i’d love to take you out one of these days

user12: these boys have nothing on you

ynuser has made a post

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ynuser: back on track in the alpink and ready for some alpoints 🩷

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user2: unhealthily obsessed with the alpink

pierregasly: we got this y/n 💪🏻

ynuser: let’s get it !

user5: crossing all fingers that this weekend is good to you

georgerussell63: you got a pink pony eh?

ynuser: why yes! a member of the pink pony club

user6: cars back on track thank GOD

alpinef1team: that’s our alpink alprincess

user7: final triple header of the year im gonna be sick

user8: god please let y/n seat announcement be soon

✿

p11 - you could work with that. only had to successfully make one overtake and you’d be in the points. you knew lewis and his silver arrow were going to fly forward and that your real battle was with nico in 9th. you could manage that and you knew it.

gripping the steering wheel tight you waited for the lights to go out and for the race to begin. 3, 2, 1.. you slammed on the gas and took off. time to get to work.

✿

“box, box” your engineer instructed over the radio and you let out a sigh of relief. the tyre degradation in vegas was stronger than expected and you were thankful to pick up a new set of hards. except when you came into the pit lane - you saw only one mechanic waiting for you. there was no one there. surely they should be there? “did i miss the box?” you muttered to yourself passing the alpine garage and making your way through the pit lane. nope. no box missed. your team just wasn’t there.

“are you fcking kidding me?! where was everyone?!” you screamed into the radio as you pulled out of the pit lane and reentered the race without new tyres and a whole lot of time lost.

“there was a miscommunication, y/n. please come back next lap.”

✿

you stepped off the scale as quickly as possible snatching the paper from the fia agent and turning swiftly toward your garage. you desperately needed air and a moment alone.

practically running through the pit lane, you ignored your team who tried to call after you as you hurried toward your drivers room. you flung open the door and locked it behind you before ripping your helmet off of your head and slumping down to the ground.

putting your head in your hands, you cried. the race couldn’t have gone any worse. your mechanics weren’t ready for you to box causing you to lose over 20 seconds of time. your strategy calls after that were abysmal and you landed almost in dead last. this sort of a performance was not how you were going to gain a seat for next season and it certainly wasn’t going to stop the skeptics from trying to tear you down.

a soft knock sounded against your door and you heard an unmistakable voice, “y/n/n let me in.” you tried to wipe away some of the tears as you unlocked the door and scooted out of the way so lance could open the it. he looked down at you on the floor and frowned instantly. “oh y/n/n, come here.” he instructed holding out his hand for you. reluctantly you took it and allowed him to pull you up into his arms.

“what happened?” lance asked gently as you sobbed into his chest. you noticed that he was still very much in his race suit which meant he likely hadn’t done his media duties yet either and instead came to see you.

“everything went wrong,” you explained wiping your eyes again and leaning back to look at him. “my mechanics weren’t ready when i went to box and i lost so much time it ended my chances of being competitive and on top of that i just drove like absolute dog shit so i didn’t help myself either.”

lance wiped away a tear from your cheek, “i’m sorry y/n/n. that sucks but this isn’t the end. you have two more races - it isn’t over till it’s over.”

“i consciously know you’re right but i just… i don’t know lance - this pressure is more than i could have ever imagined.”

“i can’t pretend to understand how you’re feeling but i can tell you that no one is perfect after 4 races. you are doing the best that you can.” lance assured wiping more tears from your face as your crying slowed.

there was a forceful knock at the door, “y/n you need to get to the media pen. now.” your pr manager said sternly through the door pulling you back to reality.

lance sighed before letting you go, “alright come on. let’s get out there before people start to spread rumors about what we’re doing in here.” he laughed fixing his race suit, “and don’t get me wrong i love you but you unfortunately are not my type and also i am not a 6 foot 3 british man so im not yours either.”

you let out a laugh and lance was pleased to hear it. “yeah yeah let’s go.”

before walking out of your driver room, lance turned and said “hey y/n/n… don’t let them see you rattled - they don’t deserve it.”

✿

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skysportsf1: a tough weekend for our brazil podium finisher, y/n y/l/n. y/n said the following in her post race interview with us: “today is a forgettable one for me and the team. we didn’t have the pace and we made some critical mistakes. we’ll learn from them and come back stronger in qatar. both pierre and i will. but for now, congrats to george on a brilliant win.”

✿

“y/n/n.” george’s big blue eyes were staring into your soul and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes flickered to your lips quickly before moving back up. “can i tell you something?” he asked over the pounding of the music throughout the club.

you had begrudgingly agreed to go out and celebrate with george and the rest of the mercedes crew even though you had no interest in partying after the race you had. but, at the end of the day, george was one of your best friends and he deserved to be celebrated. you both were a couple drinks deep at this point and george was clearly getting loose. “of course you can georgie!”

he tucked a piece of hair behind you ear, “i um…” he paused stealing another glance at your lips. “i’ve been wanting to tell you something for like a really long time and seeing you leave your drivers room with lance made me realize i should tell you sooner rather than later.”

“what are you talking about? nothing happened with lance and i earlier! he came to check on me after the race.” you put your empty glass down on the bar next to you as you tried to comprehend what he was saying.

“regardless of what was happening it made me realize that i couldn’t keep pretending like i don’t want to be more than just friends with you.”

it felt like the wind was knocked right out of you, there was no way you heard what you thought you just heard. “george william russell - you can’t be serious.”

“i am!” george insisted incredulously, “i have fancied you since what feels like the dawn of time. since i met you on the karting track for the first time. remember? when you barreled directly into the back of my kart? you hit me because i broke too soon and then you being you - you yelled at me after the race and even while yelling you were the most beautiful girl i’d ever laid eyes on.”

“george, i don’t know what to say.”

george ran both hands through his hair. “you don’t have to say anything y/n. i just wanted you to know how i felt because i —“

before he could say anything more you stood up on your tiptoes and kissed him right there in the middle of the club.

✿

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f1gossip: BREAKING NEWS 🚨 george russell and y/n y/l/n were spotted out at a club following todays race. reports say the pair shared a rather passionate kiss on the dance floor which was then followed by george dragging y/n through the dance floor and out of the bar. next report we got is the pair arriving together back at the hotel. seems like things are getting spicy between y/n and george!

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user1: SCREAMING

user23: best thing i’ve seen all day

user44: ohhhhh they’d make the hottest couple

user2: allat and no video evidence??

user5: huge day for annoying people! (me)

user8: surprised it took these 2 so long. it’s been 10 years

user12: YES GAWD THANK YOU GAWD

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!! likes and reblogs appreciated! been in another writing slump but hopefully will get some wips out soon

tag list from part 1 & 2: @yawn-zi @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @divagreymare @raizelchrysanderoctavius @ferakillia @stressed-cherry @sassyangel16 @mxdi0 @awritingtree @danielricciardoslut3 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @seasonswinter @rawr-123s-stuff @grussellsprout @belncaldern @ellelabelle @tall-tanned-tattoo @chelseyyouraverageluigi @tellybearryyyy

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

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yanderestarangel · 1 year ago

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✧ HEADCANONS FNAF | SMUT VERSION | MIKE SCHMIDT

★ TW: afab anatomy, pet names, degradation, dom!mike, v!sex, rough sex, blowjob, overstimulation, little praise.

˚｡⋆.☆Do you want to make a request? Read my blog rules in the pinned post, comments and reblogs are welcome♡

★ A/N: some people asked me in inbox if I watched the fnaf movie and the answer is: yes! I watched it with my boyfriend and it was a lot of fun, so I decided to write something about Mike yey >ㅅ<

✧ 𑂴 🫧 Mike is a stressed man, with all the pressure of taking care of his sister, the nightmares and a bad job - which can consume a lot of his energy - he will just want to be in your arms at the end of the day and preferably, between your legs.

✧ 𑂴 🫧 Mike will arrive home tired, with a smell like men's cologne faint from the hours he spent at work, and a thin layer of sweat covering his face and back, while he desperately looked for you in every corner of the house, shouting your name. Schmidt won't even give you time to ration, as he lifts you onto the nearest firm surface and spreads your thighs - if you were wearing any shorts, he would desperately tear them off while he glues his face to your pussy, lubricating it with saliva and making circular movements with his tongue on your clit, enjoying every moan you made, every time you ran your fingers through his hair - pulling him even closer - Schmidt would moan against your sensitive flesh, looking you in the eyes before continuing to pleasure you.

✧ 𑂴 🫧 Mike will fuck you all over the house when Abby is out or at school - kitchen, living room, balcony or anywhere that is empty enough - covering your mouth with his hand, while he shoves his thick, pulsing length into you , without any protection. He's the type of man who likes to spill every drop of his seed into your womb, painting your spongy walls pearly white, while grunting and praising you, telling you how good your pussy is for his dick, he likes to call you a "hungry little slut" with each hot jet that comes out of him, while he smiles and growls when he sees your expression of lust.

✧ 𑂴 🫧 Mike will leave you breathless, pushing you against the cold bathroom sink as he forces you to look in the mirror, you can see the dark circles under his eyes, his naked body against yours, how his cock slides against your wetness easily as he grabs your chin with his fingers - putting enough force to turn the tips white - He would see every reaction, every moan or scream that came out of you through reflection, roughly grabbing your hip with his other hand. His balls would already be wet from your juices with his, while the sounds of skin against skin could be heard echoing out of the room. "-Yes...Ah- Fucking hell my darling, your pussy swallowing my dick... just like that, keep it up please." he moaned hoarsely, as he looked at the sight of your wetness swallowing and repelling his shaft, with each rough thrust he made. "-You're such a good little thing for me, I'm going to give you every last drop of cum, right?"

✧ 𑂴 🫧 Mike will make you get ready for him, putting on your best clothes, putting on perfume and makeup for him, just for him to fuck you doggystyle on the bed, pulling your hair to expose your neck while deeply marking your soft skin with his teeth - From the intensity of his hips, you could tell how angry he was at everything and everyone that night - you could hear him grunting and grumbling about some pay cut or how he didn't get a promotion to improve your life. He will take out all his anger on your pussy, leaving you a mess, your makeup was smudged, your clothes were messy or even torn in some corner of the room, you were at his mercy, while his fingers roughly rubbed over and over again on your clit - making a delicious combo with each violent thrust deep into your core. He will degrade you while fucking all your tight holes. "-You're my favorite slut." "-You asked for this didn't you? You're a needy whore for my dick- Mmm-" "-You're a cumdump for me, needy and a quivering mess for my dick."

✧ 𑂴 🫧 Mike will love putting you between his legs, your knees hurt from the weight and hardness of the floor. His dick pulsed as you forced yourself to swallow everything, looking at him relaxing with each provocative yet relaxing and hot movement, while the head of his dick beat rhythmically in your throat. The wet sounds and muffled moans about his member made him grunt, throwing his head back, grabbing your head with his left hand while his right hand held the side of the chair, he was going to encourage you to go deeper. "-Please baby, be a good boy/girl and make me cum... Swallow it all for me ok?"

✧ 𑂴 🫧 Mike loves lying in bed completely naked, with his cock exposed to you, while watching you rub your pussy over him, he would be sleepy and tired, but the sight of you rubbing your wet pussy over him, looking for a release for everyone Your repressed lust was enough for him to stay awake for up to a few hours, resting his hands on your hips and squeezing the soft flesh of your ass as he moved down. Their eyes would be seeing the cum leaking from the tip of his dick, his crotch totally dirty, as he smiled at you, closing his eyes. "-Keep having fun baby... I'm here for you."

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

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cressidagrey · 3 days ago

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Such A Mystery - Part 10

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby.

Warnings:

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this. Labour.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 10 of 12!

“Breathe,” Victoria kept insisting.

“You are doing so well, Choupinette,” her mother cooed.

Colette was quite certain that she was going to die.

At least it felt like it.

The pain was overwhelming. It didn’t feel like her body could take any more of it. The contractions were so strong and the pain was blinding in its intensity. She wasn’t certain if she could do this anymore.

“I can’t do this,” Colette choked out.

“Yes, you can,” Victoria insisted. Her voice was firm and steady. “You absolutely can do this. You’re already so far along, you just have to push. You can do this.”

"Just breathe," her mother said soothingly, stroking back her hair. "You are doing so well."

But she wasn’t doing well.

She wanted Max. No, she needed Max.

She needed him so badly. She didn’t want to do this by herself.

Colette cried out in pain as another very strong contraction hit her, clenching her teeth through it. "Max," she sobbed. "I need Max."

"I know," Victoria said, stroking her hand. "I know you do. But you can do this. Just a little bit longer, okay? It won’t be long now."

She didn’t want to do this without him. But what other choice did she have?

A strangled sob escaped her throat as she clutched her mother’s hand desperately as another contraction hit.

“We’re going to need you to push now,” the doctor said firmly. “You need to start pushing with the contractions.”

Colette cried out in pain as she tried her very best to push like they were telling her to. The pain was blinding in its intensity. But it hurt. Gods, it hurt more than anything that she had ever experienced. It was like her body was about to rip itself in half.

"You’re doing so well," her mother cooed.

"Keep Pushing."

Another strangled scream escaped her. "Max," she sobbed. "I need Max. I need him. I can’t do this.”

Victoria stroked her hair. "It’s almost over, Colette. It’s almost over. Just a little bit more," Vic promised her.

Colette wanted to give up, she wanted to give in. She wanted the pain to end. But more than anything else, she just wanted Max.

Another scream was torn from her, a ragged cry of pain as a particularly severe contraction tore through her. She was certain that she wasn’t going to survive this. The pain was too severe.

"Keep Pushing."

"Push, Push, Push"

She didn’t understand how they expected her to keep going. She could feel herself flagging, she was so exhausted.

The room was a blur around her, dark spots dancing at the corner of her vision. The sound of her own screams echoed in her ears, the pain almost overwhelming. She thought she was going to pass out.

She heard the door open.

A small part of the pain-hazed part of her mind registered the sound. She thought she was hallucinating. Surely that wasn’t the sound of the door opening. Surely she was just losing her mind under the excruciating strain.

“That took you too fucking long,” Victoria snapped. Colette would have smiled, if she hadn’t been currently in the middle of pushing. Max's familiar voice echoed in her ears, and for one sweet second, the pain all but vanished.

And then he was there. Her heart jumped and a small sob escaped her. Max. It was really Max. He was there. He was right beside her.

Dry lips pressed against her sweat slick forehead. “Liefje.“

He was there. He was really there.

"Max," she sobbed out. "You’re here. You’re really here."

"Of course I am," he said shakily. He pushed back her sweaty hair from her forehead. "You didn’t think I was going to let you do this without me, do you?"

She wanted to tell him that, in all honesty, she had thought exactly that. If he hadn’t shown up, she would have had to do this without him. But she was too exhausted, and in too much pain to form the words. All she could do was clutch at his hand, desperately clinging onto him like a lifeline.

Max immediately threaded his fingers through hers, holding her hand tightly. "I’m right here," he soothed. "I’m not going anywhere.” He was giving her something solid to hang onto.

“Another push,” the doctor encouraged.

With Max holding her hand, Colette gave one last, desperate push.

She was certain that she was going to pass out. She didn’t understand how she was still conscious. The pain was mind-numbing in its intensity. "Once more,” the doctor said firmly. “I can see the head. Just one more push.”

Colette whimpered, her breath coming in short sharp sobs. "I can’t,” she cried in exhaustion. "I can’t."

"You can,” Max said fiercely. “You are the strongest goddamn person I know, and if anyone can do this, it’s you. Just one more push, come on, liefje."

His grip on her hand was so tight, it was almost painful, but that brief moment of pain was worth it. Feeling Max's presence beside her, holding onto her so desperately with his fingers threaded firmly through hers, it was the only thing that gave her the last little bit of strength that she needed.

With a long, ragged scream, she gave one last push, pouring everything she had into it.

She could hear Max beside her, talking to her soothingly, but the words were all blending together. Her senses were slowly fading. "Push, you can do it, you’re almost done." The words were coming at her from all sides now, swirling and echoing amongst the darkness of her hazy vision, and it was all she could do to grip Max’s hand, and listen to the sound of his voice.

And then it was over.

The searing pain suddenly stopped.

For just a moment, everything was quiet.

A cry cut through the sudden silence

The sound echoed around them, small and shrill and so very loud in the stillness of the room. A choked gasp of relief escaped Colette as she slumped back against the pillows, utterly exhausted.

"There you go," Max murmured, gently wiping back the hair from her forehead. "It’s over, it’s over now. You did so well, liefje. You’ve done it."

She wanted to speak, to say something to him in return, but her tongue was so heavy in her mouth it would hardly form words. Her mind was still a blur of exhaustion, relief and adrenaline. All she could muster was a small whimper as she felt his hand gently stroking her hair.

The sound of the infant’s cries rang out again, more strongly this time. “Here,” the doctor said, sounding a little amused. “Let’s get that little girl on maman’s chest.”

Through the haze, Colette felt an immense amount of exhausted relief, as the doctor carefully placed a small, wiggling bundle on her chest.

The baby was beautiful. Small and new and perfect, and Colette felt like the very breath had been knocked out of her. All the exhaustion and the pain was suddenly entirely worth it as she cradled the tiny baby in her arms.

"Hello, bébé," she breathed softly, the words coming out as a whisper. “I thought you were going to be a boy,” she choked

A broad smile covered her face as she gently stroked the downy soft tufts of dark hair covering the baby’s head. The small, tiny, perfect little fingers wrapped around her own, and Colette’s heart felt so full it felt like it was going to burst.

"I was right," Max said, the words somewhat choked. His voice sounded almost strangled, and she didn’t need to look to know that there were tears running down his face.

Colette looked up at him then, taking in with a mixture of affection and amusement how utterly awestruck he looked. He was crying openly, tears running unashamedly down his cheeks.

“We did it,” she told Max.

“We did,” He said, his voice still choked with emotion. “She’s so beautiful.” Max sounded utterly wrecked.

Colette couldn’t help but share his feelings as she looked back down at the baby in her arms. The small infant had opened her eyes for a brief moment, revealing the most vividly blue eyes that Colette had ever seen. “She got your eyes.”

“And your hair,” Max said, reaching out a hesitant hand to touch the soft dark locks on the baby’s head.

The baby gave a little gurgle, waving her tiny hand as if to reach out for his fingers. “Hello, mooi meisje,” he said softly, his voice still sounding a little choked, as the baby tried to wrap her fingers around his own.

"She's absolutely perfect," Colette whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the tiny, perfect bundle of joy in her arms.

"Just like her mother," Max said, his voice hoarse. He stroked his finger down the baby's soft cheek, the most gentle of touches.

***

In the end…he made it with minutes to spare.

He couldn’t describe the relief that he felt when he finally burst through the door, to find Colette in the midst of giving birth. He had been so terrified that he wouldn’t make it in time.

And now here he was, sitting beside her on the bed, their daughter in her arms, safe and sound and utterly, utterly perfect.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of them both. Colette was beautiful, despite looking utterly exhausted. Her face was pale and slick with sweat, but she had never look more lovely.

And their daughter… Their daughter was perfect. Tiny, and new, the sweetest thing that Max had ever seen. He gently ran his finger down her soft, plump cheek, marveling at the sheer fragility of her.

And he couldn't stop crying. This was his family. His.

They had hoped so desperately for so long, and now there was their little girl. And she had been worth it. Worth all the heartbreak.

His eyes stung and his throat was constricting, but he couldn't help it. He knew he must look a mess, tears running unashamedly down his face and throat choked up, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered. They were here, and safe, and together.

He looked down at the baby’s tiny, perfect face, her closed eyes, her nose. She had Colette’s hair, and his eyes, and Max thought that if it was possible to die of love, he was dangerously close to that moment right there.

He reached out a shaking hand to touch his daughter’s tiny fist, his own hand dwarfing hers. She opened her eyes again for a brief second, and he could have sworn that she smiled at him for just an instant.

The tears ran more freely down his face now at that thought. His daughter, his little girl, his precious perfect baby, smiled at him. It might have just been a trick of his own overjoyed emotional state, but right then, Max was convinced that it had been a real smile.

"She's perfect, liefje," he whispered, his words coming out a little choked. "She's so damn perfect.”

"Dad, you want to cut the cord?" the doctor asked him.

The question seemed to take a moment to register in his hazy emotional state, but when it did, Max’s breath caught in his chest for a moment. And then just as quickly, he nodded mutely.

In a daze, he reached for the small pair of scissors that the midwife handed over to him, cutting the umbilical cord under her careful supervision.

He was in a daze, even when they took his daughter from Colette to check her over and bath her. "Stay with her," Colette told him softly. "Go on."

Max nodded, unable to find the words to answer to her. He stood up on slightly shaky legs, watching as the midwife took his daughter over to the small bassinet and started to check her over.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of his baby, tiny and perfect and theirs. All the years of trying, all the hope and the heartbreaks, and now there was their little girl, safe and sound.

He got to watch her be bathed and then swaddled right into a soft pink swaddle that he knew he himself had bought because Colette kept insisting that it was a boy...and then he finally got to hold her in his arms and cry some more, because she was perfect.

He cradled her small, tiny form in his arms, his fingers trembling a little as he gently touched the soft downy skin of her cheek. Her weight was barely anything at all in his arms, and for a moment, terror gripped his heart. Was he holding her too hard? What if he hurt her?

"You aren't going to hurt her," Victoria said suddenly and he stared at his sister that sat down next to her. "You aren't. I promise you. Babies aren't as breakable as they look," she teased him softly. "Congrats, Maxie."

Max nodded, a little startled. He had honestly forgotten that his sister was even there, the arrival of his baby girl had taken up most of his attention.

"Thanks, Vic," he managed, his voice still choked.

He looked down at the baby in his arms again. They had wrapped her tightly in the pink swaddle that he himself had insisted on months ago. He had been so sure that the baby was a girl. And he had been right.

He wouldn't have cared either way, but...he had been right.

"She's perfect," he whispered, his eyes burning.

Victoria smiled, watching him with a softness in her eyes that Max wasn't sure he had seen before. “You’re a father,” she said simply. “How does it feel?”

“Like my heart’s going to explode with pure happiness,” Max admitted, looking back down at his daughter in his arms. “Like I can’t breathe. Like I’m dreaming. I don’t…I don’t know how to describe it.”

"Welcome to the sleep deprivation community that is parenthood," Vic joked softly. "You are going to be the best father," she told him.

It made him choke up. That absolute certainty with which his little sister said that, a hand on his shoulder. "You are going to be the best father to her," Victoria promised him fiercely.

Fresh tears welled up in his eyes as he looked up at his sister. “I’ll do my best,” he managed to say, his voice a little choked. “I’ll do absolutely anything for her, for both of them. Anything in the world.”

They didn't often talk about their childhood...about all the things that had gone down...the long drawn out screaming matches they could remember before their parents had divorced and the separation that came afterwards...

They didn’t like to talk about it. It was one of those things that they usually just skirted around, because when they brought it up, old feelings and emotions came up with it. And the fights weren’t pleasant to remember...

But in that moment, Max felt a profound sense of relief. For the first time, he was glad those fights had happened, because if they hadn’t…he and Vic wouldn’t have the relationship they had now, and he wouldn’t have learned, from all of the pain and heartbreak of those fights, what not to do. He never wanted his daughter to grow up like that. He never wanted her to feel the pain of a broken family like they had.

And he knew that he would do absolutely everything in his power to prevent that from happening. He and Colette would keep their family tightly together and protect and love their little girl with everything that they had.

No matter what.

A fresh wave of tears welled up in his eyes at the thought of that. "I don't ever want her to grow up like we did, Vic," he managed to say, the words still a little choked. "I don't ever want her to feel like we did."

"She won't," Vic assured him, her voice still soft. "Because you're going to be a great father. She'll grow up feeling loved and wanted and safe. I know that, Maxie."

His throat felt as if it was slowly closing up. "Thanks, bink," he managed to say, his voice cracking. "It means a lot. I..." His eyes stung, and he swallowed hard. "I couldn't ever thank you enough for being here. For being with us."

For coming even when he handn’t asked…for somehow knowing without being told what they needed.

His sister just smiled at him, her blue eyes, so similar to his own, sparkling. "She’s my niece," she reminded him. "You're not getting rid of me. I'm going to spoil her rotten, you know that?"

"You are going to have fierce competition, Victoria" Pascale said softly.

He looked up to where Colette's mother was tucking her own daughter back into the bed, fussing over her. Colette looked better than she had before, freshly showered, still exhausted, but no longer...no longer looking like she was going to faint any minute.

Colette was already sitting up, even though she would be in pain for a while, a testament to her usual stubbornness.

"Maxie." Colette didn't need to say more than that, as he stood and crossed the room, safely putting their daughter back on her mother's chest.

He sat on the edge of her bed, careful not to jostle her too much. "Hey," he said softly, wrapping an arm gently around her shoulders. "How are you feeling, liefje?"

"I'm okay," she said softly, resting her head weakly against him. "Sore. Tired. Happy. Went through 6 hours of labour, only to give birth to your and Charles' clone," she said drily, making her mother laugh.

Max smiled faintly, resting his head against hers. “Charles?” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"She does look awfully similiar," Pascale agreed.

Max gave a small laugh, glancing back down at the baby. He supposed there was a resemblance, if one knew what to look for. “She’s not a clone,” he countered, a note of mock offense in his voice. “She’s a perfect mix of us.”

"With what I am pretty certain is Charles' nose," Colette said drily.

Max laughed faintly, reaching out to gently touch the baby’s tiny nose with his finger. It narrowed just so at the tip… “Maybe,” he conceded thoughtfully.

His daughter stirred faintly at the contact, a small noise coming from her mouth that sounded a bit like a grumble. Max smiled at the sound.

“And I’m pretty sure she’s just as stubborn as her mother,” he teased Colette.

She reached up to lightly smack his hand, but her smile was fond. “Like you aren’t just as stubborn,” she retorted.

Their daughter took that moment to complain loudly for once and Colette shifted her slightly, unbuttoning her pyjama top. At least one thing went down with absolutely no fuss whatsoever. A few minutes later, their daughter had greedily nursed, burped and was back to slumbering quietly.

"Are the three musketeers still outside?" Colette asked.

“They are,” Max confirmed, brushing a strand of hair back from Colette’s face. He had all but forgotten about Colette’s brothers.

"Get them," Colette said softly.

Max smiled. "All of them?" he teased. He knew that was exactly what she had meant."All of them," she nodded.

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totalswag · 27 days ago

Note

hi i love your writings!!!

may i request something angst with y/n and drew pls? like maybe they broke up but still love each other and they haven't told their families about it. so one day they have to meet again at Liliana's birthday party and they have to pretends? but it's getting angst when the party ended and they have to separate again

i still love you ⎯ DREW STARKEY

authors note firstly, thank you lovie! you don’t know how much that means to me. i’ve written angst before but not a lot. this one is gonna hurt so grab tissues if needed.

taglist ⤕ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set.

summary attending a birthday party with your ex as a couple after you broken up without telling anyone in your circle.

warning(s) breakups, angst, crying, and feelings for each other.

Drew and you ended your relationship four weeks ago. Never thought your relationship with him would end so suddenly. You have been an absolute reck since. Both of you still love each other deeply.

Family and friends don’t know about the break up—they’d be devastated hearing the news. Just thinking about it gets you overwhelmed with emotion. Drew and you have had small conversations about it but can't pull through yet.

Tonight is Liliana’s second birthday, everyone in Drew’s family will be there celebrating at his younger sisters home. Drew and you were invited prior to the breakup—you’ll be attending as a "couple."

This is gonna hurt you both.

“Okay we act like a couple then we part our separate ways, yeah?” Drew says with a hint of sadness in his voice, enough for only you to hear.

Pulling the front string of your hair behind your ear, looking up at his tall frame, “ye-eah that’s fine.” Your voice started cracking.

The two of you walk up the driveway of the house walking hand in hand like you typically would when you were together. Suddenly, Drew’s hand gently placed itself on your lower back—thumb rubbing gentle circles.

The sensation of his touch on your skin sends millions of goosebumps down your spine; you feel comfortable in his embrace—you are home. When you enter through the back gate, your face lights up as you see his family.

"Oh my gosh, it's so glad to see you both here" Brooke, Drew's younger sister, smiles running over in your direction with a drink in her hand.

After your brief reunion, you moved to see Drew's other family members. Seeing them made you joyful and sad at the same time because you knew you wouldn't see them as much after this.

Liliana raced over to Drew, arms raised, hoping to be hoisted up. She giggled as he kissed her face. "Stop it, Uncle Drewy," she says, tilting her head back.

Watching the two interact is the cutest thing ever. Liliana looks over her shoulder, gasping, and reaching out to you—taking her in your arms, hugging her, and spinning her around.

"You look so beautiful today," you tell the two-year-old in your arms. She glances up at you, reaching for your necklace before wrapping her arms around your neck.

"You too auntie!"

Drew and you stood near to each other during the party—kissing your cheeks, hugging you close, resting his hand on your thigh—all the things you used to do. You could feel each other's distress.

Your entire body was screaming. You and Drew were dating for over four years. This split is still fresh for both of you. You just wanted to stay close to him the entire time, and he felt the same way.

People asked you how your relationship was going and when Drew was gonna get down on one knee. Just typical questions that've been asked before. No one suspected anything off between you two.

The drive back to your house didn't take long. Drew and you were making small talk about the party and seeing Liliana's face when she opened her gifts.

Drew parked the car and switched off the engine, but neither of you made a move to exit. The streetlights provided a soothing light inside the car, highlighting the stress on his face. He finally ended the silence.

"I hate this, you know," he continued, his voice tight. "Pretending like everything's fine when it's not."

You gulped hard, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. "Me, too. But what options do we have?"

He turned to face you, looking into your eyes. "We can try again. Maybe we just needed some time apart to think things through."

"I still love you," he said softly, his voice breaking.

Your heart tightened at his words, and you clutched his palm tightly. "I still love you, too. But love isn't always sufficient."

By this point, your voice had begun to crack. You just wanted to jump into his arms one final time and have him tell you everything would be fine.

The hush that ensued was deafening. You both understood the reality, even if it was difficult to accept. You slowly and reluctantly drew your hand away and sought for the door handle.

"Goodbye, Drew," you replied softly, exiting the car.

You headed towards your apartment, your vision hazy with tears. Just as you approached the door, you heard him yell your name. Turning around, you noticed the pain imprinted on his face, which mirrored your own.

"Goodbye," he murmured quietly.

He stared at you as you walked to your front door. He wanted he could walk in the house with you, but you never asked. Turning around and waved your final goodbye as he slowly drove away.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you close the door. You couldn't hold back the tears. You hoped everything had never happened in the first place and that everything would have been okay. However, not everything goes as planned.

All those memories you made together are flooding through your mind as you walk yourself to your bedroom.

One day you'll find your way back. One day.

⎯⎯ my taglist!

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line across your name that means i couldn't find your account

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ladybyakuya · 4 months ago

Text

| ALL I WANTED + GOJO SATORU .

+cw. — female!wife!reader x clan-head!husband!(sub)!gojo satoru, arrange marriage, hurt, angst, canon typical elements, smut, f!masturbation + m!masturbation & orgasm interruption.

+wc. — 2.3k

+syn.— satoru comes home from a bunch of missions only to find his wife in their shared bedroom not wanting him, or waiting for him but busy seeking pleasure that was his share to pour into you.

+notes. — special thanks to @gojoest for hyping me up with this idea. & thanks to @sugurouge for beta reading otherwise this never get posted lol | redirect to blog navigation.

The current head of the clan you belong to, your father stands facing his back to you. He is now the housemaster, not your father. “You’re going to be married,” said he, as his palms remained tightly clasped at his back while he looked out through the window. What you once called home became a distant memory in an instant. “You’re going to be married—” as his face turned towards you, “to Gojo Satoru.” you could figure out why he was looking away. “That monster!” he screams tears streaming down his face as his lips tremble in rage and disbelief; how of all people did the marriage broker who has been his friend for a long time have even agreed with such a decision? The thought of him suggesting the idea to the council does not even cross your father’s mind. How utterly naive! a low grunt followed as your father swatted away his chair knocking it down to the ground before killing every bit of hope you had despite the rumors. “This marriage. . . it is nothing but a hopeless dream. ”

Yes! You knew that already. The housemaids and staff just love to gossip about the doom of their sole source of bread and butter. The moment your father summoned you into his study room and told you the news while staring at the greenery of the garden of this mansion you knew your life was going to turn upside down and it did, just like you expected yet you were still disappointed, frustrated even when you came back to your room.

Satoru Gojo is the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in history ever known since Sukuna Ryomen was sealed. No other name has ever made it to the pages of jujutsu history. He is at the top of the jujutsu society regarding status, power, fame, and money. So, what do you do with the strongest of all? worship them out of devotion? subdue them with offerings lest it might lash out? swearing loyalty out of fear? Those were the thoughts that stemmed at the back of your mind when you first came to know about the fact that you were going to be the wife of the Gojo Satoru from a maid whose life never even crossed the threshold of your home. Her world was limited to the mossy parts of the mansion you resided in. Still, she could tell what kind of marriage you would be walking into.

Nothing shocking happened even on the night of your wedding. It was just as you anticipated. Two different futons were kept side by side. There was no sharing of words, glances, or kakebuton . Just both of your backs faced each other. At dawn, you woke up with your wedding kimono intact, a stainless white futon, and an empty room without Gojo.

The maids here knew better than to talk about it, even behind your back. They were aware of the power and status you held and that made everything a lot worse than you expected it to be. You had access to a lot of things, the family history archives, the financial sources, his previous missions— everything tied to him. Your husband, Gojo Satoru, was the clan head as well as the master of this mansion so there were no elderly people pushing responsibilities onto your shoulders like back at home. There was a sense of serenity in the air but how could you breathe it in for the rest of your life?

Satoru Gojo was the kind of man whom one could easily desire. Despite being his wife and the future mother of his children, trying to love him felt like a cyanide for you. You wanted your husband, not some Satoru Gojo oozing with knowledge and power. You wanted to look him in the eye, not just his back which you barely get a glimpse of at the crack of dawn as he occupies the sad side of the bed under a separate duvet. In earlier stages of this marriage, there was no curtain separating you and your husband’s side of the bed but after a month of utter silence and stealing glances, the first thing he installed was a curtain in the shared canopy bed. If he needed some privacy he could easily ask you to shift into another room but he bothered to talk one of those clan servants to install a fucking curtain as if the silence was not enough of a gulf in between you two.

Sometimes you thought that he was cheating on you but you always pushed it under the rug telling yourself, “You’re the wife of Satoru Gojo. No one can take that from you unless you walk out of this marriage. Not your father. Not that marriage broker —”

— Not even Gojo Satoru himself because he only married you to silence those nosy elders of his clan who pretend to be oh-so-worried for him. You were not foreign to that concept, after all, you are wrapped in the same shroud for all your life.

“You’re the wife of Gojo Satoru . . .No one . . .”

“You’re the wife of Gojo Satoru . . .”

“You’re the wife . . .”

“You’re . . .”

But the thought of getting his dick sucked by some other woman or man, or him putting his dick into someone — it filled you with too much anger to sleep in bed that night. For the first time, you miss home because there you are free to go anywhere even at night.

Satoru came home early that night, which was odd for his schedule, and was greeted with an empty bed after a long while. The sky is yet to be cracked open by sunlight. It is still too dark to be wandering around. Where could his wife have been gone to at this hour? He takes a spoonful of strawberry ice cream from the giant tub he held in his other hand before starting to look for you. But where should he look first? He does not know anything except the fact that he had put veils in different places of his house just to keep this house free of low-energy cursed spirits. Those veils sure did their job well but sometimes they would keep out non-sorcerers, people like you. His heart rejoices at the thought that he has to look for you in places only he is aware of, which means this is going to take a little less time, and he will find you much faster. Come to think of it, he has not been in the library section for a while but it is still as spotless as the first day he came here. Have you been visiting? Man! That sure worries him.

The pink layer of the tub has come down to half along with its skin being wet while the spoon is still experiencing the fierce appetite that Satoru had for anything sweet. He stands at the entrance of a long hallway before checking, thinking that this is the last place he has to look for but could it be possible that you were embarrassed enough to go back to your home?

Ahh…ahhh!

The spoon hits the wooden floor with a dull clatter as a wretched realization comes crashing down through his veins. Have you been cheating on him all this time? In his house? With some lowly servant ? Well, that sure makes it easier to end this sham of a marriage. He opens the door of a certain archive room as swiftly as possible trying to minimize the sound of his presence, making sure he does not shock you awake from your rendezvous. He is determined to catch you red-handed but when he opens the door he witnesses something that could have knocked the lights off his brain if he were not one of the greatest sorcerers of his time. The sight was not something of a fair appetite for ordinary people yet you sat by the marble slab of the giant window, with one of your arms nuked under your sapphire jinbei in between your legs as your skin glowed under that pale moonlight as if diamonds and pearls were embedded on your skin.

You were sweating, arching your body, moaning and all your husband could do was watch in awe. Your free hand travels from the bottom of your cleavage and up to the apex of your nape as you turn your head opening your eyes for a brief moment. You see the world so blurred that it spikes your approaching high, but as you open your eyes for the second time your high is gone like it never existed. Your husband, Gojo Satoru stood before you like an ivory statue of certain abandoned ruined cathedrals. The dress covers most of your body so a wave of relief washes over him despite realizing how dangerous the spot you chose . . .to . . .umh. . . pleasure yourself .

How long? How long was he watching you ? You shift your body to face him, and your hand slowly emerges from the warmth between your thighs. Satoru tries to ignore but traces of your arousal and his yearning are flourishing like fluorescence on your fingers as it rests on your thigh. You watch him gulp. Suddenly, Gojo Satoru is out of words. Teacher to his students of Jujutsu High, the strongest sorcerer, Nanami’s certified yapper is suddenly out of words. The slight slice of your boobs visible through your robe does not help either in the coherency of his thoughts. He had plans. He had plans to walk out of this marriage without being tainted as a “cheater” because the jujutsu society is so fucked up that they will not stop until they found this particular person that had made this marriage impossible to work on so that you, the wife, had to walk out it and dear God, they certainly are not fond of obstructions.

“What a nice place you chose to—” he finally looks away to keep the tub of semi-molten room-temperature strawberry ice cream on some bookshelf but before he could shift back his gaze on you again you were gone like a storm. The sound of your footsteps echoed in his ear till it stopped before he heard the click of a door. He does not understand if you are just too dumb or too brave to act the way you are acting right now. He follows you as a grunt of dismissal escapes from his chest. As he stands in front of the bathroom door he drowns yet again in utmost disbelief. He can still hear your shrill gasp of pleasure and he is not liking how his cock is responsive to it. At first, he hesitates to touch himself but the faint sound of your moans, the wet squelching sounds of your fingers moving in and out of your damp folds despite the door of the bathroom being locked buzzes in his ears like bees out in the hunt of honey.

Satoru gave up . You hear a thud as you continue to finger yourself knowing full well that your husband must have followed you all the way here after witnessing you in such a state. Indeed, you could have been accused of cheating on him without him checking the door and it would have been much worse. He sits against the bathroom door unfurling the black ribbon with a swish to take his cock out of his baggy white pants. The tip is already leaking. His cock is throbbing in his palm as he encapsulates his fingers around it, moving his fingers up and down slowly. On the other side of the door, as you could finally feel the pinnacle of your high you heard a soft groan; a pain, that seemed familiar, was palpable underneath that shrill cry of pleasure. Still when your fingers touched the part inside you that almost felt like unknotting something from inside you, at the basal of your navel Satoru’s hand moved faster to chase the similar high that had started to bubble in his body under the influence of your ripples of pleasure. You heard your husband moan as tears rolled down your cheeks when you closed your eyes feeling the knot finally unwinding.

Perhaps, both of you came simultaneously. Perhaps not, because you immediately opened the door after you had calmed from your high, only to be greeted with Satoru sitting right at the opposite wall of the bathroom door, legs folded in L-manner so that he could keep his hand over his knee. His cock is still visible through his white pants and it is still so hard. One of your eyebrows raises in silent reply . Satoru notices that. He looks at you and then looks away. You extend your hand towards his face, gaining his stern azure pair of eyes shining against whatever dim light the crack of the bathroom door could allow. There was no sign of resistance in him so as your palm touched his cheeks, you waited and gave him time to protest. yet none ever followed, instead, he surrendered to your touch, and your fingers curled under his chin as you ran your thumb over his lips. Satoru coiled against your touch imbibing as much as he could like a tide being high enough to touch the moon . . .a familiar voice shocked both of you awake.

“Lady Gojo. . .”

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some-bunniii · 1 year ago

Text

Lucifer meeting an artist reader

・❥ The King of Hell admires your paintings

x: reader is g/n :) no use of pronouns or y/n

warnings: some raunchy details of your painting & mild swearing

When you arrived in Hell, the first thing you did was scream.

Where were you? Why was it so hot? What happened to your bed?!

“You’re in Hell, kid.” A blue bat-faced man had broke the news, as you stood helpless and confused on the street.

Hell? Like, demons and dark satanic magic kind of Hell?

That couldn’t be right. Were you that bad of a person to deserve such a fate? Did the few times you passed the Salvation Army donation bucket without dropping a coin damn you to this place?

Your death was fuzzy, a trail of shattered memories that could only give you bits and pieces of your final days. Did you go quickly in your sleep? Maybe, you hit your head so hard it caused you some kind of post-death amnesia?

Whatever had happened, you were here now with no way out.

During your first few days scouring for answers, you began to notice that Hell had an eerie similarity to life above ground. There were clubs, casinos, concerts. Heck, even TV! Sure, the things broadcasted were dark and sometimes disgusting.. but at least you had something to watch.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all? At least, compared to being thrown into dark, fiery pits for all of eternity like some cruel game of sink or swim.

Minus the people, of course. Most of them were pretty bad. Your first day watching a man get shot in the chest and lines of cocaine across tables in a diner made you decide to stay away from the streets of the city.

Which meant you had to get busy making a life for yourself. It started with working odd jobs as a bartender or a bell-hopper. You’d scrap together enough money to head to the nearest art supply store, and fill your bag with paints and charcoal pencils.

“You an artist or something?” The clerk had asked you as she scanned your items, taking note of your vast amount of diverse tools you were slowly collecting every time you stopped by.

“I usually paint, but yes, I used to do all kinds of mediums professionally when I was.. alive,” You had whispered that last part out with a pang of sadness, the reality of your situation still a fresh wound in your mind.

You had found an ad for an art studio, ran by a demon named Alexandre. You had showed him a few of your pieces, some pretty landscapes, a rendition of the Starry Night Sky which you had replaced the backdrop to be Pentagram city instead of whatever little village it was originally, and a self portrait.

“You got talent, i’ll give you that,” He had hummed, as his eyes scanned your paintings with intrigue, “But the subject? Not really what we’re looking for.”

“What do you mean?” You had asked, confusion evident in your voice.

“We’re in Hell, demons ain’t into pretty ponies and happy, little trees. They want more— eh how do i put this — sinful behavior?”

“Like…?”

“Like tits or anything that can be turned into a kink. They like blood and guts, and dead people splayed around. Dead angels too. Stuff like that.”

Tits? Dead people? You didn’t have much practice with that! At least not enough to make a career out of it.

But you had agreed anyway, this was your only shot. You stayed up late into the night, sometimes even into the early mornings, perfecting your skill when it came to much more risqué visuals. You would buy stacks of pornograohic magazines, flipping through for poses to memorize.

Slowly, you began to master the craft, and your time at the studio increased as you finally settled into life in Hell.

All you had to do was churn out painting after pastel after acrylic in the little cramped room you now called home. Alexandre would then take your pieces and sell them to the highest bidder. You’d get a percentage of the commission, using the money for whatever necessary.

Seeing as you could be mugged at literally any point in time, or anywhere for that matter, you made sure to keep a large sum of cash locked away in a double-bolted safe.

“You know Ozzie’s, that club down in the Lust Ring?” Alexandre had approached you one day, excitement in his eyes.

You shook your head as you sat behind the easel, your brush an inch from the canvas.

“Run by Asmodeus, one of the literal seven deadly sins?”

You shook your head once more.

“Fuck, you still have a lot to learn. Well, he really likes your art. He wants to buy a bunch of paintings for his club, and he’ll drop a shit ton of cash too. Ya think you can handle it?”

Your eyes had widened when he told you the exact price this sin guy was willing to pay. You had jumped from your seat, shaking his hand in profuse thanks, before scurrying off to gather more supplies.

And for a time, that’s how it went. You’d sell your steamiest paintings to Asmodeus, and other private commissions you took one after the other.

Apparently, your painting hung up in Ozzie’s was getting a lot of attention. Especially from a certain spider demon named Angel Dust.

After hearing Charlie’s decision to look for another member of their staff— someone who’d be in charge of decorating the premise with promises of love and tranquility up in Heaven— Angel Dust had taken a few snaps of your work with his phone, before showing it to Vaggie and Charlie. He had complimented your work, claiming it was ‘the best’ oil paintings he’d ever seen.

Although, in his line of work, he probably hadn’t seen many to compare yours so.

“ls this what we want in our hotel?" Vaggie had asked, motioning to a woman on the canvas that was drenched in sweat and white fluid, her private parts exposed to the audience as she posed suggestively on a stripper pole.

To which Charlie has responded, "I think it's... unique! You can definitely see she knows how to, um, really bring the scene to life! l'm sure she'll be open to creating our vision!"

Your phone had rung one night, with a voice on the other end begging you to come to her hotel and at least hear her offer for a new job.

Which lead you to the Hazbin Hotel, a slightly run down building that obviously needed more work. Inside and out.

“Oh my gosh! Hi there! My name is Charlie, and this is my hotel! it’s such a pleasure to meet you!”

“Thanks.. but I don’t see many guests around.” You had told her, your eyes darting around the lobby as you absorbed your surroundings.

“Well, we’re still trying to get our name out there. We’re not just any hotel, we’re a hotel set on redeeming sinners!” She exclaimed with pride.

“Redeem?” You had asked her, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.

She shook her head vigorously, “This hotel.. it’s going to be amazing! We’re going to turn Sinners into well.. non-sinners! They’ll be rehabilitated, and have morals! And honor! Heaven won’t be able to do anything but welcome them as angels!”

This idea had sounded a little far-fetched when you first heard it.

“You’ll be in charge of making art that reflects such views! Something that will make Sinners go, ‘Wow! Now that’s where I want to go!’”

“What’s in it for me?” You had asked.

“Well you’ll have your own room, and your own little studio too! I’m sure it’s much bigger than the one you already have. Plus we have a bar, and good company!”

You turned your head to the small crowd of demons a few feet away. A pornstar, a gambler, a snake guy with weird little walking eggs, and a really creepy man in a red coat that shot you a wide smile with eyes that seemed to stare right through your soul.

This was good company?

You contemplated her words, thinking deeply. Did you really need to leave the studio you were already a part of? You already had a room and place to paint, anyway.

Charlie must have noticed your hesitation to accept before quickly adding,

“Anddd you can sell your pieces here too! Plus, you can keep a hundred percent of the earnings.”

You perked up at that, the money made from your art would be... all yours? And, you’d get a breather from the drawing people having sex? That didn’t sound so bad after all!

“Deal!” You had reached out a hand, shaking hers with delight.

It had taken you a day or two to map out the interior of the hotel and figure out what could go where. You began to slowly brainstorm, what could make a sinner stare at a canvas and want to redeem themselves?

During your time on earth, you studied many artists through history. Most notably however, were those from the Renaissance. You remembered walking through the Sistine Chapel when you were younger,

staring at awe of the paintings of winged angels and heavenly skies.

You perked at that thought. That was it! The inspiration for your paintings, an ethereal perspective on what one would find in heaven. The feelings of bliss and care-free joy.

You spent your first few days in an undisturbed area of the hotel, it was a large room on the farthest side of the lobby. It must’ve been a guest room at one point, but other than a bed and few cushions that the ‘Radio Demon’ had placed for you, it was empty.

It was quiet enough that you could sit there, undisturbed, as you drew upon your memories and vast knowledge of histories in art as you slowly began to bring your ideas to life. Slowly, the room also took form into being yours, personal knick-knacks and stacks upon stacks of blank canvases waiting to bring your visions to life.

At the end of every day, you'd come out with your hands covered in charcoal and paint, your hard work on full display.

You had even grown closer to the other residents in the hotel, beginning to see them as more than their initial appearance. Even Alastor, who still kind of gave you the creeps, you had regarded as someone you could speak to without hesitation.

You’d sit on the couches with Angel Dust, drowning in popcorn as you watched whatever was on TV for the night. Sometimes, you’d sit with Husk at the bar as you listened to his stories from his days at the casino and as an Overlord.

It was there, when Charlie had summoned the courage to call her father, Lucifer, the King of Hell, to come visit the hotel and decide on getting her that meeting with the higher powers in Heaven.

Upon hearing about Lucifer's impending visit, you felta mixture of nerves and excitement. You've heardstories about him-his charisma, his power--but you never expected to meet him, let alone showcase your art to him. Would he even like them? He's no doubt seen much more beautiful sights.

As preparations for Lucifer's visit got more chaotic by the minute, you found yourself back in your Atelier, quickly cleaning up your room and berating yourself for any little mistakes you found in your paintings. Each stroke of the brush carried with it a sense of urgency, a desire to impress not just your friends at the hotel, but also the King of Hell himself.

The current piece you were working on was your most intense one yet. It depicted that of an almost nude man, flying high in the skies. His back was faced towards you, his face hidden from view. He was faced towards the sun, which bathed him in a warm glow. Arms outstretched, knees curled in, it seemed as if the angel was going to give the sun a large bear-hug.

It wasn’t until you heard loud commotion in the lobby did you realize Lucifer had arrived. Quickly dropping the brush you were holding, you sneaked down the stairs and quickly neared the archway of the lobby.

Peaking your head out, you canned the large room. Until your eyes locked in a pale figure. Lucifer.

He was beautiful, definitely held the looks of an angel that fell from heaven. His light blonde hair curled elegantly around his face. The candles from the chandelier above basked him in an ethereal glow, as though he could replace the sun itself. Just like the angel from your painting.

His eyes reminded you mostly of a snake. Calculating and cold, but holding so much wisdom and depth. There was a slight sadness there as well, as though itate at him slowly, consuming his soul. It was masked incredibly well though, and you only caught a glimpse before it disappeared.

His attitude toward his daughter made your heartmelt, it was obvious he cared about her in the way heacted and spoke to Charlie, even if his absence didn't speak so fondly of him.

As Lucifer and Alastor butted heads, you quickly scurried back to your room. You had hoped to finish your work-in-progress by the time he arrived, but the struggle to get those damn angel wings to be anatomically correct was a pain.

You hurriedly continued your work, trying to calm your nerves by busying yourself with the painting in front of you.

Charlie's voice broke you out of your concentration soon after, multiple footsteps closing in on where your room lay. You shot up from your seat, and stood up straight, ready to meet the man of the hour.

You couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation mixed with apprehension as they approached your make-shift gallery.

Charlie, Vaggie, and— wow, he looked so much better up close— Lucifer stepped through the doorway.

“Dad, this is the newest addition to our staff! They are in charge of helping to inspire our future guests through the power of art!" Charlie proclaimed with glee, pulling you by the arm towards her father.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, your majesty. I apologize for being so messy, I was just finishing up another painting." You had greeted him softly.

"Don't worry, you look great," He assured, a gleam in his eyes, "and the pleasure is all mine, anyone who is willing to help my little girl is someone worth meeting,"

You stood there for a moment. Unsure of where to go next, before you felt a slight nudge from Charlie that pulled you back to reality, "Why don't we take a look at your paintings? I promise you, Dad, they are amazing!" She squealed softly.

Beckoning Lucifer forward, you took him through each painting. You described your feelings for each piece, and what made you choose them for the hotel.

You rambled on and on, and Lucifer never said anything, he just listened as you spoke.

Which made you nervous, what was he thinking? Did he like them, or was he just waiting for you to stop talking so he could quickly escape to something of more interest to him? The thought made sweat dribble down your forehead.

To your surprise, Lucifer's reaction to your art was not what you expected. Instead of dismissing it as mere frivolity, he studied each piece with genuine interest, his expression thoughtful and contemplative.

He mostly stayed quiet, but once in awhile would throw in a joke here and there if he noticed anything of interest in the paintings.

His goofy nature that you caught onto watching him earlier was barely evident though, unlike when he was trying to impress his daughter.

After finishing the small tour, you turned to him in anticipation. Your hands nervously rubbing together, as you shot a glance to Charlie, and she gave you an uncertain look. You both held the same question in your gaze: What is he thinking?

"These paintings.." Lucifer began, his voice low and melodic, "Are different than most i've seen down here, not just some scandalous display, but with real meaning. They evoke emotions long buried, memories of a time before.. all this."

His words caught you off guard, and you found yourself nodding in agreement, unable to tear your gaze away from his intense eyes.

The one he was staring at in particular was a recreation of The Garden of Eden by Jan Breghal, a painting that depicted the place where humanity was birthed, and where it fell.

“Does it look like.. how you remembered?" You had asked slowly, if anyone could validate the truth in your work, it would be him.

"Actually, this is much prettier. The real deal doesn't do your painting justice," He replied, "It was so boring, just green on green."

Also," He added, "An unfortunate lack of ducks. Humanity should be grateful that I got them out of that forest, so they could see something actually worthwhile.. and with ducks."

You giggled softly at his words, have you ever met someone that seemed to love ducks as much as him?

As Lucifer continued to explore the room, you couldn’t help but notice the way he lingered on certain paintings, his fingers tracing the delicate lines with reverence. It was as if he saw something in your art that no one else did, something profound and personal.

Perhaps your choice of baby-faced angels, and ethereal landscapes brought back memories of his time in Heaven. Hopefully, that wasn't a bad thing.

When Lucifer finally turned to you, his gaze softened, a hint of something unreadable lurking beneath the surface. "You have a rare gift," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "To create beauty in a place like this... it's truly remarkable."

He looked at you for a moment, before a smile crept onto his lips. He was Lucifer, he knew exactly what you meant. It's what drove him to manipulate Eve to eat from the Tree of Life in the first place.

Was he finally getting a glimpse of the good free will brought to humanity? Was there actually meaning in his past actions that sent him to the depths of Hell?

His gaze narrowed in on the canvas behind you, and he slipped past you. "What is this?" He asked with intrigue, pointing towards your unfinished painting.

“My final piece. I've been working on it for days, but I just can't get the wings right.. believe it or not, i've never actually seen angel wings in person." You said that last bit as a joke.

His smile sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. For the King of Hell, it was surprisingly warm, and kind.

Then an idea struck you, but you tried to desperately to push it down. Except it seemed like the only time you could ask someone with angel wings to let you use them as a reference. How many fallen angels were in Hell, anyway?

"I'm so sorry if this is out of line, but. could I, um, borrow you for a little bit? I've just been having trouble drawing the wings correctly and you, well, have them?”

His eyes widened, and his chest puffed slightly at your question. He shot you a toothy grin, “Paint me? Why didn't you mention that earlier?! I have the perfect figure for such a thing.”

Behind him, Charlie rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile on her lips. You smiled too, you should've known he'd have no problem with it, he was the embodiment of pride after all.

He plopped down on a stool before you, and removed his overcoat. Beneath what seemed to be a red and white gatsby vest that hugged his frame perfectly. Jeez, he was almost too good looking.

He stretched out his large wings, folding the otherfour behind him, only revealing the two much largerones. They were breathtaking, truly. They looked so fluffy too!

You guided him on the exact position you needed them to be in, before making your way to the canvas and getting to work.

Assuring the group you only needed to get a visual on the canvas, the actual work you would do on your own. Slowly, you traced the frame of his wings, etching out the soft lines of his feathers and the curvatures of its form.

You could only imagine how soft those feathers were and what it would be like to curl around them like a pillo-

You shook your head to rid those thoughts. Why were you thinking such things about Lucifer like that? It's not like he would even want to let you go anywhere near him or his wings.

Would he?

You continued your painting, trying not to meet his gaze as you would occasionally peak your head from behind the large canvas to get another good look at his wings.

There was a moment when you two did lock eyes, and he sent a half-lidded smirk in your direction. Thankfully the large object between you two helped hide your growing blush. He was obviously just trying to get you worked up, you assured yourself. Just like he did with Alastor. In a different way, of course.

"This reminds me of when Charlie was younger" Lucifer began, filling the silence, "We sat for a good few hours trying to get a family portrait painted and she would just not sit still!”

“Dad.. please, not right now." Charlie growled out in embarrassment, her cheeks flushed. Vaggie only smiled beside her, listening intently as Lucifer filled everyone in on her younger years.

“lt got to the point where I had to summon her favorite toy to get her to stop squirming, everything was smooth sailing after that.

"And what was her favorite toy?" You inquired softly behind the canvas

“A rubber duck! Like the ones you play with in the bath? She could not get enough of it whenever it squeaked. One time the squeaker broke, and I went to my workshop and crafted her a magical one that meowed instead! Haha!"

Okay, this family really has a thing for ducks!

“She hated it, but that only inspired me to keep making more. Sometimes, we'd sit together on the work bench, and I would just come up with ideas like confetti-spitting, or color changing ducks. She wasn't too good at speaking at that time, so every time she'd laugh that was my clue that she liked it!"

It was sweet, the way he rambled about his daughter. He never spoke of himself or his accomplishments, despite embodying the sin of pride. It was almost like his only pride was his best creation, Charlie.

He continued, the room full of jokes and laughter, even from Vaggie, regarding Charlie's life as a youngling. You listened intently to his stories, his voice dripping with amusement as he recounted story after story.

lt was so sappy and you loved it. Which made you grumble quietly to yourself, why did you have to have a thing for DILFS?! Concentrate on the painting!

After a moment, Lucifer's eyes turned back to the paintings around him, his gaze scanning each painting once more. "I've noticed that you seem to have a repetition in your work.. not that that's a bad thing!" He quickly corrected.

“But in all of your paintings featuring angels, there's always a swan swimming or resting nearby. Do they hold any significance, or are they just a passion for you?"

You looked up from the canvas, and also traced the angelic figures across the room. He was right, with the images of the divine beings also came the appearance of the large, white water fowl. Lying lazily beside the angels, or swimming across pools of water as the care-free beings danced and frolicked.

You contemplated for a moment, before speaking truthfully.

“I just think Swans are elegant and ethereal creatures. They embody the purest of souls, untouched by the taint of sin that consumes the world, just like how their feathers remain untouched from the waters they glide on"

Lucifer's eyes lit up slightly, drinking up your words.

“Plus," You continue, "they mate for life, and allow themselves to just.. decay once their significant other departs from the world. It's very romantic, and love is one of the purest emotions in the world."

Lucifer wasn't looking at you when your eyes met his again, his stare was far off. Past the room entirely, as your words echoed through him. There it was again, the glimpse of sadness that he tried to hide so painfully well.

“Does such love like that exist?," he murmured so softly you had to strain your ears.

There was a few moments of deathly silence before Charlie piped up, asking her father something about heaven. You tried to listen, but your mind was stuck on his words. Lucifer was in heaven once, and he still didn't fully believe in such things?

If there weren't others in the room, perhaps you would’ve asked him.

It took a few more minutes before you were able to wrap up fully, but you had no regrets of asking this man for help, the angel on the canvas actually looked like he had wings, not just stumps of white tuft.

You got up from your seat and walked towards him, noticing that Charlie and her girlfriend were not present anymore. It was just you and Lucifer in theroom now.

“Well, thank you, Your Majesty. You really helped me out here, and it'll go a long way to make the hotel look even better"

“Please, call me Lucifer. The formalities are only for subjects, not friends," he replied, "l did really enjoy getting to see your paintings, you are quite a phenomenal artist. I wasn't lying when I said your work was different from the rest. If only you were around for those family portraits."

You were so taken aback by his praise that you only shrugged it off, like it was no big deal. Even though, coming from the King of Hell, it was.

Glancing behind him, you saw Charlie and Vaggie whispering to each other in the hallway outside of the door. You assumed they probably wanted to finish up so they could get him to agree to the meeting with Heaven.

lgnoring his previous statement of formalities— he was the king, you thought, you weren't going to just pat him on the back and say 'see ya! —you lowered your head and bent down to curtsy, just like you were taught when you were younger, placing your hand slightly in front of you.

Usually, you'd use that hand to shake or grasp the other person's, but it felt wrong to treat this powerful angel like any other man.

Suddenly, you felt the soft touch of fingers gliding across your hand. In confusion, you looked up at those golden eyes and that charming smile. Trying to get a glimpse of what he was thinking.

His hand gripped yours gently, and with a bow of his own, lowered his lips, and pressed a soft kiss your knuckles.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you feared to blink, soaking in his beauty for as long as you could before he had the chance to pull away. You wanted to say something, but your tongue was refusing to work as your mouth opened and closed silently.

When he finally released your hand, he adjusted his hat and turned towards the door. Leaving you standing there, your face burning hot

He cleared his throat, and turned his head slightly, his eye catching yours. A playful smile dancing on his lips.

“l look forward to our next portrait together, hopefully where I am the motivation behind your strokes. Not just these dull wings."

And with his words hanging in the air, you were left alone, with the growing itch to press your face into a pillow and squeal.

——————

awww man, my first fic! I was trying to make this more dating-centric, but i couldn’t stop writing for their first meeting and it got too long haha! If y’all like this one enough, i’ll make a dating version!

let me know what you think 🙏 i reallyyyy appreciate all comments and criticisms!!

wonderful art i commissioned by DawnDrawnS on twitter! <3

#Hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hellverse #OOC Lucifer?#He just ain’t as goofy #But I HC he’s only like that around Charlie :)#fanfiction #writing

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zarnzarn · 4 months ago

Text

the angsty prequel to this (ik there's plotholes now but shh I'll fix it in a bit) that i accidentally made after getting possessed and writing for 3 hours straight for what was supposed to be a short hc post jfc. angst ahead (brain damage talk, temporary mcd), but there's a happy ending!

zeus saying he's going to make athena's "kingdom fall" doesn't make sense unless you consider. the lightning bolt she takes to the face gives her brain damage.

no one notices at first. Athena brushes it all off, goes to odysseus, oversees their long-awaited reunion. stays in their house after- because it's not like they'll be around forever, after all. and she can do her work just as well from down here- there's no need, to be honest, to go back to Mount Olympus. anyone who needs her comes to Ithaka, and she's content, for the first time in a very, very long time.

and then one day odysseus comes across her seizing on the floor.

she doesn't know the details of what happened- only remembers the first terrified scream of horror, remembers warm hands on her face and being carried to a bed, remembers Penelope's voice shaking as she drags a wet cloth across her forehead. comes to confused and mute minutes later, wandering around and stumbling into walls, unresponsive to the voices begging her to stop, to rest.

finally, she reaches a familiar room with a familiar face, and she touches Telemachus on the cheek lightly before collapsing onto the nearest chair. panicked voices chatter above her and calloused palms lift her face up to meet her own grey eyes, worried and scared, and it finally dawns on her that something has gone terribly wrong.

(later she will find out odysseus held her and sobbed the whole night, knowing more than anyone else what had happened to her and what it meant; he'd taken the throne at thirteen for the same reason, after all)

(later she will find out that penelope wrote to every ally they had within the hour for healers and literature; letting more than half their cleverly planned schemes fall through in exchange for it as she begged)

(later, she will find out that telemachus went running barefoot through the market, banging on doors and shouting for the healers and making the alarmed roused villagers sing prayers for her even though it was the middle of the night)

she recovers under the attention; court abandoned in favour of emergency, odysseus proclaims when he bullies her into placing her head in his lap so he can massage her aching head, not having left her side for six straight days in a row. penelope comes in every few hours, feeding her the olives from the wedding bed she lies in, unable to move, and brushes out her hair. telemachus barely shows during the days, but he comes in every evening without fail, curling up by her side and hugging her tight.

but it happens again. and again and again, and each time she regains consciousness in one of the royal family's arms, no matter where she was at the time. she never remembers it, only has the disgusting taste in her mouth and dried spit on her chin and tears in the eyes of those around her to know it happened.

she loses time as well- has no idea how long it's been happening until she becomes aware of the sound of Odysseus' calm, steady voice dragging her out of a trance, gentle fingers tracing her palm as they stand next to an unassuming tapestry. she'll be walking one moment and be lost to everything around her the next, staring at nothing.

Odysseus has done this all before, she realises one day, when he seamlessly pulls her out of another relapse and ropes her into a cheerful, easy conversation about goats that Athena keeps having stilted replies to.

"Do you know how to do this because-" She murmurs, and his eyes go wide and then grieving.

"Yes," He murmurs sadly, and Athena feels guilt settle in her belly at making him go through this again. He massages at her temples, and she closes her eyes, listening to the smile in his voice. "But there is no hardship, Pallas Athena. The sadness is that you have to go through this, not for the taking care of a cherished one."

"And anyways, Laertes suffered madness in the wake of a terrible fever and the stress of a famine," Penelope says without looking up from the newest scrolls they'd received. Athena feels the guilt worsen at the sleep bags under her eyes, when she knew the reason and just didn't have the courage to- "Your sudden collapses could be due to this one witch curse we found, or perhaps a-"

"It was Zeus."

The room falls silent as two heads slowly turn to look at her.

"What?" Odysseus says quietly, with barely withheld rage.

Athena takes a shuddering breath. "I am sorry, my Penelope, that I didn't have the courage to tell you before." Penelope leaves the desk to cross the room to her, and Athena feels tears prick at her eyes as the queen takes her hand. "But when I petitioned the court of Olympus, Zeus did not take kindly to everyone agreeing to me over him- and such was his punishment. To make-"

Her breath hitches in a sob and she notes with surprise that she's crying. Penelope and Odysseus are both crying with her, staring down in horror.

"To make my kingdom fall, he said," Athena whispers, shoulders jerking oddly as she forces it out, acknowledges what he'd done. "But my kingdom is the mind and-"

Odysseus lets out an animal cry of sorrow and descends on her, pulling her to his chest as she breaks down into shivering tears, the fear running through her as she realises the scale, the enormity of the consequences. Penelope stands by the bed and trembles with anger for a full minute, before she crumples too, crawling into their bed and pressing Athena tight between them.

"I forget things," She confesses in a whisper, shaking. "I blank out during fights, cannot recall certain strategies- I- I do not know how much worse-"

"Easy, darling, easy," Penelope whispers in a rush, stroking her face. Odysseus really is so lucky to have her as a wife, she thinks disjointedly, pressing into the gentleness. "Don't say that. It won't get worse."

"And even if it does," Odysseus continues, pressing a kiss to her cheek, where the lichtenberg scars cross her right eye, to her brow. "We will write down everything you know, copy it a hundred times and keep it safe. So you will never forget."

"And we will find you a Lytrakas owl, to keep you safe when we are no longer here to do it," Penelope murmurs, lips brushing Athena's neck as she speaks. She relaxes finally under the combined reassurances, at the solutions and possibilities that would work, finding a content she has never achieved before in their embrace. "We will keep you safe, our goddess."

And they do. When she teaches the children of Ithaka sparring, at least one of them is there, ready to intervene smoothly if they sense something wrong. They make the books they promised her, and she sends it to her realm, so she doesn't lose them. They cannot come with her when she has to travel- she wouldn't ask it of any of them- but Telemachus is always humming a hymn when she's away so she remembers where to return. When she dissociates in the middle of talking, Penelope guides her over to the loom so she can weave until she feels better, muscle memory kicking in enough for it to help the gradual lift of the fog.

Odysseus always somehow knows when she's about to have a seizure, in the forty years after that they spend together. In all her time in Ithaka, she never woke up from one without the familiar gravely cadence of Odysseus singing under his breath above her, head in his lap and Telemachus perched on her thighs or Penelope by her shoulders.

But it can't last forever.

Odysseus kicks her out of the room when he dies, Penelope's breath already slowing on the bed behind him, peaceful in the way that means she won't survive the night. They all know Odysseus will go with her, and Athena feels herself tremble as Odysseus gently guides her outside.

"You are not watching us pass," He tells her firmly, as she opens her mouth to scream at him. He's an old man now, but his eyes are the same, and the different versions of him flash in front of her eyes as he gives her a crooked smile. "I will not have you watch, are you crazy?"

"Odysseus," She chokes out, gripping tight onto her spear.

"My beautiful, wonderful goddess," Odysseus murmurs adoringly, leaning up to press their foreheads together. She sobs. "Thank you. For everything. And know-" His breath hitches. "-know that, for the rest of your existence, remember it- that you were loved."

"How can I ever forget?" She smiles back through the tears. "I will never be the same."

"My Athene," He whispers, swaying them back and forth. She closes her eyes, trembling, and pulls him into their last embrace, last touch.

"You will always be my favourite," She confesses, half-laugh, half-sob.

Odysseus smirks at that, a trace of smugness, then turns to a sobbing, chuckling Telemachus, who's also been kicked out, pulls them both in a hug. "We will meet again, my son," he murmurs. "But Penelope is waiting for me now. Goodnight."

He closes the door, two bright last flashes of smiles aimed at them as it shuts and Athena and Telemachus both fall to pieces.

Telemachus takes twice the care of her than his parents did, somehow juggling ruling the kingdom and spending as much time as he can with her as he can. His wife is sly and mischievous, more fox than owl- but Athena loves her too, just as she loves their children. Telemachus goes with a smile on his face and an arrow in his heart, having taken an arrow for someone else, holding Athena's hand as he laughs for the last time.

It is horrible and she wanders around desolately for days, grieving. But then she sees bright eyes spying on her from behind a bush, carefully watching her to see if she's alright and Athena smiles and goes back to continue the legacy.

For 500 years, Ithaka does not fall- when it does, she makes sure the grey-eyed children all make it off the island, scattering on the mainland as at last, her job is done.

Which means there is nothing left for her here, and it is time to go back to Mount Olympus.

She's met with teasing quips and pointed comments, but general ignorance, no one bothering to ask where she was. After almost six hundred years of care, it feels untethering and strange, but the grief of losing Ithaka makes her relieved for it, even if she has to lie down sometimes, press her face into the roots of the olive tree scattered about in her realm and pretend there are three sets of hands in her hair, a familiar voice humming above her.

How did you do it, she wants to ask Penelope. How did you survive knowing what you were missing, she wants to ask Odysseus. Will you sit with me one last time, she wants to ask Telemachus.

Eventually, she can no longer bear the quiet, and one evening she sets out and crosses the pantheon floor to go gently sit down in Apollo's room.

Artemis is there, slouched on the floor with mud in her hair and an arrow in her eye as Apollo chides her. They both look up when she comes in, bowing and worriedly asking if something was wrong.

"Nothing," she says, ignoring the pang of sadness that that would be the only reason she was here. But the idea of leaving back to the books written in Odysseus' horrible chickenscratch penmanship is worse, and she takes a tentative seat in the corner. "Continue your work."

They do so hesitantly, conversation slower and interspersed with bouts of asking her if she wanted ambrosia or a new dish or something while she was here. She declines.

She feels awkwardness radiating off all three of them as she leaves an hour later, but it doesn't stop her from coming back again, stubborn. She will hold a conversation this time- it has been two decades since Ithaka, but that is nothing to her, and she cannot have forgotten how so soon.

Apollo seems to have prepared for the same thing this time, lighting up with a pleased grin like he wasn't sure she would come. "Enter!" He says cheerfully. "Come here, give me your wisdom on this piece I've been composing- I know, I know, owls are not songbirds, but just see if you can help, it's driving me mad-"

Athena closes her mouth and listens to the melody quietly. Thinks about how Telemachus' third daughter would have spun it, added her Ithakan folk style to it, interspersed the perfection with carefree, imperfect beats.

"May I?" She asks, holding her hands out, and Apollo's mouth drops, even as he scrambles to hand her the lyre. She concentrates, trying to pull the melody out from the strings. "Here," she says, manifesting her spear and shield and handing it to an increasingly wild-eyed Apollo. "Bang them together. Create a tempo."

They create something of a passing song in the next few hours until Athena's headache makes its way to the forefront and she has to retreat. Apollo accompanies her across the floor to her room, pressing herbs onto her even as he chatters a mile a minute, excitedly going on and on about new ideas and begging Athena to come by again. She smiles, briefly, and promises to return when she is free, going back to her pallet under the olive trees.

(She cannot bear to sleep anywhere else.)

The next day, Apollo is busy creating new songs and she knows better than to disturb him. She turns and goes to his twin's realm instead, shedding her armour for bark and a bow. Artemis and her women look as equally terrified as Apollo did at the start, looking at her like she's lost her mind, but they all straighten up when Athena raises an eyebrow and silently descend on the night.

"You must teach me!" Artemis enthuses at the end of it. She does not do anything other than scowl often, but she looks more like her twin than ever now, as she beams up at her. "I never knew there were so many strategies, how much smoother-"

"Peace," Athena chuckles, amused. "I will teach you, sister. Next fortnight?"

"Aye," Artemis says, hair matted and covered in filth, eyes sparkling.

"Here," Athena says, taking out her own ribbon- one of the many she has from Penelope, braided in her hair from all those years ago- and turns Artemis around to tie her mess of a mane out of her eyes. "Do not impede your vision in the name of wildness."

"Okay," Artemis squeaks quietly, and Athena snorts and squeezes her shoulder as she departs.

She sits in Aephastus' forge next, watching him create weapon after weapon, with the best of each round being blessed onto a blacksmith in the mortal world.

"Come to see if my work is up to par, Pallas Athena?" Aephastus says self-deprecatingly, a flash of resigned hurt in his eyes.

"No. I wish to learn," Athena decides suddenly, pushing herself up and removing her helmet at the blast of heat that comes from the forge as she nears. "It is shameful, I think, that I know not how my own tools are made."

Aephastus stares at her with surprise, then his kind eyes crinkle into a smile. "Only if you let me replace that," He nods to her admittedly rather dented helmet. "I have been wanting to fix your armour to something respectable for centuries."

Athena laughs.

Of course, once it is done, she has to use it. It fills her with excitement she had almost forgotten, the idea of a good, difficult spar, and she barges into Aphrodite's realm and bangs on the edge of the bed with her new spear, making the occupants screech and jump in fright.

"Good evening," She nods at Aphrodite, who looks to the side and then back at her as if she'll find an explanation somehow, stunned. She turns to her brother, and tries on a grin. "Ares, my brother. Would you care to spar? Aephastus has gifted me this new set and I find myself eager to test it out."

"...Are you fucking possessed?" Ares asks her, flabbergasted, and she clicks her tongue and smacks him upside the head.

"Yes or no?" She says, crossing her hands.

"Y- yes, yes!" Ares blurts out, straightening up. He looks something approaching disbelieving excitement, a small, tentative grin appearing on his face. "You are... not joking, right?"

"Do I look like I joke?" Athena jokes, smiling. Ruffles his hair in a bout of fondness. "You are the only one who will actually give me a good fight, as erratic as you are. I look forward to it."

"What did I FUCKING MISS?" Aphrodite shrieks after her as she goes. "Wha- Athena, get back here, you better have not fallen in love while I wasn't looking-!"

But Athena's not ready to face Aphrodite just yet, so she takes advantage of their height difference and strides back to her realm as her sister chases her, shouting.

The next day, they meet in the arena, and Athena feels herself freeze up as soon as she steps in. Sees the lightning scorch marks on the ground she had almost forgotten, and cannot move.

"ATHENA!" Ares booms, snapping her out of it. "TODAY YOU WILL MEET YOUR DEFEAT AT MY HANDS AT LAST!"

"WHY ARE YOU SO ANNOYING," She shouts back automatically, and Ares bursts out in a peal of laughter, surprised out of him. She knows he has three aspects- the boyish glory-seeker, the soldier filled with bloodlust, the hardened warrior- but Athena thinks the first one suits him best.

He readjusts his grip on his sword and grins. "Begin!"

She continues this, finding a strange happiness she never had before in meeting all the other gods, major and minor. She'd never known how intimidated they all were by her, but they open up readily enough, bringing her peace for a little while as she sits with them.

(She avoids Aphrodite, who is getting increasingly more frazzled by the day as she fails to find a hidden lover that does not exist and then switches to trying to find Athena a companion when it is clear that there is no one, in a comic game of chase around the realms that is a great source of amusement to everyone else.

She avoids Hermes too, because it hurts too much to see him. But she leaves him a book of riddles once in a while, when he's away, and he always takes it.)

Hera walks in her room one day, with her train of peacocks and attendants.

"God-Queen," Athena bows, setting her weaving down.

"Athena," Hera nods back. "I hear you have been visiting your siblings."

Athena nods, confused. "Yes?"

Hera studies her and Athena shifts, wondering what she's seeing. "The Pantheon is no longer silent, you know. The Olympians meet in the court almost every day, sharing their gifts with each other. Something I have found out is because of you."

Athena has no idea where this is going.

Hera shifts closer, opening her mouth to say something, then her eyes catch on the weaving, widening in shock. "What is that?"

Athena looks down, also unaware of what exactly she'd made. Then her heart skips a beat in fear.

"No, no, no, no," Athena snaps to her feet, shaking her hands out in dismissal, trying to stop the impending damage. "This is not what you think it is."

Hera's eyes are getting wider and wider, a manic grin on her face. "Athena! A wedding veil? Do you-"

"No!" Athena interrupts. "No, Hera, it's nothing like that, please-"

"Nonsense!" Hera says, grabbing it from her and holding it to the light, grinning wider than Athena has seen from her in years. "You must have made it for a reason. Do not worry daughter, I know you are shy, I will handle it all."

"Hera, it really is not like that!" She pleads. "I was simply weaving- I made a fisherman's garb the other day as well, it does not mean I want to get out into the sea!"

"Have you made the rest of the outfit as well?" Hera says excitedly, ignoring her as she moves to the wardrobe to rifle through. "Oh, Athena, how beautiful! Is this what you would like to wear?"

She pulls out a men's wedding outfit and Athena stops protesting to stare in disbelief. When had she made that?

"I must go announce this to the others," Hera squeals, bangles jangling. "Oh, I had almost given up on you, dear, but you have made me so happy today! I would have arranged something for you so long ago, why didn't you tell me you were interested?"

"Because I am not," She groans, pulling her hands down over her face. "Hera, please, I do not even have anyone-"

"Easily remedied," Hera dismisses her with the wave of a hand as she strides off. "Oh Aphrodite, you won't believe what I just found in your sister's closet! Look!"

A deafening din rises from the crowd there and Athena is forced to tackle Hera to the ground.

She laughs, surprisingly, and tosses the outfit over to Aphrodite, who snatches it up with a scream of excitement. Athena is immediately flanked by a crowd of screaming gods, each talking over the other, and Athena has to bellow at them all for two hours before the misunderstanding is cleared.

"Oh, but you really have outdone yourself with this one," Aphrodite gushes appreciatively as she lands next to a panting Athena. She turns it back and forth. "So soft, and such patterns! The Ithakan style, yes?"

Then her smile drops like a stone as she hears her own words and freezes, and Athena's stomach swoops, heart skipping a beat as she stops breathing. Aphrodite turns to her slowly, cold horror in her eyes, realisation solidifying at the terrified, raw, pained expression on Athena's face.

"The Ithakan style," She repeats in a whisper, horrified grief creeping into her voice. "Athena-"

Athena snatches the outfit from her and closes herself off in her realm, breathing hard in the dim blue light of the olive tree orchard. She suddenly realises she's holding the robes against her chest and unfolds it hurriedly to look at them.

It is the Ithakan style. It is, in fact, a mix of Penelope's and Odysseus' wedding outfits, in her size.

She throws it into a trunk and screams.

She does not know if Aphrodite tells Hera, but the latter does not stop coming by every day to pester her for details of an imaginary wedding.

So now she has three gods to avoid.

But of course, the effects of her affliction cannot be hidden forever. She gets up one day from the Pantheon floor to retrieve the threads from her room to be used in the game they are playing, and feels the room swim in a familiar, hated manner, and she only has a moment to feel dread before she tilts sideways and falls.

When she regains consciousness, she feels for a moment the delicate hands on her cheeks, the weight of a young man on her belly, the gravely singing above her- and then it dissipates and she becomes aware of shouting all around her.

"Can you hear me? Athena, can you hear me?" Hera says, shaking her. "WILL SOMEONE FIND APOLLO?"

Athena moans and pushes off the hands on her body, bruising in their panic. She pushes herself up, ignoring the dizziness. "Do not bother."

"Athena, what on Gaia was that?" Ares demands, ashen. "Have I injured you? What-"

"It is of no concern," Athena snaps, getting to her feet and glaring at them, mortification blazing through her. "All I need is rest. Goodnight."

They shout after her, but she's already at her room, closing the shields back up. It nearly knocks her out again to do so, and she barely drags herself to her bed before she collapses.

"What are you staring at?" Hypnos asks her the next day, confused. Athena blinks and realizes she's standing between the thrones, facing an odd patch of wall and losing time.

"Nothing," She sighs, and hefts her spear and walks away.

She fends off all other questions, curt and snapping, and the others uneasily let it go. She has not forgotten her purpose, after all, and will not do anything less than a perfect job, even with this impediment.

Yet-

"Athena," Aphrodite shakes her, and Athena blinks as she comes to herself. It is night, Pantheon bathed in blue and both of them in their nightclothes. Aphrodite is crying and Athena's face is wet.

"What-?" She murmurs.

"You were calling out for Odysseus," Aphrodite whispers, sounding stricken. "Asking him to stop hiding from training. Then laughing with nothing and telling Penelope to stop tormenting your allies."

It hits her straight in the sternum, making her gasp with grief that hits her so hard it feels new, and oh, she misses them, she misses them, she misses them so.

She sobs, and Aphrodite brings her close, holding her as she shakes.

"What is happening, sister? Why is this happening? Please, tell us," Aphrodite pleads. "We only want to help." She pushes her back to stare at her. "It cannot be just for them- something else happened to you."

Athena cannot reply for weeping, and Aphrodite's face crumples on seeing her tears. "You loved them." She says, her own voice catching tears. "You loved them so much, didn't you? That's who the dress was for. Them."

Athena sobs louder and doesn't reply.

Zeus' eldest daughter has not talked to him for over eight hundred years.

He still burns with anger some days, on remembering her insolence, her disrespect for his orders. Yet, now it has cooled off and he rather misses her quiet presence, her wit. She is angry with him in turn, cold and formal when they talk, never meeting his eyes.

"How fares Athena?" He asks casually one day. Hera stops removing her earrings and looks up at him sharply- she's been frosty with him since that day as well, disapproving of his actions. "I have not seen her in quite some time."

"That is of your own design," Hera replies blandly. "She spends time often with her siblings now. I am quite proud of her for it, actually- it is no mean a feat to get the entire Pantheon to sit down and indulge in few games without bloodshed."

"Games?" Zeus frowns. "With the others? Why is this the first I'm hearing of it?"

"Well, if you left your realm ever, you would know." Hera says distractedly, shrugging as she takes off her necklace. "They gather in the courtroom, usually."

The wind blows in, blows out.

Zeus ponders on this in silence, thinking of what to do next. Perhaps he should extend the first hand, since she had followed all the rules. He remembers her on the ground, beaten and burning, one hand extended to beg him to let that insolent hero she had pinned all her hopes on leave Ogygia. Frowns again in discomfort at the memory.

Her gamble paid off. Even as the Greek Pantheon declined in power, the story of her hero persisted to give the gods power, to keep them remembered.

Wise Athena, he thinks fondly. Smarter than him, he can admit now.

Zeus is just about to ask Hera if Athena would appreciate a spar when the rustle of fabric past the door of their realm catches his attention.

"Who is there?" He calls out, and Hera turns as well to look. No one enters and they both look to each other with a frown.

Quick footsteps sound out and both of them push themselves to their feet immediately, armed and tense as they rush to the door.

"Athena?" Hera calls out, confused, as they look down over the empty courtroom, Athena pacing erratically silently alone in the middle, no lights on. She does not reply. "Athena!"

Zeus feels foreboding creep up on him as they carefully walk down. "What are you doing up, Athena?" He calls out, voice authoritative. Hera glares at him, and he amends his tone, gentling it. "Is something the matter?"

Athena does not stop walking, at that same hurried pace, turning around at the end of the hall and continuing back towards them, ignoring his words. Zeus feels irritation spark, but the sudden glimpse of his daughter's eyes makes the words die on his tongue, unseeing and glazed over. She does not have her armour on, and her hair is tangled and open, he suddenly realises, along with the growing certainty that something is wrong.

And then Athena drops to the ground and starts seizing.

"ATHENA!" They scream as one, and all the gods of the Pantheon come awake, lamps catching fire as they all come stumbling out of their rooms and realms. Zeus reaches out and holds her hands down as she starts clawing at herself, drawing blood. The others start shouting and crying around them, Athena's head snapping back and forth gruesomely, eyes bleeding ichor. "Athena, gather yourself!" He shouts at her. "Cease this- cease this at once, you are stronger than this!"

"She cannot hear you!" Hera cries, falling to her other side, trying to straighten Athena out from the fetal position she is curling into with painful, stuff jerks. "She never does- she doesn't-"

"This has happened before?" Zeus bellows, outraged. His answer comes in the form of Ares pulling her weapons off her body, the ones who can't help holding onto each other and hiding their faces in each other's shoulders or staring at Athena with fear as they sob.

Her arm slips Zeus' grip and swings at him erratically before he can grab it again. It nearly knocks him down, so powerful in its animal madness that he actually feels his aspect waver to half its size for a moment- but he is her father and he pulls himself together enough to stay standing, pinning her down again.

"No, let her go!" Apollo shouts as he sits down besides them in his night robes, flipping through an old book of some kind, barely holding in his own panic and fear. "Don't hold her down, give her space."

Zeus grimaces but lets her go, feeling nausea and fear rise within him as she writhes and twists, unhearing of Hera's desperate sobs for her to stop. "What is happening to her?" He demands, unable to watch. He is furious, lightning blazing in his hands as he itches to find the culprit, to find who dared to do this. "Who did this to her?"

"I do not know," Apollo says horrifically, lips pressed thin, eyes flicking up to her and then back down to the book. "But I found this in her realm- she apparently is aware of it, this is some sort of book of instructions on the affliction-"

"Give me that," Zeus growls, snatching it away, and flipping through it. "Go get a bed," He instructs, the other Olympians springing up to do so immediately, desperate to help. "Olive- olive branches, she wakes to branches. Get water- no, get ambrosia, get a cloth to wipe her face. A change of clothes. A cold compress, if she has fever. It will stop on its own, let it run its course- Muses, what is this?"

"A lullaby," Euterpe says, pulling the book down to scan it. "From old Ithaka, if I'm not mistaken."

The gods all stop and stare at her. "Ithaka?" Zeus repeats, flipping to the front of the book. "Who has written this-"

"PENELOPE!" Athena screams suddenly, making them all jump in fright. Her back arches to a painful degree, spit running down the side of her mouth as her eyes roll back in her head. "PENELOPE, TELEMACHUS-"

Aphrodite puts her hands over her ears and squeezes her eyes shut, just as Athena takes a deep breath in and screams louder than before, "ODYSSEUS!"

(In life, he had only failed her once. But now he is dead, and cannot come.)

"Odysseus, please," She moans, in the old Greek that has not been used in decades. "You promised to help, please- Penelope, where are- where is- Telemachus, please-"

Zeus feels his heart break as proud, strong Athena breaks down on the floor, calling for mortals clearly much dearer to her than they thought. But it's not the end of it- he flips through the book again, desperately searching for something to stop this, a cause, an enemy- and then he sees his own name.

Curse proud Zeus, may his life never be happy, may his legacy forever be tainted, Odysseus has written, the letters harsh and burning with fury, even though the curse means nothing from a mortal, even though he risked the ire of the gods writing it. Below it, in what must be Penelope's neat handwriting, an equally furious and clipped diagnosis is penned- brain damage, extensive but occasional, caused by a lightning bolt to the face, that targeted her realm's power and left her with seizures, memory loss and dissociation.

A lightning bolt to the face.

Zeus stands there numbly, as the Pantheon scrambles and chatters worriedly around him, hesitantly singing along to the lullaby in the book as Athena continues to shake, unresponsive. His fault. It is his fault that she is like this, that she is left reduced to calling for dead mortals, crying blood over her siblings' feet.

He did not mean to, he thinks, feeling small and pathetic and monstrous. He did not mean for this to happen- only wanted to teach her a lesson, keep his pride; had not meant for her realm to sustain damage for so long. He thought she'd healed. He thought she hadn't been hurt, past the scar on her face that he'd felt vaguely guilty about, from time to time.

How stupid he was.

"Athena," He whispers, aching to reach out, but she screams again and it's drowned out completely. His daughter. All his own, no longer his- because she was never angry at all, these past years; she simply no longer saw him as her father. And why should she, when he has done the unforgivable, when he has done what no other had managed to do, and broken her.

What has he done?

"We are here," Hera says desperately, taking Athena's head in her lap. Ares sings creakily next to her, offtune and shaking. "We are here, love."

"Odysseus," Athena wails, unseeing. "Penelope, Telemachus."

Zeus steps back to let the others rush in, each providing their own solutions, some calling to Athena entreatingly to guide her back to herself. He is not needed here- he does not deserve it, and knows not what more damage he will wreak.

I am sorry, he wants to tell her, as froth escapes her mouth like a rabid dog. I am so sorry, I beg forgiveness, my daughter, please let me fix it.

But she cannot hear him and Zeus raises his head to look for Hermes instead. The messenger god is standing at the very back, well out of view, with a blank face as he meets Zeus' gaze. He feels a surge of fury at the lack of caring, before he remembers that Athena's hero and his son were descendants of Hermes- and sees past the facade to see the other's gods multiplied distress at that fact, unable to come forward to help without possibly making it worse with the likeness.

Zeus inclines his head and then tilts it towards Hades pointedly. Hermes twitches in surprise, then nods determinedly, running off.

Zeus exhales and looks back at Athena as she finally calms, breathing hard. Shoulders slump in relief, frightened muttering taking its place- this wasn't supposed to happen to gods, to Olympians.

Zeus steps forward and brushes her hair out of her eyes as Athena loses consciousness, as they pull her onto a makeshift palanquin and prepare to take her to her room.

"I am sorry," He whispers to her, but it is far, far too late.

417 notes · View notes

onlyangel4 · 6 months ago

Text

healing a heart i didn't break. LH44. MV1. SMAU. part two.

cheater! lewis hamilton x reader. max verstappen x reader.

when your boyfriend of three years fumbles, his rival is there to put the pieces of your heart back together bit by bit.

warnings: 14 year age gap with lewis. cursing. cheating. super super angsty.

author's note: this is still building up the angst the proper max fluff will be next. for context reader and lewis broke up eight weeks before the austin gp.

part one // part three

faceclaim: camilla morrone

f1wags

liked by user12, f1fan22, user 45 and 12,382 others

f1wags: y/n y/ln and alexandra saint mleux pictured on a dog walk out near y/n's childhood home. this is the first time y/n has been pictured in a week following the revelation that lewis hamilton had been cheating on her with y/exbff. no one knows how long they have been cheating but sources seem to think it did not start last weekend and has actually been going on longer. we hope that y/n is okay.

view all 439 comments

user12: oh how i would love to hear the goss

user45: alex looked angry in some of the other pictures. i just know y/n is sitting on business

f1fan22: alex flying out to see her is true friendship y/exbff could never.

y/ninsta

liked by maxverstappen, alexandrasaintmleux, charlesleclerc and 680,928 others

y/ninsta: i'll be okay. i've got my girl.

tagged alexandrasaintmleux

view all 9,720 comments

alexandrasaintmleux: my love, i am honestly amazed how strong you have been the past three weeks. i wish to be half the woman that you are.

y/ninsta: i would not have been this strong without you and charles alex. i love you both, thank you for taking me in before i found my new place.

y/nfan: lewis cheated on her with her best friend and took the house and roscoe (WHO THEY BROUGHT WHEN THEY WERE TOGETHER) all y/n got was her husky lilo and a broken heart. I HATE MEN

charlesleclerc: i took this photo

y/ninsta: yes charles you did. well done

user37: y/n is gentle parenting charles omg

maxverstappen: hope you have been okay y/n, been thinking of you recently, missing you around the paddock.

liked by y/ninsta

user17: omg even max in on her side

f1wags

liked by f1fan43, user48, y/nlover and 34,589 others

f1wags: y/n is in her revenge dress era. the ex wag has arrived at the austin gp. she came in and watched fp1 and fp2 with charles and alex and is in the ferrari garage. we here at f1wags are so happy to see her back in the paddock. also lewis and the other girl have arrived but i don't want to post about that.

view all 8,183 comments

y/nlover: what a serve

f1fan43: THE OTHER GIRL even wag pages hate y/exbff

user48: lewis hamilton found screaming, crying, throwing up in the merc garage

user21: did you guys see max. he saw y/n walk in he stopped what he was doing jogged over to her and they had like a proper long conversation.

f1updates

liked by hamiltonupdates, f1fan, user23 and 34,5672 others

f1updates: a story in two pictures.

picture one: lewis and y/n were photographed arguing behind the mercedes motorhome. y/exbff was also there. the video shows them talking to y/n and then y/n running off crying.

picture two: a shaky video captures the moment max watched y/n run off crying and he jogged after her. she said something to him and then he pulled her into a hug while she sobbed on his shoulder. he led her inside but when she pulled away from the hug max's white shirt was almost see through. y/n is obviously going through it. we are left wondering what lewis and y/exbff told her.

view all 7,625 comments

f1fan: oh thank god for max, she looked so lost. looking around for someone to help her while paparazzi started calling her name when she was fucking sobbing.

hamiltonupdates: i am really questioning lewis rn

user23: y/n would not have gone to talk to him about just anything. this has to be big.

y/exbff

liked by lewishamilton, friendone, friendtwo and 342,837 others

y/exbff: sixteen weeks ago we made what we thought was a massive mistake that we vowed to never talk about but eight weeks ago we discovered it was the best thing ever to happen to us. baby coming march next year,

comments for this post have been disabled

taglist: @sinofwriting @toldyouitwasamelodrama @formulaal

@minkyungseokie @shrbehndwn @gr1mes-cc @nichmeddar

@liberty-barnes

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girlokwhatever · 9 months ago

Note

paige x short uconn wbb player gf hcs!!! but like their relationship isn’t public 🫣

(short as in like 5’3-5’5 hehe)

paige bueckers x short!wcbb player!gf hcs

୭ ✧ ˚. 🏀✧˚ · .༊*·˚𐦍༘⋆ paige with a short basketball player gf,,

— you caught her eye INSTANTLY during basketball workouts at uconn

— she was actually so impressed to find out you’re an 83% three-point shooter

— at first during practice she was so scared to even run near you because she didn’t want to hurt you or actually tumble over you

— made a bet with the rest of the team that she could jump over you..

- obviously it didn’t work

— in practice she’ll lift you up so you can dunk

— SOSOSO PROTECTIVE OVER YOU

- she second you get fouled she’s right by your side

- will defo play dirty with whoever fouled you

— you’re such a dynamic duo on the court

- that’s what the press says LOL

— will make jokes constantly about how short you are

- especially on live

- “guys she’s the shortest basketball player in history”

— the media doesn’t know you’re dating lowkey

— they always just say that “paige is really dedicated to the team and you can see that through their bond”

— loves assisting you

— resists every urge to kiss you after a win

- resists even harder to kiss your forehead after a loss

— had to teach you how to block good

- “you can still block even if you’re only three feet tall”

— always giving you little glances during post-game media

— you guys can communicate so well on the court (you always know what the other person is tryna do)

- will set the most amazing screens without you even motioning for them

— the media is lowkey suspicious because you play TOO WELL together

— has to wait awhile after the game so no onside can see you leave together

— when she was injured you dedicated every shot you made to her

— will literally ask you at 3am if you want to just practice shooting

- you always say yes

— if you get injured she’s by your side in a split second

— the whole team teases you for your height

- ESPECIALLY KK

— one time you broke some girls ankles and paige saw from the bench (screams cheering)

- “that should’ve been illegal it was so good”

— paige tells the rest of the team to go crazy when you cheer so she’s not the only one

— she wants to wear your jersey but it’s too fucking small

— going against SC is crazy

- “babe she’s more than a foot taller than you. you can’t guard her.”

— “short stuff”

— paige will hold her hand above your head and tell you to practice by jumping and hitting it

- literally bullies you

— paige loves to compare hand sizes

— everyone underestimates you bc of your height but you’re literally a fireball and your gf knows it

— you’ll always forever be each other’s biggest fan

— “how do you even grip the ball your hands are so small”

- “i have to hold with two..”

- makes dirty jokes about that

⋆˚✿˖°ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

heyyyyyyyyyy guys i’m back…. 😅😅

kate martin fics??!!!!!

#paige buckets #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball

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tender-rosiey · 2 years ago

Note

Could you please do husband sukuna?

rhymes — sukuna x f!reader

a/n: don’t worry I will post my own “GOJO IS BACK” drabble later but let’s have some husband + dad sukuna first

“you.”

“y-yes, my lord?”

“where is y/n?”

“in the m-main bedroom, my lord.”

“hm,” sukuna hums as he walks towards the bedroom. he hears squealing, giggling, and cackling from the inside.

just what the hell is being done in his bedroom?

raising an eyebrow, he kicks the door open to reveal both you and his son jumping on the queen sized bed you both sleep on.

“little bunny foo foo jumping through the forest!” you sing and your son giggles, jumping to your rhythm. you take notice of your husband’s arrival and leap at him, “welcome home!”

he is annoyed, but he catches you with a grunt, nonetheless.

“what’re you doing jumping on the bed I made the servants make especially for us so it suits your peculiar tastes?” he grumbles.

you shrug with a smile, “our dear son wanted some time to unwind and who am I to say no to him?”

“you’re his mother. you should have more resistance to his ‘cuteness’ than this; he will grow up to be a king,” he concludes and your son ignores him, still jumping on the bed.

you giggle, “and that’s why I am the fun parent, my dear husband,” you sigh softly and pull him down to press a kiss on his cheek, “I missed you.”

“do it properly,” he says and pulls you up to him and presses a scandalous kiss on your lips. you smack his shoulder lightly after he lets go and he merely chuckles.

“stop doing that in front of our son!”

sukuna smirks and you simply roll your eyes.

“mommy, look I am flying!”

“yes I know, sweetie; that’s awesome!”

“mommy, look I am a superhero!”

“I know, love; you’re the best superhero,” coo at your son who is still jumping on the bed.

your husband just looks at him and wonders how the hell does he get the energy.

personally, you have no idea, but something tells you it’s the genetics from your dear husband who is also the king of curses.

sukuna huffs and pulls you by the waist to him, “you keep spoiling him, but you neglect me?”

“I spoil you both and you know it.”

“do you now?” he challenges and you look at him blankly.

“sukuna, i need to go to work,” you mumble.

“no.”

“no?”

he pulls you closer and nods, “you will stay here til I have had enough of you.”

“BUT YOU NEVER HAVE ENOUGH AND I CAN’T STAY CUDDLING WITH YOU! WHAT ABOUT MY JOB?!”

“you’re married to the king of curses; that’s the last thing you should be worried about,” he deadpans.

“that has nothing to do with spoiling me; you’re just weak-willed,” he grins and you think that, maybe, kicking him in the nuts won’t be so bad.

your son can live without sibling; it will be okay.

you quip, “then how about the time I got you breakfast in bed?”

“the chef was the one cooked it; you only delivered it to my room.”

“why don’t you believe that I cooked it?”

“cause your cooking is awful; it’s probably the only thing close to a poison that could actually kill me.”

you and your son gasp, but your son is the one to retort to his father, “mommy cooked it all by herself! you ungrateful old man!”

you’re about to scold your son to not insult his father but to your surprise, your husband is one step ahead of you.

however, you would’ve preferred if he didn’t even act cause the moron pushed your son off the bed.

your son screams before falling off and hitting the ground in a way that was far from harmless. slowly, his cries grow and he starts wailing and sobbing.

sukuna smirks, “no more monkeys jumping on the bed.”

“SUKUNA! HE IS CRYING!”

“he is my son; he can handle it.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @luciferspen @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso

do not copy or plagiarize or I will rat you out to gojo

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yzzyhee · 8 months ago

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heartbreak girl - sjy

PAIRING: best friend!sim jaeyun x yn (fem bodied)

WARNING: pet name (angel, baby) lmk if i missed anything, slight angst..? a lot of feelings involved, kinda mean heeseung??

WC: ~5k more or less

SYNOPSIS: jake has always been there for you through thick and thin — he was always there to take away your hurt, but when were you going to realise?

PLAYLIST: 5sos - heartbreak girl

A.N: hi everyone i just wanted to say quickly that it’s my first written fic, i have no idea what im doing tbf but i just really really liked the idea for a while and decided to give it a shot .. i truly accept any constructive criticism you might have idm this will probably be the first and last time i post something but ! do let me know what you guys think, it would mean a lot !!

ps. this one is dedicated to my wife @ja3yun seriously couldn’t have done it without ur advices so seriously tysm bb!!

I. “YOU CALL ME UP // IT’S LIKE A BROKEN RECORD // SAYING THAT YOUR HEART HURTS”

Jake sighs as his phone buzzes. Picking it up he sees your caller ID and for a split of a second he doesn’t want to pick up the call. As he glances at the phone he lets himself wonder what a different life would be like; if somehow in another life he could stop caring and ignore you.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath — that could never be a possibility. He’s sure that if that another life actually exists, the universe would somehow bring him together with you and all of this would eventually happen.

“Y/N?” he answers, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Jake…” you manag to say even though your friend can barely hear your voice. “He broke up with me.” you said as a sob escaped from you.

Jake feels like his own heart is shattering. Not for your and Heeseung’s relationship that was over for now but mostly for himself. He’d seen you go through this too many times, always falling for the wrong boys and always ending up heartbroken.

“It just hurts so bad, Jake..” you cry, your voice breaking.

As you continued crying and uttering words that made Jake’s heart drop at how you seem to hate yourself now, he feels like he could punch Heeseung if he were to see him now. Even though he has been there for you through many of your previous heartbreaks and also fights with Heeseung he never heard you cry so bad.

“Hey, Y/N.. Listen to me. Take deep breaths, stop crying, angel, please.” Jake says softly and it makes you stop crying over the phone for a bit.

“You’re more than just a pretty face, okay? Don’t listen to him. You’re smart, you’re kind and you’re wicked funny.. And I guarantee there’s a guy out there who will see what I see, okay?”

You take a sharp breath and nodd but quickly mutter a “Yes” as you realize he can’t see you through the phone.

“I just.. Why does this keep happening, Jake? Why are all the guys I end up with always such assholes?”

“It’s not you, angel. You’re really amazing, you know? Sometimes people like him… just don’t realize what they have right in front of them until it’s too late. He will definitely come crawling back to you in no time.” Jake says in a playful tone but his words held some truth — even through your fights Heeseung always came back.

You chuckle and it makes Jake smile. He hates seeing or hearing you cry, especially when it’s about your relationships and how you always deem yourself unworthy of love from anyone when it’s your boyfriends who just can’t appreciate you.

“Thank you, Jake. Thank you for being a friend. It’s so late right now..I’m sorry for bothering you.”

Jake chuckles as well. “You never bother me, angel.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow at 10.”

Then the phone call abruptly comes to an end and Jake sighs for the second time that night. He knows you won’t call, especially if Heeseung puts his ego aside and comes back to you tonight.

He takes the pillow from under his head and places it on top, muffling a scream as his own mind and especially you liked to play him in circles again and again.

II. HE TREATS YOU SO BAD AND I’M SO GOOD TO YOU, IT’S NOT FAIR

“Okay, enough.” Jake says as he looks away from you and Heeseung’s display of affection. “I’m seriously happy you got back together but I am still third-wheeling here…” he lies gritting his teeth.

To you it looks like he is actually happy for you and just annoyed by your public display of love with Heeseung but in reality? No, in reality he simply can’t stand seeing you act so in love with the boy when just three days ago he insulted you, called you mean words and broke it off. Just for him to come back to you, act all sad, say sorry and you forgive him just like that.

You push Heeseung slightly off you and lean closer to Jake to take his hand in yours, giving it a small squeeze. “I’m sorry, Heeseung just really wanted to come to the drive-in movie and I couldn’t say no..”

Heeseung drags you back into him and puts a hand over your shoulder while the other is sneaking between your thighs. You giggle and slap his hand away while muttering that “Jake is right here”. Jake quickly adverts his eyes, finding the movie on the playing suddenly interesting.

“Oh, it’s getting rather chilly…” you say after a few minutes and look longingly at your boyfriend, hoping for him to get the message and give you his jacket.

“I told you to bring a jacket, dummy.” Heeseung says, rolling his eyes but making no move of giving his jacket to his girlfriend. “How about you go get us some drinks, baby? Maybe if you move a bit you can get warm.”

Jake shakes his head at his words and scoffs. He takes off his jacket and puts it on your shoulders. “Here, Y/N.”

You smile gratefully at Jake, your eyes softening. “ Thank you, Jake. You’re the best.”

“Anytime,” Jake replies, his voice gentle. He glances at Heeseung, his expression hardening. “You should take better care of her, man.”

Heeseung shrugged, not even bothering to spare Jake a look. “She’s fine. She can handle herself.”

Jake clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to say something more. He hates how Heeseung keeps treating you, how he takes you for granted and never caring. He treats you so bad and he’s so good to you — it just wasn’t fair.

During the movie that Jake paid no attention to , he couldn’t help but compare himself to Heeseung. What does Heeseung have that he doesn’t? Is it the hair, the stupid leather jacket he always wears, the bambi eyes, the way he carries himself with such confidence or the way he seems to effortlessly attract attention wherever he goes?

Or maybe you just happen to like the way Heeseung makes you feel after all. The excitement of the chase, the push and pull, the high and low that came with every fight and every word in it, making it hurt but also giving you a rush feeling.

But he knows you. In the long run you don’t actually want all of that. As he steals a glance at the two of you, he feels like he could scream out right now that you could be with him now. He could offer you love, stability. He decides to push off that idea out of his mind as fast as it came. You are happy with Heeseung for now and that’s all that matters.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, a gentle touch that brings him back to the present. He looks up to see you, seeing your soft smile but when he looks into your eyes he sees sadness lingering behind them.

“Hey, we’re going to head out… Heeseung needs to meet up with some friends.” you say quietly to Jake, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake frowns, feeling frustrated. “You can stay, can’t you? You love this movie!” he exclaims, his voice louder than he intends, hoping that Heeseung can hear the disappointment in his voice.

You purse your lips and shake your head. With a low voice you mutter an apology and start to take his jacket off to return it to him but he stops you.

“Keep it.” Jake tells you offering a smile that doesn’t quite reaches his eyes.

You nod, getting up quickly and follow Heeseung to leave the drive-in movie location. You take one look back to wave goodbye at Jake, seeing him standing there, his eyes locked on you.

Jake watches you leave, the weight of unspoken words heavy on his heart. He waves back, his smile fading as soon as you turn away.

He closes his eyes and looks up at the sky, the cool night air brushing against his skin. The stars twinkle above, indifferent to his inner turmoil. He takes a deep breath, the chilly air filling his lungs, and lets it out slowly, his breath visible in the night air.

In the silence of the drive-in, the sound of distant car engines and the murmur of people leaving fill the background, but Jake is lost in his thoughts. He thinks about all the moments he’s shared with you, the laughter, the tears, and the quiet times where just being near you was enough. He thinks about the way Heeseung treats you, and it makes his chest tighten with frustration and longing.

Jake opens his eyes, the stars still sparkling above, offering no answers, no solace. He knows he can’t keep this to himself much longer. The longer he waits, the more he sees you getting hurt, the more it eats away at him. But he can’t do it. He knows you need to know that someone out there loves you deeply but what if it his feelings would ruin everything for good? For now, all he can do is be there for you, as he always has been. He turns away from the screen, walking slowly to his car. As he gets in and starts the engine, he glances back at the empty space where you had been sitting, the memory of your sad smile etched in his mind.

III. SOMETIMES I’M SO CLOSE TO CONFESSION

Jake sits in his room, the soft glow of his desk lamp casting long shadows across the walls. His mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, his heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words. For weeks now, he’s been wrestling with the idea of confessing his feelings to you, his best friend and the person he cares about most in the world. But every time he tries to gather the courage to tell you how he feels, his fears and insecurities hold him back, trapping him in a cycle of doubt and self-pity.

“Hey, Jake, are you listening?” your voice takes him out of his thoughts. You get up from the bed and go sit on the desk chair next to him.

“No, sorry.” Jake smile sheepishly. “You were saying?” he attempts to play it off.

You roll your eyes. “I was talking about this new book coming up…” you trail off, talking about the upcoming release of your favourite author.

Jake can’t help but let himself watch you. He thinks about the way you smile, the way your soft giggle fills the room and makes his heart skip a beat and the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you’re passionate about just like now.

And as he listens to you talk, he can’t help but feel a sense of longing wash over him, a longing to tell you how he feels, to lay his heart bare and risk it all for the chance at something more.

“Y/N I-“ Jake suddenly interrupts you but his bravery doesn’t last long.

As the moment passes, the words stick in his throat, suffocating him with their weight. He wants to tell you, he really does, but the fear of rejection holds him back, paralyzing him with its grip.

“Yes? Did you want to say something?” you ask him and look up to him just to see him shake his head and motioning for you to continue talking about the book.

And so he sits there, silent and still, watching you with a mixture of adoration and regret, wishing he could find the courage to take the leap and tell you how he feels.

As you continue to talk, oblivious to the turmoil raging within him, Jake can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to hold you in his arms, to kiss you under the stars, to whisper words of love into your ear. But for now, all he can do is watch and wait, hoping that one day, he’ll find the strength to confess his feelings and take a chance on love.

“You will come with me, right?” you say to him suddenly. “To the book release? Heeseung doesn’t want to come, he thinks it’s silly..”

Jake's heart skips a beat at your words, his mind racing with a mixture of excitement and nervousness but also anger towards Heeseung — how could he think your passion, your hobby is something silly and telling you that to your face nonetheless? Jake keeps those thoughts of your boyfriend to himself. However the thought of spending time alone with you again, of being by your side as you indulge in something you love and hanging out just like old times, fills him with a sense of warmth and anticipation.

“Of course, Y/N,” he says, his voice soft.“I’d love to come with you.”

A smile spreads across your face, and Jake feels his heart swell with happiness at the sight. For a moment, everything else fades away, leaving just the two of you, lost in the moment together.

And as you talk excitedly about the upcoming event, Jake can't help but feel a sense of hope stir within him. Maybe this is his chance, his opportunity to finally confess his feelings and take a chance on love. And as he looks into your eyes, he knows that no matter what happens, he'll always be there for you, ready to support you and cherish every moment you share together.

IV. I’M RIGHT HERE, WHEN YOU GONNA REALISE // THAT I’M YOUR CURE?

“Heeseung, what’s gotten into you?” you ask, frustration clear in your tone as you watch him pace around your living room.

Heeseung stops and scoffs. “Are you serious?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Ever since he tagged along to the the drive-in movie hang out between you and Jake and then found out you went with Jake to your book release event he started to act out. He rejects your ideas to go out on a date, he rejects initiating any kind of intimacy to you — even refusing to hold your hand, something he’s never done in your 6 months relationship.

You can’t help but feel confused and hurt by his sudden change in behaviour. He used to be so affectionate even if you had a fight and was always eager to show you off on dates and such but now he seems like a completely different person.

“Seriously, Heeseung. Talk to me, what’s going on?” you press, your voice tinged with worry.

Heeseung looks at you and steps closer. “You’re in love, baby.” he says while putting a strand of your hair behind your ear, smiling softly. “But not with me.”

“What?” you say, your mind racing as you try to process what he just said.

“I think you should give Jake a call.” Heeseung continues, his expression earnest though you can’t help but feel puzzled by his sudden insight. Heeseung chuckles. “C’mon, baby. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? How your eyes always light up when he’s around or how you always talk about him when he’s not and bring him up whenever there’s an opportunity? Or how you always compare what I do with what he does?”

You part your lips slightly, caught off guard by his observations. His words hit you like a bolt of lightning, sparking a flurry of emotions within you.

“But… I…” you stammer, struggling to find the words to express the tumultuous thoughts swirling in your mind.

Heeseung reaches out, gently cupping your face in his hands. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he says softly. “I understand. Hell, I’d fall in love with the guy too if he were to always drop everything and be at my beck and call. How did you not realise everything sooner? I swear, he has been so obvious the past weeks.” he chuckles. “Actually, did you know he had a presentation on the day you went with him to the book release? He talked with his professor to present it earlier so he could come with you.”

Heeseung’s words hit you like a sudden gust of winter wind, cutting through the air with their sharpness and leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. His observations about Jake’s actions leave you reeling, the realization sinking in like a heavy weight on your chest.

“I… I didn’t know,” you whisper, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggle to process the information. “I didn’t realize he was going out of his way for me…”

Heeseung’s hands drop from your face, his expression softening with understanding. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he says gently, his voice a comforting presence in the midst of the storm raging inside you. “Sometimes, it’s hard to see things clearly when you’re too close to them.”

You nod slowly, feeling a sense of guilt wash over you at the thought of all the times you may have overlooked Jake’s gestures of affection. How could you have been so blind to his feelings, so oblivious to the depth of his love for you?

Heeseung leans in closer and kisses your forehead. It’s a tender, lingering kiss, filled with a mixture of sadness and acceptance. He pulls back, looking into your eyes one last time with a strained smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. The weight of the moment hangs heavy between you, and you can feel the finality in his actions. He turns and walks towards the door.

You watch him leave, your heart aching as he steps out of your apartment. The door closes behind him with a soft click, and you stand there, feeling a profound sense of loss. Part of you wants to run after him, to call him back and somehow make everything right. But you know that some things can’t be fixed with a few words.

You move to the window and peer out, hoping to catch a glimpse of Heeseung, hoping he would turn back and give you one last look. But the street below is empty, and the cold night air feels like a reflection of the unresting feeling inside you.

For the first time after a break-up, you don’t call Jake. You take the night to yourself, the silence of your apartment enveloping you like a cold winter's night. Your mind is a whirlwind of confusion and heartache, the echoes of Heeseung's words lingering like a biting chill.

As you sit alone, wrapped in a blanket on the couch, your thoughts turn to Jake. The realisation that he might have deeper feelings for you sends a shiver down your spine. You’ve always seen him as your rock, your dependable best friend, but now, faced with the possibility that his feelings might run deeper, you feel an icy grip of uncertainty and fear tighten around your heart.

You think about all the moments you’ve shared with Jake, the late-night conversations, the inside jokes, the way he’s always been there for you. How could you have been so blind to his feelings? The thought of potentially hurting him, of disrupting the comfortable dynamic you’ve always shared, fills you with a sense of dread. It’s like stepping out into the harsh winter wind, unsure if you’ll be able to find your way back to the warmth and safety you’ve known.

You wrap the blanket tighter around yourself, seeking comfort in its embrace, but your mind continues to spiral. What if you don’t feel the same way? What if your feelings for Jake are merely a reflection of your gratitude and dependence on his unwavering support? The thought of leading him on, of giving him false hope, sends a pang of guilt through you. The guilt eats at you for not noticing sooner, for being so wrapped up in your own relationships and dramas that you missed the quiet, steady love that Jake might have been offering all along. It’s a chilling thought, realizing how much you might have overlooked in your pursuit of fleeting romances with others.

Your heart and mind feel like a frozen landscape, barren and cold, with no clear path forward. You can’t deny the flutter of something more when you think of Jake, but it’s buried under layers of confusion and fear. You’ve been through so much heartache, and the idea of risking your most cherished friendship for a chance at something more feels like walking on thin ice, fragile and treacherous.

The night wears on, and the cold, empty silence of your apartment presses down on you. You long for the warmth of Jake’s presence, his soothing voice and reassuring words, but you know you can’t run to him this time. You need to sort through your feelings, to understand what’s real and what’s born out of loneliness and a desire for comfort.

As the hours pass, you come to a bittersweet realization. You need to protect Jake from potential heartbreak, to shield him from the uncertainty that’s freezing your heart. You care for him too much to risk his happiness on your unresolved feelings. And so, for the first time, you decide to face this winter storm on your own, hoping that in the process, you’ll find clarity and the strength to either embrace or gently let go of what could be.

Tomorrow, you’ll see him, and maybe the warmth of his smile will melt some of the ice around your heart. But tonight, you wrap yourself tighter in your blanket and let the winter winds of your emotions rage on, knowing that some answers can only be found in the stillness of the cold.

You don’t see him tomorrow. Instead, you chose to run from him, from his feelings and your own. The weight of your confusion and fear makes you retreat further into yourself, wrapping the cold, comforting solitude around you like a protective cloak. You bury yourself in college work, books and anything that can keep your mind occupied. Yet, in the quiet moments — those still, silent spaces between the busyness — your thoughts inevitably drift back to Jake.

The look in Jake’s eyes when he’s with you haunts you. It’s a look filled with warmth and unspoken words. A look that now seems so painfully clear in hindsight. It’s as if he’s always been there, offering you a love as constant and reassuring as the summer sun, yet you were too caught up in the fleeting, cold winter winds of other relationships to notice.

Jake’s feelings for you feel like a warm summer day. They’re gentle and persistent, bringing light and comfort into your life without demanding anything in return. His love is the kind that warms you from the inside out, melting away the icy barriers you’ve built around your heart. But now, the fear of stepping into that warmth, of risking the friendship you hold so dear, keeps you trapped in a winter of your own making.

Meanwhile, Jake is left adrift, confused and hurt by your sudden withdrawal. He tries to seek you out, to understand why you’re avoiding him, but every attempt is met with distance. He feels like he’s chasing shadows, reaching out for something that slips further away with each passing day. He even tried to talk with Heeseung, hoping that the man knows something of why you’re acting this way towards him but much like you, Heeseung avoided him.

As the days turn into a week, the winter storm within you begins to show signs of weakening. The relentless busyness that you’ve thrown yourself into can’t keep the feelings at bay forever. In those quiet moments, when you’re alone with your thoughts, you start to feel the warmth of Jake’s love seeping through the cracks in your icy defenses.

You remember the way he looked at you, the gentle, unspoken promises in his eyes. The realization that you’ve been running from something so genuine, so pure, starts to thaw the fear and confusion that have held you captive. The warmth of Jake’s love begins to melt the ice around your heart, and you start to see things more clearly.

You know you can’t avoid him forever. The thought of hurting Jake, of causing him pain with your indecision, is unbearable. You decide that it’s time to face your feelings, to confront the truth that you’ve been so afraid of. You owe it to Jake, and to yourself, to be honest about what’s in your heart.

With a deep breath, you pick up your phone and send him a message, asking to meet. The anticipation of seeing him again fills you with a mix of dread and hope. You know the conversation ahead will be difficult, but it’s the only way to move forward.

As you wait for his response, you feel a sense of clarity. The journey ahead might be uncertain, but you’re ready to step into the light, to embrace the summer warmth that Jake’s love promises. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find that the path you’re most afraid of is the one that leads you to the happiness you’ve been searching for.

“Ofcourse. When and where?”

His response is immediate, no hesitation, no hint of the confusion and hurt you know he must be feeling. The simplicity of his words, the readiness to meet despite everything, brings a small, bittersweet smile to your face. You suggest a quiet café near campus, a place you both know well, and set a time for the next afternoon.

The next day, as you make your way to the café, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions. The warmth of the spring sun on your face feels like a promise, a gentle reassurance that everything might just be okay. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and step inside.

Jake is already there, sitting at a corner table. The sight of him sends a rush of emotions through you — relief, nervousness and a profound sense of familiarity. He looks up as you approach, and his puppy like smile is like a beacon of warmth cutting through your lingering uncertainty.

“Hey,” he says softly, standing up to greet you.

“Hey,” you reply, your voice a little shaky. You both sit down, and for a moment, there’s an awkward silence. Jake’s eyes search your face, and you can see the questions and concern in them.

“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just needed some time to think.”

Jake nods, his expression understanding but guarded. “I’ve been worried about you,” he admits. “I didn’t know what was going on, and I… I missed you.”

His words hit you like a gentle breeze, warm and reassuring, but also filled with a depth of emotion that makes your heart ache. “I missed you too,” you confess. “I needed to figure out some things… about us, about my feelings.”

Jake’s eyes widen slightly, a flicker of hope and fear crossing his face. “Us?Your feelings?” he echoes, his voice tense with anticipation.

You take a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Jake, you’ve always been there for me. You’ve been my rock, my best friend, and… I’ve realized that maybe, I’ve been blind to something that’s been right in front of me all along.”

His eyes are locked onto yours, and you can see the hope growing, the warmth in his gaze like the sun breaking through the clouds after a cold cold winter day. “What do you mean?” he asks softly.

“I mean…” you struggle to find the right words, the right way to express the tumult of emotions inside you. “I think I’ve been so caught up in my own fears and insecurities that I didn’t see what was right in front of me. You’ve always been there, and I’ve come to realize that… that I care about you, Jake. More than just as a friend.”

There, it’s out. You think as you let the words out of your mouth. The words hang in the air between you, a confession that feels both terrifying and liberating. Jake’s expression softens, a mixture of relief and overwhelming emotion flooding his face.

“I’ve cared about you for a long time.. I’m surprised you didn’t notice sooner,” he admits, his voice shaking slightly. “I didn’t know how to tell you without risking what we have. But hearing you say that… it means everything to me.”

You reach across the table, taking his hand in yours. The simple touch feels like a lifeline, grounding you in this moment of vulnerability and honesty. “I’m scared, Jake,” you confess. “I’m scared of losing what we have, but I’m more scared of never knowing what we could be.”

Jake squeezes your hand, his grip warm and reassuring. “We’ll figure it out together,” he promises. “We’ve always been there for each other, and that won’t change. I want to be with you, Y/N. Not just as your friend, but as someone who loves you.”

His words are like the first true warmth of summer, melting away the last of your fears. You smile, a genuine, hopeful smile, and nod. “I want that too, Jake. I want to see where this goes, with you.”

As you sit there, hand in hand, you feel the ice around your heart finally melt away, replaced by the warmth and promise of a new beginning. The journey ahead might be uncertain, but with Jake by your side, you know you’ll face it together, one step at a time.

#— 💭 mars ; written work #i had no idea what i was doing its 2am #enhypen jake fic #jake x reader #jake sim x reader #sim jaeyun x reader #enha x reader #enha angst #enha fluff #enha imagines #enhypen imagines #jake imagines

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fushiguruuzzzz · 1 month ago

Text

𑁤 Cherry Waves

Megumi Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

Words — 2.3k

Cw — rockstar au, yes the title is a Deftones reference, mentions of alcohol (no use this time! Yay!), written in one sitting, not proofread, sort of situationship to lovers????? I’m not even entirely sure that’s a secret between them ig, chappel roan reference, lmk if there’s anything I missed !! All you long for is Megumi Fushiguro to love you when he’s sober. All he longs for is to have the courage to show you he does. These two dreams tend to clash when paired with insecurities and desperate secrecy, and the question is: will you be able to work it out?

a/n — this was fun to write tbh, I love rockstar Megumi baddddd and just wanted to get something out for him I fear. This won the poll so Gojo fic out some other time, in the meantime I’ll probably post Kilby girl prologue :3

Being famous had its perks, but with them came many downsides. One that you would consider the most pesky was the lack of privacy. Every secret you kept so precisely hidden was uncovered somehow, sometimes ones you weren’t even aware of yourself. Sometimes it was an old video of you found in the darkest depths of the internet, sometimes it was a song you hadn’t released yet. In your case, it was… whatever you had going on with your bandmate. Honestly you weren’t sure what exactly it was, neither was Megumi. But there was something, far too many glances that lasted just a beat too long, the graze of your fingers as you passed him his guitar that seemed to set you alight. The drunken kisses you’d share in the back of a crowded club that you were both eager to leave, the ones you wouldn’t talk about when the morning came. You’d share glances over the breakfast table that grew less awkward and more knowing as your rituals continued, the weeks going by and your dynamic never changing.

Sometimes months would go by without those moments of solidarity when your desperation bubbled over and came out in bursts. He never dared to voice it, but it killed Megumi. He loathed the way your touch would be all consuming, and then just a few hours later he’d been imprisoned by the lack of label between you, your distance heart wrenching. You were everything, and then nothing. You came in waves, not steady like the rise and set of the sun, but like the tide, unpredictable and heavy and undeniably passionate. You despised it equally as much, but you had the self control to contain it. Until you were on stage and consumed by nothing but the music, the songs you wrote about him, that is.

Your fingers were nimble and quick as they strummed the guitar, your lips ghosting over the rough wire of the microphone with every lyric. The rhythm reverberated through you, your heart beating in sync with the unsteady beat of the drums. This was it. This was life. Life was impending hearing loss and callouses on your fingers, it was red lights and the screaming of a crowd and the lingering knowledge that who might be the love (or loss) of your life is just a few pages behind you. The energy emitting from your body picked up his own every instance without fail, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as soon as he walked into the room. Paranoia? Maybe. Soul ties? Also maybe. That secret wasn’t yours to know, as it seemed.

Everything felt blurry, your consciousness only ever going up to half capacity on nights like this. You figured that if you were fully present, you couldn’t handle it all. It was a defence mechanism you’d made for yourself to handle the constant attention, the haunting awareness that you were being constantly perceived. Every shift of your eyes as they wandered to your black haired bass player was recorded, forever on the wide world of the internet. So you had to be careful, tread lightly at all times. They were everywhere, it seemed. You never really got used to it. This was your job, though, you signed up for this. You knew that, so you put up with it. You just wished you could love in peace.

You panted, chest heaving as you took in gasps of warm air. Not all that refreshing, but oxygen nonetheless. The last instrumentals of the final song faded out, the only noise being the dull chattering of the crowd. You felt their eyes on you, but one stuck out far more than any others. Him. His emerald eyes in the dim light were piercing, having such a deep effect over you even when they were out of sight. You were suddenly all too aware of the sweat sticking to your forehead, and the faint aftertaste of coffee on your tongue. You’d chugged three cups beforehand, figuring you’d need it to get through the night. Maybe it should’ve been four.

“Thank you so much for coming out, folks! That’s all for tonight!” you said, putting on an overly cheery tone that you were sure reeked of bullshit. With that the crowd began filtering out, the rows becoming gradually more empty with every passing minute. You, Megumi, and the others fell into the same old routine of packing up your instruments and getting ready to head out.

When the equipment was away and you were officially free to go for the night, Nobara spoke up. “Anyone in the mood to get drunk off of shitty overpriced vodka and hope we don’t get cancelled?”

As you walked to your respective vehicle, you couldn’t help but laugh. Your eyes flickered to Megumi for but a brief moment, but long enough for him to catch it. Something lied in the air between you then, the acceptance of what would happen the moment the alcohol took its toll and you were left alone. But as you met the sight of his raw eyes shining with what almost looked like expectation, something shifted. You didn’t want to be something that he only loved when he was drunk, you didn’t want to be the girl that was always just there when he needed you. The smile slowly faded from your face, being replaced by something softer; something more fake.

“I’m spent, I’m not gonna join tonight. Call me, yeah?” you asked, giving a small nod to the group as you lowered yourself into your drivers seat. Megumi’s eyes followed you inch by inch, taking in every subtle shift of your face, the soft crease between your brows as you put the keys into the ignition and made an eager escape. You were doing this on purpose, you were avoiding him. Why? Was he not enough, was he too much? Was this the end of whatever sick dance of passion and indifference that you were playing? But Megumi wasn’t stupid, in fact, he was an academically gifted boy. He knew that if he loved you when he was sober, you’d be willing to get drunk. It made something in his chest clench unfamiliarly, and he hated it. Hated the way you made him feel, hated the way he made you feel. He just… hated.

He hated the way the sound of your engine faded as you drive further and further from him, because it felt like you were leaving him in more ways than one.

Your fingers strummed impatiently against the steering wheel, though you weren’t sure what you were waiting for. You had nothing to wait for, no one. Maybe you were waiting for the moment your screen would light up with Megumi’s name, that he’d magically overcome whatever emotional blockage that was keeping him from you and learn to love you properly. You shook your head. Be realistic, now. It’s Megumi.

Pulling into the darkened parking lot of your apartment building felt like the nail in the coffin, the break in the inconsistent pattern you’d been following for so long. And as you stepped into your apartment, the falls felt oddly empty. It was missing something that had never been there in the first place, something that seemed to fit so perfectly, yet you didn’t. Maybe that was the case. Megumi fit into your life, he fit whatever love you held for him, but did you fit him? Maybe not.

You felt exhausted, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep. You tossed and turned uncomfortably in your sheets for what felt like hours before sighing in defeat and trotting out to your kitchen.

As you sat on your counter, tentatively sipping an icy cup of water, your mind wandered. You wondered what type of lover Megumi was. When the lights were soft, would his touch be, too? Would the scrambled urgency of his lips against yours turn into something calmer when he knew you had the time? His rough hands calloused by his passion, would they hold you as delicately as they cupped your face in his moments of weakness, as you escaped from the crushing reality of your status? Your heart ached at the realization that you didn’t know, and you weren’t sure you’d ever get the chance to. Maybe someone else would, someone that fit.

A firm knock on your door pierced through the walls more than it should have. There was an empty sort of quiet that followed, as if the person waiting to enter didn’t have the courage to fill it. You slid from the cold marble, socked feet hitting the ground as you placed your glass next to you. There was barely the sound of shuffling as you padded to the door, not bothering to look through the peephole in your sleepy haze.

When you swung the door open, he looked nearly as shocked as you did. Of course Megumi had been the one to come here in the first place, but he half expected you to be asleep or just ignore him entirely.

“Megumi?”

He blinked at you for a moment, eyes unfocused. “…hey,” he said, voice hoarse as if he was the one who’d spent the night singing.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out?” you asked, standing dumbfounded in the doorway.

He paused. “You didn’t go.”

That statement meant a lot more than its words. You didn’t go, so he didn’t. He wanted to see you, to be with you.

“Can I come in?”

You looked between you, suddenly remembering that he was standing outside in the hallway whilst you were keeping him there. You shuffled to the side, motioning for him to enter. He did, no words shared in the silent moment. You fell into step, taking the few strides across the apartment and plopping down on the plush cushions of your couch.

You stared down at your fidgeting hands, debating whether you’d break the silence or not. He was the one who showed up here, so shouldn’t it have been him? But deep down you knew Megumi, he wasn’t one to speak unless spoken to. Not usually.

“What are you doing here?” you asked again, voice softer. He lifted his head, the black spikes of hair shifting with every movement. He looked particularly disheveled, like he’d spent his night tossing and turning as you had. “You and I both know why I’m here.”

With a soft exhale through your nose, you nodded. The thing was, you didn’t know the exact reason for his appearance. Was it to put an end to whatever you had, or the opposite? Because whether you liked it or not, it wasn’t casual. You didn’t know if they ever had been.

“What am I doing wrong?” you blurted. Your eyes widened, surprised by your own words. Damn your mouth and its tendency to act before your brain could, because it put you in situations like this.

His expression mirrored yours, confusion and something else, something more unrecognizable. “What?” he said, throat suddenly dry. “I never said you did anything wrong. You… you didn’t.”

That only puzzled you further. If you’d done nothing wrong, what was it that kept him from you? Perhaps your actions weren’t wrong, just you were. “I don’t understand,” you whispered, unable to find the correct words.

“Why would you think you’re doing something wrong?” he pushed.

“Because you don’t like me.”

A silence fell over you, and Megumi felt more flustered than he had in his life. “I’ve given you some pretty clear implications denying that,” he murmured.

“But you don’t like me when you’re sober, Megumi.”

A heavy silence fell over you, swirling with unspoken words and the quiet desperation for closure. You just needed him to confirm it, you couldn’t spend any longer clinging to the last bits of drunken hope residing in you.

“I’m sober now.”

“Yeah, well-“ you were about to shoot back, but then he was tilting your chin up and pressing his lips to yours. Your lips were captured in his as he inhaled every bit of you, the taste of your lips overtaking his senses. Cherry. He swallowed every claim and rebuttal rolling off of your tongue, rough hands cupping your face as he kissed you with a mission to prove himself. Megumi had never been one for words, opting to show his intentions through action. He sure got his point across.

He panted into your mouth, brow bone ghosting over yours as his eyes drank you in, deep and curious. Not an ounce of alcohol swirled in his bloodstream, but he felt completely drunk off of you. Maybe he couldn’t ever love you when he was sober, for your every breath intoxicated him, drew him in.

Your mind was spinning, wondering if you were in the midst of a fever dream. Megumi tasted of nothing but espresso and mint, no traces of vodka bleeding into your mouth as it interlocked his. He was completely present, and he was kissing you. He held you with a delicacy you weren’t aware he was capable of, hands that were once in tense fists now cradling you like fine china.

“Are you saying…” you breathed.

“Yeah. Now shut up, will you?”

You huffed, but it did little to hide the eagerness in your actions as you took him by the collar and pulled him in once again.

As you felt his lips on yours, you realized that they were perfect; like puzzle pieces reunited. The thing about puzzle pieces is that it was never one fitting in the other, it was that they fit together, reciprocated. They were two parts of a whole, equal, mutually connected. Megumi filled the empty walls of your home, and you filled his heart, and that felt pretty damn equal to you.

Tags: @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniya @anotherwriternamedclara @ruruisru @lizbix

#jjk #jjk megumi #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk smau #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi #꩜ on replay :: mergurmur

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akascow · 1 month ago

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i keep thinking about the end of this post i made lmfao:

"i like that in the last battle he just accepts it: realizes hes in the same position as future jayce, but just closes his eyes... he knew the only way to get through to viktor wasnt through fighting, but talking. which has been the basis of both of their worldviews for the whole show,, which is WHY IT WORKED"

bc wow i kinda cooked with that one HAHA

(also it like totally relates to the act3 message about how killing is a cycle and the only way to stop the killing is to literally Stop The Killing lmao)

but like, to elaborate on it i just think its so significant given that jayce and viktor were always opposed to killing others or using hextech against ppl less equipped:

-jayce's anti shimmer plan crumbles the second he accidentally kills a zaunite child.

-viktor adamantly opposes the idea of building weapons the entire first season because theyre scientists, not soldiers.

-jayce throws up and almost has a panic attack seeing a bunch of enforcers stain the bridge with blood after the firelight bombs.

-viktor abandons his whole hexcore idea the moment sky dies from it, begging jayce to destroy it

-jayce completely disagrees in the use of hextech weapons even after viktor dies from the attack on the council

their goal was always to use hextech to help, not hurt.

and yes they do stray from that ideology a couple times bc of like,, moments of weakness or wtvr lol:

viktor in his Machine Herald basically killing the body and leaving the soul of everyone who joins his cult i mean harem i mean community,, ((although im pretty certain the hexcore was kinda like a virus- influencing his actions with the main goal of spreading,, and i truly believe he genuinely thought he was helping people and not like, literally killing them lol))

and jayce making some weapons for the strike team later, but you can see hes clearly distraught from breaking another promise to viktor (his wound literally reopens as a metaphor lmao)

and they try to fight each other in order to share their disagreement of the other's actions, viktor tries to make jayce see his vision, doesnt work, he tries to choke him to death. jayce tries to make viktor see that what hes doing is wrong, doesnt work, he blasts vik's puppets with his hammer lmao.

but what does work ? putting down the weapons. in the end they accomplish the mutual goal without violence. mainly because they literally cannot bring themselves to kill the other but

they never really wanted to fight, no less kill, each other in the first place. because they shared that mutual worldview, they were never in favor of violence against their enemies. both of them even show regret while trying to kill each other too. jayce's anomaly screaming trying to pull away from blasting viktor in the chest, and viktor failing to persuade jayce to his side, voicing his apology before attempting to kill him.

jayce gets to the tower and sees hes in the same position as his future self. realizing he cant beat viktor like this, and everything he saw in the future timeline is inevitable, he closes his eyes, tired from fighting. but what does viktor do? does he kill him? turn him into a puppet like the others? no, viktor lets him into his world, letting him see what he sees.

viktor shares his motivation, humanity's weaknesses causes senseless war. but instead of arguing at that, jayce just talks to him, sharing his words of affection. yes humaity has weakness, but what viktor always viewed as weakness is actually what makes people admirable. and jayce hugs him, he shows viktor the truth of what is to come continuing this path, letting viktor know what he knows.

and thats how viktor breaks free. with a hug. practically the exact opposite of violence.

and again, they fix their mistake together, holding hands and embracing each other, sharing that pain and guilt of the fact that they did hurt people, and choosing to take themselves out in pursuit of correcting that mistake.

...and isnt that just beautiful HAHA

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kindaasrikal · 2 months ago

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Inspired by that post from @/sand-jam because the way i screamed when i saw it

So what do you do when your previous abuser who took away your free will and forced you to commit horrendous actions through your own hands, and who used too look so powerful, so big and larger than life itself, is suddenly a child. When that man you once remember was always just some kid. Some kid who could’ve been different, who could’ve been a friend, family. How do you react when that child is still the one who hurt you, regardless of how much smaller he is now?

Okay actual rant here but i was gonna add some more to this but i got impatient but i WILL comeback and add those little things and post this again, or replace the images.

Sand jam’s post actually made me scream because YES i think if they acknowledge the fact that Morro is now younger than the ninja it would be a great point of development. Because one, this is still the guy who hurt you tremendously and pretty much mentally abused you first weeks on end. This is still the guy who had amazing strength, strategy, and control on both the battlefield and outside of it. This is still a man who was a threat, and is potentially an even worse one with more training over the years under his belt, even without the element. But, two, this is now also some kid who is the same/similar age as your students, one who ran away just like how he did, and someone who is no longer on the path of evil but simply wants to rest now. Someone who regrets and feels guilty but was never taught how to handle such emotions, let alone any at all. This kid in front of Lloyd and the man that is in Lloyd’s memories are still the same person, but one grew from what he once was. How do you deal with that. Why do you have to deal with that again?

Seriously the angst between them would be perfect because it would be so complicated.

PHHH NOOOO I FORGOT TO COLOUR TWH MOITH

Ill do that in the morning.

If im being perfectly honest this isn’t really morro’s new design in my style i rushed it, i’ll do a proper one soon.

To be honest i was struggling on the faces and their expressions, especially lloyds so if his face overall looks weird just ignore it.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #morro ninjago #morro wu #lloyd ninjago #ninjago lloyd #lloyd garmadon #lego emo #ninjago morro #dragons rising #ninjago dragons rising #lego ninjago dragons rising #dragons rising morro #that can be a tag now #lloyd dragons rising #dragons rising spoilers #forgot to add that tag to all my other posts #asrikal art

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cmdrfupa · 10 days ago

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What's My Age Again?

I can't allow his birthday to pass and post nothing. Happy Birthday to our husband, Toeji <3

Fluff, crack, suggestive but we are tame today!

“Birthday plans? You bent over the counter, ass covered in caramel and sprinkles.”

“For fucks sake, Fushiguro. Its Sunday.”

Toji smiled and kissed your cheek before rolling on top of you. “Even better. When you say ‘Oh God’, it won’t be in vain.” His hand traveled down to your waist as the rough pads of his fingers delicately traced your skin.

You laughed and it felt like heaven showed itself to him as your eyes closed and disappeared with every chuckle that left your lips. Your husbands birthday was coming up. What you thought was to be a special one. And it was only appropriate that you attempt to give him a sweet party with his favorite foods and favorite people.

“Baby. Be serious. Its a big deal. You’re turning 40. We’ve gotta do something to celebrate that.”

Raising his eyebrow and moving to sit up on his elbow, he mischievously smiled. “Babydoll, who told you I was turning 40?”

“Uhh well, Shiu told me that yo-”

“Shiu is playing with you and I am more so amazed that you don’t know how old I am without askin.”

Confused and honestly a little a perturbed, you sat yourself up, gathering the sheet to cover your bare chest. “Okay, lets be clear here. I asked Shiu 6 years ago at that party he had for his wife how old you were because you were being all elusive and shit about it.”

“And he told you 34?”

“Yes. he told me you were 34.”

“Sweet pea. I’ve got a 19 year old. That would’ve made me a teen dad.”

Even more confused now, you furrowed your brow. “No offense Fushiguro but if you were getting around the way you were in your 30s, I-”

The scar over his lip rose and he squinted “I’m going to pretend like you weren’t going to say that.”

Your giggle was almost immediately muffled by his attack of kisses. “You’ve got the hottest dilf this side of the Meguro river. That’s all that matters.” He spoke into your neck and wrapped his arms around you.

“I suppose so. But I want to have a little party for you. Something more than just a cake, a vacation and me bent over whatever surface you request for that year.”

“You’re saying this like it isn’t the best gift every single time.” Toji laid his head on your chest, kneading and almost settling into your bosom like a cat. “And every year we go through this where I sat its not a big deal and you say-”

“But it is a big deal!” you both spoke in unison as Toji raised the pitch oh his voice to tease you. You thumped his forehead and he squeezed you with a grin.

You could leave it alone. Let ignorance be the blissful heaven it was meant to be and pretend to be okay with not knowing his age.

Or you could let that nosey trait do its job and find the truth.

“You’re right. You can be 75 and I’ll still want to slide down your chest.” you winked and wrapped your legs around his waist pulling him closer.

“Atta girl.”

__--------------

The air in Shiu Kong’s office carried a faint whiff of leather and expensive cologne. It was the kind of place that screamed, “Don’t bother me unless someone’s dead.” You had only been here a handful of times, one to drag Toji’s ass out by his collar when he was attempting to get back into the business and the other when needing to drag Shiu’s ass out because his wife couldn’t find him. But today was different—you were here on a mission.

Shiu looked up from his desk as you entered, his eyebrow arching in mild surprise. “Well, well, if it isn’t my preferred half to Toji. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need your help,” you said, plopping into the chair on the other side of his desk. “And by help, I mean information.”

Shiu smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Let me guess—Toji’s in trouble again? Or did he finally admit he lost that bet to me?”

“We’ll circle back to this betting nonsense,” you replied, folding your arms. “But I want to know how old he is.”

Shiu froze for a beat, then burst out laughing—a deep, throaty chuckle that made you regret walking through his door.

“I’m serious!” you insisted, leaning forward. “You gave me some dumb answer a few years back and you know him. He keeps dodging the question, and I know you know the answer.”

“Of course I do,” Shiu said, still grinning. “But what makes you think I’m going to tell you? This is gold. Why would I ruin the fun?”

“Because I’m desperate,” you admitted with a sigh. “He’s been deflecting all week—kissing me, telling me shit about our upcoming trip, changing the subject, the usual. I can’t let him win.”

Shiu tapped his chin thoughtfully, the smirk never leaving his face. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s in it for me?”

You narrowed your eyes. “The satisfaction of knowing you’ve driven me one step closer to sanity?”

“Tempting, but no.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Here’s the deal: I’ll give you a hint. Just one. But the rest? You’re on your own. And I want a pot of budae jjigae.”

“Fine,” you said, gripping the armrests of your chair. “It’s a deal. What’s the hint?”

Shiu grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. “Let’s just say… Toji’s age is as elusive as his sense of responsibility. But if you really want to know, hes got this old duffel bag he’s had since I’ve known him.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t even considered that.

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” He leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “That things like a treasure trove wherever he has it now. But I’ll warn you—whatever you find, you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Got it.” you said, standing up. “Thanks, Shiu. I’ll have your stew by the end of the week if this is at all helpful.”

“I like it spicy. And extra spam. Don’t forget!”

“You both eat like teenagers. No wonder your lady likes when we have potluck nights.”

Shiu shook his head, his laughter following you out of the office.

---------

Back at home, the closet was a mess. Toji’s version of “organized” could only be described as controlled chaos, with jackets tossed over boxes, stray weapons stashed in shoe racks and decade old pants flung on random shelves. You stood in the middle of it all, hands on your hips, staring at the heap of items you’d pulled out in your search for the infamous duffel bag.

“This man,” you muttered under your breath, tossing a rolled-up hoodie to the side. “How can he be so good at avoiding questions but so bad at cleaning?”

After moving a pile of shirts that hadn’t seen daylight in years you were sure, you finally spotted it—an old, worn duffel bag shoved into the back corner. Its faded black fabric looked like it had seen better days, and the zipper was barely holding on.

“There you are,” you whispered triumphantly, dragging it out and sitting in the center of the closet.

As you observed the bag to see where to start, something slipped out from the side pocket—a small stack of photographs, edges slightly bent with age. You picked them up, curious, and settled onto the floor to take a closer look.

The first photo caught you off guard. It was a black-and-white image of a young boy, maybe five or six, standing stiffly in front of a grand but cold-looking building. The Zenin compound, you realized. His clothes were neat but clearly hand-me-downs, and there was a wary look in his dark eyes, as if he didn’t trust the person behind the camera. Next to him stood another boy maybe a few years older and an older gentleman clearly smiling with a hint of inebriation under his cheeky grin.

Your chest tightened. He’s told you about most of his chidlhood. From bits and pieces about his mother to the rougher experiences living with power hungry nut jobs. You knew enough to know it hadn’t been easy. But seeing it—this quiet, vulnerable moment frozen in time—hit differently.

You flipped to the next photo. This one was brighter, taken outdoors. Toji looked a little older, maybe eight or nine, holding a wooden practice sword. He stood in a training yard, surrounded by other kids who all looked sharp and polished. Toji, on the other hand, now had the cut on his mouth and dirt smudged on his shirt. But what struck you was the determination in his expression—like he was daring the world to knock him down again.

“Oh, Toji,” you murmured, your fingers brushing over the edge of the photo.

The next image was the one that stopped you in your tracks.

It was Toji as a young adult, maybe twenty, twenty-one. He was sitting on a low wall, the setting sun casting warm light over his face. And he was smiling—not the smug, cocky grin you were used to, but a real, genuine smile. His hair was messy, and his posture was relaxed, almost carefree. For a moment, it felt like you were seeing a version of him untouched by the weight of the world.

Your heart swelled. You couldn’t help but smile back, as if the photo was alive and he could see you.

“What are you doing, snooping around?”

The sudden voice startled you, and you almost dropped the photos. Spinning around, you found Toji leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and an amused smirk playing on his lips.

“I, uh…” You scrambled for an excuse, but your words died as you held up the picture of young Toji. “Is this you?”

His smirk faltered. For a moment, his expression softened as his gaze flicked to the photo in your hand. “Yeah. That was a long time ago.”

“You look… happy,” you said softly.

He didn’t respond right away, stepping into the room and crouching beside you. He plucked the photo from your hand, his thumb brushing over the surface as if remembering the moment it was taken.

“I guess I was, for a little while,” he said quietly. “The compound was quiet as my father had left to tend to business which meant my cousin was off being a nightmare in someone else’s life for a few hours. I’d say I was feeling pretty good.”

You didn’t push him for more. Instead, you reached out and placed a hand on his arm, giving him a gentle squeeze. “You deserved more of that.”

Toji glanced at you, his smirk returning—but this time, it was gentler, less guarded. “You getting all sentimental on me now?”

“Maybe,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

Toji placed the photo back onto the stack, his hand lingering as if reluctant to let it go. “Y’know,” he began, his voice quieter now, “I don’t keep these around to get all nostalgic. Just… sometimes it’s good to remember where you came from, even if it wasn’t great.”

You nodded, sensing the gravity in his words. “Makes sense. But seeing these, seeing you… it’s a reminder that you’ve come so far.”

Toji snorted lightly. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t go writing me a Hallmark card now.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Fine, no sappy speeches. But I mean it. You’ve been through so much, and you’re still here, still fighting. That says something.”

He gave you a sideways glance, a flicker of vulnerability passing through his eyes before he masked it with his usual smirk. “Guess I have my reasons for sticking around,” he said, his gaze lingering on you just a little too long.

Your cheeks warmed, but you weren’t about to let him derail the moment. “Speaking of sticking around,” you said, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin, “are you ever going to tell me how long you’ve been around? Y’know, your age?”

Toji smiled and went from a squat to sitting next to you. “You really don’t let up, do you? You really wanna know my age?”

“I’d sell a kidney ro know.”

He leaned back, groaning dramatically. “I mean, if you’re serious, I know a guy who would give you a great deal for one.”

You lighlty punched his arm before leaning your head onto him.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. But don’t go telling everyone, got it?”

“Swear on my life,” you said, clasping your hands together in mock solemnity.

Toji shook his head, leaning in closer. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered his age, his voice low and deliberate.

Your eyes widened as you pulled back to look at him. “Wait, really?!”

He shrugged, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Told you it wasn’t that interesting.”

“Not interesting? Baby, you basically just told me a state secret,” you said, still processing the number. “You’re not getting away with that so easily. We’re revisiting this conversation later.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, standing up and ruffling your hair as if to dismiss the subject entirely. “Now, c’mon. If you’re done snooping, I’m starving.”

You huffed, but couldn’t help smiling as he headed toward the kitchen. “This isn’t over, Toji!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he called over his shoulder, his tone teasing but light. “Keep dreaming.”

You couldn’t help but think about that smile in the picture—the one you’d just seen mirrored, if only for a moment.

“Wait for me old man! I don’t want your hip to slip or you forget where the onions are!.” You yelled as you made your way out of the bedroom!”

“When I have you asking me to stop, I’m going to show you whose old, sweet pea.”

You couldn’t help but think about that smile in the picture—the one you’d just seen mirrored, if only for a moment. “i’ll have you begging for a life alert, big boy.”

Your man. Your baby. You Toji.

(I’m saying he’s 45 currently, final answer huehuehue)

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #toji x reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji zenin #lu.logs

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