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sinofwriting · 6 months

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Figlia Mia - Charles Leclerc

Words: 6,231 Summary: When she had met Charles Leclerc for the first time in 2017, she watched as her grandfather gave him the impossible task of restoring Ferrari’s greatness and her the task of making sure he does so. Note(s): This was a lot of fun to write. I got to do a lot of digging into Ferrari’s history in motorsports and F1, and make sure that the changes I made to the history of Ferrari made some sense. I also got to reignite my love for stats and things. I spent a lot of time looking at different circuit stats (which will be relevant in the second part of this fic) and just driver stats. Used a translator for the Italian but not google translate. Also, I shouldn’t have to say this but: How I write the drivers in these fics is not based on my feelings for them, it is just what I need them to be. So, please don’t send me hate because your favorite driver says or acts or is regarded in a certain way. Thanks! Hope you like this!

Taglist | Masterlist | Part Two | Patreon

Figlia mia - my daughter stella - star

2017

She eyes her grandfather wearily. He had called her home early from her classes and she had rushed home to Maranello.

“Nonno, what is the matter?” His gaze turns to her and he smiles, the solemn look on his face gone as he sees her. “My stella. You are back home.” His accent is thick as it wraps around the English words, always willing to indulge her. She sighs, leaning down to hug him. “You called me back. Did something happen?” He shakes his head, patting her hand when she straightens. “No, I have a meeting that I want you to attend with me.” She frowns. “It is late in the season for a meeting. Did Vettel or Räikkönen break contract?” “No. It’s for the team, but more of a future prospect.” Her frown deepens. “If it’s Hamilton, he won’t leave Mercedes and you shouldn’t entertain him, Nonno. You only have so much energy.” “I don’t want to take him from Mercedes. He wouldn’t be able to win with us anyways.” He groans as he thinks of how long it’s been since his team has won, and has achieved the greatness they are supposed to. “I just want your opinion, they should be here any minute.”

An uneasiness sits heavy in her stomach at how cryptic he’s being with her, something he never is, but she sits in the chair beside him. Taking his hand in both of hers and breathing a sigh of relief at the strongness still in his hands, no shakiness to be found. He was in good health, she reminded herself as they waited. He hadn’t even had a cold for three years, but still her mind worries.

“Mr. Enzo, Stella, your guests have arrived.” Anita’s voice says through the intercom. He presses the button to talk. “Please have Andrea get them and bring them back and tell him to stay as well.” “Andrea is here?” He hums, “I asked him to come. I have an idea.” She doesn’t say anything else to that and keeps quiet as she waits for whoever to arrive.

There’s a slight relief in it not being either Vettel or Räikkönen, she wasn’t keen to meet them for the first time right now, not when she had rushed home. She also didn’t want her grandfather meeting them now for the first time, so late in the year where he could catch an illness.

A knock sounds on the wooden door and she turns her head to look at it. Releasing her grandfather's hand from hers and moving to stand behind his chair. Her normal position in such meetings.

“Enter.” He calls and the door opens. “Signor.” Andrea greets, as he steps into the room, two, or rather one man and one boy following behind him with wide eyes. “I have your guests.” “Please sit, the three of you.” He tells them and they all quickly do.

Her eyes narrow as she recognises the familiar face of the man who is currently running the Ferrari Driver Academy and the just familiar face of the current F2 champion. The sight makes her want to lean down, to question why a F2 driver of all people is being allowed to meet her grandfather. A luxury he hasn’t afforded a single F1 driver since her father died other than Michael Schumacher. And even then he had won a championship first with them. But such a thing isn’t not her place, especially in front of guests, so she keeps quiet as her grandfather does as well, clearly waiting them out, letting the tension in the room build.

“Charles Leclerc.” Her grandfather says and the boy practically jumps. “You started winning in karting before you were even ten in 2005 and never stopped. A second place in Alps, then fourth in the European F3.” She watches as he winces at the reminder of what he clearly views as failures. “But you won your first year of GP3 and now have won F2. Truly impressive.” His eyes are still wide and they dart to the left before returning. “Thank you, Signor.” Her eyebrows raise at the way the Italian term leaves his mouth. He clearly had invested time in his Italian lessons. “Don’t thank me. You’ve done well for yourself. And now you have an F1 seat.” Her eyes darted to Andrea, “Nonno.” She hisses, stepping forward. “Andrea has signed the appropriate NDA’s and contracts, stella. There is no need for your worry.” This meeting seemed to be nothing but worrying for her. And suddenly the employment contract she had seen in her inbox for Andrea makes all the sense, especially since it had been sent to her directly, not cc'd.

“You will be joining Sauber this coming season. Are you ready?” “I hope and believe I am.” “And you have a team? A trainer, your own PR manager? A assistant?” Charles shakes his head, cheeks red. “I’m afraid not. I only signed the contract two days ago. I haven’t made arrangements.” “And your plans for the 2019 season? Still at Sauber?” “I only signed a one year contract with them. So I hope to stay with them if I can.” He hums and the tone if it tells her everything she needs to know and it takes everything in her to not show the horror she’s feeling. “There will be a spot open at Ferrari for the 2019 season. Show me you can handle an F1 car and perhaps it will be yours.” The three sitting opposite stare at him with wide eyes and Charles’ mouth is open, jaw dropped. “And Andrea will be your trainer. I have a good feeling about you Charles Leclerc, prove me right.” He then nods his head towards the door and the three scramble to stand and leave with rushed goodbyes.

She stands behind him for a moment before walking around the desk and flopping down in one of the seats.

“That boy is going to get destroyed.” “He is a boy to me. Barely a year younger than you, I believe.” She scoffs, “please, nonno. You have just put the biggest weight on his shoulders. Prove to me? And what if he speaks of this? Of getting to meet the great Enzo Ferrari when the man doesn’t leave his house and hasn’t met any drivers or even team principals in person since Schumacher.” “Then you will handle it, I suppose. And I will be proven wrong about the boy since he had to sign an NDA. Not a word of this meeting or this trip to Italy.” “And if people ask about Andrea? How they met? How he came to work with him?” “The academy put them in contact together. And no one will think anything of it. He is too distantly related to think that we have anything to do with it. Nor has he ever spoken of us.” His eyes soften as he really looks at her. “Everything will be fine, stella. I have a good feeling about this one.” She looks at him, worries still sitting heavy in her stomach, horror too, because god what if her grandfather had just sentenced him to forever chasing a dream he can’t have and faith in them that they are unable to deliver. She knows already that both Räikkönen and Vettel are feeling that way, their faith in Ferrari wavering if not gone. “I won’t be able to do anything to help him. Not for years.” “You will be able to help. Not as much as you will in a few years time, but you can still help. We still make decisions for the team and sign off on things.” “And if he leaves before then?” “He won’t.” His voice is quiet, but filled with unwavering faith. Faith she wants to feel herself. “He will be what our team needs to become champion and he won’t leave until he gets that.”

2018

“Vettel is not happy that he wasn’t told before about getting a rookie as a teammate.” She tells her grandfather, looking over the top of her laptop at him. “Sebastian will deal.” Enzo coughs. “And he won’t have a rookie as a teammate.” She makes a humming noise, looking at all of the articles about the announcement of Charles Leclerc joining the historic F1 team before opening her email again. “Should I cover Andrea’s costs again?” “Yes. As long as you aren’t in power with the team, I want Charles kept close.” “That won’t happen until the end of the 2023 season. You want us to pay for Andrea that long?” “Andrea is also family.” He reminds her, before lips twitch into a smile. “And there is a reason he doesn’t receive as large of a Christmas bonus as everyone else anymore.”

2020

“They want to sign Sainz for a two year deal.” He snorts, “and for what? Let me guess sponsors?” “They’re serious about this, nonno. His team has already approached us about a two year contract.” “And he can’t go to Aston because Vettel is going there for two years.” “And he’ll never go back to Red Bull. Mercedes won’t entertain the idea.” “But we are?” He groans, running a hand over his face. “God, what has happened to this team? He hasn’t gotten a single podium, a win! And he’ll hit a hundred races this year. That is who they want on the team?” “He was sixth in the driver standings last year.” “Could he handle it?” She frowns. “Maybe. We wouldn’t know until it happened. He’s older like Vettel, has more experience as well than Leclerc. But Leclerc already has wins under his belt, managed to get fourth in the standings in only his second year. He was teammates with Verstappen in his rookie year, so it’s possible he could handle it.” “A two year contract, huh?” “Two years.”

2022

“Sainz wants to be extended.” She rubs at her forehead, the email, moreso the wording was troubling. “And why should we?” “Because he finished ahead of Charles in the driver's standings last year.” “By less than ten points and due to our own team's failings. They way they embarrassed him in Monaco.” He shakes his head, the rage he felt that day watching it happen coming back. “Four podiums to one. And neither got a win.” “Who needs a seat?” “There’s rumors about Schumacher.” “No.” He shakes his head, fingers beginning to tap against his desk. “Maybe in a few seasons, but not now.” “Bottas, Guyuan, De Vries, Hulkenberg.” He scoffs at all the names. “A friend at McLaren said they’re looking to drop Ricciardo.” His fingers stop. “Ricciardo. He’d understand his role.” “And as long as we treat him better than Red Bull did or how McLaren are, we’d have him.” “Why do they want to drop him?” “Underperforming. Norris is doing better.” He looks at her disbelief. “Please tell me that’s a joke.” She shakes her head. “He gave that fucking fake British team their first win in a decade!” “He’s older and despite his knack for giving good development advice, they’re ignoring it for Norris’.” He rubs at his forehead. “Write him down. Maybe we can get a talk with him before another team manages to snatch him up. Who else?” “It’s all reserves and formers now. There’s Piastri who's serving as Alpine’s reserve this season, wouldn’t shock me if they’ve already signed a contract with him for the next year but haven’t announced it though. We or Haas really has Illot still under contract as a reserve.” He shakes his head. “Leave him in Indycar for a few seasons. Might try him in 2024 when we’re looking for another driver.” She nods, writing his name down with 2024 beside it. “And Piastri?” “No. Alpine probably has something signed with him already. They’d be stupid not to.” “That leaves Ricciardo and Sainz.” He frowns. “Reach out to Ricciardo. We nearly had him for 2021, we should’ve taken him.” “Understood.”

As she begins to type out her email to Ricciardo’s team and she wonders how Blake will react to seeing an email for Ferrari, Enzo speaks.

“How is Charles?” “Nonno.” “I can’t ask?” “You are fishing.” She replies, not looking away from her laptop. “But he is good. Ready for the season to start.” “Hmm. And will he be coming for dinner?” She pauses her typing, looking at him. “Are you asking him to come to dinner?” “I’d like to meet the boy that has made my granddaughter so happy.” “Oh, nonno. It is not a boy that is making me so happy. Just you. You have been in better spirits for the last year.” She laughs. “And isn't it interesting that it was only when you started seeing him that both of our spirits rose?” Her eyes narrow. “Don’t make me take the Leclerc name.” It’s a high insult to the Ferrari name, one that her grandfather has made sure that she knew better to even joke about, but he doesn’t react with his fiery temper, just smirks. “It’s serious enough for marriage but not for you to bring him to meet me?” Blood rushes to her cheeks. “You have met him.” “When he was a boy.” He counters. “One you had distaste for.” He reminds her not that she has ever forgotten.

She had told Charles on their third date about it, watching as his mouth gaped at her, unable to believe that the boy he was at the age could be distasteful. Now, he likes to tease her about it. About how she didn’t like him but as soon as he left the room and she was issued the challenge of making sure he got to Ferrari she did.

“I haven’t met him since. I haven’t met him as your partner. And we both know that you’ll be taking each other's names.” “It is too early to say that.” She tells him, voice quiet. “But I’ll message him. He’ll love to meet you.”

2023

“This is ridiculous!” “I told you that this would happen! You put your hopes and dreams on a boy and look at what has happened!” “I did no such thing!” “You did! And I told you that you would ruin him. That he would lose faith just like the ones before and now look.” She waves a hand at the TV in front of them, playing the lowlights of the season. “He didn’t just go to that meeting with Red Bull and then shut it down like he has before, he entertained it.” She scoffs, shaking her head. “He should’ve left us for them when they first fucking offered.” “You do not mean that.” “Look at what our team has done to him! Look at what you have done! I have no power there and barely do you. I get to vote on what drivers we add to the team, but it is one vote, against six others. Same goes for the general direction of the car, which we both were out voted in. And that is it, that is my power! I don’t get to give him the Ferrari team he deserves, that we deserve, because you signed it away when my father died until I turn twenty-seven!” She turns away from Enzo, taking in a shaky breath, before turning back to him. “And you will not ever bring it up to Charles that he considered leaving us or if he does. Because I set up that meeting with Red Bull for him.” He looks at her resigned, saddened, but not surprised. “You would let him leave?” “I don’t let him do anything. I love you, nonno. I love this team. But it is not just Charles that they are disappointing and letting down. It is our fans, our people, our family, our legacy, me, you. Next month, I get to finally take back our families power in the sport and it is already too late for this season and nearly too late for the next. I can’t even guarantee a good first season with me in charge because of where the car is already developed too. And the upgrades.” She shakes her head. “None of it would matter with the team that is working there.”

“What do you want to do?” She looks at him, struggling not to cry, and she folds herself down in front of him, taking her hands in his. “A new structure and house. The voting can stay, but it has anonymity, we don’t talk about who is going to vote for what, only after the votes have been cast we talk, discuss, but with us having the power to veto if decisions are being made too much on outside factors like money and perceptions. Drivers who have multi-year contracts starting next season can be present for the votes, hear why we voted for what we did and even jump in on discussions if they feel inclined. We change. We have been stagnant for too long. We need new blood and beliefs.” He starts to shake his head and she squeezes his hands.

“Nonno, please just listen to me.” She pleads. “We need a complete overhaul of the team, you know it and have said it yourself. I can’t just hire Italian first, not when that has ended with us where we are now. I can offer everyone severance packages, pay for it all myself, but no more Italian first. We take who is best suited for the team and hope they are Italian. Maybe we baptize them if they aren’t.” His lips quirk into a smile. “The strategy team needs to go, PR, social media, the race engineers.” “Sainz likes his race engineer.” “Sainz also likes to say that he comes up with the strategy used in the races but as soon as they fail, he backtracks. He is a fair driver, but he needs to be retrained in PR.” “His family needs a gag order.” Her grandfather huffs. “Yes, but that is not something we can do. What we can do is get him retrained and get a new PR manager for him, same with social media. Charles will be getting the same. He needs an image refresh.” “This is what you want?” “Yes. I want to bring our team back to greatness. I already have the people I want for the team, I’m just waiting for your approval and for the next month to pass before I start sending out contracts.” He sighs, looking in pain. “Can they at least speak Italian?” She smiles, standing to press a kiss to his cheek. “They can learn and they will quickly.” Another sigh leaves him but he smiles, warm and gentle at her. “Mia figlia, la mia stella, fai quello che devi. Il mio supporto è tuo, sempre.” My daughter, my star, do what you must. My support is yours, always. “Thank you, papa.”

October 23rd, 2023

She stands facing the back wall of the room, listening as the door opens and people trudge in. She tries to count the pairs of feet she hears. She knows how many are supposed to come to this meeting, how many she asked to come, but it wouldn’t surprise her if someone let slip that the new boss, and the big boss at that, had arranged a meeting that a few people would try tagging along.

It’s the sound of the door shutting and then locking from the inside that has her turning around, giving a nod of thanks to her bodyguard, Roman, who inclines his head before retreating to the left front corner of the room.

“I see you all made it.” She says, her Italian accent barely noticeable around the English words and she can see a few faces turn confused at the English. Ferrari was Italian, they spoke Italian, had meetings in Italian. And more importantly, she was not just Ferrari, but a Ferrari. One that only three people in this room had ever met in person, and only two others had seen her face because of video calls. “Good, let's talk about the dumpster fire that was yesterday.” She can see a few faces balk at her words, but it’s Sainz’s that gets her attention. “You don’t agree?” “It was an unfortunate thing that happened to Charles, but I still ended up in P3.” “Due to a disqualification. Which is also what happened to your teammate. This also is the third time you’ve ended up on the podium due to such a thing. Let us also not forget to acknowledge that while the FIA didn’t check your car, like they should have after finding that two of four of the cars they checked had issues with their planks, doesn’t mean we didn’t.” He frowns and so does a good majority of the room. “I don’t understand.” “Your planks were just like Leclerc’s. Just barely under what they should be. But still enough for disqualification.” Eyes widen and she continues. “Not that it matters, because I won’t be alerting the FIA of such a thing. Not when the teams didn’t get enough time to set up the car because of the sprint format and I don’t think we need to give McLaren more of a jump on us.”

Walking around the room, she nearly pauses behind Charles' chair. Wants so badly to squeeze his hand, to offer him comfort or a way to get his frustrations out, but she continues until she is at the front of the room.

“The FIA won’t get rid of sprint races, but myself and a few other team representatives, will be going to them with a new sprint format for the next season hopefully or for at least starting the 2025 season. I expect both of you,” she looks at Sainz and Charles, “to voice your support. And I’m sure Red Bull, Williams, Mercedes, McLaren, Aston Martin, Alpine, and Haas, will be saying the same to their drivers as well.” “You want us to support a format that could be worse?” Charles asks, and she can see a few shakes of the head at him. “No, I want you to support one that is better. For Sprint weekends, you will have free practice one and the sprint shootout on Friday. On Saturday, there will be the sprint, followed by second free practice, then qualifying. Sundays of course will just be race day. Does that sound worse?” “No. You think the FIA will go for it?” “The FIA won’t have much of a choice. And besides next year allows each team to have more tyre’s allocated, they’ll want something extra to help burn through them to make it more interesting.”

“Now,” She lifts the lid of one of the two file boxes she has. “Leclerc, Sainz.” Both grimace at the use of their last names, but she catches a glimpse of amusement from Charles. “I have meetings with both of your management teams after this. Sainz, you’ll be getting a new PR manager, Ana. She or her assistant Val, will be with you for every event, interview, or anything else PR wise. Sometimes they both will.”

She turns her head to look at Charles. “Leclerc, you're getting an image refresh. I’m not letting a driver for this team have a vast majority of people thinking there’s nothing behind your apparently good looks.”

“Why isn’t Charles getting a babysitter?” She raises a brow at the tone and question. “Ana and Val aren’t babysitters, they work in PR. They will be retraining you. Because at the moment I could be breaking your contract right now with four races left in the season due to the public clause and if you have to ask why, you need more help than I thought.” He looks at her in shock and she can see a few people in the room shift uncomfortably. “Also concerning both of you, you both will have new race engineers in Mexico. Your previous engineers were lacking.” They both look uncomfortable with the decision but don’t say anything and she turns her attention to Fred.

“Fred.” “Ms. Ferrari.” She smiles at the title, though there’s nothing polite or happy about it. “This is your team is not?” She gestures to the drivers, the heads of different departments that all sit in the room with them. “Yes.” “Then, why am I doing your job for you and handling them?” With that she starts throwing out the severance packages onto the table. When she runs out of ones in the first box, she takes the lid off the second and just tips it over, letting them spill out.

“Severance packages.” She states, seeing some people's confused looks. “Some are effective immediately. Others will be given after the last race.” “Fabio’s name is here.” “So is Gualtieri and Cardile. They have been given generous severance packages.” She reassures. “You will meet their replacements either later today or in Mexico.” “They are heads of their departments!” “And they have failed at their jobs. As has everyone who has been issued one of these.”

—

“How did they take it?” “Safe to say I haven’t made any friends.” “So, it's going well.” She snorts, smiling at Charles as he enters her hotel suite. “I’m fairly certain they all would like to burn me at the stake.” Charles frowns. “Not Charles of course.” “Is he there?” “Just got here.” She confirms. “Do you want to talk to your grandson?” She teases and predictably Charles flushes. “Yes, yes. I want to make sure that he’s taking care of you, protecting you.” She rolls her eyes at the last part but passes the phone to Charles, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she does before stepping around him to her open laptop.

Leaning against the desk, she stares at the list in front of her. A list of drivers, currently on the grid, reserves, and not yet on the grid. Before the halfway point of the 2024 season she’d either have to sign contracts for one new driver or two for the 2025 season and now it just came down to who she wanted to reach out to.

A good amount of them are already on the bottom half of the page under the bolded words, not an option.

Verstappen was there, both Mercedes drivers, Bottas, Hulkenberg, Magnuessen, Alonso, Ocon, Stroll, Perez, Norris. She chooses not to look too closely at the fact that she doesn’t have Piastri there. She’d buy out a contract if need be and she knew Mark. If she proved that Ferrari could improve and be a winning team under her, he’d be willing to help her break a contract or two.

She jolts when a pair of lips presses themselves to her forehead, her phone being set down next to her laptop. “Your list is interesting. No Antonio?” “He’s a good development driver.” She says, typing his name out under not an option. Charles hums, sitting in the chair and then pulling her onto his lap, carefully pulling her legs to hangover the arm of the chair. “You have two Indycar drivers under possible.” She shrugs. “I’ll watch closely as the first few races go for them. They only have contracts for the 2024 season.” “Not that it would matter.” She grins, huffing out a laugh. “Not that it would matter.”

She watches as he peers at the list, his hands rubbing at her calf. “You have a lot of no’s.” His eyes narrow as he scans it again. “Mick, Ollie, and Vesti all under maybe?” “Vesti’s done well for himself, Mercedes is just going to waste him. Especially if he’s any good in an F1 car. Bearman’s had a strong first season in F2. Schumacher,” She hesitates. “I’m not keen on the idea. Especially with two seasons out of F1, but there is the opportunity to put him in Alfa Romeo.” “But Valterri and Zhou.” “Valterri knows he won’t be promoted back up. He’s doing good for being at Alfa Romeo, but he also has a lot of other ventures and pursuits. I’d like to keep him for another year or two after for development if I can.” He hums, “Alex and Schwartzman?” “Albon is sticking to Williams like glue. Which is understandable after Red Bull, but there’s hope.” She doesn’t mention that she’d think that he’d be a good teammate for Charles. “Schwartzman is already under contract with us. Just as a reserve and for testing, but who knows.”

He presses a kiss to her shoulder and he reads the top of the list, the possibles. He had only skimmed it before, but now he gives it his full attention.

“I’m on here.” “Yes.” “But,” “You don’t have an extension with us. You are only contracted with us for this next season. And as much as I’d like to keep you as would the fans and nonno, we haven’t proven that we deserve to have you here. I have to keep my options open that there will be two drivers I have to sign for 2025.” “I don’t like it.” He tells her, frowning. He didn’t like to think about not being at Ferrari, at the possibility of it, especially now with her at the helm and already making drastic changes. He didn’t know yet if those changes were good or not, but it felt like they were, he hoped that they were.

Piastri, Ricciardo, Drugovich, and he blinks as reads the last name, saying it outloud. “Sargeant. You have Sargeant under possible? Not a maybe but possible?” “Sargeant would sign a contract with us in a heartbeat, no contracts to break. 2024 will be a one year for him.” “Something has been signed?” She shrugs, “it’s common sense to keep him. Otherwise they’d just be dealing with a whole other rookie.” He sighs, jaw twitching. “I don’t like it. He has only scored a point because of my disqualification.” “I know.” “He has cost them much.” “I know.” Charles pouts, “he is American.” She lets out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “That will be your issue with him? His Americanness?” “Yes.” “Well, it’s just a possibility.” She smiles, before leaning down to press their lips together in a quick kiss. “Now, tell me out of everyone in the maybes and possibles who you’d want as a teammate.” “And what? You’ll make it happen?” “If I can give you a good season next year, I’ll do everything I can.”

He eyes the list, taking in the names he mentioned before and the few he didn’t.

Pierre would end in a dumpster fire and he was selfish enough to say that he didn’t want him as a teammate so they could keep their friendship, one so close to his heart. Lawson was an interesting idea, he had performed well for having to suddenly jump into a car. Alex would be a good teammate as well and he knew that Alex would also love the development side of things like he did.

He didn’t know enough about Drugovich or either of the Indycar drivers really. They had performed fair in F2 and were doing well in Indycar, but it was unknown. He could see them both though at Alfa Romeo. Ollie was too young to step into such a huge seat, maybe for him also Alfa Romeo in 2025 and by 2028 he’d be ready to step in and then take over a seat.

Oscar and Sargeant are both interesting for completely different reasons. He wishes that she had gotten power in the beginning of 2022 and when the Alpine drama happened, snatched Oscar up.

But there’s one name that he keeps on looking at, that’s circling in his head.

“Daniel. If I could have anyone, I’d want Daniel.”

There’s a shared pained history there and Charles knows that he took what was going to be Daniel’s seat in 2019 before Ferrari really started gunning for him while Renault took a keen interest in Daniel.

Charles could still remember around the fifth race of the 2020 season when Daniel had cornered him, looking nervous to be around him for the first time since their accidentally shared Vegas trip that made them break the ice. Daniel seemed so much smaller as he asked Charles if he’d be okay with them being teammates next season, and had seemed shocked by the relieved and happy grin Charles had given him.

She hesitates, “I never said anything, but I tried getting Daniel for 2024 and even 2023 when the rumors about McLaren dropping him started up.” “But Carlos?” “He asked for an extension, but nonno and me wanted to present a different option. But by the time I reached out, Red Bull had managed to snatch him back up. He’s only with them though for 2024. He’s free after that.” “So, you are saying?” He hopes. “I’m saying that, I’ve already reached out as of yesterday. Red Bull isn't in any hurry to get him under contract for 2025 and Blake has made it clear that Daniel isn’t signing any contracts until May or June to them and us.” “Which is enough time to prove that the team is improving.” “Yes.”

He stares at her wide eyed speechless. “What does that mean?” “If we improve?” He nods. “We sign you and Daniel until 2027.” She pauses, hesitating, but she won’t lie to him now. “We let you two battle it out at the beginning of the 2025 season. If Daniel is scoring more points, higher on the podium than you by break, you defend. We’ll ask you to let him pass if both of you can get on the podium or he has better pace and can get on it. We let him become world champion first. And it would go the other way around as well.” He rolls the idea in his mind, lets it sit in his stomach. “Daniel Ricciardo the 2025 world champion and Charles Leclerc the 2026 world champion.”

He lets them sit in the air, the idea of practically another three seasons before it could happen. Could he wait that long? Watch as Daniel got it before him? Watch as his teammate got it before him? Could he let himself be sacrificed for his teammates gain again? He thinks it over, because it is not fair for her to ask, to say, but that is what driving in Formula One is. It is not fair, with unequal machinery and only twenty spots available. To have to worry not just about your race but also your teammates depending on where the point standings are at.

But she is offering him something that he wasn’t before and with clearness, transparency. Not something that will be dropped on him in the middle of the race or as he’s about to finish lap ten or fifty. She’s telling him now what to expect and how it will go. She’s letting him know that it doesn’t matter which one is in the lead for the championship, just that whichever one isn’t when they come back from break, will be defending and he thinks now of her emphasis on the word. Not sacrificing, but defending. She wouldn’t let either of them be compromised so badly that they drop either low in the points or out of the points completely, but she would ask that they defend the other.

“I want it. Even if I do have to wait an extra year. It’d be worth it.” “And if you won in 2025 and then Daniel in 2026?” “We could trade off years, but I want it, I want that.” She smiles and there’s something sweet and dangerous about it. “Then I’ll make it happen.”

@eleetalks @cixrosie @badbatch-simp24 @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @copper-boom @topguncultleader @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @benstormy @bibliosaurous

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 x reader #figlia mia - charles fic

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billyloomiswhore4 · 1 year

Text

Crazy for you | Chapter Four

Chapter four is here!!! send me requests for short drabbles and ill give you my take on it. i love when you guys ask me questions about my fics or send requests!!! anyways here it is.

Warnings: billy has a weird obsession with the way you smell, poor randy never gets the girl, smut next chapter!

He didn’t think he’d have to see you until third period, but when he steps into the hall after first period he sees you. You’re leaning against his locker, waiting for him.

He can’t stop thinking about the way you smelled. It was like vanilla body wash and honey, but with that underlying smell of girl. The one he smells on Sidney, but yours is different. It’s sweeter, more intoxicating. He can’t get enough of it, god how he wants to just walk up to you and pull you into a hug, just so he can smell you again. It makes his head spin.

But he doesn’t instead he walks to his locker, attempting to ignore you. But you don’t move, and you don’t say anything, so he just ends up standing there next to his locker waiting for you.

“Hey?” he sounds confused, that's the games he’s decided to play, pretend like he was completely wasted.

“Hey.” Your voice sounds nervous, but still has anger laced in it.

“You’re uh, standing in front of my locker.” He lets out a chuckle, and pretends not to know why you’re angry.

“Yeah, I know.” You deadpan, eyes piercing daggers on his own. He stands there awkwardly for a moment, with his hands in his pockets. You suddenly say, “What are you playing at Billy?”

He stares at you for a moment, “What?”

“The other night? What was that?” You’re outright angry now. He decides to put on a show for you. He sighs, and runs his hands through his hair.

“I’m sorry, I don’t exactly remember what happened. I was kind of hammered.” He pushes out an awkward chuckle.

“Oh,” Your face drops of all anger, and you seem embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I thought you- nevermind.” You push yourself off his locker and walk away. And he stares after you, a slight smirk on his lips. He praises himself in his mind for the act, and begins getting him stuff from his locker.

–

The next time he sees you is actually third period. Usually you sit right next to him so you can pick his brain about whatever topic is the day's discussion. But today you sit on the other side of the classroom, next to Randy. It makes his heart ache, he loves your little talks. You always seem so interested in what he has to say. Sidney never listens, she just talks to him and expects him to hang on to every word, he hates it and he hates her.

He also hates Randy, especially when he’s looking at you like that. You seem deep in conversation with him, and when you laugh Billy clenches his fist.

How could you be so oblivious, he understands why you can’t tell he likes you, he hides it. But Randy? He’s basically making heart eyes at you, and you have no idea. Sometimes he wishes he could just take what he wants, he’s impatient. But then he remembers the plan, and with the newfound information he received from your diary he knows it’s fool proof.

He just needs to control himself, until tonight. They made a few changes to the plan last night, and it seems perfect. He just has to wait.

You never realized Randy was so funny, but if you're being perfectly honest it seems like he saved up all his jokes and decided to just spew them at you all in one class.

He says something stupid about the movie Halloween and you giggle, attempting to cover it up with your palm. He smiles, and flushes red when you put your hand on his arm to push him softly.

Your smile fades quickly, “You okay there? You're really red.”

“Yeah- yeah I'm good, just a little hot.” He sputters, and his voice cracks at the end. He laughs it off and you smile at him and continue your conversation.

—

The school day passes quicker than normal, lunch was a bore and before you know it you’re sitting in your bed, watching some random horror movie. You had just finished writing in your diary, which was conveniently placed on your bed when you came home from school. At around eight pm you hear the phone start ringing downstairs.

You get up, slip on your fluffy slippers and make your way down the stairs. The phone is on its last ring by the time you answer it.

“Hey Sid.” You recognize the number. Billy stands in the woods right behind your house, waiting for the perfect moment. He and Stu fought for hours for who to be the one to do it, eventually Stu caved.

Sid said something over the phone, but Billy knew he’d be seeing her tonight too.

“No, I think I'm just gonna stay home tonight, but have fun with Tate.” You smile into the phone, and for a second Billy thinks he might faint.

You hang up, and set the phone down, turning and walking back to the stairs. The phone rings again, this time you huff, turning back to the phone. You answer, and say, “I told you, Sid. I don’t wanna hang out tonight.”

“Oooo, trouble in paradise?” the modulated voice teases.

A smile breaks out on your face. “Well hello, mr ghostface.” You tease back.

“Hey, princess.” He grins behind the mask.He said it less sultry than before, not wanting to scare you off again.

“What are you doing?” You ask, playing with your hair.

“Watching you..i’ve decided i’m gonna play with you tonight.”

“Oh yeah?” Your voice comes out light and breathless.

“Hide and seek. Go unlock the back door, and then go hide somewhere.” You unlock the door and hold the phone to your ear.

“How do I know you won’t cheat?”

“Oh princess, Y’know I don’t play fair.”

You laugh at that, hanging up and making your way upstairs. You wiggle underneath your bed.

You hear him making his way up the stairs, heavy footsteps booming through the house. He passes your bedroom door, and then stops. You slap a hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing.

The footsteps track back to your door, and your bedroom door opens, light flooding in from the hall. Billy ‘tsk’s to himself, wondering how stupid you could be to hide in your own bedroom. But maybe you want him to find you?

The footsteps trail into your room, but then slowly make their way out of the room. You let out a sigh of relief.

Suddenly something is wrapping around your ankles and yanking you out from underneath the bed. You find yourself turning onto your back in the struggle, and your giggles are immediately silenced. He’s holding a giant knife, and he immediately presses it to your throat.

“Found you.”

taglist: @tzkyo @buzzybee-26 @brazilianneighbour @sammanna @wickedsandwich08 @bdhwiqbwo @roygbivvie @dixxhotgirl2 @iiheartbowie @ashreblogsnow @snailwithaheart @ihbofjastmne @alexa-33 @adaydreamaway08 @zeysartzone @your-daily-envy

#billy x stu x reader #billy loomis fanfiction #billy loomis smut #billy loomis x reader #stu macher smut #stu macher x reader #scream 1996 smut #scream 1996 x reader

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grimm-writings · 5 days

Note

hi hi it's bard anon again :) i was rereading the manga and remembered that chilchuck's nightmares would be about losing his daughters... could you write about reader going into his dream (like laios did for marcille) and helping him through it? maybe also promising to keep his secret, asking if he's still married, etc. hehe

aisling

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! hurt/comfort, reader is not a half-foot, some descriptions of gore and body horror, CHILCHUCK PSYCHOANALYSIS 🔥

…wc! 1773

…notes! grimm lore drop, i’m irish! thus the title of this fic is after the as gaeilge word for ‘dream’. enjoooooy <3

You repeat Laios’ instructions in your head as you try to drift off. Chilchuck’s body is a bit small to make much of a pillow, but at least his warmth distracts you from the worried stares of your peers.

“You probably have to fight through your own nightmare to get to him!” Laios keeps reassuring you. “So be on guard! Remember what I told y–”

“They get it, Laios!” Marcille yanks the tall-man away from where you’re struggling to drift off. His barrage of information is in good faith, but it isn’t exactly the best white noise to fall asleep to.

Eventually, you find yourself in your dreamscape. Quickly, quickly, you let your mind run with ideas of how to ‘dig down’ as Laios described it. Chilchuck is resting underneath you, so the only way to go was in fact down.

The question is… how?

It took a lot of quick-thinking in order to bypass your own personal insecurities (you don’t have the time to dwell on them– Chilchuck is in trouble!) but eventually you imagined a jackhammer drill to make your way down. You had to admit it wasn’t the most efficient, but it was the first thing you could come up with!

When you land and face another injury on your backside again, you groan, hoping the effects of the nightmare meant your pain wouldn’t carry over into the real world.

You look up, surprised to find yourself in what looks like a cottage. It would be rather cosy-looking if not for the torn wallpaper, axe thrown into the wall, and blood splattered all over the place. You could even hear despairing wails of crying echoing through the place…

Hang on. You try to prick up your ears. No, it doesn’t sound too distant at all. You try to navigate your way through the place that was once a loving home. You take notice of your size in comparison to the door frames and furniture– you’re way too large in comparison. This is a home of a half-foot.

Was a home of a half-foot you know very well, you realise with your blood running cold. Entering the next room you found Chilchuck. He’s on his knees, hands being held in the air and shaking in a way you’ve never seen him before. He’s horrified. Over his lap are the heads of three girls, all brutally mutilated and bloodied in ways that made you feel ill. One girl looks nearly identical to Chilchuck.

You have a suspicion of what’s going on.

What you have to do is protect Chilchuck from the emotional scarring of the nightmare. How can you do that, when he already has the blood of three people– likely loved ones– on his hands? You can hear him whispering “why me?” over and over in the shakiest whimper before he chokes mid-sob.

Creeping over without a sound proves difficult as the door creaks loudly. Chilchuck immediately stops his crying and freezes as he looks up at you.

‘Be encouraging,’ Laios’ words echo in your mind, ‘encourage him to overcome his fear the nightmares are exploiting.’

Easier said than done, as you can hear another presence approaching. Your footstep must have alerted it. Chilchuck rises to his feet.

“It’s coming,” he tells you, trying to keep his voice firm and grounded, “but don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

…Oh! Looks like he’s already well underway trying to fight back against the nightmare! This will be easy! You were so chuffed, you almost forgot that usually you aren’t supposed to be recognised in dreams.

Still, you watch as Chilchuck limps to stand in front of you. He looks… smaller than usual. Odd.

You tug on Chilchuck’s tunic with an appreciative grin. “You’re so brave, Chil. I know you can defeat the intruder!”

“...Yeah. It’s my job to get you outta this mess, huh?”

An odd thing to say, but you agree nevertheless. Encourage, encourage, encourage. “You’ll get us out of here in no time,” you whisper to Chilchuck, rubbing the fabric of his tunic reassuringly. “I have faith in you.”

He shifts under your touch as you say this.

You glance over at the limp bodies of the three girls. You wonder what had gotten them so grievously injured. Their wounds look non-existent save for splashes of blood on their clothes and red running from their lips. Chilchuck has already been a bit queasy towards gore. Maybe imagining anything too excessive would be too much for him.

Then, ‘it’ arrives.

It was a twisted amalgamation of flesh and bone. Its jaw is unhinged, what could either be blood-red lipstick or the bodily fluid itself running from you think are its lips. Its hair was dark and matted. It’s just barely shorter than Chilchuck himself, you notice. It’s like an uncannily recreated half-foot woman.

When it sees Chilchuck, it screams in a woman’s voice, something about how ‘it’s supposed to be date night.’

It ran away at the very sight of him. At the sight of him with you.

What could that mean…?

Once it leaves, Chilchuck collapses again. He looks up at you, his eyes big and full of terror. “Is the party okay? Where are they?! I need– I need to make sure they don’t–”

He begins crawling over to the door. The party? They’re… here? No, this is probably another aspect of his nightmare. These girls are here, either dead when he found them, or he watched them get hurt.

Either way, he was too late.

Cogs began to turn. Could Chilchuck be afraid of… not being able to protect his loved ones from harm? The cottage was basically turned into a slaughterhouse. As for the monster…

“Who’s that woman?” you ask.

“I– I think it’s supposed to be my wife,” he explains rather easily. Maybe the dreams encourage such honesty. “But it isn’t. I know it isn’t. None of this makes sense…”

…His wife?

No, no, not the time… Later.

“That’s because it’s a nightmare, Chil…” you try to explain. “You have to face your fear.”

“My fear?!” Chilchuck turns to glare at you. “Sorry for being so naive, but my ‘fear’ is out of my control! If I’m here, there’s a chance no one will get hurt. I–I just need to find the rest of you. I can’t let you be taken away from me because I was being stupid.”

You grab Chilchuck’s wrist to prevent him from limping away into the cottage’s halls. “Why don’t you… talk to it– I mean, your wife?”

He freezes. He turns back at you, his glare making his eyebags look heavier. “Are you insane?”

“She’s your wife.”

Chilchuck swallows. His wrist slips from your grip so he could intertwine his fingers with you instead. “There’s too many things I know she’ll ask from me.”

“Like?”

“Like… Why don’t I come home more often? Do I love her anymore?”

You squeeze Chilchuck’s hand, rising to your feet. “Do you?”

“I do.” He doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“Then tell her.”

Chilchuck deliberates on this for a moment. He then looks up at you.

“Stay with me,” he requests in the quietest voice, “stay with me as I talk to her.”

Though his words made your chest feel weird, you shake your head. “This is your job as a husband. Not anyone else’s. You can’t protect everyone forever, not even yourself. Running won’t solve anything.”

Chilchuck is quiet for a few seconds, taking in your words. He then slowly nods. “At least walk with me over there.”

“Now that I can do,” you return with a smile.

The floors creak underneath your feet as you journey through the halls. You can see in the corners of your eye, in the kitchen, a certain dwarf bloodied and kneeling over the sink. You recognise the body of a spindly tuxedo cat with her arm hanging as she lays on the rafters. She’s the source of the dripping red onto your clothes.

“I couldn’t protect them, trying to be everywhere at once,” Chilchuck murmurs as you come across an elf strangled with her own hair.

Your eyes lay on the woman feeding on the remains of a tallman and squeeze Chilchuck’s hand.

“It’s okay. Just talk to her.”

He looks up at you, and you nod. Chilchuck smiles slightly, and you can see a bit of that spark in his eyes again. “It… really is a dream that you’re here, y’know?”

You return the smile, and move away. You’re just out of the room when you hear Chilchuck take a breath and say, “so how about that date night, my love?”

As you walk away, you notice that from the room you left, light seems to be seeping through. Before you know it, it envelops you.

Suddenly, you’re awake in the dungeon again. When Laios awoke after saving Marcille, it was very sudden and unpleasant. Yet this… this was calm, and you feel all fuzzy…

…Oh, but if you could only remember what had happened. The images are blurry in your mind. You do remember one thing, at least—

“You’re awake!” Marcille’s voice is the first to grab your attention, helping you sit up. “That’s a good sign!”

Laios is there behind you. “And here’s Chil. How ya doin’, buddy?”

“Shut it,” Chilchuck’s groggy morning voice is the most relieving thing to hear right now. Seems you were successful in your mission, even if you can’t remember most of it.

Laios whines a little. “Don’t be like that! You had nightmares! And your hero is right here!”

As Chilchuck sits up and turns to look at you in surprise, you wave back sheepishly. Laios takes the opportunity to take Chilchuck’s pillow and get rid of the clam-like monsters.

“Oh,” Chilchuck responds with a few blinks. “I was wondering why my dream was nicer than usual.”

“Oooh, what didja dream about?” Marcille asks nosily. As she leans her face in, Chilchuck furrows his brow and pushes her away, claiming it’s none of her business.

The answer would be given soon when Senshi takes the opportunity to boil the nightmares. A cottage scene, and there Chilchuck was, laughing and smiling as he has a candlelit dinner with…

You?

“Enough, enough, enough!” Chilchuck was quick to try and push the pot lid down over the clams in embarrassment.

What? That’s not how you remember things going. You squint. “But I thought you had a…” You look over at Chilchuck trying to fight back against the questions and accusations being thrown at him from all sides.

You can’t help but smile a little, flushing a bit pink. You can keep a secret.

#✮ grimm's fics!#delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #delicious in dungeon imagines #dungeon meshi imagines #chilchuck #chilchuck tims #chilchuck tims x reader #chilchuck x reader #chilchuck tims imagines #chilchuck imagines

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twogyuu · 1 year

Text

Head in the Clouds (Landing Among Stars)

Pairing: Wonwoo x fem!reader

Synopsis: You're busy. He's busy. Doctors are busy. Pilots are busy. But somehow, he always found time for you - including pretending to be your boyfriend for your cousin's wedding.

Genre: Fluff, crack, minor angst(?), pilot!Wonwoo 😭💔, resident doctor!reader, mentions of an unspecifed ex, implications of dj!Johnny Suh, fake dating, friends-to-???

Warnings: Profanity, alcohol use, food, photo is not my own (screenshotted it from the RWY Special Behind SVT YT video. LMAO THANK YOU FOR ALL THE BEHINDS PLEDIS🙏🏻)

WC: ~4.5K

Permanent taglist: @sleeplessdawn @sadkidwarexpert @rockwidthyou @woozarts @wonuziex @bibinnieposts @nanamioo @joonsytip

A/N: Remember when I said it's not my fault if you see this in the next 24h? This is 50% the fault of @wisteria-woo 😭💔 and 50% Wonwoo's fault. It's Friday past midnight - I should be out with friends, maybe studying more, maybe working on fixing Reel Love, finishing that Seungkwan drabble, maybe starting the first few paragraphs of that Hao crazy rich asians!au fic, or maybe writing about Jeonghan and Wonwoo fighting over cereal - but NO - I'm sitting here with Wonwoo fever 🥲

Anyways- IT'S WONWOO'S ANATOMICAL LEFT eyebrow, not his right 😭 Though I re-watched the video and he depresses his anatomical right eyebrow so it just looks like he lifted his left one whyamievenlookingthathard

This is purely self-indulgent and unedited (per usual). I am so ill rn and in DISTRESS - tumblr made this so much harder to post than it needed to be 😭. I am sorry for blowing up your notifications . . . I also sincerely apologize if none of this makes sense.

GOOD NIGHT 😭

Feel free to make fun of me swinging in a direction that isn't even one of my usual biases @aceofvernons.

“Maybe he’s right, Wonwoo.”

Your voice grew small until it fell silent, finally pausing in your rambling. He gave you a minute to collect your thoughts, busying himself with adjusting his navy blue double breasted suit jacket on the white plastic hanger. His fingers grazed against the uneven surface of the gold metallic buttons with delicate engravings as he slipped them through the slits. Though seemingly engrossed in straightening his jacket, his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of you sulking on the edge of his full-sized bed in the other room. Your camel-colored peacoat would still be shrouding your shoulders that were rounded in a slump, your purse still slung across your body. Your index finger was probably hooked loosely around the silver keychain he bought you for your birthday last year. Maybe your eyes were bleary, gaze falling on his cream colored carpet. A sharp inhale, followed by a heavy exhale.

Stepping back, eyes scanning his jacket for a speck of dust, he called to you, “He really said that?” Wonwoo reached to adjust the shoulder pads, “That you never have time for him? You spent all your days off with him the last time I checked – this is the first time I’ve seen you in-person . . . three months?”

“I know,” you mumbled, your voice muffled. Your hands must be covering your face.

“You’d think he’d know what he’d be getting into, dating a resident doctor, huh?” Wonwoo asked rhetorically.

The only response he got was a small ‘puff’ that echoed into his walk-in closet – the sound of your back meeting his comforter. Wonwoo chortled softly to himself. Satisfied by the look of his suit jacket, he tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks and made his way out. The right corner of his lips curled into a small smile as you came into view just as he expected: Flopped onto his bed with your legs dangling over the edge, still dressed in your outerwear, hands covering your face.

“I’m gonna end up lonely as fuck because of my job, god,” you groaned, “Why did I think it’d be a good idea to be a doctor all things considered? I’ve been fucking up my left and rights since second year of medical school, I work six out of seven days of the week, I’m probably vitamin D deficient with how little I see the sun – there are no windows in that closet of an office they give residents in the hospital, it’s dark when I arrive, the sun is already setting when I leave. The only good thing out of this is that I don’t have to dress up for work and can live in scrubs – for now.”

“Aaaww,” he cooed teasingly, “You won’t be lonely.” Leaning against the white painted door frame, Wonwoo unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt, rolling them up his arms. “You got me.”

“That’s different,” you deadpanned. “You’re missing the point, Wonwoo.”

“And you’re being dramatic,” he berated, running his hand through his jet black locks to loosen the tight and groomed style he was sporting earlier. “Who needs a man when you’re going to be a six-figure-making physician in a year or two? You can take care of yourself.”

“I’ll be fine in two years maybe, but not in two months,” you sighed, pushing yourself up from his bed.

“You’re gonna let a mere man ruin your next two months?”

“No – I mean, yes, I’m gonna mope because I’m a little heartbroken and I really thought he was . . . it.”

“Oh god,” Wonwoo scoffed. You weren’t looking, but he pointed at you anyway. “For the record, I told you from the beginning I never liked him.”

“I told my mom about him,” you blurted.

Wonwoo fell silent, his lips pursing into a small o-shape. This was no laughing matter now. You lived several miles away from home and have been doing so since starting medical school when he met you through a mutual friend. It wasn’t that you weren’t close to your family, but because of your busy schedule, there were only select parts of your life you ever told your mom. You were a listener more than you were a talker – opting to listen to your mom’s anecdotes of what’s been going on at home rather than sharing your day-to-day at the hospital over your weekly phone calls. Not to mention, Wonwoo recalled you told him that your parents were rather invested in your love life, stuck in a traditional mindset, terrified that you’d become a spinster unless you brought home a promising candidate before you hit your early thirties. Though Wonwoo could respect it, he wasn’t sure he could ever quite understand your parents’ urge to get you married so quickly, let alone if it was with the wrong person.

“My cousin’s getting married in two months and I’m flying back home for the wedding,” you explained, “He . . . was supposed to be my plus one . . . meet my cousin, my brothers . . . meet my parents.”

Wonwoo nodded slowly, eyes falling to the side and gazing out his bedroom window. The two of you were getting that serious. He was surprised you hadn’t burst into tears already – perhaps you already did or you were just a tougher cookie than he thought.

“Have you told your parents about your break up?” Wonwoo inquired.

You shook your head slowly. “I . . . I-I’m scared,” you sucked in a sharp breath, “They seemed so . . . ecstatic to meet him? And they told all my aunts and uncles I’m dating some hot shot . . . I’d hate to take that away from them – or worse,” your eyes widened at your sudden epiphany, “I get scolded for being dumb and letting a boy play me.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brows together, the last comment catching him off-guard. “He didn’t and it wasn’t your fault though?”

“It takes two tango, so maybe it was,” you noted, “And my parents don’t see it that way.”

“It wasn’t and they won't.”

“Maybe.”

Wonwoo sighed seemingly hopelessly, pushing himself off the doorframe. His footsteps shifted side to side as if he was contemplating something – uncomfortable even. The space between your brows dipped slightly as you narrowed your eyes, continuing to observe him. As if the room was suddenly feeling stuffy, he let out a long and heavy breath – not out of fatigue or relief, but rather . . . nerves? His hand came up to tug at the black knot at his throat. It must've been tight because his (anatomical) right eyebrow quirked in distress, his fingers flexed harshly as he pulled it loose – you were able to make out almost each tendon running along his metacarpals.

“Date me instead,” Wonwoo stated firmly.

You blinked at him owlishly. “W-what?”

Pulling the shorter end out from behind the black piece of silk came undone, falling limp in his hand. His thumb and index finger came up to unclasp the opaque plastic button below his Adam’s Apple that bobbed up and down as he gulped down the invisible lump forming in his throat.

“I’ll go with you to the wedding,” Wonwoo continued, his eyes flickering from the tie in his hand and back to you. “As your plus one.”

“D-don’t you have work?” you stammered, still processing his offer, “Planes to fly? Places to go?”

He tilted his head to the side nonchalantly, turning back around to re-enter his closet. “I’ll rearrange my schedule to ask for vacation time off – fly as a passenger for once.”

“But –”

“When’s the date?”

. . . .

And so that was how you found yourself here, dressed to the nines in a flowy lavender silk evening gown with Wonwoo’s warm (and surprisingly smooth) hand wrapped around your own sweaty fingers. His grip wasn’t too tight, but not too loose – comfortable, if you will. Visible and connected enough to show that you weren’t single, but also not squeezing the life out of you to make it obvious that the two of you were trying to hide a bigger secret. Your cheeks ached from grinning so widely in front of your parents, hoping they’d buy your fake love story with your handsome friend.

On the contrary, Wonwoo was seemingly a natural at this. He looked almost no different from his daily uniform: Sans the heavy navy blue jacket, he wore a crisp white collared shirt with black detailing on his (anatomical) right shoulder paired with a pair of black slacks. The shirt fit him nicely, slightly loose around the shoulders and tucked in tightly at his waist, highlighting his broad shape. Shoulders rounded back, his usually messy bangs slicked back neatly to the side exposing his forehead and better highlighting his sharp alluring eyes, he stood tall and confident. Despite how simply he dressed relative to other guests and against the extravagant gold and blue decorations, he stood out. A genuine and warm smile played on his lips as he greeted your parents.

“Pleasure to meet you both,” he bellowed, pulling away his hand from your father and bowing his head slightly at them both.

You could tell from the way your mother’s mouth was held agape and her eyes were lit up like fairy lights lining the walls, she was an absolute goner for him Wonwoo.

“So, uh,” your father grunted, eyes zeroing in on your intertwined hands. He waved a finger between the two of you, “How long have the two of you been together?”

Wonwoo turned to look at you and because you felt obligated to in order to simulate chemistry between the two of you, you did too. He took you by surprise though – his gaze a little too loving, the small curve of his lips into a shy smile a little too affectionate.

Your breath hitched; the story the two of you rehearsed on the airplane ride here got trapped in the back of your throat. His stare was hypnotizing as if he turned your brain into mush.

“Gonna tell them or should I?” Wonwoo whispered.

The saccharine in his voice was heart fluttering – you weren’t sure if you wanted to vomit or laugh right there. Frankly, you were growing concerned if you were going to be able to pull this off. You still had half of the cocktail hour and the rest of the reception to go.

“I-I, um, w-we,” you fumbled, tearing your gaze from him. You let out a breathless chuckle, racking your brain for the timeline of your fake relationship.

Tugging you close to his side, Wonwoo turned back to your parents, grinning. “We’ve been friends for almost four years now – met through a mutual friend, but have been seeing each other for the last year and a half.”

“Oh,” your mother hummed softly. “Why didn’t you tell me he was one of your friends? If I had known you had someone so handsome in your life–”

“Mom!” you protested.

“What? I’m just stating facts,” she replied.

Wonwoo gave your hand a tight squeeze, a deep, breathy chuckle bellowing from his chest. “Y/N’s . . . a little shy when it comes to how we got together. No one really expected it – not even us.”

“And what is it that you do for a living then, son?” your father jumped to the next question.

“Dad,” you deadpanned. Of course, he’d ask about Wonwoo’s occupation.

“A pilot, sir,” Wonwoo replied without hesitation.

Your dad raised his eyebrows, nodding fervently with an impressed look crossing his face. “You must have great eyesight.”

“I can see a thing or two,” Wonwoo joked in return.

“Well,” your mother finally intervened. You saw her waving at one of your aunts from afar. She wrapped a hand around your father’s arm, gently ushering him to move. “It was lovely meeting you finally Wonwoo – can’t believe she kept you hidden from us for so long, but Y/N’s father and I have a few more guests to greet. We’ll see you both around, and please, do enjoy yourself!”

Wonwoo and you bid your parents goodbye, waving at them mostly to watch until they were out of earshot and you could finally stop fake smiling.

As your lips flattened, Wonwoo took you by surprise. As if it was second nature, his hand slipped from your own, snaking past the small of your back and settling on your hip. Heat crept onto your cheeks as he pulled you close into his side. His lips grazed against the shell of your ear – you could feel him smiling, his warm breath raising the hairs on the back of your neck. From afar, anyone would think of it as two lovers whispering sweet nothings to one another. However, a stern warning came instead.

“If you keep grinning like you shit your pants, someone’s gonna catch onto us tonight,” Wonwoo whispered. He pulled away and glanced back at you. It terrified you how easily it was for him to smile so . . . warmly at you, like you were the apple of his eye – the love of his life. “Relax, hm?”

You swallowed harshly, your throat growing dry. You nodded – your face still straight nonetheless. He rested against the granite bar, spinning you to face him, his hand never leaving your waist once. Teasingly, he brushed the tip of your nose with his finger before letting both hands now rest on your hips.

“You’re freaking me out,” you muttered.

He tilted his head coyly at you. “Just doing my job as your,” he paused, his voice dropping an octave, leaning towards you, “fake,” he leaned back, his voice returning to its normal volume, “boyfriend.”

“This isn’t your first time being recruited as a fake date, is it?” you folded your arms across your chest. “Bet – Younghee invited you out when she needed a plus one back in January to her aunt’s renewal of vows.”

His nostrils flared ever so slightly, his nose ridge crinkling, eyes disappeared into crescents as his smile widened. Your heart pumped erratically, the memory of that one drunken night where you told him you liked this particular smile. He had claimed it manifested this way because his eye muscles were attached to his nose muscles.

“Seungkwan went with her if you don’t remember,” he explained. One of your relatives must’ve breezed by behind you, watching because Wonwoo’s eyes tracked after someone. He continued, indifference in his tone, “I just . . . really like you.”

With a heavy sigh, you patted his shoulder, slipping your hand back into his – ignoring the way your chest tightened at just how well your hands slotted into one another. “Uh-huh, yeah,” you did your best to hide the squeak in your voice, turning to face forward towards the tall linen-draped tables, “We have a long night ahead of us, so keep it up, buddy.”

. . . .

The evening flew by surprisingly fast without an issue – well pertaining to your fake relationship that is. Cocktail hour ended smoothly, Wonwoo meeting a few more of your cousins. No one batted an eye when you accidentally spilled some champagne down the skirt of your dress – their attention was locked on your handsome date as he indulged in their questions about his job as a pilot and where in the world he’s visited. You rejoined your parents and your younger brothers during dinner. Surprisingly, Wonwoo bonded really well with them, finding common interest in FPS video games and anime shows (you didn’t even know Wonwoo was into anime). A few of your aunts came by during cake cutting and desserts to meet him as well. You chuckled at the way he didn’t have to do much to charm them, merely nodding and smiling as they rattled off about how much they’ve already heard about him from their kids, themselves, and their own families, wishing their own kids brought back someone as dashing as him. There was a hint of jealousy and jab in their words, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

First dances were danced, bouquets and garters were tossed, and the lights of the reception hall were finally dimmed for a lively evening. Guests flooded the dance floor as the DJ, a lanky young man dressed in a snapback and a heavy black jacket with zipper detailing on the pockets, turned on a heavy dance beat and colorful flashing lights. A set of large headphones around his ears, the DJ (one of your other cousin’s boyfriend you’d later learn), bopped on his own as he twisted the various knobs on his beat board. Neither of you quite the dancer, Wonwoo and you stayed in your seat, watching your cousins, sober and drunk, shimmy on the floor.

“I’m gonna go get something to drink,” you announced after a little while. You peered at him through your lashes. “You want something?”

Wonwoo leaned forward by your ear. “Just water,” he shouted over the beat.

You nodded, gathering the skirt of your dress as you got out of your chair. On your way over, someone caught your elbow. You spun around, pleasantly surprised to see Rina, one of your childhood friends you grew up with, greeting you with a bright smile.

“Hey!” she squealed while linking your arms.

“Hi!” you replied. “How are you? I haven’t seen you all night.”

“I don’t blame you,” she chirped as the two of you reached the bar counter. She was quick to hail down the bartender, requesting a green tea shot. You asked for Wonwoo’s glass of water and your lemonade.

Rina’s eyes flickered behind you. “Been busy introducing everyone to tall and handsome,” she walked her index and middle finger up your forearm playfully, smirking when she noticed the sheepish smile gracing your face. “Heard he was a friend turned lover? A pilot too – caught yourself a good one finally.”

“He’s alright,” you muttered.

“Are you kidding?” Rina scoffed, “If a man that handsome looked at me like the way he looks at you, I’d melt right here and now – I wouldn’t give a damn it’s my cousin’s wedding they’re cleaning me up at.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, taken aback by her comment. Your mind was already flitting through the memories of the day with Wonwoo – how did he look at you exactly?

“What?” you shook your head, “You’re being dramatic.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she held her fist to her mouth to mimic an announcer with their mic – she used to do this all the time in high school to tease you. “This is why they say love is blind.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how you’re supposed to use that phrase,” you chuckled.

The bartender made his way over with your drinks. You both offered him a small thank you and tip, before parting from the counter and continuing your conversation.

“It’s not,” Rina lifted the opaque mint green liquid to her lips, “But you must be really blind not to see how his eyes go all soft and heart-shaped whenever he looks at you.”

He’s just naturally a good actor.

She tilted her head back, downing the drink in one ago. With a satisfied sigh, she turned back to you, a silly grin on her face. “Seriously though, I’m really happy for you – he seems to really like you.”

But it’s fake.

“Thanks,” was all you could say. You gave her a tight smile – though, Rina could tell it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The two of you slowed to a stop a few tables away from your date.

She narrowed her eyes coyly at you. “Just . . .” she clamped down on your shoulder and gave you a firm squeeze, “Think twice before you let him go.” Rina turned, her body perpendicular to your own, her eyes set on Wonwoo who was peering over curiously. She waved at him, offering him a warm smile. He returned the gesture, eyes then flickering to you.

“That,” she formed a rectangle with her fingers, “is a man in love, sweetheart.” Rina turned to you, giving your arm one last firm squeeze. “It was good to see you,” she winked, “With him.”

Not a single drop of alcohol in you that night, your mind started to spin as you watched her frolic between the tables like a happy little girl in a field of daisies, joining her friends back to the dance floor. Your legs suddenly felt wobbly – you worried you wouldn’t be able to make it back to Wonwoo in time without spilling your drinks.

There was no way in hell Wonwoo could, let alone would, love you by choice. Yes, he loved you as a friend, but no more, no less. He’s been by your side since your second year of medical school. He’s wiped your tears (and your snot) when you feared you would fail your board exams. He’s seen you at your wildest, handing out your number to strangers like gum when you were tipsy at the bar. He’s picked you up from the hospital when you could hardly open your eyes, the stress of an overnight shift hanging heavy on your limp body. Not in a single one of those moments, did anything he did ever suggest he could possibly be in love with you.

Rina was just drunk.

She wasn’t thinking rationally – just seeing things because her vision was going blurry.

Even if Wonwoo liked you . . . what did that mean for you?

“Everything okay?” Wonwoo asked slowly as you settled into your seat. His hand settled into the small of your back and for once that evening, it wasn’t soothing – it was burning hot. You jumped at his touch. “Whoa.”

“I’m fine,” you quipped, swiping at the invisible hair in your face. You shoved his glass of water into his hand. However, rather than drinking it, he placed it to the side; that same hand coming to caress your own.

“Uh . . . did your friend say something?” he asked. “Something you didn’t like?”

Yes – but you might have liked it.

“No,” you lied.

“You’re lying,” he squinted at you.

Fuck – were you just that easy to read or did he just . . . know you that well?

“It’s . . . umm . . . getting hot in here,” you chuckled half-heartedly, “I’m gonna go get some fresh air, okay?” You moved out of your seat, breathless suddenly. “J-just stay here – please.”

Wonwoo frowned, watching you back up towards the grand doors. Normally, he’d respect your boundaries and let you be. You were the type to need space when you were distressed – you knew to come to him when you needed to. However, right now, that didn’t seem like the right thing to do as he watched you spin around, bundling up your dress in your fists so you wouldn’t trip as you dashed into the red carpeted halls. He stood up taking the widest strides he could to reach you without drawing attention.

Standing in the wide doorway, his head whipped left and right, frantically searching for you. He caught sight of your dress rounding a corner and took off jogging after you. It was fortunate you weren’t the best at walking in heels – in combination with his long legs, he caught up with you quickly, reaching for your elbow. Breathlessly, Wonwoo pulled his weight back to slow you down, causing you to stumble into his chest (rather un-elegantly might you add). He was quick to catch you, setting you against the wall. When you tried to duck and escape, Wonwoo was a beat faster, bringing his left arm up to cage you in.

“Can we not be cliche and do this here?” you complained.

Wonwoo tilted his head to the side, ducking his head to try and catch your downcasted eyes. “Mind telling me what’s going on then?”

Your breathing grew shallow and uneven. With how quiet the surroundings were, you wondered if he could hear the erratic beat of your heart like you could. It boomed in your ears, drowning out the bass of the party a couple doors down.

“Hey,” he tried again, his voice softer.

Wonwoo was good to you – too good now that you think about it.

Patient.

Caring – even if he teased you a lot.

He listened.

He laughed when your jokes weren’t that funny.

And the scariest part?

He made time for you – pilots were busy.

They flew everywhere: Hong Kong, Paris, LA, Osaka, Milan, Dodoma.

But when you needed him, he was there – hell, even changed his work schedule to accompany you to a wedding in a small city with no attractions (except for the fountain that mimicked the one in Rome) and voluntarily subject himself to the scrutiny of your family.

Even now when you were tearing down the hall, he was tender in drawing the answers out of you.

In the one in a thousand chances Rina was right, how could you confront him now? You weren’t even sure of your own feelings. Had enough time passed since your break up? Did you want him in that way? Or were you too just caught up in the moment?

Slowly, but fearfully, you willed yourself to look up at him. Eyes wide boring into his own, you noted the concern that was etched into the space between his brows, the slightest frown downturning the corner of his lips.

“Would it be insane to think,” you started softly, pressing your back flat against the wall. The plaster felt cool against your skin, sending shivers down your spine, curling your fingers into fists. “That you might . . . like me?” you gulped, “More than a friend?”

Wonwoo’s face was stoic at first, his eyes studying your face. They traced your features from your hairline to your black mascara coated lashes to the cute tip of your nose that he touched earlier that day, finally falling on your lips – the remnants of your lip gloss probably stained on the lip of the cup of lemonade you were sipping on earlier. He wondered if your lips tasted like the drink – sweet with a hint of bitterness from the lemons they were made of.

Gradually, his features softened. The dip between his brows rising again, a tender glint flashing in his brown irises. The corner of his lips finally curving up – his nose following suit. Like he’d always explain - the muscles of his face were all connected.

Technically, he wasn’t wrong.

Wonwoo leaned in close, his bangs that fell out of the slick tickling your lashes.

His voice low with a hint of rasp, he whispered, “Took you long enough.”

. . . .

Read the epilogue here :)

#wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #gonna go lay down #im so delusio-

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cumulo-stratus · 6 months

Text

Protector

Pairing: spencer reid x male!reader

Summary: after an unsub tries to hurt y/n, spencer steps in.

Warnings: cannon typical violence, talk of not being able to breath, Lemme know if theres anything else!

flufftober day 17: protective

A/N: were gonna ignore the fact that im skipping day 16 (im a touch avoid et autistic and the idea of a massage makes me so uncomfortable and i just couldnt write guys im sorry 😭) also ik i kinda ghosted yall on fics for like a couple weeks buuttttt (haha butt) i just got super busy with school, but its started to calm down again, i got all the presentations and tests out of the way so ill have more time to write after school. thx for being understanding <3!

Y/n fit the unsubs victims almost to a T- and y/n knew that. He knew that with no other options at this point, he would have to go undercover to bait her. And Spencer knew this- but it didn't mean he was happy about it. Y/n knew Spencer had abandonment issues- and tried his best to comfort Spencer, reminding him that both, and the rest of the team would be waiting close by incase anything happens.

"Spence- I'll be okay, I'll have Morgan, Rossi, and prentiss in there with me- and I'm sure we can convince Hotch to let you go undercover in the bar so you can be nearby."

"Good- I need to be there incase something happens."

Y/n sighed and looked at Spencer- his eyes full of care for his boyfriend, nad gave him one last reassuring kiss before leaving spencer on his own for. a minute and rejoining the team to go over the plan one more time, just to be safe. And to ease spencers mind.

y/n was sat in front of the bar in the extremely crowded pub, wearing fancy clothes, giving the appearance of wealth. The woman they were trying to catch believed that men didn’t deserve money, and she was punishing them for having it by torturing and killing them. Y/n was hoping they would be able to arrest her before she gets to the torturing part of her routine. He zoned back into the present when he heard someone approach him. She was dressed in a skin tight red dress that hugged her curves, and had a flirty look on her face.

"So- what's a man like you doing at such a 'working class' place like this?"

Her sickeningly sweet tone made y/b want to vomit, but he hid it well, glancing over at Emily who was across the bar, keeping a close eye on the situation.

"Well, sometimes I don't mind getting my shoes a little dirty with the 'average person'"

Y/ns voice was flirty, causing him to internally cringe at his own words, hating that he sounded like a yuppie. But hid it and let the unsub continue trying to seduce him.

"Wel I'd be perfectly happy to help you rub a little mud on those jimmy choos if you like..."

Y/n almost grimaced, but held back. He threw a glance across the bar to spencer, hoping to reassure him that he was okay. And when they met eyes for a second, y/n could tell that spencer still wasn’t happy about him being there. Y/n did the best he could to reassure him with his eyes from the other end of the bar, before returning to the conversation with the unsub. She was now starting to get hands y with, and y/n knew she had decided he was going to be her next victim. Eventually she invited him to walk her to her car.

“after all, i’m a petite woman by myself at night…”

All y/n could think about was the major pick me girl energy radiating off her, but outwardly he just smirked and extended his arm for her to take.

“of course, i could never turn a lady like you down.”

And as the pair made their way to the front door, spencer was the first to lift himself from his seat, following discreetly as if he had received a phone, and needed to leave the bar. Almost immediately after the door swung closed she start feeling y/n up, and spencer could feel a green jealousy boiling in the back of his mind. And. he couldnt help himself from walking slightly closer so he could hear what she was saying to his boyfriend.

“you know- i dont know if its safe for me to drive, maybe you should drive me back to your place, and we could continue this…”

Y/n smirks, which makes spencer even more jealous, but hold holds back for the good of the case. As the pair approach the unsubs car, she pushes him against the car, kissing him- no, actually it was more like she was eating his face. Now it wasn’t only jealousy coursing through him, but also anger. Not anger like the bright red, passionate, kind, more like a dark maroon simmering in the pit of his stomach, ready to boil over kind. But a warning glance from Rossi and Morgan, who had now joined him in the parking lot while Prentiss updated Hotch, told him to back off. And he did, but he wasn’t sure how long he could hold himself back. Now y/n wasnt enjoying it either, but he just closed his eyes and sucked it up, practically counting the seconds till it would be appropriate to stop kissing having his face eaten, and get in the car. But y/n lost count of the where he was when he felt a hand grasp his neck. He knew later that this is how she had been subduing her victims, as they would already be out of breath from making out with her, and she would have the upper hand. But y/n couldn’t possibly process that. The only words that had been going through his mind as his entire life flashed in front of him were ‘Air. Need air.’

And thankfully his wishes were granted when the feeling of hands around his neck vanished, and over the sound of blood rushing in his ears he could hear shouts resembling “FBI Amy Brockett your under the arrest for the murders of James leason, Christian Lanery, and Gregory Poultan!”

But what grabbed his attention more was when a blurry face with the outline of a mop of brown, curly hair filled his vision- it was spencer. And he himself was now on the ground, coughing.

As soon as spencer had seen the woman’s hand wrap around y/n’s neck, he bolted across the semi large parking lot with his gun raised. When he arrived he pulled the unsub off y/n with more strength then he knew he had, and threw her onto the ground, looking her dead in the eyes and saying “You ever touch him again, i wont hesitate to shoot you” in a low, almost growl. But what stopped him from turning and tending to his boyfriend who was now crumpled on the pavement, coughing to regain his breath, was a scoff from the woman who was now being handcuffed and read her rights by Morgan. But spencer didn’t care enough about the unsub to send more than a dirty look her way before turning his attention to his boyfriend at the sound of another violent cough. Spencer knelt down, taking y/n’s face in his hand, while the other one dragged lazily up and down his back, coaching him through the coughing fit. And it was only then that spencer noticed the tears staining y/n’s cheeks.

“Oh angel its ok, im here, you’re ok.”

Y/n released a small hiccup, falling easily into spencers arms. Spencers eyes searched his boyfriends body for any other injuries other then the marks on his neck that were already becoming a maroon-ish purple hue. spencers eyebrows were creased in concern at the marks on his partners necks and when y/n noticed this he tried to reassure him.

“spence- baby im fine, i just needed to catch my breath..”

even though y/n’s breathing he evened out it was still sounding a little weezy as harshly tried to rub away the tears in his eyes. spencer caught y/n’s in his own, preventing the harsh red skin y/n was leaving behind from rubbing his skin so strongly.

“angel, come on lets go have a paramedic check you out..”

spencer helped y/n up, and only then did he notice how many police cars and ambulances had filled the parking lot with screaming sirens and blaring lights. The couples faces were basked in blue and red light as spencer lead y/n to a paramedic to get checked out. And as y/n sat there, the paramedic poking and prodding- spencer stayed planted next to him, hand in his.

The End

#spencer reid #criminal minds #bau #bau team #fluff #spencer reid x reader #gay #flufftober #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid fluff #comfort #criminal minds fan fic #spencer reid imagine #flufftober 2023 #flufftober day 17 #flufftober prompt

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v3nusxsky · 1 year

Note

Hi babe!! I love your work! I was wondering if you would be able to write a larissa x fem reader where r is having trouble sleeping so larissa offers to read her a bedtime story. Then she falls asleep in larissa arms. You can also add to this if you like and BTW can you make it really cute so it melts my heart. Thank you!!🤍🤍

Hey my lovely Anon! Thank you so much I had to give this a good shot I hope you don’t mind I added in hints of age regression as it seemed to flow well.

Lullaby

*Authors note~ saw this prompt and instantly knew it would be a self indulgent fic for myself. I've imagined this scenario so many times throughout my insomnia patch I'm thrilled to bring it to life.*

Trigger warning ~ none? Hints of age regression mentioned

Prompt~ see the ask^^^

☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾

You always hated this time of year. You could never settle around this time. Similar to seasonal depression your past experiences had left a few months of the year unbearable. And March was one of those months. The first of the year but shortly followed by April. So it was only natural that by the third week of March you were fed up. Sleep didn't seem to be something within your reach. It was making your ability unreliable and unbearable really. Empathy meant having good emotional and mental control, but how could you have either if you were constantly exhausted?

Lessons were a struggle, student's seemingly picking up on your lack of enthusiasm and yawns throughout the lesson. Uncommon for you, you were normally so bubbly and enthusiastic about your lessons. During these times you tend to opt for working from text books limiting the amount of focus you had to maintain. The next thing you noticed was how you slipped every now and then, the emotional barrier you created to keep your feelings inside falling every now and then. You notice as the class let out collective moans feeling your exhaustion before you snapped the barrier back up embarrassed. You'd apologise purposefully of course and truly they didn't mind, they were worried about you. Which is why they did the only thing they knew. The informed Larissa of what had been occurring the past three weeks.

During your planning period you heard the clicking of her signature heels on the floor. She knocked and you allowed her entry wondering why she'd be visiting you during the day? You hadn't missed any paper work, and no issues in lessons or with any of your dorm children that you were made aware of. It was that conversation that made you realise how obvious you were being. And Larissa had even teased about reading you a bed time story, that had you thinking when was the last time you let dove out? Ah yes with your ex. Gosh that long? No wonder you were feeling this exhausted this year. Last year you regressed daily, this allowed you the release and you often found you could gain a little sleep if you fell asleep when regressed.

But that wouldn't be possible here. At Nevermore no one was aware of the fact you regressed, it was a new job and truthfully you were always scared of people's reactions when they found out about dove. Truthfully it wasn't how people made it sound. You didn't dress up in baby clothes or wear nappies. No it was more allowing your mind to regress, your speech would regress and you'd enjoy things any child of that age would. Nothing untoward about it. And the fact you knew some people even thought it could be sexual made you feel physically Ill. No this was a coping mechanism and one you were missing. That was a topic for another day tho.

You lay in bed once again frustrated with the lack of sleep claiming you. Toying with the idea of texting Larissa about that bed time story. It was embarrassing really, but your brain had not let the thought go. Imagining how safe you'd feel tucked up into the older women's body as she cooed words from a book at you, sleep would claim you and you wouldn't need to fight it. In her arms you'd be safe. She'd hold you smiling as soft snores left you. Or even her humming one of your favourite lullabies lulling you into a perfect slumber. That was it. You had to try. And she had offered right? You picked your phone up from the nightstand and shot off a text, if she answered then you'd deal with it if not you'd wait it out and forget all about it.

Your phone dinged with a response almost immediately as if she had been waiting for you. You blinked a couple times to make sure you were reading it correctly. You were. She had instructed you to bring whatever you needed and join her in her office. You grabbed your fluffy blanket/hoodie and your phone, slipping on some slippers and made your way down the halls. When you arrived you knocked gently painfully aware of the late hour. She immediately gave joy the go ahead to come in and what you were greeted with was truly special. Her long hair was released from its perfect usual position. It now hung loosely over her shoulders the waves adding a whole new look to the older women. She then had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, hiding her nightwear from you but also keeping her warm. She gestured to you to go into the adjacent room... her bedroom. Holy shit this really would be a bed time story.

That's how you were all snuggled up to the older women listening as she read to you. Her voice and her close proximity to you soothing you in ways you never thought anyone could. You were vaguely aware of what the book was actually about, weatherly heights, but you mainly focused on how light and soft her voice was as the words just seemed to flow. You could feel yourself sleeping into a sleepy state as she finished her chapter. Only then did she place the book down and shift to hold you closer to her. Now you could burrow your face into her neck, feeling the rhythm of her beating heart. And that's when the tone of a familiar lullaby reached your ears. Unknowingly to Larissa this caused you to regress.

Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,

Lavender's green

When you are king, dilly dilly,

I shall be queen

Who told you so, dilly dilly,

Who told you so?

'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,

That told me so

Call up your friends, dilly, dilly

Set them to work

Some to the plough, dilly dilly,

Some to the fork

Some to the hay, dilly dilly,

Some to thresh corn

Whilst you and I, dilly dilly,

Keep ourselves warm

Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,

Lavender's green

When you are king, dilly dilly,

I shall be queen

Who told you so, dilly dilly,

Who told you so?

'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,

That told me so

She hummed out the last line noticing the steady rise and fall of your chest indicating sleep had finally taken you. Only in that moment did she allow her smile to fully reach her eyes, she knew she had feelings for you yet not the confidence to admit them. When she saw you becoming absolutely exhausted she knew she had to help somehow. And if allowing you to sleep snuggled into her was what you needed then it was something she would gladly provide. With a sweet kiss pressed into your head and a whispered I love you she then let sleep claim her.

Word count ~ 1249

#fanfic #larissa weems #wednesday netflix #gwendoline christie #larissa x you #larissa x reader #larissa weems x reader #principal larissa weems #anon request #anon <3 #anon ask #anons welcome #lovely anon

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renlyslittlerose · 9 months

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Last week was the one year anniversary of me posting my first obikin fic, and over the last year being a part of the fandom has brought me so much joy and happiness and enthusiasm once again. Some of you knew me before 2019 and were aware that I was working on my Masters in the Classics, which included a massive thesis. While working on the thesis I was also working part-time at the museum, as well as battling a few chronic illnesses - some of which still affect me today - all of which drained me physically and emotionally. When I had finished my thesis and graduated from the program I was well and truly burnt out.

2020 was rough for everyone, and I was contented to just exist without doing much of anything that could be seen as creatively productive. But then 2020 came and passed and I thought maybe I should get back on the saddle, and started working on my own original story. I fell off of social media, didn’t interact in fandom, and tried to grind out a story that wasn’t working like I had hoped it would. 2021 and I still wasn’t ‘feeling it’; I had gone from writing about 1-2k words a day to 500 words a week - if I was lucky. A part of me wondered if I was tapped out for good, that I didn’t have it in me anymore, and that my thesis was my last creative outlet - my last hooray. I know it sounds a bit dramatic, but when you go from creating almost every day since you were sixteen years old, to suddenly believe that the well has run dry is terrifying. Maybe I was done for good - maybe I wouldn’t create something I was proud of.

And then Kenobi came out. I was a massive prequels fan since I was nine years old and the Phantom Menace came out, and an even bigger Darth Vader fan, but I had never interacted with the fandom in any meaningful way. I was contented to just watch the films and the shows and leave it at that. But as I was watching I had the epiphany that Obi-Wan and Anakin were actually ~roommates all along. I started reading obikin fic, came back on tumblr to see what sort of fandom there was, and suddenly found myself with ideas again, and a desire to create something.

So I wrote my first fic ‘Sacred to the Gods’ based off of a thesis I wrote during my undergrad about the psychology of a Greek demigod. It took me about a week to write, but in that time I had a lot of fun - the words started to come more easily, the vibes were there, and the passion was slowly but surely returning. One fic turned into another, and then another, and suddenly I had written two multi-chaptered long-form fics, some shorter multi-chaptered ones, and a bunch of oneshots, all about our favourite duo.

And in the that span of time, not only was I able to rediscover my passion for writing and feel inspired again, but I met so many amazing, incredible, kind, passionate, creative people who welcomed me with open arms. I was used to fandom being sort of a gate-keepy thing, where if you were the new kid in town it would take you a while to work your way into any circles. But it didn’t happen with this fandom. I went up to a few people, held out my macaroni art, and was overjoyed to see them take it and immediately put it up on their fridge.

There are a lot of people I want to thank, and I should thank, from those who read my stuff, those who send me asks on tumblr, those who bookmark and kudos and comment, and those who followed me, but there isn’t any space to do all that. So I hope that a general ‘THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU’ will suffice. Thank you for giving me my passion back, thank you for supporting me, thank you for being an awesome community that has it’s issues, but still cares deeply about the art they’re creating, and who care about fostering a community.

However, there are a few people I would specifically like to address, because I don’t think this post would be complete without you. I’ll put it behind a cut because this post is already cumbersome:

@bi-wan || My beloved! You were the first person to follow me on tumblr after reading one of my fanfictions, and the first to reach out to me to be my friend. Thank you for reaching your hand out to me and dragging me into the fold. Because of you I’ve made so many good friends who I treasure dearly - including you. 🥰

@ragnarlothcat || I feel like you and Cam are a packaged deal, and so I thank you for being curious about me and checking out my work, and for allowing me to occupy both you and Cam’s comfy little raccoon haven. You’re so supportive, and your work was some of the first I read in the fandom which truly secured my desire to be a part of it. Thank you 💖

@intermundia || I’ve told you this before, but you were the first person I approached in the fandom when I decided I wanted to dip my toes into the experience, and your warmth and welcoming nature secured my desires to be a part of this group. The fact that you support my stories and are so passionate about it really fuels my desires to keep creating (as well as feeding my ego). Thank you for being such a good presence in the fandom.👑

@theseptemberist || I have a feeling that Will told you about me, and I am so glad that he did because we’ve struck up such a friendship that I can’t see myself without. Our chats on discord over the past few months have been wonderful in so many ways that are too innumerous to say here. Thank you for sharing your heart, and for being so kind and empathetic. And thank you for sharing your encyclopedic knowledge of fandom tea ☕

@unspuncreature || Just like Rag and Cam come as a team, you and Cal (and Wren, even though I’ve never spoken to her but feel like I know her) are the trio that delight and entertain. Thank you for your brilliant art and creativity, thank you for letting me bounce all my ideas off of you, and thank you for collaborating with me. You’re brilliant 💗

@kyberkenobi || Beyond the fact that your filthy brain inspires me and delights me, and the fact that you’re willing to goed me on when I come up with something that’s delightfully nasty, your maturity when it comes to fandom is refreshing. At the threat of sounding like a proud grandma, you’re still so young and yet you’ve got a lot of shit figured out - most importantly, that fandom is supposed to be for fun and write what you want to write. Can’t wait for us to finally collaborate one of these days 💕

@dininginspace || What can I say? You’re a delight, you’re incredibly funny, you’re kind and understanding, and you’re the best cheerleader a loser like me could ask for. The fact that you jumped on the Buffy bandwagon when I drove by on it secures you as one of my favourite people. Thank you so much for your early and continued support 🧛‍♂️

@nuandia || Thank you for chatting with me all the time; keep up your writing, it’s brilliant and worth it, even if you doubt it sometimes. 💖

@grapenehifics || I had just finished watching MASH when you commented on Moonlight Serenade. The noise I made when I saw your username, followed by the continued joy I get whenever I see you on my dash or in my inbox, or when I see you’ve posted something new for the world to enjoy. 🧡

@palfriendpatine66 || You’re a delight. You’ve got things figured out, and how you can write so much with the life you’ve got is incredible. Keep going - you’re a gem. 💎

@binaryeclipse || Love chatting with you on discord, and being able to throw out random things about Canada into the chat that doesn’t need explaining - you just get it. Especially when it comes to Alberta politics. It doesn’t always feel like a safe space out there when you’re an Albertan who loves her province but also hates so many things about it, but you make me feel as if I can be a contradictory mess and still feel as if I belong in Canada. Your muse will come back soon, I trust in this ✨

@treescape || Your work is sublime and an inspiration. I read your fics first when I went hunting for things to read, and was immediately captivated. When you followed me back and weren’t at all weirded out by me bounding over to you like an excitable golden retriever, I was very grateful - I am very grateful. Can’t wait to see what you create next. 💛

@starsdies || Thank you for listening to me; thank you for being so inspiring; thank you for helping with community events and exchanges. And thank you for streaming The Last of Us for me because I’m too cheap to buy HBO Max. 🙏

@tessiete || You fact-checked the details I put into Moonlight and all I can say is THANK YOU. Sometimes I feel like I’m getting too lost in the details, but its people like you who google that shit that makes me feel good about my obsessions. 🌸

#personal #obikin #thank you everyone #I know this is messy and gushy and gross but whatever #Im sick with a cold so I get to be mushy gushy

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gods-graveyard · 15 days

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LOOKING FOR BETA READERS-

MORE INFO BELOW

I get-

Beta read fic's

Give opinions on works (art/writing)

Propose plot ideas and get your vibe

Share theories on what you think will happen (gotta gauge if foreshadowing is working or if its too apparent)

You get-

Fic commissions

Fanart commissions

(Yes these can include other fandoms besides HP)

Spoilers to my shit

Return beta read/advice for your works (if you want of course)

Edit- FANDOMS INCLUDE HP Golden era Marauders/Skittles Batfam (Even MORE info below)

___________________________________________________________ Me asking for Betas, but make it a cat for emotional manipulation

MORE INFO-

My current works include-

"Ill Never Wear Your Broken Crown" Plot summary- Fix it AU w/ Slytherin Morally grey Harry trying to navigate the extended HP world and survive the constricting fate tied to "the boy who lived" Ships- Percy/Oliver/Marcus (ask about the rest due to spoilers) Length- Currently at 80k but planning to cover every book, realistically this will probably end up a stupidly long fic which is exactly why I want someone to bounce off of and keep track of all the strings im lining up. Need- Someone to bounce plot points off of, due to this being an AU a lot of canon is changing and while I have established a lot of change there are some things that remain murky and I would love help in ironing them out ahead of time

______________________________________________

"Rose covered Graves" Plot summary- The Rosier twins own a mortuary/funeral home. Barty is the son of the sherrif and decides to intern there as rebellion/an escape from his "fate" but of course falls in love. Lots of supernatural funky stuff and bending the laws of reality, and might lean very heavily into crime drama genre. Ships- Barty/Evan, James/Regulus, Remus/Sirius, Dorcas/Marlene and Pandora/Lily (Rosekiller and Jegulus being main while the rest are background) Length- Short fic for my standards so under 100k, for now im aiming at a max cap out of like 50 but knowing myself that might spiral Need- Keep track of ships make sure everyone gets their moment to shine and charecterization/foreshadow stays consistant rather than gimicky

SO YEAH- Trying to keep this vauge so the post isnt stupidly long but you can absolutely dm/comment asking for more info and im very open to negotiations depending on what you are down for!

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throwaway-yandere · 2 years

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Hana Yori Dango (Arataki Itto/Reader/Yan!Kamisato Ayato)

A/n: Eyoo it's Feb 3, the Setsubun festival should be happening rn!!! Idk how I thought it was feb when I uploaded this on SEPTEMBER. Anywahs, ily Itto. He's not a full-blown yandere here (yet?) but he is my– OUR himbo, comrade. Writing Itto's dialogues is a delight. I took some inspiration and ideas from @leftdestiny-posts and the itto/gorou enjoyer anon for this one! (both characters are technically here but... haha...) Thanks for the ideas ehehe >:D

gn!reader. This is Itto's side story for "Careful, He Bites.", so everything is in his perspective. Maybe it could be read as a stand-alone (?) if you haven't read the previous one for extra mystery lololol.

An Unreliable Synopsis: There is another thing besides you and your flowers that Itto can't live without, and it's good fricking food. (Fic happens before "Careful, He Bites")

Cw: yandere!ayato, Japanese folklore, and pure biker gang leader!itto supremacy.

--------

Around the time Emperor Takakura reigned in the country, there lived an old farmer who wouldn't move a hair away from Yamashiro Province.

They were gentle, and their neighbors consistently portrayed them as extremely dense. They did not care to dream big for themselves, and opted to worry only about the plate they'll have once the sun sets. They didn't pay attention to whispers that would soon become the country's history; they hardly heard of the latest gossip regarding Taira no Tokuko. They lived blissfully secluded and unaware, and it was the life they chose to live.

Unaware may not be the best word to describe them, but unaffected.

███ was alone in their household with no spouse to care for them nor children to raise, and in turn, no one thought to accompany them.

Yet ███ never once considered themselves lonely. The moonlight may wax and wane, but the monsters that lurk nearby would never leave them pondering in the dark.

The moon was beautiful that night, too.

"–Won't you be a dear and fetch me a bottle of sake?"

Their voice echoed inside the empty and dilapidated house. The █████ Clan had long been silent, so no human would answer their calls.

"HAHAHAHA!!! Off to drink again, eh? Leave it to the one and oni Arataki Itto to keep you company!"

But a yokai might.

This particular yokai, Arataki Itto, had grown accustomed to pouring drinks for the farmer, in a way, they consider him their grandson. Itto sat by the floor beside them. He was small in stature, not much taller than their knee, but they considered his heart to be much bigger than an average human's. So, how could they ever turn down his offer of joining his cute little gang?

"But seriously, grand-y," Itto grinned. "I don't understand why you drink so much when you could never beat me in a drinking competition."

And oftentimes, a bigger heart comes with a bigger pride.

"Oh, Itto..." The old farmer gently ruffled the young oni's hair. "You ought not to be proud of such a feat! You're too young to be downing these drinks."

"But grand-y!"

"Do not argue with me, young oni."

"Why not, especially when you sound like a total sore loser?"

"Wha–?"

"Bleeuuugh."

The oni stuck his tongue out.

The farmer sighed, endeared.

Itto wasn't happy with the way they'd been acting over the previous month. Their movements have become terse and rigid since they returned from visiting Yae Miko. And right now, they're being awfully silent for a drunk person. Itto also didn't like how their clan's Kagura Bell Wand is also neatly boxed on top of the table with the kitsune's name on it. It's as if they're planning to give their family heirloom away. Does that mean no purification spells are working on their illness?

"Yo, grand-y. Is something up?"

He doubted it was because of ordinary human struggles. Their father had long perished in a failed rebellion and their mother had hopelessly succumbed to an undiagnosed illness. She left her child the heavy weight of carrying a disgraced Clan's name. Almost nothing can trouble the farmer.

The farmer succeded most of their previous hardships. If "succeeded" also meant abandoning the Kuruma-dera temple and becoming a recluse entangled with yokai, then the old Sojo would be rolling in his grave right now. But the point is, Itto doesn't think the old farmer would act this way simply because of a menial problem like relationships and lack of entertainment.

"Oh, nothing. I am just... Pondering over my distant relatives' wellbeing. Nothing too personal."

"Do ya want to visit them? I can help you pack up! I've been getting stronger!!!"

The imperial court may be their cousin's home, but it is not their place to stay. Especially for a hakaiso like them. If their cousin wasn't merciful the usual Banishment Laws would've been in full effect on their trial and they'd be sent to Izu Province. They don't want to burden their subordinate clan-- the Kaedehara clan-- more with their presence.

So they digressed.

"Itto, I want you to have this."

They procured a small violet flower from the vase on top of their table. Itto's nose scrunched. The child never expressed any interest in flowers, so their affectionate gesture doesn't reach him.

"Eh? What am I gonna do with that, grand-y?" Itto was visibly unimpressed.

"I have something to ask of you, won't you take this as a reward for that request?"

"HMPH! I don't even know what the request is!"

"Ahh... Fair point."

They gazed at the moon.

"Can you look after the Kamisato siblings for me?"

The young oni tilted his head. Why would they ask that? The two bakenekos are already capable of taking care of themselves anyways. Particularly the oldest. Itto often played with Ayato, and all their games ended with the cat outsmarting him one way or another. The only fault Ayato had was being overtly clingy and jealous whenever another yokai steals their attention.

"But why? It's not like Ayato needs help--"

"I'll be leaving soon."

"--raising his sis– HAAAAAH?!"

They cleared their throat.

"As a human, it still feels as though I'm abandoning my pets, even if they are intellectual yokais who can handle themselves. I'm worried about Ayato especially, he'll probably carry the weight of the world on his shoulders even if he could share the load. Our little himegimi doesn't even have a proper name yet." They muttered, melancholic.

"Hold up grand-y oni! Where are you going?! You're just going out of town... right?"

They laughed humorlessly and patted his head once more. "It won't be long. I'm sure I'll crawl home to you in a few more years. Don't cry, young oni."

So it's not a visit to the capital, it's...

Itto gulped.

"What... What did miss Miko say?"

"It doesn't matter. I am already tired of thinking about talking about it, what more if we discussed the subject?" They shook their head. By the sound of it, they refuse to talk not because of the emotional strain, but because successfully explaining things to someone like Itto would take too much effort.

"NO! Let's talk about iiiiiiiiitttt!!!" He incessantly tugged on their sleeves. "Is it your heart again?! As your gang leader, I already ordered you to stop purging wraiths!!"

They gave him a small, patient smile. For a brief, enchanting moment, it was as if the world slowed just for the oni to process an epiphany.

They tucked a wisteria behind his tiny ear.

"The moon is beautiful. Itto, thank you for making me the first member of your gang." They closed their eyes, breathing shallowly.

And then, a complete yet abrupt silence.

"Grand-y...?"

Young Arataki Itto lightly shook the old farmer.

"Grand-y?"

Young Arataki Itto shook them a bit more forcefully.

"Grand-y oni?!"

They didn't reply.

"GRAND-Y ONI!?"

Young Arataki Itto helplessly yanked them by their collar.

"GRAND-Y ONI!!!"

-----

"(Y/N)!!!"

You toppled forward as a heavy weight pressed forcefully against your back.

"Oomph– Goodness– Itto?"

"Oh, thank God you're alive!" He sobbed.

Arataki Itto, your best bud, wept over your shoulder. You did not shove him away. Itto is way too strong for you, and you wouldn't ask him to carry rice sacks for you if that weren't the case.

Itto had always been an obnoxious eccentric, often barging into your flower shop and leaving his muddy footsteps on the floor without any reservations until you surprisingly snapped. You commanded him in silent anger that he should make himself more useful to society. Hearing your low-toned voice was the scariest experience Itto had. Itto swears it was downright traumatizing. Distraught, he begged to be your "temporary" delivery boy to calm your nerves. His plan worked.

You pay him generously for his service, especially since he is missing his birth certificate and therefore can't be employed officially, but that doesn't change the fact that your floors are still muddy now that he's always back.

Itto squished his cheek against your neck as he bawled. You first assumed he was here for his part-time job but he's more interested in sharing his story. You accepted your fate and listened to the biker's performance.

"You would not BELIEVE what kinda nightmare I had last night– like hoo boy, it was INTENSE!"

"Is that so?" You chuckled, slowly diverting your attention back to your previous task, which was watering your plants.

"Trust me, man! It was so strange, it felt like it was some premonition from a distant past or something."

"I'm almost certain that premonition refers to an omen of what might happen in the future, but do go on."

"I can't remember the details, but apparently I was talking to this old farmer– and then they died in my arms! Like bleugh!" Itto bit his tongue and closed his eyes, trying to mimic what the corpse did but it's obviously an exaggeration. "I don't even remember what we were talking about, but I felt so small."

"Oh, wow. How horrifying." You spoke with your voice dripping with disinterest.

It kinda blows that you see him as just an annoying kid-like figure, but at least you let him pull you close like this. Maybe you'd compliment his muscles one day (or not, he lowkey skips arm exercises).

"Right?! Get this– the old grandperson-guy gave me a sumire! A FLOWER!!!"

"This is most certainly the first time you're excited about flowers. Hmm..." You placed a finger on your chin. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but are your dreams trying to tell me that violets will sell well this season or...?"

You cast a glance at your reserved flower stock. Because none of them are violets, it appears that you cannot tease him by offering a bouquet. You would've joked about sending some to his funeral, but Itto is rattled enough without your misplaced sense of humor.

"What?! DUDE! Why is that your interpretation?!"

"It might be because I happen to be a florist, Itto."

Itto looked back at your flowers with an open-mouth expression that says "oh, right."

He quietly noticed that most of your flowers have become more colorful since Ayato began generously giving you bonemeal as gifts. He sent jars nearly the size of a skull. It was pretty creepy. Nobody knows what that gentleman meant when he said he personally acquired and ground those bones for you, but at least they're great fertilizers.

"Well, yeah, I guess. But that's beside the point, compadre! I'm telling you all this because I wanna know what sumire, violets, mean in flower language or somethin'!"

"Violets in our country are often given as a sign of gratitude or love. Perhaps the old figure in your dreams only wishes to thank you before they regret not doing so." You sighed. Itto noticed how you looked perplexed amidst your ramblings, as though you were remembering something you shouldn't have. "Your fear of ghosts is seriously affecting your wellbeing, Itto. I fear that your cowardice will affect you one day."

...

'Itto, thank you for making me the first member of your gang.'

...

Itto shuddered.

Nope. No way. There's no way that dude was a ghost.

"W-What?! Me? Afraid of GHOSTS?! HA!" He laughed emptily. "No way."

He paused, eyeing you with his face going way past your comfortable personal space.

"And you know, (Y/n)... Now that I took a good look at ya, you kinda look like the old person from my dreams."

The two of you went silent.

You chucked a half-filled plastic watering can directly into his head.

"OW!!! What was that for?!"

"Old-fashioned as my speech and knowledge of the world may be, that does not mean I appear old myself, thank you very much!"

"WHAT?! I didn't mean it like THAT! C'mon, (Y/n)!" Itto blew a raspberry beside your neck. "I wasn't saying that. I was thinking about how you have this wholesome grandpa or granny type of vibe-- not saying that you're cute-- well I mean, you are cute-- but not in a MEAN way-- like, you're giving endgame lover vibes--"

You gently pushed Itto's hug away and passed on the next batch of flowers before he spirals when defending himself. It's a trick you used against him frequently, which helps you drown out Itto's nonsensical ramblings that are often borderline flirting. He doesn't seem to notice that he'd take anything off your hands whenever he's speaking. Doing this prevents him from realizing that you're asking him to deliver flowers to a sleazy love hotel. You have to thank his biker gang's deputy leader– Kuki Shinobu– for that "life hack."

"This next bouquet is for a client in Kabukicho. Paimon was kind enough to inform me that there is a 10% possibility of rain, but it might pick up by 6 pm so use caution."

Itto furrowed his thick eyebrows. It's cute how you talk like P.A.I.M.O.N is as a person but– "It's just an AI..."

You shrugged.

"Any friend of Lumine is a friend of mine."

Itto perked up. Lumine. It's been a while since the three of you had the pleasure of spending the afternoon indulging in sweets with her in Bistro Ichiya. He wondered how she's been lately.

She stopped responding to your calls the same summer you all became friends with Ayato. Itto thought it was such a bizarre turn of events. It lead you to wonder if your inadequate knowledge of technology had put on quite a formidable communication barrier, but it turns out your mutuals were unable to talk to her as well. Even Yoimiya offhandedly mentioned that it had always been in Lumine's nature to travel and forget her previous commitments.

You highly doubted that Lumine would let it go this far, however. It's been half a year. You had been casual friends for longer than that and know that she's not as fickle as dandelion seeds.

Itto pities your faith in her.

"... Still no calls?"

"Unfortunately no." You sighed. "Not even Paimon knows where she ended up in all her traveling endeavors."

"I'll try searching TeyvatBook again for you."

"Thank you. 'Surfing' the web must be incredibly taxing for both you and your device. I appreciate the effort, Arataki. Do make sure to replenish your phone's energy afterward."

You have the intonation of an aged soul. Itto assumed he'd be used to your manner of speech by now, but it's so eerily similar to the elderly person in his nightmares that it's bordering on the uncanny valley. He wouldn't be astonished if you were ever a docile monk in your past life.

"G-Geez. You make it seem like P.A.I.M.O.N's human. Kinda freaky."

Your silk-like laughter filled the gaps of silence, drowning his distress.

"I am the type of florist who believes talking to plants helps their growth, aren't I?"

Itto smiled softly.

"Yeah... Yeah, I guess you are, grand-y."

-------------------

"Call me later, big guy~–"

"Thank you for your purchase, have a nice day!"

That was the last order for today. Itto would've boasted as usual, but he has your best interest at heart, so he refrained from doing so to keep a good name for the Sakura Bloom flower shop. Following a script is out of character from a man like Itto, but he did most of what you commanded effortlessly.

On a side note: he looked quite adorable sporting a little green apron– clearly your size– instead of his usual bad-boy leather jacket. The look barely complimented his muscles but he's confident that he's still oozing charisma. He can't be too sure though-- he'll gel his hair extra later, and MAYBE you would say he's smokin'.

Itto stepped away from the hotel's porch and walked toward his bike. he never would've guessed you take customers from this side of Shinjuku too. That lady earlier was unforgettably promiscuous, to say the least. As he was about to comb his hair and reach for his helmet, he stopped abruptly.

"Hol' up– Was that Ayato?"

It was unmistakably him. He looked off, though. Itto only saw him for like a split second from afar but Ayato's expression looked nothing like the gentle warm smile he usually sports. Seeing Ayato without you nearby is rare since the man frequently accompanies you in public like a servant or a pet. That's not to say that Ayato lacks a social life. It's just that Itto never had the opportunity to speak with him one-on-one.

Itto became excited simply thinking about it, and the thought of asking why Ayato would be seen in the red light area didn't occur to him. Instead, he had another priority in mind. He always wanted to know where Ayato got his niku-dango ingredients because he wouldn't answer when you asked Ayato or Thoma (but Thoma looked nauseous that day, so Itto couldn't blame the guy). Itto didn't care for the meat dango's recipe, but the ingredients made it delectable—the pork especially! If he was being poetic, it tasted nostalgic. It was as though he had relished in it fresh from his muddled memories. And he's craving for more.

He left his bike and ran after him just before the light turned from yellow to red. But when he reached the other side he couldn't find a hint of his light blue hair amongst the crowd.

Itto cursed to himself as quietly as he could muster, still aware that he was wearing your apron.

"You..."

He spun around. The voice didn't sound anything like Ayato's, but the tone pointed at him. The stranger wore an obi that did not match the century he was in and two protruding azure horns that were hard to miss. It was like he came out of a Setsubun festival. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, Itto felt as if those horns were real and not at all out of place.

"Arataki Itto." The stranger's nose scrunched, voice dripping with unadulterated disdain. "The pathetic red oni that stained our pride just for a sinful runin."

Itto stared back, his face blank and his eyes hollow.

"...Takuya."

Itto froze as the name slipped out of his mouth. How did he know his name? And why is he so sure that's his name?

"How was it? How was the taste? Was it as good as you remembered?"

"I... Who are you, man?!"

Itto already knew his name. He knew he just said his name but he still asked out loud because he couldn't understand what the hell is going on.

"Why don't you still remember...?"

Takuya seemed at a total loss on what else to say, unlike his heavily contorted expression.

Arataki Itto is for being easily provoked, and Takuya took advantage of his simple flaw.

"It's been years since you made the deal. Why don't you remember who you were– who you are? Don't you remember the pact?!"

"Theeee– what now?"

Don't get him wrong, Itto feels guilty but he's stumped. He doesn't know what he's guilty of exactly, and this man isn't doing him any favors by continuing this guessing game.

"You promised– you red onis made an oath that you will live ALONGSIDE humans. Why did you eat them? Why did you start living AS a human?!"

Itto's breath hitched at the sound of Takuya's screaming, causing him to nervously run his fingers through his hair. As he reached for his scalp, a phantom pain seared where two things should've been.

"... The hell you talking about, man? Are you a chuunibyo or something?" His voice came off as hoarse and strained, reflecting that an invisible force is harming him in ways he can't prove to himself or others.

Takuya sucked air between his teeth. But just as he was about to break down his list of grievances, another voice interrupted the conversation.

"Ah, there you are, my friend! I have been looking everywhere for you."

The two stopped and Takuya froze. It was almost as if the stranger shrank as the taps of footsteps amplified in each stride.

"Oh, my bro Ayato. There you are." Itto faintly greeted him.

The third person smiled weakly.

Ayato always had excellent timing, it seemed. He curved a hand above Itto's shoulder and gave the stranger a cloudy sideways glance. His eyes were trained on the person in front of them, and in response, Takuya stood defensively. The horned "man" stepped back, preparing to sprint, while Ayato inserted two more steps into his space.

Ayato got in between both Itto and the stranger faster and more forceful than what the biker gang leader anticipated.

His voice was similar to yours when he spoke. It was dangerously low with unmatched vigor and sharpness above all else. "Excuse me, sir, but we're in a hurry. We will be taking our leave immediately."

Takuya nearly sighed in relief as the elegant man shut down the possibility of continuing a conversation. His trembling form bowed quickly while his foot was already turned in the opposite direction. They have to have known each other. Itto had never considered himself as astute, and yet he discovered that this "Takuya" isn't the real threat out of the three of them.

It was none other than Kamisato Ayato.

"Y-Yes... Yes, of course, sir. Farewell."

Takuya scurried away.

...

What was that all about?

What kind of stunts did Ayato pull around Shinjuku for him to come off as intimidating without his knowledge? Itto furrowed his eyes as he looked at Ayato's back. Children don't even find Itto scary, and he had the stereotypical troublemaker look. Ayato appears kind and gentle, maybe a bit standoffish, but his soft appearance shouldn't be able to scare some weird grunt away.

Ayato turned to face him.

Ah. So that's why.

His look of displeasure changed Itto's misconceptions immediately.

Ayato softened his expression once he realized Itto was staring, dumbfounded. He chuckled and tapped the biker's shoulder as if reminding him that the scary look wasn't aimed at him. Itto laughed nervously. Sure, it wasn't, but he made a mental note not to piss Ayato off, ever.

From that, Itto learned that Ayato can be as scary as you when he wants to be.

This man definitely got a dark side. Noted.

"Hey, uh, Ayato, did you see that?"

The light-haired man gave him an indifferent stare. "Saw what, exactly?"

"He had horns, my guy."

Itto began ruffling the top of his head– something he normally wouldn't do since he adores his hair– and created two triangular air shapes. His friend watched him, amused, but perplexed about what he was trying to communicate.

"Like, that dude got those devil horns going on– don't tell me you haven't seen it!"

"Hmm." Ayato hummed, a small grin plastered on his face.

"What would you do if I said I haven't seen anything? You're not afraid of yokai, aren't you?"

"What– C'MON!!!" Itto groaned loudly. "NOT YOU TOO– GAH!!! What's with you and (Y/n) today– enough with this "oooh-you're-afraid-of-this-aren't-yooouu" bullcrap! HELLO?!? I'm ARATAKI NUMERO UNO ITTO! Monsters and ghosts should be afraid of ME."

Ayato closed his eyes and shook his head, but his sly smile had not left his face. "Ah right, my apologies. How could I forget the unsurmountable one and oni Itto, how foolish of me."

"Exactl–..."

One and oni?

Itto both liked and didn't like the sound of that. Much like the taste of Kamisato Ayato's food, the phrase itched the nostalgic part of his brain. He couldn't tell where he first heard it. Ayato didn't even look like he made a mistake in saying "oni" instead of "only", rather, it slipped out of his tongue so naturally. Like he was hoping Itto would catch on to whatever he was implying.

Well, he didn't. He had no idea where Ayato was getting at and he only has about 2 brain cells left after that terrible migraine.

"And don't even joke about yokai stuff! I don't wanna get bad luck this Setsuban Festival."

Ayato raised an eyebrow.

"...I thought you were allergic to beans?"

"Yeah I am," Itto said. "And that's precisely I don't want any bad vibes for tomorrow. Can't have beans to save me from those onis, you know?"

Ayato muttered something Itto didn't hear.

"So you aren't fully human yet as well, hmm..."

"Say, why are you in the red light district? Don't tell me you're picking chicks around here."

Ayato refrained from rolling his eyes while Itto laughed.

"I'm not here for that, I'm trying to find a sist-- my little sister."

"Oh, oh! Tag me in! Lemme help. What does your sister look like?"

He appeared troubled when Itto volunteered to help. Ayato carefully chose his next words.

"She's shy and quite the formidable escapist. You wouldn't be able to find her unless you're looking at every nook and cranny."

"Sounds like bullshit."

Ayato technically didn't lie.

Itto continued. "Do you have a sister complex or something? Bro, I won't do anything to her. Just give me a description."

He shrugged. "Himegimi looks like me."

"Well, duh, of course, she does. Can't you be more specific? Like her height, hair, and eye color maybe--"

"Never mind it. Once she's tired of searching, she'll be back home soon enough."

"But, dude, your little sister is in the RED LIGHT DISTRICT! Aren't you worried--"

"She'll be fine."

"But men would--"

"She's small, they won't notice her."

Itto's unsure whether Ayato's brain is too advanced or he's acting stupid because that answer didn't make sense at all. Aren't smaller girls supposed to be in more danger around these parts? His head hurt. He always treated anyone smaller than him as kiddos-- and he can't imagine a kid can protect themselves from kidnappers.

Suddenly, they heard a strangle rumbling nearby.

Ayato looked at Itto and his stomach accusably.

He scratched his neck with a snobbish frown.

"Fiiiiine, I take it back. I'm hungry so I'll leave you searching for your sister. Alone. Without my help. At all."

Ayato, familiar with his antics by now, started leading Itto to walk alongside him.

"You're in luck then. I was planning to cook today. I haven't ordered Thoma to butcher the meat yet– but we will tonight. Perhaps you'd want to join me for dinner?"

"Holy shit, are you making those niku-dangos again?"

He nodded.

"For real? Hold on, let me tell grand-y first." He began messaging you.

"Haha, so you're back to calling our (Y/n) "Grand-y", I see."

Itto looked up from his phone. "Back to?"

Our?

Ayato nodded solemnly. Once again, he had that look that hints that he's trying to get Itto to remember something on his own, but Itto REALLY doesn't have the patience at this point. He's so dog-tired plus he's starving. Itto doesn't have time for any more mind games, whether it's that Takuya guy or Ayato.

Itto was surprised that you replied fast. Albeit, it was the default thumbs-up emoji and you might've mis-tapped but nu-uh, no takebacks allowed here, boss! Itto giggled like a preschooler as he bombarded you with smug Thank You stickers and emojis while you were (very slowly) typing a reply.

"From that look on your face, I am guessing that they agreed."

"Hell yeah, man! I can't wait to grab a bite of that sweet sweet taste of perfection, baby! C'mon, free delicious food? Count me in!"

"Wonderful."

Kamisato Ayato's lips contorted into a Cheshire cat-like grin.

"Let's eat him, together."

--------

Glossary:

Dango over flowers/hana yori dango: means "substance over style" or preferring a practical gift over something superficial.

Hakaiso: a monk who had sinned/had been considered depraved.

Himegimi: word for princess.

Sojo: a high-ranking Buddhist priest.

Setsubun Festival: a festival focused on purging houses of misfortune (b e a n s), often associated with oni imagery.

Runin: an exiled individual.

#tag: careful he bites #yandere genshin x reader #yandere #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader #yandere ayato #arataki itto x reader #yandere fanfiction #yandere kamisato ayato #arataki itto fanfic #tw: cannibalism #ansy-writes

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runefells · 3 months

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Hi!

I stumbled upon your selkie au fanart and i must say, I LOVE how the art's body language foreshadows what will happen. Jon's body language is open and he is relaxed and the look in his eyes is trusting.

Elias's smile doesn't reach his eyes and they are cold. The way he looks at Jon is predatory and calculating.

Do you have further art/fics of this au? If not, can we get general look on the "happy" couple's marriage? 👀

Ough thank you!! i at some point planned on writing parts of it but im a slow writer and my interests jumps between aus so quickly ;;

lemme give a quick little idea of what happens since i dont remember how much ive said or if ill do more art for it in the future,,,

basically Elias meets Jon and gains his trust by approaching him in an academic way. Jon is curious about humans, so despite all his warnings about them he humors Elias and they share information about their species. eventually Elias convinces Jon to return with him to london after telling Jon all about how amazing human cities are. he also convinces Jon to let Elias safeguard his coat (he acts like many humans will be interested in stealing it and only Elias will be able to protect it). Jon is simultaneously extremely interested in london and also completely overwhelmed by all the sounds and people. he lives with Elias and is pampered by him, taught to read (he learns he loves books), given clothes (which he hates), and treated to good food (hes mixed on this). Jon does start to fall for Elias and willingly starts a relationship with him but eventually he decides he misses the ocean and wants to go home but yeah ~surprise~ Elias was never going to give Jon his coat back. he had just hoped Jon would like living with Elias enough that he would choose to stay of his own free will. Elias forces Jon to marry him all while promising that he'll adjust to this life eventually.

Jon is obviously enraged by this and tries everything he can to escape at first. this part of the au is the least fleshed out but suffice to say Jon is rather miserable and depressed. he spends a lot of his time in their library and finds a book that talks about the ocean and has photographs in it which he looks at for comfort. Elias does bring him for a trip to see the ocean but its not where hes from and he doesnt allow Jon his coat to transform so its bittersweet.

(a good amount time passes between these two points and theres a good amount of up and down in their relationship. elias lovebombs jon a lot and tries to make him happy but is not willing to let go of his control over jon's life. jon kind of accepts that he wont be free and tries to make the best of his situation but hes still pretty homesick and depressed)

Elias gets frustrated that Jon can't just be happy with what he has (he had rather grandiose and unrealistic expectations for their marriage) and vents to Peter about it. He's more under the delusion that they're just having a marital spat and Jon will come around eventually but Peter tells him that selkies will never be tame and Jon will fight him till one of them dies. Elias wants to prove to Peter that Jon does love him so he brings him back to where he found him and gives him his coat back, sure that Jon will choose to stay with him buuuut. he runs

in the fic there was going to be a timeskip of about a year (maybe even ending there and then having a sequel) here where Jon eventually returns to where he met Elias and finds a package elias left him with their rings, some letters, and a couple of Jon's favorite books. he realizes that he misses his old life.. at least part of it. the sea is freedom but its also very lonely. he doesnt actually think he'll ever see Elias again but he comes back on the year anniversary of Jon leaving to reminisce and leave the rest of Jon's things as a symbol of moving on. I was going to have them work on things and have Jon come back to the relationship on his own terms with his own rules

is Elias actually changed in the end? honestly im not sure I didnt think that far. It definitely could go the way of being a cycle of abuse and i think he'd have to work quite hard to break his negative behavior. though tbf the Elias in this au isn't Jonah magnus (meaning he isn't a regency body-hopper not that he is OG Elias). this whole summary is only talking about the relationship A plot which was going to coincide with some Lovecraftian inspired occult mystery stuff : D (which isnt fleshed out at all other than i wanted those vibes)

anyway thanks for your interest I love talking about my aus xD I wish i had more content for them but my brain is really uncooperative

#asks #Anonymous #selkie au #jonelias #usually if i dont get other people to be insane abt an au with me i just kinda toss it aside and move onto other things #but i usually think abt each one in at least some depth

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tenpintsof-sundrop · 19 days

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i am honestly so confused by your blog rn. how can you say that no one interacts with you or recognizes your work put into fics? you can go to your masterlist or archive and clearly see many comments, reposts, and recs of your work. half the time you respond to someone is you bitching you’re not in the fandom anymore or you’d never write for the characters again. i have seen pages long compliments and breakdowns and reblogs for stories and characters you hate the next moment later. there are many writers that want to have as much interaction u get and actually love their long term fandoms.

accurate depiction of me reading this

there is a big difference between saying 'no one interacts with me' and saying 'no one recognizes the work that I put into fics'

I acknowledge that plenty of people interact with my fics. And that is nice. But in a sense, that is - part of the problem? (Because it becomes a quantity over quality thing, and as I have said many times before - I dread having a popular fic and I hate writing for popular fandoms.) (But also, I cannot control what my brain is interested in, so I do end up writing for popular fandoms.) (Also, I unconsciously hate it when a bunch of people show up for one fic but not for another, because I know that people are not there for my writing and my style, there are just there for the smut or for the character - which is totally understandable, but then - why follow my blog?)

One of my biggest complaints is: people do not recognize the amount of hard work that goes into writing, editing, and polish a fic in order to post it. From the concept of the idea to posting - people don't know how hard it is. And this does go back to the writer to reader ratio, and so many other things.

I am still fully of the belief that people do not understand at a core level how much work goes into the kind of fanfiction I write - especially when battling chronic illness in order to write at least one fic per month. I keep thinking about what Crane said to Dick in S3:

Sprezzatura. The ability to make something very difficult look very effortless.

I think that I have that when it comes to writing fanfiction. I know that I have a lot of talent and skill when it comes to the particular genre of fics that I write, and I know that in terms of the original idea to the end product - most of my fics turn out how I want them to, so I would say that they were pretty flawless.

So I make writing a good fic look pretty easy. When it is not at all easy for me. It is very hard. And if you compared the amount of unfinished drafts (and even just ideas that are in my head that will never get written and have never even made it to paper) to the amount of finished fics I have, then my success rate is about - 20%, probably closer to 10%. But I haven't calculated it exactly.

But you guys never get to see what I consider my failures. (And when you do, I try to ignore the existence of those fics.) (And generally, I just consider my failures to be unfinished fics.)

Basically, what I'm trying to say is - you don't see all the struggle I go through in order to get a finished, well polished fic in front of your eyes. So that is one thing.

The other major thing is - apparently I change fandoms too much? Which I didn't even think was a fucking issue. I mean I knew it annoyed some people, but I didn't care. Because I can't force myself to write fanfiction for a fandom that my brain doesn't care about - because those fics would take months longer, and they would suck. Due to burnout and my own disinterest.

Saying that 'half the time' I respond to comments, it's me saying that I'm not in the fandom anymore (like... it sounds like someone is salty that I haven't written for their fandom in a while?) - like dude, sorry, I'm not one of those fucking blogs writing AUs that are 7 times removed from the original source material, delusional pretending that I'm still writing about the canon characters when those are just OCs wearing name tags in an effort to keep myself interested in popular characters. (If writing that kind of fanfiction actually makes other people happy, then good for them - but to me, it always feels like a lifeless bid to keep their blog in the spotlight and to keep their followers' eyes on them with the names of popular characters. But oh well.) I go where my creative juices take me. and that can be to very obscure characters (like characters from one-off horror movies) or to (sadly) very popular characters - where I will write three fics and then fuck off. I have always been multifandom.

Also I have NEVER said that I will 'never' write for certain characters again. The only time I have sworn off writing for certain fandoms completely is writing for kpop rpf. Other than that, all fandoms I have written for are still on the table for the future. Like - what the fuck?

I have also never said that I hate certain characters. And yes - I do tend to switch fandoms a lot, but it's due to my creative interests, and follow my autistic hyperfixations. Fanfiction isn't supposed to be forced like fucking homework. It is supposed to bring joy. And writing for a range of vastly different characters on an unpredictable schedule - brings me joy.

Also, the 'pages long' responses, often come from the same people over and over again, and shout out to them, they are fucking lovely !!!! Shout out to Rotten Anon, and @star-mum and @pikispixies and lately @sreidisms - who have been my biggest supporters. But 4 or 5 people consistently (and wonderfully) showing up to write essay comments on fics is not the same as 100s of people always leaving engaging comments all the time (which is what you seem to think I have on my blog??)

Like the ratio is fucked. Having over 1,000 followers or a fic getting over 500 likes and only getting 2 or 3 engaging comments per fic - is a very strange ratio. And I am not saying that everyone has to write a fucking essay, but if you ask me a question about the fic in the comments, I will literally wanna kiss you on the mouth nasty style, and I will appreciate it 10x more than you just saying 'your writing is good'.

and @nctzenkane is my biggest champion behind the scenes, my literal muse for most of the fics I have ever written (and he will probably be scathing when he reads your comment lmao)

also - two or three passive aggressive and selfish comments can ruin a fic and can douse my creativity, even if one person leaves a long, beautiful essay comment encouraging me. sadly, our human brains remember the negative more than the positive

and when people leave long essay comments, I try my hardest to respond in an engaging way (even when I am exhausted from my chronic illness, I try my hardest to engage them, even if respond to their comments can take hours of my time, which takes time away from writing more fics - I wanna show them how appreciative I am of their comments) - I have never once told someone to fuck off because I'm not in that fandom anymore. literally, show me the fucking receipts to back up your delusion. please

yes, other writers who have smaller blogs would love to have more comments on their fics, but they too would feel annoyed if all the comments they were getting were 'Part 2???' or felt like someone's personal vlog on their fic - commentating their personal issues with your fic (like it being immoral or unfinished) rather than talking to the actual person who wrote it - seemingly not even realizing that there is a person behind the fic who wrote it.

I don't want more comments on my fics. I want different ones. I don't need to be patted on the head and told my writing is good - yes, those comments are nice, but I can only say 'thank you' so many times before I feel like a plastic, fake bitch - I want to discuss the content of my fics. I want to discuss the plot. The only thing that is different about every single one of my fics is the plot - the themes, how the characters act. and that is what I want to disucss in the comments section. that is what I find mentally enriching.

the only reason I post my fics is so that people might find them and enjoy them and so that I can leave a lasting positive effect on this earth, and so that I can find some enjoyment in discussing the fucking story I worked so hard on.

so please - tell me what is so wrong with that

#anonymous #sundrop answers #fanfiction #discussion #about me

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