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winged-self-indulgence · 5 months

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Why Do People Like Yanderes?

Hi everyone, my name is Diya, and this was going to be a YT video-essay-type-thing but I'm too poor to afford a mic and too busy with college to learn how to edit videos, so here's my vague exploration of the psychology behind why people like yanderes so much through the lens of my favourite Visual Novels.

TW for uh. yandere content. Mentions of sex, gore, and non-con, particularly in the last topic. This is more like the first draft of an academic paper so while it's not explicit, I do go into some detail.

Introduction

If you’re a fan of anime or visual novels, then you’re probably already aware of what a yandere is, or at the very least you’ve seen that one picture of Yuno Gasai. Still, for the sake of thoroughness, let’s take it from the tippy top. The term ‘yandere’ is a Japanese portmanteau of ‘yanderu’ – the progressive form of ‘yami’ – meaning ‘sick’, and ‘deredere’ which roughly translates to ‘loving’. Together, the word refers to someone who is – in short – extremely lovesick. Obsessive to the extreme, and with little morality to spare, the standard yandere is characterized by a dangerous fixation on a chosen target, often appearing shy and caring at first only to flip the script and become violently aggressive towards perceived threats (Kroon, 2010).

It should be noted that yanderes are not a strictly romantic or sexual trope. The Ancient Greeks classified at least six forms of love, from familial (storge) to guests (xenia). Modern psychologists may distinguish love as either Companionate or Passionate (Kim & Hatfield, 2004) or consisting of three dimensions of Intimacy, Passion, and Commitment (Sternberg & Sternberg, 2018). Realistically, possessiveness shows up in a variety of relationships. However, people are generally primed to view certain dynamics as inherently amorous. Societal norms tend to encourage the idea that romantic bonds ought to rank above all others, and therefore if Person A is bizarrely fixated on Person B, then clearly there must be an element of sexual interest involved regardless of the actual relationship between the individuals in question.

Regardless, yanderes remain quite popular in fiction. Many dismiss it as a fetish, which it can be, but that isn’t the case for everyone. While there is nothing wrong with indulging in kinky fiction, not all of us get horny at the thought of being chained up in someone’s basement, no matter how hot our captor may be. So why is it so pervasive? Why is this trope so appealing that most writers cannot help but include at least a single line of dialogue implying that – if circumstances had been ever so slightly different – my wholesome shoujo romcom might have turned into a psychological horror?

Hybristophilia

‘Hybristophilia’, also known as Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome after the titular criminal couple, is a word is derived from the Greek word ‘hybridzein’ meaning ‘to commit an outrage against someone’ and ‘philo’ which means ‘a strong preference for’. Sexologist John Money reportedly defined it as a paraphilia in which an individual is sexually aroused by a partner who has a predatory history of hurting other people (Money, 1986, as cited in Matuszak, 2017). In his book, Serial Killer Groupies, true crime and crime fiction author RJ Parker distinguished two forms of hybristophilia: passive and aggressive. The former is when an individual contacts a criminal with the intention of striking up a relationship with them, allowing themselves to be seduced and manipulated but having no interest in committing a crime themselves. The latter are far more dangerous, as the individual not only derives sexual pleasure from their partner’s atrocities but are active participants in carrying out or covering up the crime. To quote Griffiths (2013, as cited in Pettigrew, 2019):

“[They] help out their lovers with their criminal agenda by luring victims, hiding bodies, covering crimes, or even committing crimes. They are attracted to their lovers because of their violent actions and want to receive love yet are unable to understand that their lovers are psychopaths who are manipulating them.”

In some ways, hybristophilia is the nearest thing we have to a realistic understanding of why people love yanderes. I mean, much of the fantasy surrounding such characters and their media tend to be filled with posts begging to be spat on or calling the rightfully terrified main character ungrateful for being a teeny bit upset about finding surveillance cameras in their ceiling. However, enjoying fictitious immoral activity does not predict real perpetration, so what does? There exists little consensus amongst psychologists as to what sparks this particular predilection, and that was strange to me. You would think there would be more studies into this topic, in spite of or perhaps because of its controversial nature. Heck, that one dude wouldn’t shut up about white women’s obsession with Bundy and Dahmer, and I assumed he had gotten that information from somewhere, but it turns out that was just him using modifiers to justify sexism.

However, I believe that we can hedge a few guesses, and over the course of my research, I’ve organized the main rationalizations under four umbrellas which I will explore through the lens of my favourite yandere-themed Visual Novels. Please keep in mind that most of these games are rated as mature due to sexual scenes and/or gore. Additionally, in the spirit of transparency, this ramble will be focused exclusively on male or masculine yanderes. So, without further ado:

Call Me Bob the Builder Because I Can Fix Them

If you’re familiar with DC Comic’s Batman, or just happen to have attended any costume event held over the span of the last 20+ years, you may be familiar with the character of Dr. Harleen Quinzel, better known as Harley Quinn. Initially created as the Joker’s one-off sidekick in Batman The Animated Series, she was so well-received by audiences that she became a recurring character in the cartoon and was eventually given a proper origin story in the form of a one-shot titled Mad Love.

Harley’s origin story has seen some alterations over the past decades, but the core aspects remain largely untouched. In the beginning, Harleen Quinzel was a promising young woman who wanted was a degree from the university’s prestigious psychology department, which she gained through…less than scrupulous means.

(Listen, I’m not sure if the authors were leaning on the Dumb Blonde stereotype, or if they simply thought that casting her as a genuinely bad student would make her later actions more believable. Either way, the idea of Harley as someone with a legitimate PhD came later)

After landing an internship at Arkham Asylum – a half-hospital and half-prison straight out of the 1870s that might as well be built out of one-ply tissue-paper soaked with gasoline and left next to a crate of fireworks – Harleen set her sights on the then incarcerated Joker. At the start, her fixation on the criminal wasn’t remotely sympathetic. She didn’t want to help him, she wanted to use him. Harleen Quinzel wanted piggyback off his infamy and write a tell-all tale detailing what sort of messed up childhood resulted in Gotham’s Clown Prince of Crime. Yet the more she interacted with him, the more the Joker took advantage of her empathy. By the end of their sessions, Harley no longer saw him as a violent serial killer with a clown schtick, but as a “lost, injured child looking to make the world laugh at his antics.”

But Diya, you may be asking, what does this have to do with the video? The Joker never loved Harley, and it could even be argued – as Shehadeh did in a 2017 essay – that her obsession with the pasty-faced clown is more akin to Histrionic Personality Disorder. While that may be the case, I believe that Harley’s story provides one of the reasons yanderes are so popular: their backstory.

Whether they were abandoned by their family, bullied by their peers, experimented on by evil scientists, starved on the streets, died under mysterious circumstances and then trapped in a haunted VCR tape for decades, or are simply so impossibly inhuman that they frankly do not understand why it isn’t socially acceptable to imprison their crush in a pocket dimension made of meat and non-Euclidean geometry, yanderes often have fairly sympathetic or at least understandable explanations for why they are Like That. Your mileage may vary significantly depending on how much you sympathize with these motives, but the point is that yanderes always make sense to some degree. Their morality and priorities may be twisted or even completely incomprehensible, but the audience almost always knows the reason, and that can be comforting. In the real world, other people aren’t always straightforward, and we never really know what they’re thinking, but narrative coherence demands a semblance of internal consistency lest the audience end up frustrated and confused. So yanderes are not only easy to sympathize with, but also fairly predictable. In-universe they may be unhinged freaks with a blood fetish, but to you watching from behind the safety of the screen they’re just acting out the script written for them based on a prototype. And if you understand the why behind their loose gears, then you might just be able to put them back together again.

The concept of rescue romances or “I Can Fix Them” has been around in our stories for thousands of years. The Epic of Gilgamesh detailed how Shamhat essentially ‘civilized’ wild man Enkidu through ritual lovemaking, and a concerning number of religions push the idea that women are dutybound to save men from the follies of sin. Yet men are not exempt either, with one notable example being the German fairytale, King Thrushbeard. Call it what you will regardless: Knights in Shining Armour, the Florence Nightingale Effect, or a plain old case of Because You Were Nice to Me, studies have shown that human beings generally like helping [DA2] others, even when the reason doesn’t necessarily stem from pure altruism. I will delve deeper into this later, but care and compassion are deeply ingrained in human nature, and arising from those roots is the appeal of this mentality: You can save them. You can change them. You can make them better. You are special, and the way you treat this person carries a weight that has not and will never be matched by anyone else for the rest of their mortal or immortal existence.

The illusion is a delicious one, especially if the person you’ve helped turns out to be a billionaire CEO with cash to burn, a super powerful ghost king willing to raze continents to dust for you, a demon having fun on a Friday night, or just your average hot creep with a knife. Moreover, different people have different ideas of what ‘fixing’ even means. Maybe you want to single-handedly rehabilitate your yandere into a functional member of society. Maybe you’re cool with the incessant stalking but would like them to stop slaughtering your friends, family, and local service workers. Maybe you want to make them much, much worse.

Not only do yanderes provide immediate proof that your actions have a tangible impact on the lives of others, but the fantasy also includes the desire of being seen as special. Of being admired and adored by someone whose life you inexplicably made better by virtue of simply being yourself, or an idealized version of yourself. In this fictional world, in this imaginary setting, the person you are is so uniquely, impossibly irreplaceable to someone. And if that’s the case then they can’t risk losing you, can they?

The Allure of Obsession, or ‘Til Death Do Us Part (Literally)

It shouldn’t be necessary, but here is my obligatory disclaimer anyway. Ahem: obsession is not a good thing in real life. Fixating on another human to the detriment of your own wellbeing and that of those around you is dangerous, as is encouraging someone else to obsess over you. You might think you are being worshiped, but real life is not a visual novel. The outside world doesn’t come with an age rating, the author’s guiding pen, and a convenient fade to credits sequence once you’ve reached an ending. The consequences will still be there in the morning, so don’t do it. Just don’t.

PSA out of the way, it’s natural to want to be wanted. Maslow’s Hierarchy places it just above physical safety, but I’d argue that it could easily be compared to baser drives. According to many psychological and anthropological studies, much of humanity’s continued survival and environmental dominance is largely attributed to our ability to form groups, cooperate with one another, and maintain complex interpersonal networks. Social support, intimacy, and a sense of belonging are linked to emotional and physical benefits, such as more optimistic health perceptions, higher subjective well-being, increased creativity and innovation, and greater self-efficacy (DeWall & Bushman, 2011; Harandi et al., 2017; Wang & Sha, 2018). Therefore, it’s perfectly understandable that rejection of any sort would be construed as a threat.

But if someone is obsessed with you, then you have no reason to worry about that, right? No more nights spent agonizing over how they feel about you, asking yourself whether your last text made you sound too desperate, or if you’re boring them because you spent the past hour info-dumping about Stardew Valley farm layouts. With a yandere, there will never be any doubt that they care about you. Sure, they might go about it in weird, manipulative, and insidious ways that violate your physical and mental autonomy, but you can’t deny their loyalty. They do love you in their own bizarre way. You are the sun around which they orbit. When you’re in the room, no one else exists. Every single messy flaw is just another bullet point on the mile-long list of why they adore you.

In essence, yanderes are not only attentive, but their love can be virtually unconditional. A yandere might know everything about you, and still revere you. It’s unhealthy as hell and you might genuinely question their taste, but it can be tempting to pretend that all of you, right down to the ugliest parts of yourself – the traits and choices that you would never share with another living soul even at gunpoint – are worthy of understanding, if not open praise and affection.

Attractiveness, or Okay but Have You Considered That They’re Hot Though?

I mean what am I supposed to say here? They’re hot, what do you want from me?

No, but in all seriousness, fictional media paints an idealized version of the world, and most yanderes are hot because they have the freedom of existing purely behind that screen; artfully arranged and edited to forever appear compelling to anyone who happens to enjoy their particular style. And there are a lot of styles to choose from. Whether you want them pretty faced and disarmingly cute, or scarred up and big enough to pin you like a butterfly, yanderes come in a wide variety of shapes and sizes that are meant to pique your interest and draw you in like a naïve little fish being lured towards the mouth of an angler fish, unwilling to believe that anything bad might happen to us when the bait is this pretty.

This is often referred to as the Halo Effect, a form of cognitive bias referring to the tendency for people to assume that a single obvious positive trait must be associated with other positive traits. The go-to characteristic is typically physical attractiveness, but a nice voice, good humour, and cooking skills are also factors which serve to influence our perceptions.

So, conventional physical attractiveness is one thing, but that’s only skin deep. What about beyond that? After all, the yandere still has to talk to you before they enact their master plan of tying you up in their basement until Stockholm Syndrome kicks in.

When I showed my friend a picture of John Doe from the game John Doe, she told me that he looked like a creepy slob, and she’s far from the only person who’s ever thought so. Look at them. I feel like if I tried to comb that hair it would simply eat me, and some of the CGs really put the scopophobia in Scopophobia Studios. I love Doe, but he is not hot, and he doesn’t behave in a normally appealing way either. If the player chooses not to take a bath, Doe will immediately comment that you “smell good” before following you home, breaking into your house, and leaving a bloody organ on the floor for the player to trip over. Many yanderes can at least fake a veneer of normalcy, but from the get-go Doe doesn’t even bother to pretend he’s anything less than an otherworldly creature stuffed into a vaguely person-shaped meatsuit. In an effort to find out why so many people had latched on to Doe – including me – I shopped around social media and YouTube for answers, and what I found was a widely unanimous sentiment.

While some were drawn to his fun design and goofy personality, most simply thought that he wasn’t inherently malevolent, just very confused. In addition to being a supernatural being with a completely alien axis of morality, Doe’s meta-awareness and unbridled attempts at winning the player’s affection lends him quite a bit of support from the audience, especially if you yourself also happen to struggle with social cues and relate to his pure earnestness. In Ending 7 of the extended version, the player character has the option to tell Doe – who has altered himself to pass as more ‘normal’ – that they prefer who he truly is, at which point he grows visibly flustered and sports an adorable pair of literal heart-shaped pupils.

Whether they’re charismatic, seductive, cute, sweet, funny, nurturing, or generous, the best yanderes have engaging personalities. Even while they’re committing truly heinous crimes against God, man, and your guts, you still kinda want to hang out with them, and you want them to acknowledge you as being just as interesting. And this is all fine in fiction because you’re the one in charge, and if you ever get bored or uncomfortable or busy with something else, then you can simply close the tab or window with zero consequences, which brings us to the final and most important reason.

Power Dynamics and Consent in Fantasy (I Couldn’t Think of a Joke Here Guys, This Is Kinda Serious)

Once again, I feel that I must preface this section just for the sake of my own peace of mind: sexual coercion and assault are vile and disgusting crimes that should never be emulated or tolerated in the real world. We are speaking purely of fictional media, specifically adult-oriented media in this case, so please be mindful.

In 2009, Bivoni and Critelli conducted a study on 355 undergraduate women with the goal of assessing the reasons behind fantasies of non-consent. At the time, there were two leading explanations of this phenomenon. One stated that women with high libidos but repressed views of sex used these imaginary scenarios to alleviate the guilt they had grown to associate with sex. Because the simulation was a purely mental exercise and they themselves were cast as helpless victims in the scenario, they were able to remain blameless while still finding sexual gratification. The second stated that these fantasies were an expression of liberation by women who were adventurous and comfortable enough with their own sexuality to engage with taboo ideas that they weren’t at all interested in performing in real life. Which do you think was more common?

If you guessed the second option, you’d be right. The study found that of the 220 women who had experienced such fantasies, 45% found theirs erotic, 46% were mixed, and only 9% reported pure aversion. One justification for this outcome relies on psycho-biological theories, for example masochistic preferences or the unintended activation of the sympathetic nervous system and subsequent mis-attribution of arousal. Other reasons have to do with higher order thinking and are tied to the power dynamics within such fantasies. On the surface is the appeal of being so desirable to someone that they simply cannot control themselves, but then there is a deeper impulse, which the researchers referred to as Adversary Transformation. To quote the article: “[fantasies] involve a struggle between an assailant and a potential victim in which it is relevant to consider who is the winner and who is the loser. At one level, it is a struggle over sex, but the woman's non-consent may be feigned or token. At another level, the woman may be seeking a victory that is not about whether sex occurs, but about what happens emotionally between the protagonists.”

Basically, the imaginary perpetrator may have ‘won’, but the self-character need not have ‘lost’.

Media provides an extra layer to the illusion, one that you as the viewer have absolute control over. If you are choosing to engage with a piece of media that explicitly labels itself as including R18+ yandere content, then you clearly have some expectations, and that background awareness goes a long way in reducing long-term discomfort and allowing audiences to make informed decisions. If you don’t like the plot, you can simply turn it off it with the click of a button, and when the screen goes dark it’s not like the yandere is going to punish you for saying no. Strade isn’t going to break into your house with a drill, there are no homicidal clown ghosts hiding in your TV, and no suspicious pink-haired hackers watching your webcam. They aren’t real, and the consequences aren’t real either. You have all the power here.

Conclusion

In summary, Yanderes are appealing for a variety of reasons. Whether you want to save them, think they’re attractive, wish to indulge in a dream of being utterly coveted, or simply enjoy a bit of spice in your me-time, it’s obvious why the trope has persisted for so long and will likely continue to do so. If you enjoy yanderes but are worried that having a taste for the less wholesome side of things might imply something about who you are as a person, don’t be. The notion that fantasies and media preferences directly reflect subconscious desires is not only painfully out of date debunked nonsense but also indicative of restrictive ideologies wherein bad thoughts = sin. This isn’t 1984. You haven’t committed a thought-crime by having a weird kink. You aren't going to superhell for fantasizing. The human mind is hardly ever so mathematically rational, and the point of fiction is to allow us to safely engage with and explore various ideas, provided the everyone involved is mentally, chronologically, and emotionally mature enough to do so.

Thank you all for listening to me. If you learned something or were just a little bit entertained. If you're curious about knowing more, I've listed my sources below

REFERENCES

Bivona, J. M., & Critelli, J. W. (2009). The Nature of Women’s Rape Fantasies: An analysis of prevalence, frequency, and contents. Journal of Sex Research, 46(1), 33–45. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490802624406

Critelli, J. W., & Bivona, J. M. (2008). Women’s Erotic Rape Fantasies: An Evaluation of Theory and research. Journal of Sex Research, 45(1), 57–70. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490701808191

DeWall, C. N., & Bushman, B. J. (2011). Social acceptance and rejection. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 20(4), 256–260. https://doi.org/10.1177/0963721411417545

Flynn, F. J., Reagans, R., Amanatullah, E. T., & Ames, D. R. (2006). Helping one’s way to the top: Self-monitors achieve status by helping others and knowing who helps whom. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 91(6), 1123–1137. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.91.6.1123

Harandi, T. F., Taghinasab, M. M., & Nayeri, T. D. (2017). The correlation of social support with mental health: A meta-analysis. Electronic Physician, 9(9), 5212–5222. https://doi.org/10.19082/5212

Hazen, H. (1983). Endless rapture: rape, romance, and the female imagination. https://openlibrary.org/books/OL3161300M/Endless_rapture

Kroon, R. W. (2010). A/V A to z: An Encyclopedic Dictionary of Media, Entertainment and Other Audiovisual Terms. McFarland.

Matuszak, M. (2017). Hybristophilia White Paper. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55dfd21ee4b0718764fb34cc/t/5cb7cabee5e5f00ab13be58b/1555548863275/Hybristophilia+White+Paper.pdf

Oarga, C., Stavrova, O., & Fetchenhauer, D. (2015). When and why is helping others good for well-being? The role of belief in reciprocity and conformity to society’s expectations. European Journal of Social Psychology, 45(2), 242–254. https://doi.org/10.1002/ejsp.2092

Parker, R. (2014). Serial killer groupies. RJ PARKER PUBLISHING, INC.

Wang, T., & Sha, H. (2018). The influence of social rejection on cognitive control. Psychology, 09(7), 1707–1719. https://doi.org/10.4236/psych.2018.97101

#reference list is completed!#yandere #sunny day jack #my dear hatchet man #mdhm #stnaf #ddlc #john doe #boyfriend to death #tpof #degrees of lewdity #your boyfriend #14dwy #br<3ken colors #camp willowpeak #br0ken colors #obey me #favour vn #binary star hero

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zarnzarn · 8 months

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i see all these comments talking about this after the new episode, but. i would like to state for the record that stolitz isn't. toxic.

first off, the concept of a toxic and a healthy relationship are such... vague terms. when you're online, drenched in language and tight moral boundaries, trying to put a nuanced story like helluva boss's into boxes is easy to attempt and impossible to do.

a toxic relationship is one where one or both parties is maliciously affecting the other. I'm talking fetid, nasty, rude interactions where there is more hurt than love. they're unhappy more often than not when they're with their partner, there's no respect or give from the other side.

stolitz is nothing like that.

Stolas actively cares about Blitz and actually has no fear or hesitation in ADMITTING IT OUT LOUD TO OZZIE. he has been calling, texting, commenting, laughing and finding ways to spend time with Blitz. he's throwing everything he has to the wind, finding the courage to move forward with the divorce, putting everything he has into trying to keep him. he's been alone in a palace since he was born, on medication, with such less people dear to him that he remembered the circus boy who spent a day with him DECADES ago- so when blitz comes into his life and brings back in laughter and color and sex, he's holding on with everything he's got.

and blitz does care!!! he cares a LOT, the whole series we see him falling in love with stolas through SHOW NOT TELL (his expressions, his choices, his fear, his lashing out) and utterly unable to process that stolas cares about him too when talking to fizz; almost a desperate kind of denial-

cause yknow. the first time he tried to confess something to someone he really liked, he accidentally killed half the people he knew and ruined the lives of the rest?

thats gonna leave just a teensy impact on the will to express your emotions in the future, methinks.

even before that, he clearly felt like on some level that he was unworthy and he's said twice that he despises himself for the accident even though it wasn't actually his fault. being self aware doesn't stop the emotions from emotioning.

he keeps insisting its only sex so urgently to anyone who doesn't ask because he can't even imagine it being anything else. he's both disappointed and relieved when he repeats that stolas sees him as a novelty, because what else can it be?

(there's a whole other spiel of how brave both Stolas and Blitz have to be to say it out loud even when asmodeus can't afford to, considering how publically and completely beaten down both were at the club.)

(there's also another whole spiel about how frustrating it has been for ME to see all these comments over time with such bad takes based on like,, 20 min worth of info of a show that takes months to release an ep. like godDAMN have some patience?? let the story UNFOLD MAYBE? IT WAS ALWAYS GOING TO HAVE AN EXPLANATION WHY WOULD YOU CRITICIZE THINGS THAT ARENT EVEN FINISHED ESPECIALLY AN INDIE ANIMATION- i digress)

mind you, this has NOTHING to do with abuse. an abusive relationship is one where one is actively harming the other with full awareness. Stella is an abuser and their marriage is abusive.

and stolitz isn't that; it isn't even unhealthy or toxic. it's a consensual, transactional fuckbuddy relationship that slid into something more for both of them.

but!!!!! one of the main reasons for the problems that everyone looks over is-

they're in a BDSM relationship.

I can't possibly delve into dynamics without making this a 10k research paper BUT even though we've gotten only hints and costumes and dialogue- they're very clearly and undeniably in a BDSM contract. Behind the scenes of this crazy show is a whole different story, of these two delving into the most hardcore kinks out there- knifeplay, painplay, bondage.

if you've gotten into the community, if you've read a couple dozen particularly good fics by authors who know what they're talking about, hell; even if your only experience is fifty shades or 365 or whatever- you gotta know that BDSM scenes are crazy fucking emotionally heavy. there's so much that has gone down between them during their full moons that helluva can't get into!!

but you know how in so many of these popular medias and fics, the dom in the relationship is also like,, the billionaire/mafia heir/prince, etc, the one with financial and physical power? this isnt that. it has been very clearly stated that stolas is subbing, blitz is domming.

now take a moment and think about how much that fucks up the dynamics.

in stolas' eyes, blitz is a confident, dangerous individual who's an old friend and cherished memory of his, who he's trusted wholly with his safety during sex and he's lucky to have; and he has been in an abusive arranged marriage for the past eighteen Years, he's probably not going to be pushing his luck with his dom that much in the first place. plus, blitz is never cowed by him during their conversations- think back to the first phone call right after he stole the book, completely unafraid.

and for blitz, it's someone trusting him again- but it's also a royal- a blue blood who's nearly untouchable and so much more powerful- who couldn't possibly like a piece of shit like him, apart from the sex he gets out of it. he only flirts once he gets some sort of cue from Stolas; he's desperately trying to view this as only a Goetia trying to get his rocks off, despite all the evidence to the contrary, because anything else is unfathomable to him, no matter how clearly Stolas shows it, because of the ptsd.

both of them thinks the other has the power. both of them aren't expecting the other to keep shut if something's bothering them.

and there's so much conflicting messages from the other too!

stolas calls him a plaything when trying to intimidate the humans; stolas cups his face gently and asks if he's alright

blitz asks him on a date and tells him to get better soon; blitz yells that it's only sex and doesn't reply to his messages

ya see?

bring it to fizzozzie for a second now; even though they do look all good on surface, you can still see fizz's trauma and doubt in all their interactions, they're still forced to keep the relationship secret. do you see his face when Ozzie says in hyperbole that he's never leaving the house again, or when someone accuses him of being a pampered house pet or when he got sexualized in the 7th ep? whatever happened in the interim between the accident with mammon, it fucked him UP. even though oz seems to be well aware of this when he tells him not to apologise and in their general interactions, fizz still visibly has trouble separating plaything/commodity from healthy relationship.

shout the fuck out to Ozzie btw, man knows whats UP. rooting for these two so much omg.

i forgot where I was going with this point, I'll edit it when i remember. but yeah! lovely fucking relationship, but damn what angst filled issues.

anyway, to sum up- stolitz is not a toxic relationship. the relationship is stuck sludging through misunderstandings and careless microaggressions and trauma responses, but it's not unhealthy or toxic because of the simple reason that most of the current hurt comes from... a misunderstanding. stolas didn't realise blitz would need reassurance about what they were and blitz didn't see stolas as someone who could get hurt.

unecessarily calling it toxic, even online, is more impactful than people think too. almost all spindlehorse ARE on all social medias; so MANY YouTube animators i know have found jobs there; they see your words, especially since a lot don't tag posts with "anti hb" correctly to keep them out of the main tag. there are Very few queer medias made BY queer people that haven't gone through heavy corporate revisions- helluva boss is practically a historical landmark in its success. it's very very very fucking easy to forget that not ten years ago some of the only queer videos on YouTube were butter lover (one kiss at the end post credits), dirty paws and welcome to hell (subtext).

the amount of "critical talk" helluva boss gets for what it is is very unprecedented. it's a beautiful show. can't wait for the next episode.

#helluva boss #stolas #blitz #stolitz #fizzarolli #helluva boss ozzie #okay im gonna make SO much content but i had to get this off my chest first #because so many people were like omg fizzozzie is so healthy stolitz take a lesson!!#and theres so much more nuance to it thats its so. frustrating to see a statement like that #meta #anyways #i love this fucjing show

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norrussell · 5 months

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Lines | George Russell⁶³

Pairings: George Russell x fem!bestfriend!reader

Summary: it's morning after the victory celebration and George and you need to talk about what happened the previous night, except it doesn't really go as planned

Warnings: angst

A/N: 👉👈👀 Now I wish I had that other one shot ready considering George ended up on the podium, but balance baby. The melody of the song might not fit, but the lyrics are 🤌 Also I made a whole damn playlist for this little story

Previous part

The morning after excessive drinking was never a good one. The sun shining through the unclosed curtains only made the head pounding worse, causing you to let out an agonized groan. Your throat and mouth felt parched like walking through a desert and your body seemed to be weighed down, refusing to move when you tried turning over.

You extended one arm and blindly felt around the cold, empty side of the bed that obviously someone had been in last night. You were only barely aware of the night before. You knew you went out to celebrate George's win and had an amazing time, but you were vaguely able to recollect any of it.

There were only flashes of him holding you as you moved on the dance floor and drinks coming and going - the reason why you were in such pain right now. The way you celebrated, someone would think it was you who won. And in all those in-between moments, you couldn't remember meeting anyone and certainly had no memory of bringing them home, but you knew someone should be beside you. And surely George wouldn't just let you-

George.

Your eyes flew open.

Oh, no.

You glanced to the left side of your bed, trying to convince yourself that it was just a drunken dream and you slept alone in your bed, but the sheets were crumpled exactly as they should have been if someone had occupied the space. Only faintly, bits and pieces of what happened after were coming back to you now - the feel of George's lips and of his fingertips dancing on your skin.

You propped yourself up on an elbow, blinking away dizziness as you sat up. You held onto the edge of the bed until the room stopped spinning and you found your balance again. Moreover, feeling exposed underneath the sheets was only a confirmation of what you dreaded most.

The only thing that you could take solace in at the moment was that you didn't have to face George and the aftermath of your own doings. Oh, how could you have been so rash? You were the one to initiate everything with your friend, despite begging him not to let anything come between your friendship. All night, you kept making advances towards him and it was due to your constant prodding, teasing and cajoling that George eventually kissed you and ended up in your bed.

You heard an uninvited voice in your head. There were no consequences last night, only two friends who had spent the most perfect evening together doing the things they loved and being with the one person they trusted the most.

But the night hadn't ended there. And it had involved an awful lot of alcohol.

Oh, god, you couldn't even remember everything that happened.

And that was the thing that scared you even more.

Then George's deep voice echoed in your head. You could remember every word he said last night, and you could still feel his arms wrapped around you. He'd loved the feel of you. He'd loved watching you. He'd loved how hard you came on his fingers. He'd been so proud of you.

No, no, no, no, no, no. This is ridiculous. This shouldn't have happened. You ran a hand through your thick, tangled hair when a loud noise coming from outside of your bedroom snapped you out of your thoughts.

You jumped out of the bed, grabbing the first bit of clothing you could find and hastily throwing it on. The sunshine hit you hard from your floor-to-ceiling living room windows, your eyes squinting as you tried to adjust to the brightness. And there he was, moving effortlessly through your kitchen, just in his gray sweatpants and barefoot.

You could observe the definition of his back muscles, how relaxed and tranquil he was. The red marks that ran across his body were only a further confirmation it was true what had happened the previous night. When he spun around to face you, his lips curled into a smile as his eyes scanned you from head to toe.

"Good morning,"

"I thought you left," you blurted out before you could stop yourself, leaning against the doorframe.

His face dropped and he put down the thing he was holding on the counter. For the first time ever it was hard for him to read your face. "The way you said it sounds like you wish I did."

"No, I just..." you tried to find words to explain, but nothing was coming. "That's not it at all."

"I'm making breakfast," he grinned once more, showing off the pan.

"Mhm," you murmured, trying to give him a hint of a smile, but it fell flat.

He didn't seem to notice though as he was busy stirring something in the pan. "I like your outfit by the way," he said casually without even glancing at you.

It was only then that you looked at yourself. You were wearing his shirt from last night. Your hand moved to take it off, but you remembered there was nothing underneath, so instead you pulled the fabric closer to your skin.

"I'll give it back," you muttered, trying to keep your eyes away from him as you felt your cheeks heat up.

"I didn't say it because I wanted you to give it back. You know I let you wear my clothes," you knew he was trying to make things less awkward, but it only made it more difficult for you. This was not supposed to happen between the two of you. You were just friends, best friends, and now there was this added layer of complication that you couldn't ignore.

"That was before… That was different."

"How is that different?" he turned around, facing you fully.

"It just is!" you snapped.

George raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Whoa, okay. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," you muttered, looking away from him.

"I'm sorry you had to wake up alone, I wanted to-"

"That's not the problem," you shook your head.

"Then what is?" he finally turned the stove off, looking at you.

"What are you making?" you forced a smile and walked up to him, the subject changed once again.

You were a ticking time bomb waiting to explode and he knew that. He wanted to make sure that you were okay, that you didn't regret what happened last night. He knew you better than anyone else and he could see the guilt eating away at you. He had to do something to make you feel better, to make things right. Still, he let you have your way, glancing at you sideways. "Well, it's an omelette with all kinds of vegetables. Even the mushrooms you hate."

"And the tomatoes, right?"

"And the tomatoes." he smiled, nodding.

"Smells amazing," you returned the smile.

"I'm glad you think so. Are you hungry?"

"I'm sick, honestly." you grimaced.

"Here, drink this, it should help you with your hangover until I wrap this up." he said, indicating the pan.

"Is this one of your trainer's smoothie recipes?" you asked, eyeing the glass filled with green liquid suspiciously.

He laughed, then nodded. "Guilty. But it does the job, trust me. I already had one."

You took a small sip, noting the disgusting taste.

"Bleh," you tried to shove it in your mouth as fast as possible and moved the glass away from your lips. You shivered, shuddering at the aftertaste.

"I told you." George laughed, taking it from you. "It's not that bad."

"I hate you." you muttered.

He sighed, somehow not doubting your words, presenting you a plate with the omelette and the cooked vegetables on it. He then poured out a glass of water for you. "Eat up, you'll feel better."

You shot a glare at him, but grabbed your fork and started eating anyway. He stepped away for a brief moment to search for and put on a shirt. And that irked you even more. How could he be so calm, so collected, so... normal after what happened between the two of you last night? You couldn't even look at him without feeling a sense of shame washing over you.

The more you stayed quiet, the more apprehensive you were about what had happened the night before. You didn't know the consequences that may arise from your actions and it could have caused irreparable damage, even though nothing seemed to be amiss. The stress was steadily building inside of you as you desperately tried to keep yourself from starting an argument, but eventually you couldn't contain it any longer.

The guilt that had been weighing down on your heart since you woke up was only getting heavier. How could he act like nothing was out of the ordinary? Like nothing had happened between you two? How could he not bring it up?

"I can't do this." and there it was.

"Do what?" he said with a frown.

God, this was not a conversation you wanted to have first thing in the morning.

"Pretend." you crossed your arms. "Acting like what happened last night didn't happen."

George's face fell, but he didn't look away from you. "I'm not pretending, y/n." he took a deep breath, his eyes locked onto yours. “I just thought that maybe we could talk about it later."

"Later? George, this is important. We can't just pretend like it didn't happen.”

"I know it is," he was still frowning.

"Last night, I- I don't know what came over me. I mean, I got drunk, you know that I wouldn't do something like that otherwise."

“I know,” he repeated.

"Well, I think I wouldn't, anyway," you tried to laugh, but it only came out as a nervous cough. "Because right now I can't remember a single thing that happened after the club."

"I brought you home." George replied, avoiding eye contact.

"Can you stop doing that?" you were getting annoyed after each second that passed.

"What?" he responded, still not meeting your gaze.

"Avoiding addressing the problem. Like nothing changed between us!"

"I'm not." he gritted.

"Oh, please!" you rolled your eyes, "Can we not do this right now?"

"Do what?!"

"This! Act like nothing happened between us and nothing changed. We can't just sweep it under the rug. We are both adults, you can act like one."

“Nothing has changed.” George finally looked up at you, his eyes penetrating yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "What do you want me to say, y/n? That I regret last night? That I wish it never happened?" he shook his head. "I can't say that because it wouldn't be true."

"We crossed the line!" you shouted.

"What line?! The line was already blurred after the thing that happened in my driver's room. Last night it was barely existent!"

You flinched at his words, the reminder of your previous encounters with George sending shivers down your spine. "I shouldn't have ever let you touch me." you whispered.

"God, if I knew it would be like this I never would have offered."

"So why did you?" you snapped.

"Because I wanted to." he clapped back.

The tension between you both was palpable, and you couldn't help but feel like your friendship was hurtling towards its breaking point. You couldn't understand why he was so calm about everything, why he wasn't feeling the same way as you. It was almost as if he didn't care about the fact that you had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.

"You wanted to?" you repeated, feeling the anger inside you bubbling up. "Is that all it takes for you to just throw away our friendship like it's nothing?"

"It's not like that," he said, his voice calm despite the way you were shouting at him. "I care about you, y/n. You know that."

"We shouldn’t have let things go this far…" you whispered.

"Well, yeah, it's all should've, would've, could've now, isn't it?" George's voice was hard and bitter. He pushed himself away from the counter, balling his fists at his sides.

"How can you be so calm about it? Does it not mean anything to you? Do you even care?!"

George ran his hands through his hair, frustration etched onto his face. "No, I'm just trying to understand why you're so upset about it."

"Why am I so upset?! We had sex, for god's sake, George!"

George stood up from his seat and walked towards you, his face just inches away from yours, his breath hot on your skin. "And it was amazing," he said. "Don't pretend like you didn't enjoy it just as much as I did. Do you remember what you were saying to me last night? Huh? Do you?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to push down the memory of your slurred words. "That doesn't matter," you said, trying to push away from him. "That's not even the point! We can't just pretend like it never happened and go back to being friends like nothing changed."

"What, you don't want to admit that you wanted me just as much as I wanted you?" he chuckled, his eyes never leaving your face. "And I asked you, time and time again, are you sure, do you want this," he raised his voice, "and you said yes every time. Don't backtrack now just because it's convenient for you. Don't even try to deny it."

"I was drunk!" you yelled back, your heart pounding in your chest. "What did I know? You should've known better than to..." you trailed off, not really wanting to believe it.

"Than to what?" George interrupted, his eyes blazing with anger. "To trust you? To believe that you knew what you were doing?"

"You knew I was vulnerable!" you shot back, tears streaming down your face.

"Vulnerable of what?!" he bellowed, his fists clenched at his sides. "You were the one who came on to me, who kissed me, who begged me to take you."

"You could have said no!" you cried, feeling the weight of the accusation heavy on your shoulders. "You should've said no..."

"Why should I have said no?" he shouted. "I wanted you! I still want you! God, I wanted you for years. I'd be willing to risk anything just to show how much I cared, but because the friendship meant so much to us both, I was afraid that if I confessed my feelings, I would end up losing you completely. And being your friend was infinitely better than not having you at all."

His words hit you like a splash of cold water, dousing you from head to toe. His face was twisted from anger and hurt, but there was no denying the truth in his words. And you were afraid of losing him too, otherwise you wouldn't even be acting this way. He was your best friend, or at least you thought he was. You had been friends for so long, you couldn't even remember when you two became friends. You were so close, so comfortable with each other, so much so that it became a part of your identity. That was why the transition from two to one had been so abrupt.

"I’m sorry I fell in love with you, okay? But it happened and I can’t do shit about it.”

“You… What?” your voice was barely above a whisper as you stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. You had never expected him to say something like that, not in a million years. It was as if a dam had burst inside of you, all the emotions you had been holding back crashing over you like a tidal wave.

You stepped back, trying to make sense of what he just said. "You love me?" you repeated, feeling your heart skip a beat.

George nodded, his eyes searching yours. "I'm sorry, this isn't how I planned to tell you. I don't know if I ever did. And maybe you’re right, maybe I should have taken better care of you last night and waited until we were both sober do to something, but I couldn't hold myself back any longer, I've been in love with you for so long-"

"No. Don't. Shut up." you raised a finger to stop him from talking further. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?" he stepped closer to you, his hands reaching for yours, but you stumbled away from him, towards the window.

"Shut up, George. Just- shut up." you placed your hands on your temples hoping to block everything out.

The room spun and you felt like you were going to throw up. You couldn't believe what was happening. You had never thought of him in that way, not once. He was your best friend, your confidant, your everything, but not your lover. How could he be?

You turned away from him, your back pressed against the cold window. You felt trapped, cornered, and scared. You didn't know how to feel, what to do, or what to say. You were lost in a sea of conflicting emotions, and you didn't know how to swim.

"Don't you love me?" he asked, his voice still soft, his eyes clouded with worry.

"No." as soon as the words flew out of your mouth you wanted to retract them. "Yes. No, not like that." you couldn't handle it anymore. You were breaking apart inside and you were afraid that if you stayed here that you would shatter completely. "You can't be in love with me."

“You think I wanted this to happen? You think I, of all people, wanted to fall in love with you?” George's voice was laced with pain and frustration.

"You have to stop."

"Stop what? Loving you? You think I can just turn my feelings off like a switch? But if you're so wise tell me how I’m supposed to un-love you, then. Tell me. Spare me." the emotion in his voice was like a thunderbolt.

And then you saw them, the tears in his eyes begging for you to stop pushing him away. And you saw the pain, the pleading hurt in his eyes. And you felt your heart breaking.

Oh, god. You were hurting him.

You hesitated, but your feet started moving before your mind had a chance to catch up with your body. Before you realized it, you were standing in front of him, your hand reaching up to touch his cheek. His hand instantly grabbed yours.

"I tried, you know? It's not that easy." he sobbed. "It’s not that easy to just let go of someone you’ve held onto for so fucking long. I wish I wasn’t in love with you, now that I see what it's doing to you. To us."

"I think we need to spend some time apart." you said.

George's grip on your hand tightened, and he looked at you with a mixture of fear and desperation. "How can you be like this?"

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you were about to say. "I just need some space, George. This is all too overwhelming for me right now. I need to figure things out for myself."

George's eyes widened in shock. "You can't walk away from me like this. We can do it together, we can-"

"No, I'm not walking away from you," you said softly, trying to keep your voice calm. "I just need some time to think. We both do. On our own."

"Time apart won't solve a thing." he said, his voice pleading.

"There's nothing left to say." you sighed.

He almost laughed. "I just confessed my love to you and it's all too much? You have nothing left to say? Huh?"

You closed your eyes, trying to focus on your breathing. How could you explain to him that your heart was so full of conflicting emotions that you couldn't even speak? You loved him, there was no denying that. But you were scared, scared of losing him as a friend, scared of losing yourself in him. You needed some time to figure out what you wanted, what you needed, and for the first time, you couldn't do that with him around. Not right now.

"I need to do what's best for me right now. I hope you can understand that." you took a step back, your hand slipping from his.

George's eyes followed your hand as it slipped away from his. His heart ached at the thought of losing you, and for a moment, he considered grabbing your hand and pulling you back into his arms. But he knew he couldn't do that. He had to respect your wishes, even if it hurt like hell.

"What's best for you, huh? I guess I don't have a choice then, do I?" he said, walking backwards away from you.

"George-" you started, but he already disappeared in your bedroom.

When he emerged back, he was wearing one of his sweaters that you borrowed a long time ago and never returned. He put on his jacket and shoes without even looking at you. You knew he was hurt, but you also knew that you couldn't just give in to him. You needed to take care of yourself first. As he walked towards the door in silence, you knew that he was leaving, maybe for good. You wanted to run after him, to tell him that you loved him too, but you stayed rooted to the spot, knowing that it was the right thing to do.

The second he left, you fell into the cushions of the couch, your hands clutching your face. You had crushed his heart and yours in the same instant. You needed space to collect your thoughts and decide what the future held for George and yourself - if a future existed at all between you two.

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ekat-fandom-blog · 6 months

Text

Mythical au

Alfred had been the guardian angel of the Wayne family for many centuries. He'd been worried that he'd be forced to watch over a different family after Bruce died, but luckily he'd decided to take in Dick then Jason then a whole slew of children after and he didn't worry about being taken from his family for decades at a time. There would be challenges, he knew, but nothing he wouldn't do for his family.

When Bruce brought home two half dead children, Alfred knew that they were going to be a permanent fixture in the family's lives even if Bruce insisted that he was only fostering them until their aunt could safely take them in.

↓ more ideas ↓

Alfred Guardian angel - has a human form, minor healing powers, minor precognition concerning their charges He's the guardian of the Wayne family and upon his "death" he'll go visit his previous charges. After a few years in heaven, he'll choose a new form and come back to Earth. Knows what species his wards are almost immediately, but tries not to say anything as it's typically considered rude to talk about someone else's species without them saying something first. He isn't aware that some of his charges have no clue they're anything other than human.

Bruce Human No one but Alfred, his teammates, and his children believe Batman is human. No one thinks Brucie could be anything but human. His kids have a running joke that he's not actually human.

Dick Selkie - seal that can turn into a human, in human form they have a coat, if a human steals said coat they can force the selkie to do whatever they want, can be vengeful and dangerous, are normally friendly helpful and attractive. He takes many precautions to hide his coat from everyone. He sometimes sneaks to the pool in the mansion to swim. Bruce didn't know for a few months. Jason didn't find out until before Ethiopia. Tim figured it out after one month. Damian didn't know until Dick decided that Damian wouldn't use his coat against him.

Jason Wraith - steals/hoards souls, holds grudges, targets those who've wronged them until they've captured their soul and can force them to wander outside of the spirit world for eternity. He became a wraith after being resurrected and is very vaguely aware of being one. He's definitely collecting and hoarding souls, but has no idea what to do with the souls he collects. His ultimate goal is to collect Joker's soul and force him to wander aimlessly for eternity. He absent mindedly tries to take any ghosts for his hoard whenever he zones out around them. The magic community and ghost community are aware of this very-much-alive wraith and have mixed feelings about it, but the overall consensus is that it's a bit funny. His family - except Alfred, Danny, and Dani - don't know.

Tim Sphinx - smart, guardian, can prophesy, ferocious, generous, merciful He doesn't know he's a sphinx. He gets glimpses of the future but doesn't normally say anything to warrant anyone becoming suspicious of him having prophetic dreams. If he was aware he was a sphinx, he'd be able to tap into his true form and become stronger, faster, and better at controlling his prophetic ability.

Damian Imp - crafty and mischievous demons with minor magical abilities and a craving for the spotlight, typically garners attention from those who want to enslave them, born pranksters, impulsive, good at shapeshifting and conjuring fire He's very unaware that he's an imp. Talia is also unaware. Ra's is aware and hiding the fact that they're imps.

Danny Halfa He's very confused about Jason being a fully alive ghost (almost, kinda). He does think it's funny when (in ghost form) Jason tries to add him to his hoard of souls when he's sleepy or absent minded.

Dani Will-o-wisp halfa - mischievous, sometimes they're reported to have led people away from their deaths and sometimes they are reported to be the cause of people's death mostly due to causing confusion in said people. Dani's aware of being a will-o-wisp, seeing as she shines brighter than Danny and has a propensity for wandering and mischief. Also, she was told about being a wisp by a wisp while traveling. She also thinks it's funny when Jason tries to add her and Danny to his soul hoard when he's sleepy or absent minded (when they're in ghost form of course, he doesn't react when they're in human form).

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #mythical dpxdc #this isn't how i wanted this to turn out but i couldn't get this prompt to work with me #i do love will-o-wisp dani and 100% alive wraith jason tho

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todorokies · 8 months

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could you write some boyfriend headcanons for megumi? sfw

boyfriend!megumi headcanons

a/n: i hope i delivered to your liking <3

☆ . . . dating megumi would feel like the crisp october air whirling throughout your lungs. soon you hear the chilled wind singing a tune as the red, yellow, and orange leaves join in; you feel at peace like a warm knitted quilt rest upon your shoulders.

☆ . . . you would have to confess first, he’s aware theres some unspoken tension that lingers whenever you two are in the same vicinity but he doesn’t exactly know how to approach you on the subject without feeling like a complete fool.

☆ . . . once he gets comfortable with you though he’s totally a cheeky little bastard.

☆ . . . for the first few months of the relationship megumi would prefer to be secretive and sneak around with you … the closest thing you’ll get affection-wise in public is linking pinkies or him drawing patterns on your thigh under a table when nobody is looking.

☆ . . . around the fourth or fifth month he’ll feel ready to go public (tell yuji and nobara) he’ll ask like a hundred times if you were ready as well and if you weren’t he’d have no problem with waiting.

☆ . . . i could see him with a partner who he shares the same vaules and philosophies with. he wouldn’t go out of his way to personally seek an extroverted s/o but he can find himself gravitating towards people with bubbly/outgoing personalities.

☆ . . . megumi is a quiet lover, choosing to express his affections through gestures rather than words.

☆ . . . spotify/apple music playlists are his go-to !!! i hc that he’s super into poetry so the playlist name would be a shorten quote of a sonnet or poem that reminds him of you.

☆ . . . once a month you guys pick out books for each other to read and annotate (his idea.) he gives you a nonfiction or thriller book while you always give him a romance book.

☆ . . . his annotations will either vary from vague one liners like “nice” and “cool quote” or two to three lines of why the protagonist shouldn’t have forgiven the love interest so quickly.

☆ . . . you know that movie trope where someone says “i’m definitely not gonna do that thing” and the scene immediately cuts to them doing that exact thing? yeah that’s megumi when it comes to doing facemasks.

☆ . . . he’ll be sooo reluctant but as soon as you smear the watermelon cucumber clay mask on his face he practically purrs like a kitten. he’s relaxed and happy to have a lil pampering day with you.

☆ . . . he’s more of a listener than a talker, whenever you’re reciting your day to him or rambling about a new show his gaze is so intense and stern you’d think he’s mad at you or not paying attention.

☆ . . . he assures that he was listening and that he’s always listening to you regardless of what you talk about.

☆ . . . he loves to hold you and be held !! it took him some time to ease into the physical aspect of a relationship like cuddles and kisses but he grew accustomed soon with some reassurance.

☆ . . . his favourite cuddle position is where your head rest on his chest with his arms securely wrapped around your waist as your legs are all tangled up together.

☆ . . . all in all, dating megumi is overall a tranquil and lovely experience, you’ll feel loved and cherished everyday you’re with him, even if his actions aren’t explicit he tries his very best to make you happy with the little things.

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3

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cows-wearing-my-sweater · 9 months

Text

eternal summer [part one]

part two: [soon]

word count: 2207 warnings: none ! notes: will get part two done as soon as i can, particularly if you guys seem to enjoy this <3 please always lmk your thoughts, don't be shy !!

You met him in the wintertime; he was all grey smoke and black coats and pale fingers blushed with red from the cold air. You had been at Charli’s house (practically a second home to you after years of friendship) watching the late-December snowfall while basking in the warm comfort of her living room, when a loud, almost obnoxious knocking came from the front door. Charli was quick to get up, rolling her eyes good-naturedly and simply saying, “It’s just Matty.”

The two of them stood in her doorway talking, Matty undoubtedly looking for George. Your gaze returned to the soft and snowy scene outside the window, allowing you to become lost in thought. Matty, you said in your head. Best friend’s boyfriend’s best friend. Enough degrees of separation away for you to be vaguely aware of him, but not near enough for you to have met him before. Charli had plenty of stories to tell, of course, but that was about it. Curly-haired singer with a loud personality, a soft heart, and, according to several anecdotes you’d previously heard, someone who should be filed under Men Who Can Do You No Good. You had your doubts about the sources you’d gotten that from, though.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard Charli say to Matty, “Yeah, she’s just over there.”

You turned to look over at the doorway. Matty was craning his neck slightly, as if trying to get a good look at you over on the couch. You sat further up and waved to him. “Hey.” It was your first time really seeing him, and you did your best to take in as many details as possible without blatantly staring: the few stray curls that escaped the rest of his neatly gelled hair, his slight stubble, the small silver hoop that hung from his ear, the way his eyes crinkled when he returned your smile.

“Hi.” He paused, giving you just a moment to collect yourself again. “I’m Matty.” He sounded almost awkward, like he wanted to say something witty or cool but had completely drawn a blank. You told him your name, he nodded, he said something to Charli, he left. That was that, completely (maybe disappointingly) unmonumental.

Charli sat down next to you on the couch again. “Did he seem tense to you?” she asked.

You gave a noncommittal shrug of your shoulders. “Dunno. You know him better than I do.” Although, a very small part of you couldn’t help but briefly wonder what it would be like if you did know him better. What if you could tell when he was tense, what if you knew all the tells of when he was anxious, what if you could read his mind and he could read yours? You stopped before you got even further ahead of yourself. You sound insane, you told yourself. It was enough to make you decide to push Matty out of your thoughts for the foreseeable future. Besides, it would be quite a while before you’d have to see him again.

Except it wasn’t. Just two weeks later, you found yourself back in Charli’s home, the familiar air smelling of pine and cinnamon from the lit candles. Charli had decked the house out in fairy lights and colorful, sparkling ornaments – it was a Christmas party, after all. “Party” was a bit of an overstatement, though. Really it was just you, her, George, and the other three guys, with Carly accompanying Adam.

Your eyes landed on Matty almost immediately after walking inside. This time, instead of the drab coat and slicked-back hair, he was drowning in a fuzzy, oversized jumper and had let his curls loose. They framed his face perfectly, and something about seeing him in this setting – warm, cozy, inviting – made your heart briefly skip a beat.

Halfway through the night you were perfectly at home with the group of people who had been near strangers just hours before. Everybody had drinks in hand, conversation was flowing with ease, and a warm glow seemed to illuminate the whole room. In your slightly tipsy state, you allowed yourself to sneak furtive glances in Matty’s direction – what harm could come from a little crush on him? He was cute, he was funny, he was intriguing. It would be weird for me to not be interested, you reasoned with yourself. It was just then that your thoughts were interrupted by yet another reason to keep him on your mind: his fucking fingers. The flicker of his lighter had drawn your eyes to his hands and the way they fidgeted with a cigarette before pressing it to his lips. Matty’s face was briefly highlighted in a bloom of yellow-orange, before the flame went out and was replaced by wisps of grey smoke. You blatantly stared at his index and middle fingers as they held the cigarette to his lips, then studied the shape those lips took when he blew the smoke out to the side, wondering how they would feel against yours, soft and hungry.

At this thought, you stood and excused yourself to the kitchen, deciding that another drink was in order. You were almost certain you could feel Matty’s eyes burning into your back as you walked away, but you weren’t sure if it was wishful thinking or anxious paranoia on your part.

The sound of conversation from the other room was slightly muted in the kitchen, but it wasn’t long before you heard familiar footsteps behind you. You turned around, already knowing it was Charli. “He hasn’t got a girlfriend, you know,” she said with a sly smile.

You furrowed your brow in feigned confusion. This would not become something she could hold over you. “Sorry, who are we talking about?”

“Matty, obviously!” she exclaimed loudly. You gave her a warning glance, petrified that her voice would carry and your little crush would have to come to a swift end.

“I’m not interested.” Charli raised her eyebrows at your words. “Well, maybe I’m attracted, but I’m not interested!”

Your friend knew you well enough to understand that the topic was moot. There would be no changing your mind – at least, not that night. Charli began to sidle out of the kitchen, but not without saying, “I’ll keep my eye on you two,” in a teasing voice.

.♡♡♡.♡♡♡.♡♡♡.

And then it’s summer. Everything is the same, but now there’s a gold filter over it all. Everything is different, but the air still smells the way it did in the summer five years ago. Summer is a constant. Time will always pass and everything will always keep moving, but when the time is right, the sun will always warm your skin, and if you try hard enough, your skin starts to glow the way it did when you were six years old.

One thing you’ve learned since May, when the weather really got warm and the sunsets began to linger a little while longer, is that Matty Healy is luminous in the summertime. Your interactions with him have become more frequent since that December, giving you the opportunity to watch him metamorphosize. Without you particularly realizing, lunch dates and movies and late night drives with him have become a part of your weekly schedule. Charli had been determined to work her magic, and while no romantic endeavors had occurred, her set-ups for the two of you had undoubtedly helped form one of the most meaningful friendships in your life.

You’re definitely over that stupid crush.

There’s no time to contemplate your previous budding infatuation anyway, because a car has pulled up outside your home and the driver is incessantly honking on the horn. Speak of the devil. You grab your tote bag filled with a towel, snacks, sunscreen, sunglasses, and a paperback book and dash out of your front door, sandals hitting the ground loudly.

Both the driver’s and passenger’s doors of Matty’s car have been thrown open. Alison by Slowdive is playing softly through the car speakers as you slide into your seat and place your bag on the floor between your legs. Matty raises his sunglasses up away from his eyes, pushing some of his hair out of his face. “You ready?”

“Mhm.” You have to bite your tongue in order to not say more, seeing as your heart rate has increased tenfold at the sight of Matty. Every button of his white short-sleeve shirt is undone, the collar hanging loosely around his neck. His tattooed arms are sunkissed, almost golden, as if a goddess of the sun blessed him with her touch. Glimpses of the tattoo across his chest peek out from his undone shirt, contrasting with the bright fabric. You’re filled with the insatiable desire to remove the shirt and press your fingertips to the ink, the only barrier left between you and his bones being that thin layer of skin. You could melt into each other.

There’s not much need for small talk today. Soon enough you’re speeding down an empty rural road, windows down and music loud. Matty is rhythmically tapping on the wheel to the beat of the music, while you reach your arm out the window and let yourself become enveloped by the roaring warm wind. Occasionally you turn your attention back to Matty and the soft smile that appears on his face as he mouths the words to the song. He could smile at you and the world could crumble down at your feet and you wouldn’t care; all you can see is Matty.

After a lengthy drive, a sparkling expanse of water comes into view, the sandy beach completely deserted save for two figures you can see in the distance – Charli and George. You have a feeling that this beach day is another one of Charli’s attempts to set you up with Matty, and for once you don’t feel so eager to protest; not when his eyes are pools of honey and his cheeks are dusted pink from the sun and his perfectly sculpted figure is right in front of you like this.

When you and Matty have carried your things down to the beach where Charli and George have placed their bags, the two of them are already down in the water; Charli’s loud laughter carries up to the sand where you stand with Matty. “They’re really cute together, aren’t they?” you say wistfully, almost to yourself.

“Yeah… yeah, they are.” You’ve discarded the large cotton shirt you were using as a cover-up for the black two-piece you had beneath it, and Matty’s eyes are trained on you. A pause before it hits you:

He’s staring he’s staring he’s staring fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck–

Matty clears his throat. His face is burning bright red now, and you’re quite certain he hasn’t formed a sunburn this quickly. “Sunscreen?” he says weakly.

“Sorry?”

“Uhm, would you like help with your sunscreen, I mean.”

“Oh!” Your mouth takes a moment to catch up with your brain. “Yes, please!.” You dig around in your bag for the sunscreen and hand it to him before turning around, your back facing him.

The cool lotion on your back applied by his warm and calloused hands nearly makes you gasp. You bite down on your lower lip and tense your shoulders, though the goosebumps across your skin give you away regardless. Matty’s hands work the lotion into your skin, fingers practically massaging your shoulders. Your eyelids flutter close, and before you can stop yourself, you let out a soft, contented sigh. Matty’s fingers pause and your eyes shoot open.

Fuck.

It wasn’t even that bad don’t worry it’s fine don’t worry–

Fuck.

Matty quickly finishes applying the sunscreen and takes his hands off you, allowing you to face him once again. His lips are parted almost imperceptibly and you’re sure he can hear your thoughts racing – a mortifying idea, as all you can think about is silencing his next words with your mouth on his, hungry like he’s fresh fruit, letting him drip down your lips to your chin.

“Are you two having a moment?”

You nearly jump out of your skin. You didn’t even notice Charli making her way up the beach toward you. A knowing look is on her face as she picks up a towel and wraps it around herself, telepathically screaming “Tell me fucking everything” at you.

“No, we’re just–” You start, but Matty is quick to interrupt.

“We just realized we forgot something in my car, actually! Come help me find it?” Matty looks at you pointedly, nearly begging for you to go along with this. And who are you to say no?

“Yeah, yeah, of course! Tell George we’ll be right back, alright?” you tell Charli.

Before she can get a word in edgewise, Matty takes your hand in his and adamantly whisks you away. You wave to Charli, who’s watching with an open-mouthed smile, before returning your attention to the task of keeping up with Matty’s fast pace. His grip on your hand, the serious expression on his face, the white shirt slipping down his shoulder – you’re suddenly faced with the unsavory realization that you’re not, nor have you ever been, over that stupid crush.

On the contrary, you’re utterly fucked.

#took awhile to write this and idk for sure how i feel about it now but life goes on yall #matty healy fic #matty healy x reader #matty healy fluff #matty healy #fluff #naomi's writing !

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just-j-really · 3 months

Text

Unsoulmates, part three!

[Part One] [Part Two]

It becomes a tradition, after that. Morpheus and Hob will meet, at a cafe or a pub or completely by chance (their friend groups, it turns out, are bizarrely interconnected), and Morpheus will ask Hob if he's found his soulmate yet, and Hob will say no.

Their first few meetings, Hob makes a genuine effort to try and explain. To talk about the people he never would have met, the love he'd have missed out on, (the life he'd have missed out on), had he just sat around waiting for his soulmate to find him. About how freeing it is to get to know someone outside of those horrible soulmate-matching dates where you shake twenty people's hands in a row and move on when nothing happens.

Morpheus seems entirely baffled by it. Not just Hob's approach, but the rest, too, soulmate-matching organizations and the goddamn nightmare that is dating apps and that brief moment of panic when the other person tries to grab your arm on the first date. Hob is almost as curious about Morpheus' experience of soulmates as Morpheus is about his, but Morpheus shies away from even the blandest questions about his relationship status, so Hob is left to wonder- if Morpheus met his soulmate young, like Will did, so he's never lived with the pressure to find the One. If he believes that Destiny will bring his soulmate to him when it's time, and it's not his place to go looking. If he's cautious, gets to know a person on their own terms before touching them and finding out if they're a Match.

Hob would think that last one were the answer- Morpheus holds himself apart from other people, avoiding physical contact at all costs- were it not for the deliberate brush of Morpheus' fingers against his palm the night they'd met. At first he's terribly aware of where that mark would be, but it's easy enough to let the crush he'd been nursing fade to the background. Morpheus' interest in him is so clearly just academic curiosity, it'd be silly to dwell on it.

And even though the novelty of being listened to, if not fully understood, eventually wears off, Morpheus' curiosity is still heartwarming, and Hob, as a person, is not given to running out of things to talk about. And Morpheus proves shockingly eager to listen to him ramble about playing Hades and argue with him about what qualifies a good adaptation of a book.

It's nice. Settling. To be around him, in a way Hob doesn't know he's ever felt with anyone else.

Their fifth meeting, Hob spends the entire time gushing about Audrey, Audrey whose sister had introduced her to Hob because neither of them are terribly anxious to find their soulmate, Audrey who throws herself into helping Hob find the earbuds he lost at her house with the same fervor she applies to med school exams, Audrey whose laugh might be the most beautiful sound he's ever heard...

The look of- disgust? despair? anger? On Morpheus' face when Hob finishes that little tangent would almost be funny if it weren't so insulting.

Their meetings peter off after that. Not intentionally. But Hob will admit that his every waking thought becomes- slightly consumed, by Audrey, from the moment she looks at him sideways to make a terrible pun about roses. And even after Hob's found room in his head for other things, Morpheus is impossibly busy with some project he's working on with Will.

And suddenly it's been almost four months and they've barely spoken and Hob's rushing into a fancy bakery three minutes before they close, when he notices a familiar black coat at the back of the line. He takes a moment to straighten his jacket- this place is fancy fancy, polished in a way that makes him feel too poor to afford the oxygen inside the building- before he sneaks into line behind Morpheus.

Morpheus glances back at him and freezes, as though he'd planned to commit Bakery Robbery and Hob is now a witness.

"Hey," Hob says, grinning a bit too widely, in the vague hope that he can make them both forget the past months of awkwardness if he's just cheerful enough. "How's the playwriting going?"

Morpheus stares at him for a short eternity, then says, "Frustrating." It's the end of the sentence, but not the conversation. Hob knows he remembers that distinction.

He waits a moment, in case there's more that Morpheus wants to say. The line shuffles slowly forward- Hob really shouldn't have come here right after work, there are six people in line in front of Morpheus and only one incredibly stressed employee behind the counter.

"How is. Audrey?" Morpheus asks, uncertainly, just when Hob is beginning to think he should say something else.

Hob's fairly certain the smile on his face is answer enough to that question. "She's great. It's been. Great," he says, conscious of the fact that no matter how much he wants to wax poetic, Morpheus probably doesn't want to hear it. "She's actually- I'm going to meet her parents, this weekend," he adds, and once he's said the words aloud, it's hard not to bounce in place with sheer giddiness- he's going to meet her family! As her boyfriend! "That's why I'm here, actually. I wanted to bring something nice but the last time I tried to bake I set my kitchen on fire, so..." He shrugs, and nods at the counter.

"You really are in love with her," Morpheus says. That look is back on his face, that intense, almost visceral shade of pity. If anything it's stronger than the last time Hob saw it.

Hob, frankly, would prefer disgust. Or confusion, or scorn. I know what I'm getting myself into, he wants to say. I thought you understood that part, at least.

"Of course I am," he says instead, and the words only sound a little hollow. "Soulmates are stupid."

Another eternity passes. Morpheus makes a tiny move toward Hob, and for a brief, foolish moment Hob thinks he's going to kiss him on the forehead, as though he were a brother-in-arms dying on the battlefield.

"Then. Enjoy your dinner," Morpheus says, and turns back around.

And that's the end of the conversation.

The line keeps shuffling forward. Morpheus stares into the middle distance like a statue of some folkloric king. The woman in front of him shoots Hob several pointedly disgusted looks, and Hob- broods. Turns the question over and over again in his mind- Why is it so hard to understand that she doesn't need to be my soulmate? She's already perfect. I love her.

He doesn't ask. He doesn't get an answer.

And three weeks later, Audrey bumps into her soulmate at a concert, and he realizes she hadn't understood, either.

#dreamling #my fic #unsoulmates au #this is a short one but i didn't want to cram it together with the next part #will either post that next or a way-too-in-depth ramble about how dating works in this universe #i have. too many thoughts

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heliads · 5 months

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Hi!! I’m so excited your request are open I love your work!! I would like to request Charles leclerc x reader where he finds out the girl he has a crush on is a street racer and decides to finally approach her and talk ending up in him asking her out on a date. I hope this makes sense, sorry if it doesn’t 🥲💗

'first sight' - charles leclerc

masterlist

Charles Leclerc has never found himself as thoroughly engrossed in the dynamics of street racing as he is right now. He has, of course, been vaguely aware of it before, as someone who was born in Monaco’s lap of luxury and then subsequently indoctrinated in the grand and glorious art of racing sports cars, but not like this. Never like this.

If he were in the mood to be particularly honest, Charles would admit that he’s not just interested in street racing all of a sudden because of the same need for speed that’s consumed his life and led him to Formula One. Nor is he here because he’s developed a taste past sports cars to souped up tin cans. No, he’s here because of one driver, a woman. A woman named Y/N L/N.

See, this was never Charles’ intent. He would have been able to skip this unfortunate little obsession in his life were it not for the fact that he’s best friends with Pierre, and Pierre is way too fond of his girlfriend Kika to ever say no to her. So, when Kika begged Pierre to come with her to watch a friend’s street race, Pierre decided that he simply couldn’t do it alone and forced Charles to tag along as well, because of course there’s nothing Charles likes more than third wheeling the two of them on yet another flirtatious date night.

Charles had assumed it would be another long night of alternating between wishing he was back home, worrying he should be on the simulator more often, and wondering if he should have dragged along a brother or two so he wouldn’t have to watch Pierre and Kika ogling each other for the thousandth time that night. However, all of that changed when Kika led them over to meet her friend Y/N, who was racing that evening.

Charles is no stranger to pretty people. Every race, some new slew of celebrities gets a tour of the Ferrari motorhome. Charles has seen plenty of actresses and singers pose by his car and wear his merch, but it’s never really meant anything to him. He can tell when they’re fans or if they’re just doing it for good PR. Most celebrities are just people in higher tax brackets with higher rates of avoiding their taxes. You meet one, you meet them all. No amount of perfect smiles or dazzling faces can change that.

Y/N, though, was different. She was gorgeous, and Charles immediately felt as if he might have been run over by his own car several times. One look from her and he was lost in it, tumbling over and over in his mind. She had this charming confidence that Charles could only wish to emulate, the sort of ease you get when you know you’re better than everyone and don’t need to remind people of it because you know you’ll prove it the second you get to work.

If it were not obvious by now, Charles is in love, alarmingly so. Even after Kika makes some quick introductions and Charles manages to shake Y/N’s hand and stammer out a few pleasantries about it being a nice night for a race, he’s still left wishing he could get himself together long enough to be a real human being. Y/N probably thinks he’s insane, but she’s still smiling when she leaves them, so at least he hasn’t done too terribly.

Pierre, by contrast, seems to think otherwise. Y/N is barely out of earshot when the other driver turns him, unable to hide his laughter. “Charles, man, what was that? You look like you forgot your own name.”

“I don’t need to remember mine,” Charles murmurs, watching Y/N go, “Just hers.”

Pierre rolls his eyes. “Be serious. You fall in love a hundred times a week.”

Charles sputters indignantly. “That is not true. And besides, this is different.”

Pierre can’t persuade him otherwise. The drivers on the scene that night start their engines, and Charles watches from the sidelines, captivated, as Y/N accelerates to an early win. Once the race is over, Y/N runs over to Kika, who embraces her friend with an excited hug.

“Well?” Y/N asks Charles once she’s released from Kika, “What does the Formula One driver have to say about that? Fast enough for you even without V6 engines?”

Charles does his best not to fall to pieces. “Um, yeah. It was very great.”

She flashes him a bright grin. “Perfect. See you at the next race, Leclerc.”

With that, she pushes back into the crowd, receiving congratulations and praise from her other friends. Pierre is grumbling something about not getting asked as well since Charles isn’t the only F1 driver around, but Charles just laughs, still giddy on the aftereffects of those shining eyes on his.

Pierre expects him to just bounce back from this little crush, and truth be told, Charles would appreciate it if he could, but no such luck. Even a few weeks after that first race, Charles is still hopeless over Y/N. He scans articles on street racing, memorizes the names of her competitors, and becomes an expert on her win history. She’s fast, super fast, and it looks like the easy victory Charles had seen was just a typical habit of Y/N L/N when it comes to racing.

Needless to say, he was captivated. Although Charles usually tries to keep a little pride when it comes to these sorts of things, he only made it two weeks before caving and asking Pierre if he and Kika were planning on attending any more street races. Charles wondered this for no reason, of course. Just, you know, his natural love of racecars.

Pierre sees right through it. “You want to see Y/N that badly, huh?” Pierre asks skeptically. “Jeez, man, I didn’t think you were such a simp.”

“You didn’t even know what that word meant until Kika taught it to you two days ago,” Charles says scornfully. “Now answer my question. Are you going or not?”

Eventually, and not without a fair amount of teasing, Pierre admits that they were planning to go to another race that Friday. Charles is able to convince his friend to let him tag along, but only under the condition that he would actually get up the courage to ask Y/N out instead of just staring like a lovesick puppy. Pierre’s words, not his.

This time, the race is actually legal. Y/N’s day job is a drag racer, although she tends to get bored on the weekends and shoot for a few undercover street races as well. So the fan Twitter pages say, at least. Charles definitely hasn’t been snooping around enough of those to know.

Now that he won’t get chastised by Ferrari PR for attending illegal races, Charles is free to post as much as he wishes about the race, the cars, and most importantly, the drivers. Barely half an hour has gone by before fans across the Internet are calling him out for ignoring literally every other car there to post about Y/N, but what does he care? Y/N’s probably too cool to look at those sorts of posts. Hopefully, or she’s going to think he’s insane. Again.

This time, though, when Y/N strolls by their area to say hi, she doesn’t just immediately focus on Kika. She says hi to her friend, of course, and thanks both Kika and Pierre for coming, but stops directly in front of Charles. All that separates them is the barrier of the stands. Well, that and the immutable fact that Charles is clearly crushing hard and she is clearly just having fun.

“Good to see you back, Charles,” she says.

Charles grins. He’d promised himself he’d play it cool this time, but he’s already failing at that aim. “You remembered my name?”

“I had plenty of your social media posts to remind me,” she says, one eyebrow quirked.

Pierre facepalms by his side. Charles ignores him. “I was excited,” he tells her as casually as he can. “Is that a bad thing?”

“I don’t know yet,” Y/N muses. “I suppose I’d have to get to know you better.”

“I have no problems with that,” Charles grins cheekily. “How about I take you out to dinner and you decide for yourself?”

In Charles’ peripheral vision, he can see Pierre’s look of desolation turn to slow shock, but come on now, there was no chance Charles wasn’t going to follow through and ask Y/N out. The only thing he needs now is for Y/N to say yes.

She doesn’t answer immediately, but judging by the way her cool smile brightens, it’s less because she dislikes him outright and more because she enjoys playing with him, which is perfectly fine by Charles. If he respects the game, he has to respect the players as well.

“I’ll have to wait and see how I feel after the race,” Y/N responds at last. “Maybe I’ll lose and I’ll be too devastated to go out with anyone.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “I doubt that will happen, but alright.”

Y/N gives him a surprised look. “You’re willing to bet that I’ll only go out with you if I win?”

“I’m willing to bet on the excellent odds that you win every time,” Charles answers with a wink. See, Pierre? He can be smooth when he needs to be.

Y/N laughs at that, evidently pleased. “I’ll have to make sure I don’t let you down. See you after the race, Charles.”

With that, Y/N joins the throng of other drivers heading towards their cars to begin the race. Once she’s gone, Charles turns to Pierre, far more proud than he should be. “I don’t want to ever hear you complaining about my flirting again. Did I not do what I had to do?”

“You did,” Pierre grumbles, “but she still didn’t say yes, you idiot.”

Charles scoffs. “She absolutely did. She didn’t say no.”

Pierre can’t technically argue with this, so it’s up to Kika to distract them both from technicalities by asking them about one of their upcoming races, a surefire method of changing the subject. It does little to divert Charles from his own nerves, though. Suddenly, he’s gripped with an impossible terror that something will happen with Y/N’s car, or maybe she might come in second place and not first, and she wouldn’t want to go out with him after all. He shouldn’t have left it up to chance like that. He should have just gone after what he wanted in the first place.

Charles is a nervous mess the whole race. When the checkered flag waves, though, he’s finally able to relax. Y/N wins, and that means Charles has just scored himself a date with the prettiest woman he’s ever seen.

Y/N takes her time in coming around to his section of the stands, just to mess with him. At last, though, they’re face-to-face again. Y/N is breathless and thrilled with the victory. Charles thinks he could bask in her glow forever.

“So?” He asks casually, “How about that date, then?”

Y/N grins. “I think it’ll work out. You can pick me up at seven. Does Saturday work for you?”

“Saturday is great,” Charles says a little too quickly, then tries to recover. “Wear something pretty.”

“Don’t I always?” She jokes, gesturing to her race suit.

Charles laughs with her. It’s easy. He can imagine doing it many times again. “Of course.”

Her laugh settles into a quiet smile. Even in the tumultuous uproar of a race that’s just been won, Charles can focus on her instantly. He wants this, he decides. He wants her. And, with the way she’s looking at him now, mirroring the incline of his head towards hers, Charles knows that she wants the same thing. This is just the beginning. He cannot wait to see where they go from here.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc oneshot #f1 #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 oneshot #formula one #formula one imagines #formula one x reader #formula one oneshot #f1 charles #f1 charles imagines #f1 charles x reader #f1 charles oneshot

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caapsiizzereads · 9 months

Note

If you're taking requests can I request a Jamie x reader where they're dating but Amy, from Love Conquers All comes back and wants Janie back and reader is all insecure because she's not like the girls Jamie is used to dating so she thinks Jamie is going to go back to Jamie? I love some angst with a happy ending. Please and thank you! 💕

I got carried away with this thing, it’s like 2k words sorry….

Your favorite part of a night shift is when it ends, and you can go home and drop dead on your bed. You get in your car and quickly scroll through your phone, going through the unread messages. There are a few from Jamie, the usual ‘miss you’ and a couple of pics from his night out with the team. Then there’s a couple from Kelly, your best friend. There’s a link to an article from The Sun with the caption ‘??????’.

You open the link.

Jamie Tartt spotted on the night out with the Lust Conquers All ex-fiancée

Blurry pictures attached.

Logically, you know that Jamie was out with the team. So maybe this Amy girl just happened to be there too. You’re vaguely aware of Jamie’s reality TV past, mostly from what Kelly told you. When she found out that you went on a date with Jamie Tartt, after being done with the initial shock, she made it her duty to educate you on all of Jamie’s past endeavors. She’s kind of a celebrity gossip junkie, always keeps you in the loop with the latest news. You weren’t impressed by the whole cheating on your fiance in a jacuzzi on the knock-off Love Island thing back then, and you’re not impressed by these pictures now. But it’s ‘The Sun’. The sun (pun intended) will rise in the west when it becomes a reliable news source.

You realize that you’ve been sitting in your car for fifteen minutes when you yawn two times in a row. Whatever, you’ll just go home and ask Jamie about it later.

You are pulled from your sleep by a sudden weight laid on top of you. Then there’s someone’s warm breath near your neck.

“What’s the time?” you ask sleepily.

“Just after four,” Jamie says quietly. “I brought you a bagel from that bakery, can make you coffee,” he offers, but makes no attempt to move. “How was your shift?”

“It was alright, nothing unusual.” You wrap your arm around his shoulders. “How was your night?”

“It was fine. Had a good time. Missed you, though.” He nuzzles into your neck.

You let the whole article thing go. You asked Jamie about the night, and he didn’t say anything, so maybe there just wasn’t anything to say, and like you thought, it was just an exaggeration.

And as it always happens, the more you try not to think about something, the more you think about it.

The day after, you and Kelly meet on the shift, and you interrogate her about what she knows about Amy and Jamie’s other exes, because you refuse to google him. You know about Keeley, you’ve met her, and she’s fucking great. And Jamie dated her, and somehow managed to fuck it up, what an idiot. You can only guess who else is on that list.

Kelly, being the ever-supportive best friend, insists that you are better than any of them and just as much of a catch as Keeley Jones herself, which is objectively not true, but you appreciate the sentiment.

It doesn't take much to see that you are not at all like any of the women that Jamie has dated before. You’re a surgical resident – you have no money, you have no time, and you wear scrubs half the time.

It’s not even the first time that you think about how you and Jamie being together makes no sense, because that’s exactly what you thought when Jamie first asked you out. Two weeks had passed between Jamie asking you out and you being able to find time for the said date. And your second date ended thirty minutes after it started because you were on on-call duty that night. You honestly thought that at that point, Jamie would just give up and move on, but he was nothing if not persistent. Patiently waiting for you to have free time, trying his best not to show his disappointment when you needed to leave abruptly, and just overall always going the extra mile to accommodate your fucked up schedule. You didn’t understand why he even bothered, but he did. And in the end, it was hard not to fall in love with him.

Being in the spotlight comes very easily to Jamie, he enjoys the attention, but you aren’t a public person at all. And to his credit, Jamie has no problem with keeping your relationship private: your friends and family know, but you keep it away from the media. This is so unlike you to doubt yourself, but right now you just can’t help but go down the rabbit hole of comparing yourself with all the picture-perfect relationships of Jamie’s past.

The final straw comes a week after the article incident. You have just ended a thirteen-hour shift that came from hell, and you are half-dead on your feet. You’re changing into your regular clothes while Kelly’s sitting there scrolling through her phone.

“(Y/n)?” Kelly’s face looks concerned.

You turn around to face her, and she shows her phone screen to you. You take a brief look and then take the phone in your own hands to look properly. There are pictures of Jamie seemingly having a nice lunch with that girl from the reality show. You give Kelly her phone back with barely any reaction on your face. You don’t really feel anything on the inside either, because your exhaustion just overwhelms all the other possible emotions. You just make a mental note that there’s more shit that you’ll have to deal with today.

You walk out of the hospital and get in your car, you drive home, you go to the shower. You’re just going through the motions on autopilot. It’s only after you’ve been standing under the hot shower for fifteen minutes that you start actually thinking about what Kelly told you.

So Jamie had lunch with a girl that he used to be fake engaged to. That sounds like a piece of crap, even in your head. So does that mean that that meeting in the bar was intentional? Or did they meet by accident and keep in contact after? Was he at least going to tell you, or was he going to go back and forth between you? Probably wouldn’t even be that hard with your work hours…

You realize just how much time you’ve spent doubting yourself and overthinking this relationship, how uneasy you’ve been feeling the whole week, and how much you just want to get this weight off your chest. You don’t want to cry, you don't want to scream, you don’t want to argue. You are so fucking tired, and you just want some peace of mind already.

After the shower, you put the leftover takeout from yesterday in the microwave and open a bottle of wine. You pour yourself a full glass, gulp down the whole thing in one go, and pour yourself another one. The microwave buzzes, and you take the box and a fork because fuck plates. You can feel the negativity leaving your body with every bite of fried rice that you put in your mouth. Maybe some food and wine was just what you needed after that shitshow of a day. And you have a day off tomorrow. Maybe life isn’t so bad after all.

Just when you let yourself relax, you hear the door open and close, and the next moment, there’s Jamie standing in the hallway of your apartment, looking anxiously at you. Alright, let’s get this over with,

“Hi,” you take a sip from your glass.

“Hi,” he replies softly. He’s fidgeting with his hands. “I need to tell you something.”

“Oh, I am dying to hear this,” you take another sip with an amused smile on your face.

He winces. “You saw?”

“Saw what? You with your reality show girlfriend at the club, or you two having lunch?”

“I swear this is not what you think.” The unimpressed look on your face and the silence that follows is probably enough of a clue that you don’t buy it. “We met at the bar that night, by accident! I was with the team, you know this. She was just there with her friends, and we bumped into each other, and we talked for, like, five minutes tops! She was drunk, and she, uh, tried to…” He looks nervously at you. “She tried to kiss me, but I stopped her. I told her I have a girlfriend! But she was drunk, and she… Doesn’t matter, nothing happened. Her friends came and got her, and that’s all. I didn’t tell you about it because there really wasn’t much to tell. I forgot about it the next day.

And then she, uh, called me. She asked to meet because she wanted to apologize. And… I owed her an apology too, you know. For the whole… thing. So we met, she said that she was sorry and she didn’t mean to disrespect you, and I said that I was sorry for being a prick back then. And that was it. I swear.”

After a few seconds of silence, he adds, “I love you. I would never do this to you.”

You run your hand through your hair and sigh tiredly. “Maybe you should.”

“What?”

“I mean, not cheat on me, but just… date someone else.”

Jamie’s whole face falls. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“No. But I’m giving you an out.”

“Why the fuck would I want an out?”

“Because we live in different worlds! I’ve been thinking about it the whole week, and I don’t understand why you even bother. I’m no Keeley Jones, I’m not a TV star. I work fifty hours a week and smell like a hospital, I'm constantly tired, and I can’t even make it to your matches most of the time!”

Jamie huffs an incredulous laugh. “Have you met yourself?! You’re like one of those sexy TV doctors, and you’re, like, ridiculously smart, and okay, you can't come to my football matches because you’re too busy saving people’s lives,” he mocks. “Sometimes I think that one day you’re just going to wake up and realize that you can do so much better than me.” You frown at him. “You spend twelve hours literally poking in someone’s brain and then listen to me complain that my left foot cross is not good enough. You’re always surrounded by all these smart people, and when you tell me about your day, I have no idea what half of those things mean. And sexy TV doctors always sleep with each other!”

It would be a funny joke by itself, but the genuine worry on Jamie’s face somehow makes it even more hilarious for you at the moment, and you just burst out laughing. You keep laughing so hard that you have to lean on the counter with your hand for support. It’s like the ridiculousness of that statement, your exhaustion from the day, the relief of knowing that your boyfriend didn’t cheat on you, and half a bottle of wine that you’ve consumed all piled up together.

Jamie’s looking at you like you’re going crazy, which is kinda understandable. “I’m sorry,” you blurt while trying to catch your breath. “No more Grey’s Anatomy for you, mister.”

You finally smile at him, and Jamie takes it as a clue that you won't punch him if he gets closer to you. “So, just to clarify, you’re not breaking up with me?” he asks cautiously.

“No,” you chuckle. “You’re sure you don’t want to find someone closer to your instagram followers count?”

“Fuck no.” He pulls you into a tight hug. “You’re stuck with me now,” he mumbles into the space between your shoulder and jaw, tucking his face there.

“I’ll see what you say in a few years.”

“Will they call me Doctor if I take your last name?” he offers.

“You’re an idiot,” you laugh. But he is your idiot.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt imagine #ted lasso fic

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mrghostrat · 5 months

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ok OK listen. here are my latest streamer au thoughts before i try to hop off for the day:

i love "married couple madly in love that no one realises are together because they're so different" but i am also terrible at fic planning for established relationships, and my favourite part about aziraphale/crowley is the lead up and the pining

so what if......... "streamers who no one realises are roommates because they're so different" AND "roommates who are secretly madly in love with each other but are so focused on keeping their own infatuation secret they don't notice it's reciprocated until thousands of online strangers start to point it out" ?????

fic concept: crowley and aziraphale are two full time streamers living together. they have their own spaces. but they mesh bizarrely well as roommates, and have come to really enjoy the routine of eating dinners, grocery shopping, and spending their days off together. there's still some distance between them, that shy sort of "i want to show him something– oh his door is closed, i better not bother him," invitations are actual invitations rather than "i'm doing this and you're coming with me," and they're not a CrowleyAndAziraphale unit yet.

both chats are going mad trying to figure out why crowley's roommate's voice is so familiar, and where they've seen that red hair in the corner of aziraphale's screen before. there's conspiracy theories and a subset of shippers (stoked by both crowley and aziraphale's occasional penchant to sigh and vent about a vague crush they haven't named, but is definitely their mysterious roommate if you watched every stream and collaborated on an elaborate google doc to connect all the dots together) but their mods are the only ones who know they live together. (and ship it. of course they know about the crushes and ship it to death and are just watching with popcorn waiting for these idiots to figure it out)

some people piece it together with all the off hand mentions and mid stream tea deliveries, and more start to believe them when crowley drags aziraphale to a twitchcon event and they're seen being friendly in photos together. they're also aware of people constantly asking and guessing about their illusive roommates, but when crowley finally pops up on an aziraphale stream, both streamers are startled at just how insanely their communities react to the innocuous reveal.

nothing changes for aziraphale and crowley. they were never intentionally hiding the fact, so they just continue referring to each other in their normal vague terms. but now when a new viewer is like "who's your roommate?" long time subs with the lore will fill them in. and it very quickly starts to sound like "crowley lives with aziraphale, that wholesome kitchen streamer. someone's made a clip comp, you should go watch. it's adorable they're so in love" and crowley sees these messages like what the FUCK are yall talking about in here on this day, and bans a message for the first time in six months.

aziraphale of course sees none of these messages because he's a fuckin luddite and can't keep up with chat.

or. maybe he's just choosing not to acknowledge them. because if chat can see he's in love with crowley, does that mean crowley can see it too? and that is just unacceptable and terrifying to him, so he smiles and quickly starts explaining how to saddle stitch a book spine even though literally nobody asked

(anathema, newt, and nina have worked their way through the flavoured popcorn seasonings anathema's aunt sent her for christmas, and are now experimenting with homemade seasoning recipes together) (if maggie knew about all this, she would have put her foot down and demanded they talk to aziraphale and crowley about having a conversation)

#ineffable streamers #good omens #listen someone asked me for a longfic and i want to provide it #streamer au could be PERFECT

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ficmashup · 5 months

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Out for Drinks

A/N: Hi again, a single person asked me to continue this and I'm an absolute sucker for anyone asking me for anything, so tada. ;) Still have no clue what I'm doing, but it's fun so who cares. I think I'll continue this a little further until the story has closure, even if it's open-ended, so yeah. Thanks to people interacting. Glad you like it. :)

Warnings: Once again, very vague SA or trauma references, some harsh language, nightmares, f!reader, I mean it's almost an OC, she just doesn't have a name really, idk what I'm doing :/ First person again.

Word Count: 3.7k

Feral Masterlist

I have mixed feelings returning to base. On one hand, it’s nice to not be looking around every corner for someone looking to shoot me. Not freezing my ass off is also refreshing. On the other hand, it means being around all the other soldiers and I realize that I’d relaxed a bit around the team. Enough that I feel my defenses going back up as I walk through base, alert and aware of all eyes that trail me. We’ve just gotten back and the others have dispersed. Hopefully to shower, like I plan to. Then I feel the weight of people’s gazes leave me right before a little shiver slides down my back. I turn around to find Price behind me, a little frown on his face as he looks around. But his expression smooths as he looks at me.

“Glad to know it wasn’t a mistake taking you on. Well done.” He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder, sending a shock of pride and pleasure through me.

I straighten up and nod. “It’s a pleasure to be with a team that lets me do my job, sir. Thank you.” There’s a small part of me that also wants to thank him for keeping me from freezing with his body heat, but I’m pretty sure I can’t mention that without blushing.

“Keep doing your job like that and you’ll leave us wondering what we ever did without you.” His hand lingers on my shoulder before dropping, his fingers skimming my arm. We begin walking towards the barracks, our pace leisurely as our boots squelch in the mud. He clears his throat slightly and my eyes snap up to his face in an instant. “Have fun with the boys tonight. If you decide to go.” He says, the corner of his mouth twitching. My brows furrow slightly. Right after we got to base, the others informed me of a post-mission ritual of going out for a drink. I hadn’t decided whether I’d go or not, despite desperately wanting to dissolve in a sweet drink.

“Will you go?” I ask as I tug my bag up my shoulder a bit.

Price nods. “I go for a drink or two. And to keep them out of trouble. Mostly.” His eyes sparkle a bit as he considers me and I get the impression he goes to watch the shit they get themselves into rather than prevent it. “Not sure whether you’d be more or less trouble.”

My lips part in surprise as I blink up at him, then I can’t help but give him a half-smile. “I do have self-control, Captain. I simply also have a low tolerance for idiocy and sometimes the only way to get people to see sense is to knock it into them. Literally.”

He chuckles and the warm sound hits me like a shot of whiskey, warming my stomach and getting me to relax just a touch more. “Well, you won’t hear me agree.” We stop in front of the barracks and it’s a pleasure to see the smile on his face, the ease in his posture. It’s been a while since I’ve just talked with somebody normally like this. Since I’ve let myself. “But you won’t hear me disagree either.” He finishes and my smile widens just a touch.

“I look forward to seeing you try to wrangle cats tonight then, sir.” I give him an easy salute before walking to my room, but my little smile lasts the whole way there.

* * *

The place they take me is an absolute shithole.

The floor is sticky as syrup, the bar chipped and scratched, and nearly every booth or barstool has stuffing coming out of the worn red leather cushions. But there’s top shelf whiskey behind the bar and that’s what they order as we file into the dump. It’s clearly a soldier’s bar and it’s busy tonight. My spine straightens as I see the amount of people shoved into the place and I make sure to pick a spot on the edge of our little group where I can see everything clearly. My gaze doesn’t leave the bartender’s hands as she pours our drinks and I don’t let the boys touch mine as I take it, my hand perched over the rim as I pull it close to me. They don’t comment, but I feel Ghost’s eyes on my hand as I cover my drink and his grip tightens on his own.

“To our Surgeon! Pray to God she doesn’t have to cut one of us open one of these days.” Soap holds up his glass and the others follow suit while I tilt mine towards them with a smile tugging on my lips.

“Don’t get shot, stabbed, or otherwise be idiots, and the likelihood of that goes down.” I remind them, feeling warm as they chuckle and I throw back my drink. My nose wrinkles at the bitter flavor as I slide the glass back to the bartender. “Mojito and a glass of water. Thanks.” She nods, giving an appreciative look to the men beside me while I shake my head slightly. When I look back to them, they’re looking at me judgement on their faces.

“A mojito, G?” Gaz starts, disappointment filling his eyes.

I lean forward in my seat, leveling them with a look. “All of you can choke on your bitter whiskey and beer, I want sugar.” Price reacts first, a barely noticeable smirk on his face as he makes a little noise that’s almost a laugh, then takes a little sip of his drink without saying a word. There’s amusement in his eyes, though.

Soap scoots towards me on his stool, clearly distraught. “It’s not just that. You disrespected a good whiskey throwing it back like that. You’ve got to savor it.”

My eyes roll. “I’m not savoring that piss-flavored swill, thanks. I appreciate the tradition and participated, but that’s all I can give you.” I respond with humor in my voice even as I watch the bartender prepare my mojito and hand me a bottled water. When she gives me my drink, I pointedly drag my lips over the sugar covered rim of my glass before taking a sip while daring the men to say something. The drink is delicious and I take a deep breath of the sweet smell edged with mint.

“Lucky you’re a good shot, G, or we’d have you thrown out on principle.” Gaz teases and I raise a brow at him as if daring him to try.

“Let G have her sweet tooth. We don’t need anyone else wearing down the stock of good whiskey in this place anyway.” Ghost, surprisingly, lets me get away with my preference before taking a sip of his drink. Soap and Gaz grumble a bit and I’m sure I’ll hear more shit about this later, but they let it go for now.

Soap rests his elbow on the bar and faces me, Gaz peeking around him. “Go on, then, lass. Tell us about yourself. Have anyone waiting for you back home?” The question is kind and genuine. Not leading.

I return the position and turn my body towards him, although my eyes are surveying the bar more often than not. “This your plan all along? Give me drinks and interrogate me?” It’s a light tease and Soap grins immediately.

“We want to get to know you.” Gaz offers and the other’s have eyes on me as well. “Despite your bad taste in drinks.” He adds in a quieter tone and I smirk. It’s only fair, I suppose. We’re a team, we’re trusting each other with everything, I can put up with some questions.

“No, nobody’s waiting for me at home. My parents died before I enlisted and I’ve been moving around ever since, so never got attached to anyone else. No partner to speak of. I get restless easily. That’s why I’m good at my job—I like the focus and having a goal to go after.” Soap blinks a little at me being so forthcoming with information, but Ghost nods. Seems he understands a little of what I’m saying. My eyes flick to Price at the other end of the bar, still nursing his drink, and his gaze is light as it rests on me. He’s listening just as much as the others. “What about you lot?” I return the question and happily sip on my drink while they tell me about themselves.

Soap and Gaz are, unsurprisingly, the most forthcoming. Gaz is more than pleased to lament his lack of partner, but proud to say that he leaves a string of broken hearts wherever he goes. It’s not too surprising. The man oozes warmth and dedication. Soap’s Scottish accent seems to get a touch deeper as he talks about his home and how he blames himself for the last loss of his favorite football team because he was on mission and couldn’t go to the game. Ghost says little about his home life. Just that he lives in London right now and there’s a little café nearby that serves a good cup of tea.

“Fuckin’ Brits.” Soap quips instantly and gets cuffed on the ear for his trouble. They descend into an argument full of sharp words and teases about who is more unbearable, Scots or Brits, and I’m so entertained that I nearly don’t register the man coming up behind me. I catch him in the reflection of the bottles behind the bar and turn around too late to send him a death glare telling him what a bad idea this is. His hand wraps around my bicep and my body is immediately stiff and my hands are clenched into fists. He’s not in uniform and he doesn’t strike me as military. Probably just some jack off that wandered in here and decided to go for one of the few women in this place. I’m in civilian clothes, jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt tucked in. Maybe not obviously military to someone who doesn’t think there are women in the military anyway. Idiot.

“What’s a pretty—"

“You have two seconds to get your hand off me before I kick you in the balls so hard that you deepthroat your own cock.” My words are sharp and there’s not an ounce of hesitation or doubt in my voice. His eyes widen and he blinks as if the words have to fight through the wall of ignorance in his head before he can understand them. Yet they must not get all the way through because he doesn’t let go and instead leans closer with a grin blooming on his face. His mouth opens and I’m already pulling my leg back for the kick when I see movement out of the corner of my eye and Price is suddenly there, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Step back.” The words are a command and the anger swirling in my gut calms a touch at the smooth authority in his tone. Of course, when a man says it, the other guy pulls his hand off me but doesn’t move away just yet.

“She yours?” He asks, looking Price over while rage boils my blood at being referenced as an object to be owned.

Price keeps close without touching me, his other arm stretched out behind me while his hand perches on the bar. “Mine to protect. Step back, son, before I let her keep her promise.” He releases the man’s shoulder with a light push to get him moving, then slides into his place and sits on the stool next to me with his back turned towards the man, effectively shutting him out. He seems flabbergasted, but eventually turns and dubiously returns to whatever corner he crawled out from.

“Sorry that I couldn’t let you take care of that yourself, G.” Price apologizes and his calm, smooth voice does wonders to soothe the anger still roiling in my chest. “It’s one thing to let you get into fights with soldiers that deserve it and should be able to handle themselves, but it’s another to let you decimate the civilian population.” His gaze holds mine, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

I take a deep breath to try and calm down. “Understood, Captain.”

“Just Price when we’re out like this.” He corrects and I hesitate a moment before nodding.

“Understood, Price. I wouldn’t want to get everyone kicked out, anyway.” I glance at the others who have busied themselves watching a football game on the tv, trusting their Captain to handle whatever the problem was. But I’m not foolish enough to think that they weren’t aware of every move that was just made and every word that was said. I finish my drink and set it aside in favor of my water. There’s a little satisfaction in hearing the soft click as the seal breaks and I take a small sip. “You didn’t chime in earlier when I asked about everyone’s homelife.” I offer, letting the question that isn’t a question linger so he can decide whether to answer or not.

He heaves a breath and shrugs a shoulder, accepting his glass as the bartender passes by. “Not much to say. I’ve got a flat in London and I’ll meet Ghost for tea every now and then when I’m desperate enough for company.” There’s a snort down the table from the man and Price smirks at the sound. “The job makes it hard to set down real roots, so I’ve no one waiting for me back home other than old friends that’ve survived this shitshow and are waiting for me to join them or kick the bucket.” He chuckles before taking a sip of his drink.

I consider him a moment, humming. “I hope both are far off.” It’s as close as I can get right now to admitting that I respect him. That I want him to stay on and to keep working with him. More than that, I actually like him. The others are growing on me, but there’s something a little easier with Price.

He returns my gaze and it feels nice to see his eyes soften a touch. “I can guarantee one is and with you behind the scope and holding the needle, I’m confident the other is as well.” I nod, accepting the compliment and responsibility that comes with it. We talk a little more as the night goes on and it’s clear that he’s usually the designated driver on nights like this. I offer to take over for him since I don’t want any more to drink, but he refuses, telling me he’d rather keep talking than drink more and look like an idiot like the others. He says it affectionately though, clearly not minding being the responsible one as long as he’s looking after the team.

Overall, it’s not a bad evening. The bad part comes later in the form of nightmares and sweat and waking up not remembering where I am for a moment. My hand clutches tight to my shirt over my heart, feeling it thunder in my chest as my mind comes back to me and I try to calm down. “Fucking hell.” I murmur, shaking my head and sliding out of bed. I change out of my sweaty clothes into shorts and a sports bra before wandering out into the hall.

I head to the training room and lose myself in the monotony of going at a punching bag. I passed my psych eval, I’m fit for work, but sometimes things creep up on me. It’s the nature of the things we do. Though these nightmares have nothing to do with missions I’ve been on. The dull sound of my fists hitting the punching bag echoes in the room and I eventually calm down enough to stop. I slowly unwrap my knuckles as I walk back towards my room, letting them flutter into one of the trashcans scattered around base. My steps slow as my mind whirls, then I change my course.

The mess hall won’t be open yet since dawn is still about an hour away, but Price has a coffee pot in his office. He’s offered to let the team use it as long as we only touch the pot and mugs alongside it. Time to see if that offer was genuine.

It feels a bit like an intrusion as I walk into his office without him there, but Price isn’t the kind of man to say something he doesn’t mean. I make an entire pot of coffee, knowing that he’ll be up at the crack of dawn and knowing the pot will keep it warm until then. The little sounds of the machine running and dripping dark ambrosia into the glass pot are soothing with their normalcy, especially as the nutty scent fills the room. It mixes well with the leftover smell from his signature cigars and while I don’t sit down once I have my cup, I do stay as I drink my coffee, breathing in the comforting scents.

I don’t realize how long I’ve been here until I hear boots coming down the hall. My hand freezes halfway to my mouth with my second cup of coffee. The gait is familiar and I have a brief moment of panic at feeling like I’m about to be caught doing something I shouldn’t. Instead, I take a breath and turn around to pour another cup of coffee before waiting by the door and offering it to Price as he steps in. Surprise flits through his eyes, not at finding someone here since he could probably smell the coffee from down the hall, but at finding me here.

“Thought you might’ve been Ghost. He’s the only one usually up at this time, but not usually after a night out.” He greets me and a little tingle slides down my spine at his gruff voice still rough from sleep. He takes the cup with a grateful nod while walking around his desk.

I linger by the door, still clinging to my coffee. “Woke up early today. Thanks for letting me use your coffee pot. I’ll be out in just a minute.” I tell him as he takes a sip of the coffee, shaking his head.

“You’re fine. Take your time.” He says the words easily, genuinely, and my shoulders lax before I realize how stiffly I’d been holding myself. His eyes remain on me and both of us remain standing. I’m not sure if he’s unconsciously copying me or if he’s retaining some idea of a gentleman not sitting before a woman. “How long have you been up?”

I shrug a shoulder, shifting my weight slowly from foot to foot to get rid of a bit of anxious energy. “An hour and a half? Maybe two? Needed to work out a little energy.” He hums, nodding and letting his eyes drop to his desk for a few moments. I hesitate as I think through what I’m about to say and I know he’s waiting, letting me decide without pressure. “The nightmares take me by surprise sometimes. Helps to do something physical until the memories fade.” It’s an olive branch, the words are the most vulnerable I’ve been since arrival. Nightmares aren’t abnormal around here and since Price is the only one who has read my file, I know he’ll understand what I mean.

His eyes raise to mine again and they’re gentle and nonjudgmental. “If you want to talk about it, you have my ear. If you want to sit and stay, my door is open. Sometimes the boys do the same.” It seems like such an easy offer for him to make. My fingers shift as I hold my coffee and I take a few steps closer to him, leaning my hip against one of the two chairs in front of his desk.

“And you, Captain?” I prod just a little, curious as to what he does when he has struggles.

He gives me a crooked grin. “I have good soldiers that come in and sit quietly in my office from time to time. They’re pretty good listeners.” I return his smile. It’s a trade then. Nightmare for nightmare. It’s a refreshing mindset and one that I haven’t often run into. More proof that Price is a good leader—a good man.

“Pretty fair price for a good cup of coffee.” I surprise myself by teasing and I’m rewarded by his smile widening as he takes a sip from his own cup.

“Mm. You’re welcome anytime. You make a better cup than the lot of them, anyway.” My lips press together to hide my smile at the compliment as I finish my coffee and set it aside.

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.” I begin to drift towards the door, halting when he calls out for me.

“G.” I turn back to find him reaching into his desk and shuffling around a bit, then he walks over to me with a little box in his hands. “Sometimes it helps to remind yourself that you’re not there anymore. Find something to ground yourself afterward. Like this.” He taps the top of the box as I take it and my brows furrow at the sight of one of his cigar boxes. I open it to find it empty, but I understand what he means as the distinct scent drifts up to me. I can’t help thinking of how well I slept wrapped up in his arms, breathing in the scent of his cigars and him. My fingers quickly shut the box to keep more of the smell inside as I look up at Price with a hint of a blush in my cheeks.

“Thank you.” It’s for more than just this. It’s a thank you for being gentle with me, for being thoughtful, for doing more than a usual Captain would. His entire body seems to soften and he reaches up, lightly squeezing my shoulder with a heavy hand.

“Anytime.” He responds and it takes me a minute to pull away, his hand sliding off me as I go.

That night, I sleep holding the cigar box and breathing in the smell that’s just so…Price. I don’t have a single nightmare.

Taglist (because you expressed interest! If you don't want to be tagged, let me know! And if anyone else wants to be tagged, tell me and I'll add you):

@under-the-dirt

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mothwingwritings · 1 month

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Your Yujiro x reader has been on my mind recently, and an interesting idea came into my head - what would happen if the reader somehow stumbled upon Yuichiro? What would he think of the whole situation, particularly because he is of a *very* different temperament than his son? Would he develop some sort of feelings for (reader)? I'm pretty sure Yujiro would be pissed to see his father meddling in things 😭

You're one of my fav writers on here!! Keep it up ❤︎ and make sure to take care of yourself ☺️

… I can’t believe I didn’t think of writing anything for Yuichiro before this ask lol. How could I write so much about the Hanma family’s favorite girl (you) and never mention Yuichiro??? Shame on me tbh, let’s change that now!

(And thank you for your kind words!!! You are very sweet! <3)

WARNINGS: Mentions of sex, noncon, past abuse, and stepcest.

If by some miracle act Yuichiro was able to obtain a corporeal form and once more walk amongst the living, he would be very intrigued by how far his lineage had come and what the Hanma’s were able to accomplish. Being the start of it all, he had a vague idea of how things most likely have progressed. There is no doubt that his unruly son has grown massively strong, and he’s sure that strength has caused countless problems for people near and far.

He was aware that Yujiro had children at this point, taking quite an interest himself in Baki and Jack’s development. Children weren’t always guaranteed to take after their parents, so it was always a delight when at least one of your offspring was able to carry on the family line with the strength and power you and your ancestors worked so tirelessly to cultivate. When Yuichiro found out that of all the children Yujiro had fathered, not just one, but two showed such immense potential? He was as pleased as he was proud, even more so to discover Baki and Jack lacked the level of belligerent arrogance that made their father an unbearably volatile presence to be around.

While he was taking note of his family line he happened upon a surprising outlier- you. He was at first puzzled by the fact that the Ogre, with all his rampant testosterone, was even able to produce a daughter. When he dug a little deeper and realized you were adopted into the family, while that in and of itself made sense, it left him with even more questions. Why would someone like Yujiro go out of his way to adopt someone else’s child, let alone a female, when he barely cared about the children he himself had brought into this world? Based on the limited knowledge he had of you, you didn’t have any kind of superior strength or secret, hidden abilities that may have spurred his son to take you under his wing. So how exactly did you become awarded with the name of Hanma?

The mystery became too intriguing to ignore, thus he sought you out.

The moment he saw you, he instantly began to understand your appeal. He kept his distance at first, not wanting to overwhelm you with his presence as he made his initial observations. From what he could gather, you were a thoughtful girl, kind and affable to your friends and strangers alike. He noted that you seemed a little jumpy, on edge in scenarios you should feel more at ease, and he worried that maybe he wasn’t concealing himself enough and you were catching on to his surveillance. You may not have Hanma blood in your veins, but you’ve been around them enough to recognize the specific aura they exude. He would need to be more careful, maybe conducting his research on you was best done through other means.

Hence, he decided to look into your relationships with his son and grandsons, hoping to get a better picture of who you were as a person and unravel the secret of how you became intertwined in their lives.

However, what he ended up finding out was not anything he ever expected.

As soon as he learned the horrific truth of how his family had handled you, the revolting nature in which not just his son, but his grandchildren, showed their ‘affection’ for you, he was at a loss for words. Yuichiro was beyond disgusted by their actions, particularly due to the fact that their aggressions were against an innocent woman who had no means of defending herself against the brutes that were incessantly at her heels.

Your jittery nature made complete sense now. You weren’t constantly on edge because you were a naturally excitable person- you were on edge as a defense mechanism. You had to be cautious around everyone for your own self-preservation, frightened that you may unwittingly be subjugating yourself and the people around you to extreme danger by being in a public space. The man who was supposed to be your father figure had assaulted you, hurting and scarring you in irreparable ways. The brothers that you loved and looked to for protection ended up having the same perversions as the man who had created them, betraying your trust in their attempts to force themselves upon you.

Disgusted wasn’t a strong enough word for what he had felt upon learning these revelations. His disappointment in his kin was immeasurable.

When he finally introduces himself to you, it’s apprehension that greets him in return. He can see the fear reflected in your eyes as you were faced with the instant realization of his strength the absolute power he held over not just you, but anyone who may step to him. Yuichiro was a complete stranger to you, in fact you probably hadn’t even seen a picture of him to make any sort of connection. But he could tell that within moments of making your acquaintance, you understood who he was. He was a Hanma, and therefore, he was a threat.

Seeing you cower before him, your whole body vibrating in a state of alarm, eyes darting around the vicinity as you tried to map an escape route should this meeting go south… it broke his heart. It wasn’t that he was immune to your charms, Yuichiro could definitely see the appeal of wanting to be close to you in an intimate manner, but to take you by force? To treat you so horribly, handle you so violently? It took all his power not to make his rage over the injustices you had faced show on his features, lest he frighten you further.

It took a while for you to warm up to him, but the relationship that blossomed was well worth the effort. You were a lovely person all around, beautiful in every sense of the word. The more he got to know you, the more he saw your true personality shine through, and the longer he spent with you, the more his affection for you grew.

Yuichiro had made his decision. You would be safe with him-completely and undeniably cared for under his watchful eye. He would be the father Yujiro never could be, the protector your brothers failed to be. He would become your family, a true family, and insure that you will never have to spend another day living in fear ever again.

In short, Yuichiro’s arrival would probably be the ONLY thing that would ultimately protect you from Yujiro and the rest of the Hanma family. This is great for you because he’s a man of his word, the moment you come under his care Yujiro’s entire existence is like a distant nightmare, and that is something you are exceedingly grateful for. However, you feel the absence of Jack and Baki much more profoundly, as you considered them to be your true family and still love them very deeply. Even though you know ultimately this arrangement is for the best, and you feel much safer and happier in Yuichiro’s care than you have ever felt with anyone else in your life, you still find yourself missing Jack and Baki greatly. Even with their betrayal shattering the last of your innocence, causing you deep and lasting scars, life without them still hurt, and you don’t think you’ll ever heal enough to ignore the pain.

… All this being said, it wouldn’t be on brand for me to answer this without fucking it up a little bit, right?

After some time living with Yuichiro, growing dependent on him for basic care and protection, his fondness for you begins to manifest in ways that are… shocking, even to Yuichiro himself.

Maybe it was the long absence of a lover that began to steer his desires, or perhaps it was the sweet and selfless nature in which you offered your love to him? Who knew it would warm his heart so much to see you standing in the kitchen, sweet little apron tied around your waist as you hummed a little tune, hard at work preparing a new recipe you had picked out specifically to please him? All the little things you did without a second thought made is body and soul ache for you.

You were always cute, but when exactly did you become so irresistible to him?

It caught him off guard to feel a flutter in his stomach when he saw your smile or heard your laugh. At his age he figured he was far past feelings like this, especially with someone so much younger than himself, especially with you.

He didn’t expect the blush that dusted your cheeks when he entered the bath you were currently occupying to excite him as much as it did. He took great pride in the control he had over his body, keeping his emotions and desire in check was one of his strong suits. But seeing you there, bare and bashful, trying desperately to cover yourself while your eyes refused to linger on any part of his exposed body for too long… you were definitely testing his limits here, sweetheart.

Did you know how effortlessly beautiful you were? Did you realize just how tantalizing even the most innocent of your actions were? Would it upset you if he told you how pretty he found your body, as his eyes drank in every inch of skin you were working so hard to hide? Would it scare you if he helped you to understand just how much sway you had over not just his heart, but all of his wants and desires?

He had chided and scorned his family for their mistreatment of you, the sick, twisted feelings they pummeled you with not only threatened your existence, but were also a stain on the illustrious Hanma name. Yuichiro wanted nothing more than your happiness and your security, both were things he took great honor in providing to you, and he found his own joy in knowing you felt contentment with him after so much suffering. But he was starting to get an itch that was growing harder and harder to scratch. An itch he felt his kin was all too familiar with.

Maybe he’s not so different from his son and grandsons after all?

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stellamancer · 11 months

Text

between the moon’s divide (satoru gojo x reader)

notes: uh. a week ago i thought to myself ‘oh i want to write a kiss scene’ thinking it would take me a day or two but no it took a week of me agonizing over... everything lmao.

contains: gender neutral reader, gojo is taller than the reader (as usual), some kind of tension, and finally kissing!!

wc: 2.1k

It’s sometime past midnight when you run across Satoru Gojo standing in the school’s courtyard.

Unable to sleep, you’d taken to the halls. It’d become a habit by now, wandering the corridors like a restless ghost until sleep could evade you no longer. You’d actually been heading back to your room when you’d seen him, statuesque as he bathed in moonlight. You’d been vaguely aware that Gojo was not much of a sleeper, but you’d never run into him on one of your nighttime strolls.

You come to a stop, observing Gojo as he stares up at the moon. It’s very odd for him; to be still, to be silent.

Naturally, it doesn’t last for long.

“Finally here for our romantic moonlight rendezvous?” he asks, his tone playful, his gaze still fixed on the moon above.

You can’t help but feel mildly annoyed that he’s noticed you at this distance. “As if. I was just wondering if maybe you were thinking about returning to your home planet.”

Gojo hums as you step out onto the courtyard, approaching him. "And leave you here? You'd be lonely without me.”

You wait until you and Gojo are standing side by side to respond, not sparing him a glance as you retort, “Actually, I think you’d be the lonely one.”

At first, you don’t think much of the words that come out of your mouth. It’s habit to take anything Gojo throws at you and hurl it right back at him. The words play back in your mind as you tilt your head up to gaze up at the moon. It dominates the midnight sky, larger and brighter than anything else in the expanse above. Something about it reminds you of Gojo, strong, brilliant, and—

Lonely.

“You think?” he asks, sounding almost amused, as if you’d said something funny.

“Probably?” you answer. "Though, I don't know, maybe your home planet is full of more Satoru Gojos and you would all be one happy collective, feeding into each other's egos and all that."

The thought of more than one Satoru Gojo, much less a whole planet full of them is enough to make your head throb with pain. The world has enough problems with one alone.

"...and what if there's no one else there?"

You blink, and turn your head just slightly toward Gojo. He's still looking up at the moon, his expression almost melancholic. Something in your chest aches at the sight and you look back at the moon as if that will ease the pain.

It makes sense for him to think like that, to think his home planet would be deserted— all your lives you've been told how he's unique, how he's special, how he's the one and only Satoru Gojo. The thought, the notion that there could be another like him is near incomprehensible.

(There was one, someone, who came close and he—)

"Then don't go."

The words are barely audible, escaping your mouth like a whisper in the breeze. You're not even sure if you actually said them because under normal circumstances you'd keep such words to yourself, bury them deep inside your heart like a well-kept secret because in Satoru Gojo's hands those three words are little more than ammunition.

And as much as you loathe the thought of giving him something else he can weaponize against you, you think he needs it right now. Even with the weight of the world on his shoulders, his hands remain ever empty, ready and willing to take on more burden. If you're going to give him something to hold, it might as well be something he can find some measure of joy in.

You expect Gojo to cut to the chase and start teasing you. Hesitation is a foreign concept to him, especially with the prospect of something new to play with, but he is uncharacteristically silent. Against your better judgment, you turn your head back toward him and find that he is no longer looking up at the moon.

He’s looking at you.

Your breath stills in your chest. The bright gleam of Gojo’s eyes is a curse in of itself, rooting you to the core. You’ve never been good at dealing with Gojo like this. Stupid as that blindfold of his looks on him, it acts as a buffer, as a shield. You want to look away. You have to look away before the shocking hue of his gaze pulls you in, traps you, ensnares you with no hope of escape.

Gojo moves, shifting into a position that brings him down to your height, facing you fully as he unleashes the full power of his stupidly brilliant blue eyes on you. He leans just the slightest bit in your direction. Your heart rate climbs higher and higher as he inches closer. A voice in the back of your mind tries to remind you, to reassure you: this isn’t the first time that Satoru Gojo has pulled this kind of trick on you, and it won’t be the last. He’ll creep closer and closer toward you, taunting you, teasing you, but the space between you will forever remain infinite.

But then he presses his forehead to yours and all bets are off.

You need to get away from him. Now. You take a step back, to put some space in between you. It might be finite, but some space is better than none. But even though you’ve taken a step back you find that you are no further than Gojo than you were before, your foreheads still pressed together.

What in the world? You swear you took a step back.

Something in your peripheral shifts and your eyes flicker down for just a second, catching the corner of his mouth twitch. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Then it clicks. You’re so used to seeing him using his technique to push everything away, to make himself untouchable, that you often forget that it’s not the only thing he can do. HIs power doesn’t only repel.

It attracts too.

Your heartbeat grows erratic at the realization that the once infinite space between you is now all but obsolete. Like this, you’re far too aware of him; aware of his hair, brushing softly against your face, aware of his breathing, echoing loud in your ears, aware of his lips—

“...what are you doing?” you finally manage to whisper after what feels like an eternity.

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you nearly regret them. The question is begging for trouble, inviting it and the inevitable teasing from Gojo. But still you ask— you have to, you need to. It feels counterintuitive, but you need the distraction of his answer and the annoyance it’s sure to bring to cut through the thoughts, the feelings that are threatening to swallow you whole.

You expect his response to come instantly like it always does, but… it doesn't. Something stutters in your chest at the change in routine. Is he being purposely silent? Or is he actually thinking about his words before they come out of his mouth for once?

Finally, finally, he speaks, his voice low and teasing for sure, but there's something else there, diluting his tone, laced in his words. It's subtle, but whatever it is throws you completely off balance. "I thought you said 'don't go.'"

Your mouth opens. You start to speak. But no words come out, instead they are lodged in your throat— honesty and reluctance mangled together in one huge lump. The thought occurs to you to just leave them there, unspoken. But, you wouldn't put it past Gojo to try and rip them free; with that in mind you pull at the words, unraveling them before releasing them into the night air. "…I did."

It's official now: you've gone off script and you both know it.

Gojo pulls back, just enough for you to see his face clearly. You think he's going to tease you for your admission, but instead, he studies you, his eyes probing, searching. You don’t know what for, but with no buffer, no infinity between you, it feels almost as if you are laid bare before the hypnotic glow of his eyes.

Try as you might, you cannot even bring yourself to look away. You are charmed, captivated, enchanted by the spell of his eyes. Any hope for escape is gone and the only things that remain are you and the limitless blue.

Something shifts in Gojo’s expression and you wonder, distantly, if he’s found whatever it was he was looking for.

He surges forward, pressing his forehead to yours once more, angling himself, positioning himself, and his mouth, his lips—

They’re barely there. Hovering as close as they possibly can without even touching. You can feel his breath, warm and intoxicating and it’s suddenly so hard to move, to think, to even breathe with the threat of Satoru Gojo imminent and about to swallow you whole.

He could, if he wanted and you both know it, and yet…

“Not even gonna try and deny it?” he asks, and you can practically feel his lips moving with each word he speaks. His tone is amused still, teasing still, but there's something more to it. It's like a secret, a plea even, interwoven into his words and actions, loud and unsubtle in a way that screams Satoru Gojo.

You don't know why he doesn't just say what he wants right now. Maybe he thinks it's more fun to try and be coy about it. Or maybe he thinks if he actually says it, you'll refuse like you always do, because you never think he really means it when he says it.

But right now, you think Gojo might.

You think he might really want to kiss you.

This is your last chance, you think, your lips parting, your response heavy in your mouth. Whatever happens from here on out hinges entirely on what you say next. It’s not just about trying to deny what you said anymore; it's about denying whatever the hell is actually going on between you and Gojo. All this time, you've been turning a blind eye to things, adamant that there's nothing there— that Gojo is just a colleague and nothing more. And despite that, despite everything, he pushed and shoved his way into your heart like it's where he's belonged all along. Those three little words are undeniable proof that there's something between the two of you and it's awfully kind of him to let you try and deny it.

But can you?

"...no."

The realization settles in your chest, heavy yet liberating as you breathe the word into the air. You can’t— you won’t deny it, deny him.

Not any more.

Gojo’s entire body goes still, but then his hands are cupping your face, long fingers splayed across your cheeks. He’s holding you like a treasure, his touch reverent. Gojo presses his forehead to yours once more; his breath caresses you once more and you think that maybe, for the first time in his life, Satoru Gojo knows hesitation, feels it running through his veins as the space between your lips and his grows more and more infinitesimally small.

You like to pretend that you'd never given much thought to how your first kiss with Gojo would go, but you never would have thought that it would be like this— gentle and sweet. But despite that, it feels almost like your chest is going to burst as he fills your lungs, your veins, your entire being.

For just a moment, you think he’s about to pull away, and your body reacts of its own accord, reaching out for him, keeping him close. It’s at this moment that the kiss shifts into something more hungry, more desperate. Gojo’s lips part, his tongue swiping against your lips, begging you to do the same.

You do not deny him.

Eventually, eventually you pull away, dazed and out of breath, but Gojo doesn’t let you go too far, his arms wrapping around you. A silence settles around the two of you as you stand there, bathing in moonlight.

Of course, it doesn’t last for long.

“You’re really down bad for me, huh,” Gojo remarks, his voice infuriatingly smug.

You rip yourself from his grasp... or, at least, you try to. What you manage to do is free yourself enough so that you can look at his face. Naturally he’s beaming, all too pleased by everything that’s going on, his eyes shining brighter than any star in the sky.

The words you normally say, the words you usually say, try to force their way out of your mouth, but you catch them before they do. You’ve decided, you remind yourself, you won’t deny him any more.

“...guess I am,” you answer, as casually as possible, then you add, as a cheeky afterthought, “And what about you?”

The grin on Gojo’s face widens as he leans in and that’s how your second kiss begins.

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #jjk x reader #nikuniku fics #i am not joking about how i agonized over this #agonized about the tension #about the pacing the flow #agonized about the tonal shift #i literally wrote and rewrote sentences over and over trying to get them to work out right #another whole writerussy into it work lmao #so god i hope someone likes it #i could have written a more passionate kiss oh well next time #i did not abuse italics this time and thank fucking god lmaoooo #the cross post will be so much easier #infinite loop!verse

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liesmyth · 15 days

Note

Anon with the friend who's reading tlt on the reverse order: Yes, he knows he's being a lab rat, he doesn't keep motes on the books because he's very much a casual reader (and thus perfect for the experiment) and so far we have only done Nona The Ninth and The Unwanted Guest, plus some chapters of HTN & Doctor Sex. There's the slight chance of osmosis corruption because I occasionally reblog modern au memes on my main blog, which I think is how he got Palamedes' whole deal.

There's not much he guessed, and even less he guessed correctly. He did call the fact Crown and Ianthe are related a pleasant plot twist, and he initially thought John was Varun.

The most interesting guess he had, which he arrived through flawed means, was Paul's existence, and the fact Pyrrha had some sort of connection to Gideon The Ninth — mostly because he guessed the average Lyctorhood to be Camilla and Palamedes', and with the reference of Gideon and G1deon as 1) permanently dead, in a setting where he's aware necromancy exists and he thought zombies to be actual resurrected people 2) connected to Pyrrha, and 3) the fact Pyrrha had "some weird vibes" (he refused to elaborate) led him to thinking Pyrrha was half Gideon, half someone else, and the reason Kiriona was vaguely off-putting to people was because she didn't have a full soul. Anyways he did think the same would happen to Palamedes and Camilla, which it did, and that Kiriona was pissed at Pyrrha because of an ambiguous degree of relationship

We have paused rn, as the labrat experiment is in return for me reading a webcomic per book

Oh yeah also im doing this because i either dreamt a post proposing it up or actually saw it, and honestly i wanted to see how much biases and previous narrative impacted the relationship of the reader with tlt characters, their relationships, and worldbuilding, as i absorbed tlt by osmosis as an agender aroace. so yeah giving a gay guy tlt without previous context in the reverse order to complete the trifecta (lesbian woman reading it in the correct order, aroace agender getting to know it by osmosis and figuring out the plot best I could before reading it, gay guy reading it in reverse)

ANON THANK YOU FOR COMING BACK! @mayasaura and everyone who wanted a follow-up to the first part.

"Thought John was Varun at first" is soooo big brained actually! I'm always thinking about John's more RB-like traits. I'm also very amused that he cast Pyrrha as the zombie puppeteer, I bet he's going to love tiny Harrow walking around her dead parent's bodies for a decade.

I also feel like the worldbuilding in NtN is veeery different from the general #vibe of the first two books — it feels like an "anime filler arc" kind of sidequest plot — and I'm very curious if going from NtN to HtN is going to make the settings vibe changes feel stronger or weaker than reading it normally would.

Anyway, I love that you decided to do this, and please let us know what he thinks about HtN! I hope you enjoy the webcomic :D

#Anonymous #ask #elle tlt posting

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anemoelliacia · 6 months

Text

the five times tighnari knew he loved you

warnings: female reader, literally just tooth rotting sweet fluff, but a mention of blood and a minor injury in one part, reader is mentioned to have a good maternal instinct, also vaguely mentioned to be an anxious person.

▶ i recommend listening to the song Backup Plan by Maya Hawke while reading this chapter <3

The first instance was when you gave him a scrapbook with all of his favorite plants dried and pressed, not even for an occasion or holiday. It was just because you wanted to. You loved when he would infodump about botany and all his favorite plants, it made you happy just to see him so happy. Which gave you the wonderful idea to take samples of all his beloved plants when you see them out in the wild, perfectly preserving them in a scrapbook for him to keep. Eventually, you had a whole fifty page scrapbook filled with his most cherished flora and vegetation. You gave it to him one random Tuesday evening, with such a big smile on your face. You looked so delighted with yourself as you affectionately gave him a kiss on the cheek, handed him the scrapbook and explained what it is. He couldn't help but think about how bewitching you are, not necessarily in how you look but how you act, how you choose to show affection. So he wondered “could this be love?”

Secondly, the time you removed a bug from your house by helping it outside rather than killing it. You blamed it on your motherly instinct, saying if someone needs a mama you’re a mama, no matter who or what you are. You scooped up the bug in a cup, placing paper over the opening so it wouldn’t fly off, all the while practically cooing at it and telling it you were trying to help it. You walked the bug all the way outside, and freed it from the cup far away enough that it wouldn’t get back in the house. He watched you in awe, looking at you with pure adoration because not everyone would care enough to do something so menial as rescuing an insect, pondering to himself “huh, I think I love her…”

Thirdly, when he saw you tending to Collei because she had an injury. It wasn’t even a bad injury, rather it was miniscule compared to anything else she has dealt with in the past. You saw her fall and scrape her knee- it was really nothing terrible. Though, when you saw the scrape and the blood starting to trickle down her shin, you lovingly made her sit down so you could clean it up as gently as possible, and put a bandage around it. You even presented her with a piece of candy after you cleaned up the minor wound, as if you were treating a child. Collie and you both giggled at each other, and Tighnari stood back watching you care for her with an affectionate smile on his face, thinking to himself “she just might be the love of my life.”

Fourthly, was the first time you helped him groom his tail. He had accidentally dragged his tail through some mud, without realizing at first until it started to dry- it was caked into the delicate fur. He was abashed by it because he likes to keep himself tidy, especially around you. You found him in his washroom, ears drooping with an agitated demeanor as he was trying to wash out all the mud. You wordlessly joined him, giving him a soft smile as you took over for him, gently taking your time to clean all the mud from the fur of his tail. You even took the time to dry off his tail when you were done washing it, as well as combing it to ensure no tangles developed. He watched you with such fondness as you groomed his tail, picking up on the pure devotion radiating from you. He thought, “Archons, how did I get so lucky? I think I truly love her…”

The fifth and final instance was when he came back two days later than expected from a forest rangers expedition. Before he left he assured you that he'd be back in a week, but there was a hold up in the expedition. Truly, he was in no danger. Though, he had no way of telling you that, to which he felt terrible because Tighnari is well aware how much of a worrier you are. He imagined, you must be anxiously pacing your house awaiting his late arrival, probably thinking about the worst case scenario. Two days later than his estimated arrival, he finally comes home- he'll never forget the look of pure relief on your face, and how fast you ran to his side. "Tighnari!" you yell all the while practically launching yourself into his arms, causing him to stumble backwards, nearly falling onto his ass. He wrapped his arms around you, breathing you in as you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, mumbling about, "I was so worried for you, worried I'd never see you again…" Tighnari let out a sigh, feeling guilty once again for making you worry so much for him. However, in the moment his heart swells knowing you care that much about him. So, "I'm not going anywhere. I love you too much to leave you behind." he replies, wholeheartedly meaning it, wanting to spend the rest of his days with a person as wonderful as you.

▶ if you liked this, check out the other parts linked in my masterlist :) every genshin man i write for is getting their own part.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact drabble #genshin impact fluff #tighnari x reader #tighnari x you

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