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thelostconsultant · 13 days ago

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Oscar Piastri x reader

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

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

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

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

What a bunch of morons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At the beginning?”

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

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

“Yeah,” you confirm. “He’s your son.”

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

“Oscar, come on.”

“That’s the deal I can offer.”

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

“No.”

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Two hours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because you were so good?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tomorrow. Have a good night.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crap. This he selfishly didn’t consider.

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

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

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

“Oscar?”

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

You nod. “Okay, I’m all ears.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? No!”

“Do what’s the best for him. Please.”

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

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

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

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

Well, that’s not what he expected.

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

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darling-flora · 2 months ago

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if you dare, meet me up here

pedro pascal x yn!actress - social media au

fc: bella hadid

summary — Future co-star introducing you to his former co-star, who knew what would come from it...?

note — (all manips are made by me!!) pedro is 40 in this story 😶(not set during a specific time) this was supposed to be short but i got carried away so let me know what you think!! likes, reblog's and comments are appreciated ❤

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enews

Liked by user1, user2 and 869,944 others

enews Paul Mescal introduces new co-star Y/n L/n to Gladiator 2 co-star Pedro Pascal and treats both to dinner in New York. Mescal and L/n are set to star in Rom/Com "How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days" which begins filming later this year.

The film stars L/n an advice columnist, who tries pushing the boundaries of what she can write about in her new piece about how to get a man to leave you in 10 days.

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user1 if i was her i'd challengers them 🤭

user2 oh thank you paul for introducing y/n to pedro 😌

user3 omg im so excited to see paul and y/n in a movie together

->user4 me too!! especially after the video of paul congratulating y/n winning her oscar backstage... ->user3 omg yes! them being friends is going to make the chemistry so much better 😁

user5 y/n sitting next to pedro and not paul.... i see you girl 🤫

user6 her fit is so cute

user7 waitttttt these 3 divas

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yourinstagram

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yourinstagram xoxo 🌚

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user1 pretty girllll

devonleecarlson okay photogragherrrrr ate

->pascalispunk 👋🙂 ->yourinstagram im hiring 😁 ->pascalispunk Wait let me tell my agent 🏃 ->user2 guys are they being friendly or flirting...? ->user3 little bit of both 😭

user4 making nike socks fashion...? this icon 🤩

user5 pedro got your notifs on girl.. he liked this quick 😊

user6 wait paul is kinda serving pedro and y/n's kid because he's the youngest

->user7 PLEASEEEE 😭 ->user8 i always forget y/n's 32 and not like 23 😫 ->user9 me with pedro, i think he's 30 something when he's 40

user10 being bi is a blessing b/c i want all three 😝

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yourinstagram

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yourinstagram 🌊💙

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user face carddd

user he's just 🧍‍♂️ liked by yourinstagram !

user y/n please 😔 he doesn't know how to handle a baddie like you

->user and you do?? 😭 ->user i don't know but i'd try ->user 😭 i respect the honesty...

user guys is this a hard launch???

->user medium launch b/c we know who it is but it's not obvious.. yk? ->user wait your right ->user girl math 😉

user okay this CONFIRMS they are dating

user y/n can we SHARE???

user waittt cutiesss

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yourinstagram

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yourinstagram oscarsss ❤

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user1 oh my god marry me

yourbff hottie!!! liked by yourinstagram !

user2 THE SECOND PIC OMG????

user9 the way he's looking at her??? my heart

pascalispunk My girl ❤

->yourinstagram always 💞 ->user3 STAPHHH ->user3 so he was going to say "my girl" ohhhhh y/n you lucky girl ->user4 him having the auto caps on, he such an old man... i need him liked by yourinstagram ! ->user4 Y/N WHY DID YOU LIKE MY COMMENT???😭 ->yourinstagram cause i've made fun of him for it 🤭 ->user4 so real, men need to be humbled ->yourinstagram see you get it 😉 ->pascalispunk ???

user5 one of your best looks ohhhhhmygoooddddd

user8 i'd frame the second picture

user6 hardest launch to ever launch and i loveeee it

user7 neither of them were nominated but they are the most talked about ICONSSSS

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal smau #pedrohub #pedroispunk #pedro x reader #pedro pascal social media au #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfics #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fics #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal au #pedro pascal fanfiction

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phantomrose96 · 1 year ago

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Sham Sacrifice

(Hi it's time for my favorite headcanon)

...

Vlad Masters sat firm and proper on the Fenton Family couch, legs crossed, teacup pinched in his fingertips, fighting subtly against the sinkhole that came with the mistake of taking Jack’s usual spot on the couch. He appeared with all the same charm and delightfulness of an ant swarm rearranging your picnic.

Danny stood at the doorway, just-still-in-the-kitchen, just not inviting himself to join the adults in the living room where Jack boomed and rambled and Vlad sat so stiff and polite and nice that his tea in his hands was going cold.

“Oh, Danny you’ll love this story—Danny, you should join us—Danny this was, what, summer of ’84? When was that heatwave, Vladdy? The one where you—”

“There’s no need to bore Daniel with the mad ravings of two old kooks, Jack. Kids would rather be off at the mall or—some store, surely. No need to stick around Daniel on my behalf. I assure you I won’t be offended if you leave.”

“No worries, V-man. I’m good right here. I love hearing Dad’s stories." Danny met Vlad's challenge, speaking with more poisonous courtesy than Vlad had proffered first. "In fact I think he should tell a few more, if he’s got more in mind.”

“In fact I do have more in mind—” Jack answered.

Neither Danny nor Vlad were listening to Jack. They held eye-contact, Danny with a stern unblinkingness of a sheepdog on duty. A lot was said without words. A lot was understood when Vlad decided to visit through the front door. Vlad only used the front door when he wanted something.

And it was never good when Vlad wanted something.

“—the core reactor project, yeah? That summer? That was in the lab with no A/C. Top floor. We were sweating like pigs, all of us. And I dared you to eat the really moldy pizza from our fridge the night before and you ralphed right into—”

“—Surely you remember this more fondly than I do. Daniel, really, you can go.”

Not a chance.

“Actually,” Danny answered, brightening some as his opportunity struck. “I am interested in this. For science class I need to write a report on the invention of an important piece of technology. I was gonna ask Mom and Dad about the Ghost Portal. And now that you’re here, I can get the whole history.”

Jack made a giddy little noise. He leaned forward, words primed, but Vlad was quicker to the draw.

“Sorry to say, your faith in me is unfounded. I wasn’t the portal guy back in college—that was always your mother and father’s passion project. I was their skeptic.”

“Bet that’s got you feeling pretty foolish right now, doesn’t it V-man?” Jack chided, a quick jab to Vlad’s ribs that nearly unseated the teacup from his suspended saucer. “Considering the fully-functioning portal right beneath our toes.”

“I hardly feel foolish, Jack. Your calculation for the portal in college was never going to work.”

“What do you mean? Of course it did.” Jack thumped the ground with his foot. “It’s running the old girl right now.”

At this, Vlad’s eyes narrowed. For the first time he’d been shaken off whatever skeezy machinations had brought him in. His pride was being challenged, and by Jack no less.

“Absolutely not. With that calculation? Absolutely not.”

“Well forget the tea biscuits Vlad, because you’re going to be eating your words in a second. Mads, hold my spot,” Jack said, as if anyone was planning to take his spot. He bounced from the couch, scooted from the living room, and vanished into the dark maw of the lab stairs, leaving only the waning beat of his footsteps behind.

His absence filled only a swallowing few seconds. The footsteps returned, bounding upward, creaking with his heavy cadence, and Jack bounced back into the room in much the manner he left. A pad of yellow lined paper was clutched in his hand. When he dropped it on the coffee table, it revealed row after row of tight scribble, churning math, carrying down the page and occupying two entire pages more that Jack flipped through.

“Same baby I came up with in college. It just needed heavier dampening and higher voltage than what we made back then. The portal downstairs has that in spades. Well, in like two-thirds of a spade.” Jack tapped something on the last line. “The projection was still only hitting 70% of the threshold we calculated to reach dimension penetration. But it’s an art, not just a science. We fired it up anyway, and it took!”

Vlad grabbed the paper pad, agitated. His eyes ran over it. Then again. Until he settled on one line, a firmness overcoming his face. He tossed the pad back onto the coffee table, and Vlad leaned back into the couch, arms crossed.

“The lambda, Jack.”

“The lambda?”

“Check it again.”

Jack did, lips pursed, pad of paper nearly swallowed in his big meaty hand.

“What about--?”

“It squares. The units don’t balance otherwise. It originates from an integration step of λ*∂λ/∂t. It squares.”

Jack’s brow remained furrowed, firm, until delight cracked into his eyes, and he let out a laugh.

“Gods, my handwriting is gonna be the death of us. Mads,” he tapped something unseen on the second page. “That’s the genius of Vladdy. Cracked this puppy wide open with just a glance. I never noticed that in all my checking. That explains the missing 30%, at least. That explains how the portal took. Lucky for you Danny that Vlad was here—”

“Jack,” Maddie said.

“—your report can have the correct formula. It’ll be—”

“—Jack—”

“—A+ worthy—”

“—Jack,” Maddie said, curt. “Lambda is the ambient ecto-energy. It’s a few ten-thousandths of a unit.”

“It—huh.”

Maddie had surfaced a pen from her pocket. She sheared a few blank pages out from the back of the pad and started the formula fresh. She made quick work of copying it over, quicker work of solving it through – lambda-squared intact.

She hit the final line and hatched a pen mark beneath the number. Jack stared, confused.

“That can’t… no.”

He repeated the same. New pages torn loose. Formula copied over, processed, line by line by line—lambda squared—by line by line by line.

Jack settled on his answer. Same as Maddie’s.

Confusion made his face tense.

“So it’s not 70% of the way to the threshold… It’s 0.013% of the way to the threshold.”

He held the pen hard, his whole body holding firm and taut as the gears turned in his head. Jack’s eyes flickered across the formula, again and again and again. He looked to Maddie, like a dog issued a command he did not understand.

“But it worked,” he said, small. “But it worked.”

Jack stood, robotic almost, eyes lost in something far away. He disappeared into the lab almost as quickly as he had a few minutes before, but now he exited with a smoothness and a quietness so very uncharacteristic of him. It bothered Danny, somewhere deep in his gut.

Maddie followed, a possession matching Jack’s.

Danny’s fingers curled and uncurled. He’d succeeded. He’s successfully interrupted Vlad’s… whatever this was. But the disquiet infected him. He didn’t like it.

“So what does that mean?” Danny asked, perhaps to Vlad. “What’s wrong with the calculation?”

Vlad sipped on tea ice cold.

“Who knows?” Vlad lied.

…

The math didn’t work.

Maddie and Jack burned through paper, burned through pencils, burned through hours.

The math didn’t work.

Clothes stuck to skin. Sweat lingered fetid and stale in the cold basement air. Exhaustion beat like a slurry through their veins.

The math didn’t work.

The portal supervised all, placidly green, the light for their table, the light for their work when the lightbulb overhead burnt clean out and neither Jack nor Maddie could be pulled away to replace it. It stood, it watched, a testament of contradiction to everything they could not solve on paper, and yet everything they built directly into the fabric of reality.

And it should never have worked.

They threw every radical what-if they’d ever conceived over 20 years of ghost research.

The ecto-ether layer.

The latent activation stitches in space fabric.

The anti-ectomatter collision proposal.

The positive-feedback crystallization theory.

And still nothing worked.

All together, every crackpot theory in their favor taken for granted, racked them up to an activation energy 200x more potent than the calculation, and still just 2% of what would be needed to rip open, and hold open, a stable fissure between their reality and the ghost zone.

Maybe by pure luck, unfathomable luck, Fentonworks basement was directly situated atop a natural portal.

Maybe that would explain ripping it open. It did nothing to explain the stability. Natural portals were unstable by definition. There and gone in a few seconds. Not hours, days, weeks, months, a year, that the Fenton Portal had been open. Never so much as faltering.

It was late. 3am ticked away to 4am, and 4:30am. The discarded paper stacked higher than Jack and Maddie both. Calluses oozed from their hands at another attempt, and another, and another.

Maddie flipped through a folder’s worth of yellowed papers, aggressively thumbed over and over after two decades left untouched. And she settled on the one she’d passed over a few dozen times already, always seeking something else, something better.

This time she unsheathed it, and she placed it on the lab table.

“…If a mouse died. In the machine. If a mouse ran through the machine and accidentally bridged two live wires, and died of violent electrocution. 500 milliamps. Instantly melted into the circuitry.”

Maddie’s mouth was cotton-dry while she wrote. Ambient ecto-energy was low. Always very, very low.

Unless something very, very bad happened to something with the capacity to become a ghost.

The numbers wove. Maddie started the formula fresh, and it was pure muscle memory. A mouse. A big mouse, even. A 99th percentile beast of a mouse. And a wire that had been wired incorrectly. Something grounded that never actually grounded. An absolutely horrific amount of electricity.

0.37%, by pure numbers. If she included every permissive crackpot idea they had thrown on top, it topped out at 6% of the needed activation threshold.

Not a mouse.

“A cat,” Jack said, words gummy, tongue dry, face tired. “If we’ve got mice down here, maybe… a stray cat wandered in. Chased the mouse.”

Maddie nodded. It didn’t matter if it made sense.

She penned it in. A large cat. A devastating electrical short. Cats carried more ecto-potential than mice did. Ecto-potential did not necessarily go up with size. It went up with complexity. The things with the most ecto-potential were the things that most became ghosts.

1.45%, by pure numbers. 18% at absolute, absolute crackpot best.

“A dog,” Jack proposed with a shaky laugh. He swallowed. “A mouse… chased by a cat… chased by a dog… all electrocuted at once”

Maddie didn’t say the thing they both knew, which was that both of them would have noticed the evidence left behind by the electrically exploded pieces of a dog.

Maddie did it anyway. A mouse and a cat and a medium-sized dog, maybe just small enough to notice no evidence of, all together. All at once. All violently ripped apart, sacrificed to a machine still asleep in its wall.

Mice did not often make ghosts. Cats did not either. Dogs, occasionally. But infrequently. Very infrequently.

37%. At best.

“Jack.”

“Maddie, I know just—maybe something really smart—”

“—Jack—”

“—like an octopus—”

“Jack.”

“I hear, maybe, pigs are smart. If it was—”

Maddie was writing, already. Not for a pig. Not an octopus. Jack watched, and he knew what the numbers meant. The ecto-potential she penned gave her away. An ecto-potential that high.

65kg, an estimate

10,000 milliamps, a catastrophic accident, a death certificate.

A human’s amount of ecto-potential.

Maddie wrote.

And she wrote.

And she did not apply a single crackpot theory, not a single discredited proposal, not an ounce of exaggeration.

138%.

Threshold, and then some.

Comfortable, easily, then some.

For the first time, after all the hundreds of times she and Jack had penned this equation over the course of 2 decades, the number met her and Jack’s threshold.

A breakthrough.

A revelation.

A pure eureka moment.

Jack and Maddie were silent.

Alone in a humming basement. Alone with only the soft swirls of the portal for company, happy, stable, purring its contentment, singing to the cold air.

“It has to be something else,” Maddie said. And she said it weakly. And she said it childishly.

“You’re right. It can’t be this,” Jack echoed. “If someone died down here, we’d know. Dead bodies don’t walk away. We’d have seen it. O-or even if, if the body got stuck in the portal, we’d have heard of someone going missing.”

Maddie sat, quiet. A thought held her mind hostage.

“Unless they didn’t go missing,” Maddie said, and she said it barely audibly. “Unless the portal spit them right back out.”

“Then—that’s what I said—a dead body, on the floor, we’d have seen.”

“Not a dead body.”

“It had to be lethal, Mads—”

“I know Jack. But if they died, here, in the portal Jack, then their ghost did not get ripped away from the body and sent to the Ghost Zone. …They ripped the Ghost Zone here.” Palms slick with sweat smoothed over her notes. She pointed to one specific line and found her pen tip trembled no matter how badly she stabilized it. “The ecto-potential of a creature is how strong of a pull their ghost creates on the Ghost Zone. A strong enough pull means the ghost can reach the Ghost Zone and stabilize, like a fish reeling itself up, yeah? We agree on this Jack, yes?”

“Yes,” Jack answered.

“It’s what makes the math even work, Jack. Someone dying in the portal didn’t reel themselves to the boat. They reeled the boat in. Jack, they brought the Ghost Zone here…” Maddie wasn’t breathing right. She pulled sweat-soaked bangs away from her face. “Their ghost never left their body Jack. They died, Jack. And they walked back out.”

“…No. No,” Jack said. “No, they didn’t.”

“Then what?” Maddie asked.

Jack stared. He looked away. He didn’t like the expression on Maddie’s face.

“It—what about the ecto-ether theory?” Jack said, of the theory they’d tested and retested and tested all over, all night. He grabbed his pencil back up and pointed it aimlessly at Maddie’s piece of paper, pointed end out in self-defense. “If the ecto-ether is maybe… if it’s only 250-times stronger than we calculated. Then it could…”

Jack’s voice died. His pencil hung idle. Maddie’s paper remained unblemished.

“If it… was a pig,” Jack offered. “If it was a pig that died in the portal.”

“How, Jack? How would a pig get in? We lock all the doors at night, Jack. No one else can get in, Jack. It’s just us, Jack.”

Jack and Maddie were not there when the portal turned on.

Maddie’s statement carried two possibilities. Only two. Both felt like claws digging all the flesh right out of Jack’s heart.

“I want… I want to try the ecto-ether theory again,” Jack choked. “I think it’s the ecto-ether. I think it’ll work.”

Jack slid a piece of paper over, already covered in scribbles. In its single untouched corner, he started the equation for the several-thousandth time that night.

Above their head, birds were singing.

Sunrise hailed unseen from the windowless laboratory.

…

At 6am, Vlad answered his cell phone. The reception crackled, struggling through the layers of sheetrock above his head.

“Vlad?” Maddie’s voice crackled. “Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Not at all my dear.” Vlad leaned his weight against the wall, playing with the singsong melody in his voice. “But you sound exhausted. Is anything the matter?”

“Yes. Well… Yes. Jack and I have—all night—trying to fix the equation.”

“Naturally.”

“We found something that maybe works.”

“Oh?” Vlad asked. He straightened, pacing now, cracklingly attentive. “And what might that—”

“If someone died. Activating the portal. We have an on-switch inside the portal’s interior. The trigger we use to press it is external to the portal, of course. But if someone went inside the portal, and they pressed it directly, and if they died, and pulled the Ghost Zone here—”

Vlad’s red eyes reflected pools of iridescent green. He twirled his free hand in the fringes of his cape, tongue working over the fanged edges of his teeth. He stared, consumed, forward.

“—and just, you, I was thinking, you’re the only other expert I’d trust to… maybe weigh in.”

“What does Jack think?”

“He denies it. He’s still. He’s trying other theories.”

“Well who knows, surely? The answer may lie somewhere you haven’t looked.”

“…I’ve looked everywhere, Vlad. That's the thing. There is no more ‘somewhere else’. I’ve looked.”

“You sound like your mind is made up.”

“I just… if maybe you have some idea.”

“Am I meant to talk you out of this idea?”

“Vlad.”

“Do you think I have some secret information you don’t? Sorry to say, I’m just your skeptic.” Some noise came through muffled from the other side. Vlad flashed a smile. “But…as your skeptic I will offer you this—It all sounds a bit absurd, doesn’t it? To kill someone and have them come back intact and… for you to never notice? Who would they be? How would they be? Surely not human anymore, surely. How would you never notice?”

Vlad paced forward, booted feet clicking along his laboratory floor.

“It would be ridiculous,” he continued, with a building crescendo, “so unfathomably self-centered surely, to not notice something like that befall someone so close to you, who died at the hands of your own invention? …If I’m correctly inferring who, in your household, you suspect of having activated the portal?” Vlad’s tongue lingered along his teeth.

Maddie’s line held, quiet. And the seconds of static drew long.

“Ah, apologies. I’ve overstepped,” Vlad continued. “I meant this as a vote of confidence in you. You and Jack both. Two people as attentive, caring, compassionate as yourselves. You would notice. I promise.”

“You’re… Okay, thank you, Vlad. I appreciate it.”

“Is there anything else, my dear?”

“No. No. Thank you, Vlad. I’ll think about this.”

Maddie’s line clicked dead. A chuckle built to Vlad’s lips and he let his head tip back with mirth. It lasted only a moment. He stowed his phone. And as if the interruption had never happened, Vlad reaffixed his attention on his own portal swirling in front of him. It bathed him, swimming green, purring contentment.

And Vlad vanished into his portal.

(Chapter 2)

#danny phantom #dp #dp fanfiction #GIVES YOU THIS GIVES YOU THIS GIVES YOU THIS #its my favorite headcanon so here you get a fic of it

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faebled-stories · 7 months ago

Text

The Weight of Approval

Kinkvember Day 19: Facesitting

(G)-IDLE Cho Miyeon x Gender Neutral reader

11.7k words

It’s just another shift at the café—a grind that blurs together with yesterday and all the days before. The worn counters, the hum of the coffee machine, the clink of mismatched mugs—it’s all routine. The same cracked tiles beneath your feet, the same smudged menu board hanging above the register. The café isn’t much, tucked into the corner of a busy street, frequented more for convenience than ambiance. It’s the kind of place that serves as a pit stop for hurried commuters, not somewhere anyone lingers.

You barely register the motions anymore. Each cup you fill, every polite smile you force, feels like another tick of the clock until your shift ends. But even then, that only means returning to your tiny apartment—three floors up in a creaky, aging building where the walls are thin, and the heater groans louder than it works. Inside, there’s a stack of unopened bills on the kitchen counter, a fridge that hums louder than it cools, and shelves lined with little more than ramen packets and canned soup. Payday is still a week away, and you’ve already done the math—it won’t stretch far enough.

Every month is the same. Rent looms like a guillotine, always just one mistake away from coming down. The café job was supposed to be temporary, just something to cover the basics until you landed something better. But “temporary” stretched into months, and now it feels like a trap, closing in around you as the bills keep piling higher. Nights at your other job—a late shift at a dingy convenience store—blur into exhaustion. Between the two jobs, sleep is a luxury, and dreams? Those have been shelved for “later,” though you’re no longer sure when “later” will come.

The bell above the door rings, jolting you from your thoughts. It’s automatic to glance up, expecting a regular with their usual small talk and routine order. Instead, she walks in.

The woman is striking, her presence undeniable from the moment she steps inside. Everything about her is sharp and precise, from the tailored fit of her sleek black suit to the effortless grace in her stride. The glint of her designer heels catches the dull light of the café, momentarily outshining the worn surroundings. Her dark sunglasses obscure her eyes, but you feel the weight of her gaze, like she’s sizing up the entire room in a single sweep. She’s out of place here, like a panther wandering into a pet shop.

She doesn’t wait in line. Instead, she glides directly to the counter, her movements fluid and purposeful, ignoring the subtle whispers and curious glances from the few other patrons.

“I’ll take my usual,” she says, her voice low and polished, each word perfectly enunciated.

You blink, caught off guard. There’s an air of expectation in her tone, as though her usual should be obvious. For a second, you feel like you’ve failed an unspoken test, unable to recall what she’s asking for. “I—uh—I’m not sure what your usual is…”

Her sunglasses slide down just enough for you to see her eyes. They’re sharp and assessing, a piercing gaze that seems to cut straight through you. “Is there a problem?” The question is more of a challenge than a clarification, her tone daring you to falter.

Before you can stammer out an apology, your coworker Minnie steps in, her movements quick and anxious. “I’ll take care of it,” she says, her voice soft and hurried. She doesn’t look at you as she nudges you aside, her trembling hands already reaching for the espresso machine.

The woman steps back, folding her arms as she waits. Her gaze, however, doesn’t leave you. It’s piercing and unrelenting, a quiet power that feels suffocating. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to—her presence alone commands the room.

Minnie works quickly, though her nervousness is evident. She fumbles slightly with the milk, spilling a few drops as she pours. When the drink is finally ready, she hesitates, glancing at the woman as if trying to gauge her mood. After a tense moment, Minnie takes a deep breath, picks up the cup, and walks it over.

You watch as she offers the drink, her posture stiff, like she’s bracing for something. The woman leans in slightly, inspecting the cup with the precision of a jeweler examining a diamond. She murmurs something, soft and deliberate, but her eyes remain locked on you.

Minnie freezes for a beat, her shoulders tightening before she nods and turns back toward you, her steps quick and unsteady. Her face is pale, her usual cheerful expression replaced with unease.

“She…” Minnie begins, her voice barely above a whisper as she sets the cup down on the counter in front of you. Her hands fidget with her apron. “She wants you to bring it to her.”

You glance at Minnie, confused. “Me? Why?”

Minnie shakes her head, her eyes wide. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “But you should just do it. Don’t… don’t upset her.”

The anxiety in Minnie’s voice sends a chill down your spine, but there’s no time to question it. The woman hasn’t moved. Her gaze is fixed on you, calm and unwavering, yet it carries a weight that feels oppressive, like a predator sizing up its prey.

You pick up the cup, its warmth doing little to steady your trembling hands, and step toward her. Each movement feels deliberate, exaggerated by the tension in the air. Her eyes track your every step, sharp and unrelenting, leaving you feeling utterly exposed. The café’s noise—the hum of the coffee machine, the soft chatter of patrons—fades into a dull background buzz as all your focus narrows on her.

When you’re close enough, you extend the cup toward her, your pulse hammering in your ears. Her fingers brush yours as she takes it, her touch cool and fleeting, yet it sends a shiver racing through you. Her lips curl into a faint smile—small, deliberate, and unsettling, like she’s amused by some private joke you’re not in on.

“Well aren’t you adorable,” she murmurs, her voice low and smooth, with just enough of an edge to leave you unsure if it’s a compliment or a taunt. Her gaze lingers on you, unhurried, peeling back invisible layers like she’s already learned more about you than you’d ever willingly share.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat as she tilts her head slightly, her expression shifting into something closer to curiosity—or is it calculation?

“How would you like to earn some extra money?” she asks, her tone casual yet deliberate, as if the question is part of a test.

The words land like a thunderclap, unexpected and disarming. You blink, caught off guard, the full weight of her presence pressing down on you as the question hangs in the air. The answer should be obvious—of course you do. You think of the bills piling up on your kitchen counter, the hollow ache in your stomach from skipping meals, and the rent looming over you like a storm cloud. But there’s something about the way she asks, something that makes your pulse race with more than just hope.

“I—uh…” Your voice wavers, and you hesitate, but the intensity of her gaze pushes you to nod, slowly at first, then more firmly. “Sure.”

Her smile deepens, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Instead, there’s a flicker of satisfaction, like she’s just confirmed something she already knew. She reaches into her purse with a deliberate, practiced motion and pulls out a business card. The action feels almost ceremonial as she hands it to you with a lazy grace. The card is pristine and minimalist: Ascend International. Cho Miyeon, CEO.

“Come to this address at 8 pm tonight,” she says, her tone smooth and unyielding. “Don’t be late.”

You glance down at the card in your hand, its edges crisp and cool against your fingertips. The weight of it feels disproportionate to its size, like it’s a key to a door you’re not sure you’re ready to open.

Her gaze flickers down to your mouth, and for a moment, she pauses, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as if an idea has just occurred to her. “Stick your tongue out,” she says suddenly.

The request catches you so off guard that you hesitate, unsure if you’ve heard her correctly. But her expression remains unchanged—no humor, no patience, only expectation. The air between you feels heavy, charged, as if she’s testing you.

Against every instinct, you comply, your face heating as you stick out your tongue. You feel ridiculous, exposed, yet there’s a compulsion in her gaze that makes resistance impossible. She studies you for a beat, her smirk deepening in satisfaction before she straightens, her presence as composed and commanding as ever.

“Good,” she murmurs, almost to herself, before turning and striding out of the café, her movements fluid and unhurried, like someone who always gets exactly what they want.

As the door swings shut behind her, Minnie sidles up beside you, her voice low and shaky. “You… you have no idea who she is, do you?”

You shake your head, your fingers clutching the card tightly. “No. Should I?”

Minnie’s eyes widen, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced by something cautious, almost fearful. “Cho Miyeon,” she whispers, glancing toward the door as if expecting her to walk back in. “She owns half this city. If she wants something from you…” She trails off, shaking her head. “Just don’t screw it up. People don’t usually get second chances with her.”

You look down at the card again, its elegant design somehow intimidating. It feels out of place in your hands, like it belongs in a world far removed from your own. Yet, as the weight of her gaze lingers in your mind, you think about your reality—your landlord’s last warning, the meals you’ve skipped, the endless grind of multiple jobs that never seem to be enough.

Maybe this is the kind of risk you need to take.

If you can survive it

-----

Stepping into Ascend International’s headquarters feels like stepping into another world. The building itself is a towering monolith of glass and steel, its sleek facade reflecting the city skyline with an almost arrogant perfection. The sheer scale of it is intimidating, a symbol of power that dominates the horizon, making everything around it feel insignificant by comparison.

The lobby is no less imposing. It’s cavernous, every surface polished to a mirror-like gleam. The pristine marble floors stretch out endlessly, their subtle veining shimmering under the soft, calculated lighting. Minimalist artwork, abstract yet commanding, adorns the high walls, while brushed metal accents catch the light in subtle, expensive flashes. It’s a space that whispers sophistication but demands reverence, as if even the air inside has been curated for those who belong.

The people moving through the lobby only add to the sense that you’re out of place. They stride with purpose, their designer suits immaculate, their gazes fixed straight ahead as if they’re always on the brink of something important. No one lingers. No one hesitates. Everyone here seems to belong, moving in seamless synchronization, like pieces in a machine that runs on ambition and authority.

Clutching the business card Miyeon gave you, you force yourself to breathe steadily as you approach the reception desk. It looms ahead of you, an enormous slab of black marble so flawless it seems to absorb the light around it. Its size and stark design make you feel even smaller, dwarfed not just by the desk but by the sheer magnitude of the world you’ve just stepped into.

Behind the desk sits a young woman, impeccably dressed and exuding the kind of confidence that only comes from being part of something this powerful. Her name tag reads Song Yuqi, but it’s her sharp eyes that capture your attention. They snap up the moment you approach, and in a single, sweeping glance, she seems to assess everything about you—your clothes, your posture, the nervous energy you can’t quite suppress. It’s a look that feels both brisk and invasive, as if she’s already reached a conclusion before you’ve even spoken.

“Hi, I’m here for an interview with Ms. Cho,” you manage to say, though your voice sounds smaller than you’d like. You straighten your posture, hoping it’ll help mask the nervous tension tightening in your chest.

Yuqi’s lips twitch into a faint smirk, a flicker of amusement crossing her otherwise polished demeanor. “Oh, I know what this is about,” she says, her tone light and almost playful. Her gaze drifts over you again, slower this time, adding an unsettling layer of scrutiny. It’s as if she’s sizing you up for something you’re not privy to, enjoying a private joke at your expense.

Without another word, she opens a drawer with precise, practiced movements and pulls out a slim stack of papers. She hands them to you with a flick of her wrist, her smile deepening as though she’s waiting for your reaction. “Here,” she says, the amusement in her voice unmistakable. “You’ll need to sign this.”

You glance down at the papers, your breath catching as your eyes skim the first few lines. The text reads: Employment Contract. The words jump out at you—personal assistant, non-disclosure agreement, exclusive services—but most of the document is dense with legal jargon that blurs together as your eyes dart across the page. Then, a number leaps out at you—the salary.

It’s staggering. More money than you’ve ever made in your life. More than you’d even dared to dream of earning, even after years of grinding through multiple shifts and sleepless nights. For a moment, the weight of it all hits you at once: no more overdue bills, no more rationing groceries or waking up in a cold sweat over rent. This could change everything.

You glance back at Yuqi, who’s watching you with that same faint smirk, her amusement sharpening as if she can read every thought racing through your mind. There’s something unnerving about how much she seems to know—like she’s been expecting you to react this way all along.

Your hand hesitates over the contract. Rationally, you know this is unusual. Signing a contract before even meeting with Miyeon feels strange, almost reckless. But the rational part of you is quickly drowned out by the sheer allure of the number staring back at you. Slowly, almost dreamlike, you pick up the pen and sign your name. It feels surreal, like you’re crossing an invisible threshold into a world you’re not sure you belong in.

When you look up, Yuqi’s smirk has widened, her amusement shifting into something sharper, almost predatory. She takes the papers from you with a practiced efficiency, her fingers grazing yours briefly before she sets them aside. “Top floor,” she says, her voice smooth and a little too cheerful. “Room 2601. Don’t keep her waiting.”

You nod, your throat too tight to respond, and turn toward the elevator bank. As you walk away, Yuqi’s voice trails after you, light and teasing but with a faint edge of something you can’t quite place. “Good luck,” she calls, her tone carrying a hint of pity that sends a shiver down your spine.

As you press the elevator button, the weight of what just happened settles over you. The sleek lobby, the polished marble, the silent power radiating from every corner of this place—it all feels like it’s pressing down on you, reminding you of how small and out of place you are. Yet, in your hand, the signed contract feels heavier than it should, a reminder of the door you’ve just opened.

After stepping into the elevator, the doors glide shut with a smooth finality, sealing you off from the world below. Yuqi’s soft chuckle lingers in your mind, faint yet cutting, like the echo of something you can’t quite grasp. Was she mocking you? Warning you? The question gnaws at you, but there’s no time to dwell on it.

The elevator begins its ascent, smoothly but at an unnerving speed, and each floor that flashes by on the display only amplifies your anxiety. By the time you reach the top floor, your heart is pounding, each beat echoing in your ears.

The doors open with a soft chime, and you step out into a long, dimly lit hallway. It’s strikingly different from the bright, bustling lobby below—quiet, almost unnaturally so, with thick carpeting that muffles your footsteps. Floor-to-ceiling windows line one side of the hall, offering a sweeping view of Seoul’s glittering cityscape far below, the lights sprawling endlessly in the night. The silence is profound, almost oppressive, heightening the tension coiling within you.

At the end of the hallway, a single door waits: Room 2601. The numbers gleam in brushed silver, unassuming yet undeniably foreboding.

You approach the door slowly, each step making your breath come shorter, the weight of anticipation settling heavily on your shoulders. Reaching the door, you raise a hand, hesitate for just a moment, then knock. The sound is barely more than a whisper against the thick, quiet air. Then you wait, each second stretching out into tense silence, your mind racing as you imagine the woman behind the door—the woman who is already reshaping the course of your life with a single, strange offer.

Finally, the door opens. Miyeon stands there, poised and composed, her gaze sharp enough to cut through the tension you’ve built up in your mind. Her presence fills the room instantly, commanding and undeniable. The tailored lines of her outfit emphasize her power, every detail of her appearance deliberate, perfected. She doesn’t say anything at first; her cool, assessing eyes are enough to strip you of any lingering confidence.

“Did you sign the contract?” she cuts the silence, her tone calm but unyielding, the question landing with an air of finality. Her gaze doesn’t waver as she waits for your response, clearly expecting nothing less than the truth.

“Yes, Ms. Cho,” you reply automatically, trying to keep your voice steady despite the nervous tightness in your chest.

A faint, almost predatory smile touches her lips, curving with just enough subtlety to unsettle you. “Good.” She takes a step closer, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. The weight of her gaze feels unbearable, as though she’s deciding whether you’re even worth the moment she’s spending on you. “Let’s begin your orientation,” she says smoothly, though there’s something in her tone that makes it feel less like an introduction and more like a trial.

You nod, swallowing hard, trying to push down the uncertainty tightening in your stomach. She watches you for a moment longer, as though savoring your discomfort, then parts her lips, her words delivered with meticulous precision.

“I need to know if you’re capable of handling my needs—whatever they may be,” she says, each syllable deliberately enunciated. Her eyes stay locked on yours as she takes another step forward, her voice low and unyielding. “This position demands complete obedience and total surrender. Is that clear?”

Her words hang in the air, their weight almost suffocating. You hesitate, the gravity of her demand pressing against you. “You…want me to surrender?” The words tumble out before you can stop them, exposing the crack in your resolve.

A flicker of disappointment crosses her face, quick and sharp, like a blade slicing through your hesitation. “Yes.” Her tone is calm, yet there’s an edge to it that leaves no room for misunderstanding. “If you want to work for me, I expect unquestioning compliance.”

She lets the silence stretch, forcing you to absorb the weight of her words, her gaze unrelenting. Then, her expression hardens slightly, and her voice lowers, smooth and controlled. “Do you understand?”

You nod quickly, a flush of heat rising to your cheeks. “Yes, Ms. Cho.”

She pauses, her eyes narrowing further, as if testing your sincerity. Then, with a measured look, she speaks again. “Good. Fetch the bench from the corner.”

The command catches you off guard, but her tone leaves no room for hesitation. You glance around quickly, spotting the object she means. The bench’s design immediately captures your attention—sleek and purposeful, with polished steel legs and padded leather cushions. Its unique height and tilted headrest stand out, clearly crafted with precision, though its exact purpose escapes you. There’s an air of deliberate intent in its construction, as if it was made for something specific, yet unknown to you.

Miyeon’s gaze remains fixed on you as you approach the bench. The weight of her stare makes you hyper-aware of your movements as you grip the sides of the bench and carefully drag it to the center of the room. The polished floor amplifies the sound of the legs sliding into place, each scrape making your pulse quicken. The act feels symbolic, a deliberate display of your compliance, and the tension between you thickens with every passing moment.

When you’ve positioned it where she wants, you glance back at her uncertainty. Her expression remains unreadable, but the faint quirk of her lips suggests satisfaction. She steps closer, her heels clicking softly, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

“Lie down,” she commands, her voice calm yet leaving no room for doubt.

The words catch you again, and you hesitate for a brief moment, your body instinctively stiffening. “Ms. Cho, I—what exactly do you mean by…?”

Her gaze sharpens instantly, silencing you with a single look. Her voice, deceptively soft, cuts through the air like a blade. “Are you questioning me again?” she asks, her tone laced with challenge. “I thought you understood what surrender means. Lie down. Now.”

Her words land with finality, and you feel a flush of shame rise at your hesitation. Swallowing hard, you nod and lower yourself onto the bench, the cool leather pressing against your back as you settle in. The elevated headrest cradles your head, tilting your face upward as though the bench itself is positioning you for her. The chill of the leather seeps into your skin, grounding you in the moment, while the faint scent of her perfume lingers in the air, mingling with the tension that fills the room.

Miyeon steps closer, standing above you, her presence towering, her gaze unbroken. Slowly, deliberately, she reaches down and hikes her skirt up to her hips, revealing toned thighs and the delicate edge of lace. Her movements are smooth, calculated, as if every motion is part of a performance meant to remind you of your place. She slips her panties to the side with practiced ease, her poise never faltering, and positions herself above you.

Her movements are deliberate as she lowers herself onto the bench, aligning her body perfectly with yours. The height of the bench leaves her perfectly positioned—not too low, ensuring her weight presses against you with satisfying firmness, yet not so high that she feels unsupported. The angle of your head allows her to settle fully, her thighs bracketing your face as her warmth and presence close in around you. The air feels thick with her scent—rich, musky, and faintly floral—flooding your senses and leaving your head spinning before she’s even settled fully.

Leaning forward, she braces herself on the bottom of the headrest, her hands naturally finding the spots perfectly molded for her grip. The design seems intentional, as if tailored for this very moment. Her fingers tighten briefly as she steadies herself, her gaze flicking down to meet yours. There’s no softness in her expression, only a sharp, expectant coolness that cuts through the haze clouding your mind.

“Stay still,” she murmurs, her voice calm but carrying the weight of command. The words feel like a seal on the moment, binding you to her expectations. Then, with deliberate ease, she presses down, enveloping you completely.

Your world narrows to her—the pressure, the weight, the intoxicating heat of her body as it moves against you. Tentatively, you extend your tongue, pressing it to her for the first time. Her taste floods your senses, earthy and rich, tinged with the saltiness of her skin. It’s overwhelming, disorienting, but also grounding, her presence completely consuming every thought, every breath. Encouraged by the faint shift of her hips, you try again, moving with more intention. You let your tongue trace slow, deliberate strokes, convinced you’re finding the rhythm she expects.

Her thighs press firmly against your head, creating a perfect seal that traps you beneath her. The leather of the bench beneath you feels immovable, your position leaving you utterly at her mercy. With her weight pressing down, each inhale becomes a struggle, your breaths reduced to shallow pulls of air through your nose—and every one of them is filled with her. Her scent is heady, musky, and floral, a potent blend that seeps into your senses and clouds your thoughts. It feels like you’re breathing her in completely, your lungs filled with nothing but her presence.

Her body feels warm, responsive, as though she’s relaxing against you, her hips beginning to move in slow, deliberate rolls. The grind of her pelvis against your face is measured, controlled, and demanding, and you adjust your movements instinctively, matching her pace. Her thighs tighten subtly around your head, holding you even more firmly in place, leaving no room for error, no room for escape. You feel every shift, every slight increase in pressure, and interpret it as a signal that you’re doing something right.

The faint tension in her breathing seems to deepen, her exhalations growing slightly louder, and you take it as a sign to focus more, to give her exactly what she needs. You adjust your tongue, letting it trace patterns you think she’ll enjoy, responding to the subtle cues in the way her hips shift. Her warmth spreads against you, slick and inviting, and you press more firmly, convinced you’re making progress, that she’s responding to your efforts.

Her scent grows stronger, mingling with the heat radiating from her skin, and you lose yourself in the rhythm she’s setting. Each movement feels purposeful, deliberate, as if you’re aligning perfectly with her desires. Her faint exhalations become the only sound you can hear, soft and measured, a quiet reward that urges you to keep going, to match her pace with precision. Her thighs flex against your head, squeezing slightly, and her hips grind down harder, forcing you to adjust to her increasing demands.

Trapped between her thighs, the pressure becomes all-encompassing, the weight of her pressing down leaving you barely able to think beyond her. Each inhale feels heavier, as though her scent is suffocating you in the most intoxicating way. You pour everything into your movements, your tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles, convinced that her silence is approval, that the steady roll of her hips means you’ve found exactly what she wants.

The seconds stretch into minutes, your efforts intensifying as her body shifts with increasing deliberation. The grind of her hips becomes more insistent, demanding, and you press harder, moving your tongue with more purpose. The pressure of her weight feels all-encompassing, her thighs gripping your head tightly, leaving you immobile, entirely at her mercy. You focus entirely on her, responding to her every movement, certain that you’re meeting her expectations.

Then, you feel it—a subtle, unmistakable slickness spreading against your tongue. It’s warm, intoxicating, and sends a jolt of confidence through you. Her arousal feels like confirmation, a silent acknowledgment that you’re doing something right. You match her movements with renewed focus, interpreting the growing wetness as proof of your success.

But then, without warning, her weight lifts.

The sudden loss of pressure is startling, disorienting, and you blink against the light as your eyes flutter open. The brightness of the room feels blinding, a harsh contrast to the cocoon of warmth and scent you’d been engulfed in. Her essence still lingers heavily in the air, clinging to you, intoxicating, making your head spin like you’ve been drinking something far too strong.

“Wait…” you murmur, the word slipping out unbidden as she rises fully. Without thinking, you push upward, your body instinctively trying to follow hers, desperate to maintain the contact, to hold onto the sensation. You feel drunk, untethered, and you try to lift your head toward her, as if that alone could pull her back down.

But Miyeon moves with calm, dismissive ease, pulling her skirt down and smoothing it into place with the same practiced precision she began with. She steps off the bench, her movements steady and composed, as though what just happened was a passing thought, nothing more than a fleeting interruption.

Her expression remains untouched by the moment, her gaze sharp and appraising as she looks down at you. The cool detachment in her eyes feels like a splash of cold water, banishing the haze that had clouded your mind. The confidence you felt just moments ago evaporates as she folds her arms, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Time’s up,” she says smoothly, her tone businesslike, almost bored. There’s no emotion, no warmth in her voice, as though she’s closing a meeting rather than commenting on your performance.

You sit up slowly, your body unsteady, your breath uneven as you try to process what just happened. The remnants of her scent and taste cling to you, making your head feel light, dizzy, as though you’re still intoxicated by her presence. Your mind clings desperately to the moments when you thought she was responding—the subtle shifts, the pressing weight of her hips, the slick warmth of her against you. You were so sure you’d succeeded, but the cold finality of her words shatters that illusion.

Miyeon steps back, her expression unchanging as she watches you. Her gaze remains fixed, cool and detached, giving nothing away. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, as you wait for her to say something, anything, that might redeem the moment.

But she doesn’t. Her stance, her tone, her movements—all of it makes one thing clear: you’ve fallen short.

Her silence stretches, heavy and oppressive, before she finally speaks.

“You get a C,” she says, her voice unhurried, calm, and somehow all the more cutting for it. Each word lands with surgical precision, slicing through the hope you’d just started to build. Her tone is devoid of emotion, her expression cold and detached, as though grading a forgettable report. “You missed the mark entirely.”

The words feel like a punch, knocking the breath from your lungs. You stare at her, struggling to process, grappling with the sudden weight of failure. “You’re giving me a…C? But I thought—I felt you get wet, Ms. Cho. I thought…”

Her eyes narrow just slightly, enough to silence you before you can finish. The room feels colder as her gaze sharpens, pinning you in place.

“Did you?” she replies, her tone so detached it feels clinical. “Just because my body has natural reactions doesn’t mean you were doing anything remarkable. Don’t confuse basic biological responses with skill.”

Her words hit like ice water, cutting through the fog of your confusion and hope. She takes a step closer, her presence looming, her expression hardening as she begins to dissect your performance with brutal precision.

“Your efforts lacked strength,” she begins, her voice carrying a steely edge. “Your tongue was weak—unfocused. No rhythm, no consistency. I set a pace for you, and you couldn’t even manage that.”

She pauses, letting the words sink in, her critical gaze sweeping over you as though she’s already dismissed you. The weight of her disappointment presses down harder than her thighs ever did.

“And you completely ignored my clit,” she continues, her tone growing colder, harsher, each syllable cutting deeper. “I practically guided you there, made it obvious, yet somehow, you missed the most important part.” Her lips curl into a faint smirk, but there’s no humor in it, only a razor-sharp derision. “I even grinded myself against you, practically handing you the answer, and still, you failed to deliver.”

Her words are relentless, brutal. Each one dissects a flaw you hadn’t even realized, exposing every weak point you thought you’d hidden. It’s as if she’s stripping you down to the core, piece by piece, revealing everything you couldn’t see in yourself.

She takes a measured step back, her voice dropping lower, colder. “The bare minimum,” she says, enunciating each word with icy precision, “is to make me cum. And you couldn’t even come close to doing that.”

The words hit like a hammer, reverberating in the silence that follows. The finality in her tone leaves no room for argument, no possibility for redemption. Her gaze remains fixed on you, sharp and unwavering, her disappointment so palpable it feels like it’s physically crushing you.

“I don’t need someone who merely tries,” she continues, her tone growing colder still, like frost spreading across the room. “I need someone who performs, who instinctively understands what I require without me having to spell it out. Excellence isn’t negotiable in this position.

The words leave you hollow, your confidence shattered under the force of her critique. Each syllable lands with precision, tearing apart every scrap of pride or hope you’d felt during the act. The air feels suffocating, thick with the weight of her disappointment.

“Please, Ms. Cho,” you manage, forcing the words out even as a lump rises in your throat. “Give me another chance. I can do better—I’ll work on everything you said, I’ll improve if you just—”

She raises a hand, cutting you off, her expression turning to stone. The gesture alone silences you, her gaze cold and unrelenting.

“There won’t be another chance,” she states, the words cold and final. “Not here. I don’t invest my time in mediocrity.”

Her dismissal feels absolute. Her attention shifts away from you, as though you’re no longer worth a moment of her time. She steps back to her desk, picking up a pen with the same calm precision she’s shown all evening, and resumes her work without so much as a glance in your direction. The sound of the pen scratching against paper feels deafening in the silence.

“You may leave,” she says coolly, her tone as unyielding as stone. “This position requires skill, precision, instinct—and you’ve shown none of those.”

The words hang heavy in the air, sharp and final, cutting through the silence like a gavel. Your body feels frozen in place, unable to move as the weight of her judgment presses down on you. Slowly, numbly, you rise, your legs unsteady beneath you, your chest tight with the sting of failure.

Each step toward the door feels heavier than the last, your mind replaying her critique with relentless clarity. The sharpness of her dismissal leaves you feeling stripped bare, your confidence shattered completely. You’d thought you’d done well, thought you’d sensed her responding, but her cold, clinical analysis has left no room for doubt. You fell short—entirely.

As you reach the door, you glance back once, hoping for even a flicker of warmth or reconsideration in her expression. But Miyeon’s gaze remains fixed on her paperwork, her focus already shifted, as though you’ve ceased to exist in her world.

You leave, her scent and the weight of her words lingering heavily in the air around you, each step away from her office feeling like another layer of failure pressing down.

The weight of her words settles heavily in the silence that follows, each one lingering in the air like a closing door. You stand, feeling hollow, the sting of failure biting deep. Each step toward the door feels impossibly heavy, as if you’re dragging your very sense of self along with you. Her critique replays in your mind, each cutting line driving the shame and disappointment deeper. By the time you reach the door, her dismissal has stripped you of whatever pride you had left, leaving you exposed and aching with the sting of her judgment.

As you step out of the building, the scent of her perfume still clings to the air around you, subtle but intoxicating. Her taste lingers on your lips, and her piercing gaze haunts your thoughts, replaying again and again with relentless clarity. You can’t stop thinking about every moment, every mistake, every opportunity you missed. Her words echo in your mind, each replay stinging more than the last, but beneath the pain and disappointment, something else lingers—a pull, an inexplicable need.

There’s something magnetic about her, something that refuses to let go. The effortless authority she carried, the way she dismissed you without a second glance—it’s intoxicating, a force that leaves you restless, unsettled. The intensity of her presence lingers, drawing you back even as the humiliation burns. Somehow, you want another chance, not to prove yourself to anyone else but to her—to earn her approval, to be exactly what she demanded.

-----

The morning after that unforgettable Monday encounter with Miyeon, you wake with her still lingering in your mind—her voice, her scent, the calm precision with which she had dismissed you. The memory of her critique, her unyielding detachment, plays over and over, cutting deeper each time. Somehow, she has taken root in your thoughts, filling them in a way you can’t ignore. Her essence lingers—not just a memory but something that feels alive, woven into every corner of your mind, unrelenting and impossible to shake.

The café where you usually spend your mornings feels miles away, though it’s just down the block. Instead of showing up to your shift, you find yourself sitting at your small kitchen table, staring blankly at your phone, waiting for something—anything—that might offer a way forward. The thought of pouring coffee, of going through the motions while she dominates your thoughts, feels unbearable.

By late morning, desperation pushes you to try a respectful, measured call to her office. Yuqi’s voice is professional, polite, and painfully impersonal. You introduce yourself, forcing your tone to stay steady even as urgency tinges every word.

“I wanted to see if Ms. Cho might be open to reconsidering…” you begin, your heart pounding with every syllable. “I know I didn’t meet her expectations, but if I could just speak with her, I’m sure I could—”

“She’s made her decision,” Yuqi replies with finality, her words cool and unyielding. “Ms. Cho has a very clear standard.”

The line goes silent, and you’re left holding the phone, the emptiness pressing down on you like a weight. Your heart sinks, but the idea of giving up feels unbearable. That night, you sit down at your desk, composing an email that takes far longer than it should. Every word feels inadequate, yet you pour your sincerity into each sentence. You admit your mistakes, express your deep respect for her, and humbly ask for another chance. As you hit send, you close your eyes and release a shaky breath, hoping your words will reach her, that she’ll sense your sincerity.

By the next morning, there’s no reply. The café calls to ask if you’re coming in, but you barely register the message. You can’t go back—not yet. The silence from Miyeon feels sharper now, amplifying your anxiety. Without thinking twice, you call her office again. This time, your tone carries a quiet urgency, though you fight to keep it professional.

“I understand Ms. Cho’s standards are high,” you say softly, your voice earnest, almost pleading. “But I know I can meet them. I just need a chance to show her.”

The rest of the day drags, heavy with unanswered questions. As evening falls, you find yourself composing another email, this time rawer, more vulnerable. You lay everything bare—your mistakes, your desire to improve, and just how much this opportunity means to you. With trembling hands, you hit send, feeling both exposed and hopeful.

By midweek, the desperation gnaws at you like a dull ache that refuses to leave. Miyeon has somehow consumed your every thought. Her presence is no longer just a memory—it feels like she’s there, looming in the edges of your mind, controlling your every emotion. Her scent, her voice, her unyielding control—they haunt you in the quiet moments, filling your chest with a weight that grows heavier with each passing day.

You’ve stopped checking your work schedule entirely. The thought of being surrounded by noise and chatter while Miyeon’s critique echoes in your mind is unbearable. It’s as if nothing else matters but reaching her, proving yourself worthy of her attention, her approval.

That afternoon, you decide to go in person. Nerves buzz under your skin as you step into the sleek lobby of Ascend International, the company’s towering headquarters. Yuqi greets you at the desk with a polite but distant smile, her practiced professionalism impossible to crack.

“Hi,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m here to leave a message for Ms. Cho. I’d like to speak with her if she’s available.”

Her smile doesn’t waver, though there’s a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. “I’ll be sure she receives your message,” she says with polite finality.

As you walk away, hope mingles with dread. You tell yourself she must know—must feel—how far you’re willing to go to prove yourself. It’s impossible to imagine her being unaware of your persistence, of how deeply she’s embedded herself into your thoughts. Yet the silence continues to gnaw at you, relentless in its clarity.

Thursday passes in a haze. You leave another voicemail, your voice trembling with the weight of your growing need.

“Please,” you say softly, almost whispering into the receiver. “I know I fell short. But if she would just allow me one more chance, I won’t disappoint her.”

The intensity of your plea surprises even you, but at this point, pride is irrelevant. You’d give anything just for the chance to redeem yourself. As you leave the office, you find yourself in the lobby once more, hoping for even the faintest sign of acknowledgment. Yuqi looks at you with that same polite sympathy, her small kindness like a bitter reminder that you’re clinging to something fragile.

By Friday morning, the week’s silence feels unbearable. Every unanswered call, every unread email, weighs on you like a sentence passed. Miyeon’s critique plays in your mind with brutal clarity, her voice sharp and cutting as she dismisses you. It’s as if she left a part of herself with you, tethering you to her, drawing you back no matter how much it stings. You can’t let her go, and yet you fear that every effort has been futile.

Then, just when your resolve begins to waver, your phone rings. The unknown number on the screen sends your pulse racing, and you answer with shaky hands.

“Ms. Cho has agreed to see you,” Yuqi announces, her tone brisk and efficient. “Tonight at 8 p.m. sharp. Do not be late.”

Relief crashes over you like a wave, your heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and gratitude. You’ve been granted another chance—a chance to prove yourself, to rise to her impossible standards. As you hang up, the tension that has consumed you all week begins to dissipate, replaced by a renewed determination. Tonight, everything will change

-----

By 7:30 p.m., you’re pacing in the sleek lobby of Ascend International, nerves thrumming under your skin like a live wire. The building’s towering glass walls reflect the city’s lights, casting long shadows across the pristine marble floor. Yuqi sits at her desk, her posture casual yet poised, her sharp eyes occasionally flicking up to you as you move restlessly.

When the clock hits 7:40, you finally gather the courage to approach her desk. Yuqi’s gaze snaps to you, her lips curving into a faint smirk as she leans forward slightly, her tone light and teasing. “Nervous?” she asks, though it’s clear she already knows the answer.

You nod, swallowing hard. “She’s expecting me,” you manage, trying to keep your voice steady, though it cracks slightly under the weight of your nerves.

Yuqi doesn’t hide her amusement. “Oh, I know,” she replies, her tone bordering on playful, though there’s something sharp beneath it. She taps a perfectly manicured nail against her desk before gesturing toward the elevator. “Same room. You’re cutting it close, so I’d suggest moving quickly. Miyeon’s not known for her patience.”

Her words make your pulse quicken, and you nod quickly, stepping toward the elevator. But just as the doors slide open, Yuqi calls out, her voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. “Good luck,” she says, a hint of mock pity in her tone. “You’ll need it.”

The elevator ride feels endless, the quiet hum of the machinery doing nothing to calm your racing thoughts. By the time you reach the top floor, your hands are trembling, and a bead of sweat rolls down your temple. You step out into a long, dimly lit hallway, its polished floors gleaming beneath your shoes. The door to Miyeon’s office looms at the end, imposing and unyielding, and you force yourself to move forward, each step heavier than the last.

At exactly 7:45, you’re standing outside Miyeon’s office. The weight of the moment presses down on you, suffocating, as you glance at the sleek double doors. This is it—the culmination of a week spent consumed by thoughts of her, by desperation, by the need to redeem yourself. Her dismissal on Monday has been looping in your mind, relentless and unforgiving, and you’ve been preparing for this moment every second since.

Taking a deep breath, you press your hand to the door and push it open.

The atmosphere inside Miyeon’s office is heavy, almost oppressive. Everything about the space exudes power, from the minimalist decor to the sharp angles of her desk.

Miyeon is seated behind it, her posture as precise as ever, her face unreadable. Tonight, though, there’s a sharpness to her expression, a tension in the way her hands rest on the desk. Her gaze lands on you the moment you step inside, freezing you in place. Her eyes are piercing, cutting straight through any pretense of confidence you’ve tried to muster.

“You’re back,” she says, her voice sharper than you remember, each word clipped and deliberate. The skepticism in her tone slices through the air, leaving no room for pretense. She lets the silence linger, her gaze unrelenting, before she adds, “I suppose you’re here to prove something.”

“Yes, Ms. Cho,” you manage, forcing yourself to stand taller, to appear more confident than you feel. Your voice is steady, but inside, you’re unraveling under her scrutiny. “I’m ready to meet your standards.”

Her lips curl into the faintest smirk, though it holds no warmth. If anything, it feels like a challenge, an unspoken test to see if you’ll falter. She stands slowly, her movements deliberate, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she rounds the desk. Every step feels measured, calculated, as if she’s sizing you up all over again.

When she reaches you, her gaze doesn’t waver. She tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. “You’ve had an entire week to think about Monday,” she says, her tone cool, almost conversational. “Tell me—what makes you think this time will be any different?”

You swallow hard, the question hitting you like a punch to the gut. “I’ve… I’ve thought about everything you said, Ms. Cho,” you reply, your voice quieter now, but no less determined. “I know I fell short, but I’ve prepared. I’m ready to prove that I can meet your expectations.”

Her eyes flicker, the faintest glimmer of something unreadable passing through them. She doesn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch until your nerves feel like they’re about to snap. Then, with a brisk motion, she gestures toward the center of the room.

“Then show me,” she says simply, her voice low but charged with authority. “And don’t waste my time.”

Without needing further instruction, you step toward the corner of the room where the bench waits, sleek and polished under the dim office lights. You retrieve it carefully, its weight familiar in your hands, and position it in the center of the room. The leather gleams, the elevated headrest perfectly angled for what you know is to come, designed to cradle you in place beneath her.

You lower yourself onto the bench, the leather cool and firm beneath you, grounding you as you settle into position. The headrest cradles your head, tilting your face upward in a way that leaves you open, exposed, perfectly aligned beneath her. Your breath quickens as Miyeon steps closer, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Each step feels deliberate, each sound echoing the weight of your expectations.

She stops just in front of you, her sharp gaze sweeping over you, calm and detached, as though calculating every detail. Without a word, she slips off her heels and sets them aside. Her fingers move to the hem of her skirt, gathering the fabric upward with fluid grace. Her thighs come into view, smooth and commanding, a contrast of elegance and strength. The edge of her lace panties teases at your vision before she moves them aside with a simple, routine motion.

Her scent—muskier, richer than you remembered—immediately fills the air. It’s overwhelming, a heady blend of something primal and intimate, saturating your senses as she steps forward and positions herself above you. It’s a smell that haunted you this entire week, lingering like an ache in the back of your mind. You’d tried to forget, to push it aside, but nothing could dull the memory of her—the way she consumed you so entirely, only to dismiss you without a second thought. Now, as her warmth radiates above you, it feels like you’re being granted water in a desert, but only if you can prove you’re worthy to drink.

When she lowers herself, her weight presses down fully, engulfing you in her presence. Her thighs press against your cheeks, trapping you completely beneath her. Each shallow breath you manage is filled entirely with her scent, and for a moment, you’re paralyzed by how familiar it feels, how much you’d been craving this. It’s as though the week of rejection, of begging for this chance, has only amplified your hunger. Nothing else could satisfy you but her.

Tentatively, you begin, pressing your tongue to her with slow, cautious strokes. Her taste fills your senses—earthy and rich, tinged with saltiness, intensely familiar and utterly consuming. The longing you’ve carried for days surges forward, and you push past your hesitation, tracing deliberate patterns as you adjust to the faint shifts of her body. Her warmth grows against you, and you focus entirely on her, on the faint signals she gives—the flex of her thighs, the subtle tilt of her hips.

Her breathing remains steady, restrained, and her body feels poised, in control, as if she’s still testing you. You move with more purpose, pressing your tongue more firmly, hoping to draw a reaction, to prove you’ve learned. Her hips begin to move slightly, setting a measured rhythm, and you match it, your tongue tracing careful circles in time with her movements.

Her thighs tighten slightly, holding you in place, and her warmth presses against you more firmly. For a fleeting moment, you think you’re succeeding, that you’re drawing her into the moment. But then, her weight begins to lift.

The change is subtle at first—the brief press of her thighs as they shift upward—but it’s enough to make your heart drop. Her warmth pulls away, leaving a sudden void that feels unbearable. Her expression is faintly impatient as she rises, her movements deliberate, as though confirming what she already suspected: that you’ve failed her again.

A horrible sense of déjà vu washes over you, sharp and unrelenting. The rejection from your first evaluation, the cold detachment in her voice, all come rushing back, amplifying the ache in your chest. The memory of that moment has haunted you all week, and now it feels as though it’s happening all over again. Panic claws at you, raw and immediate.

Her voice cuts through the silence, low and unimpressed. “I see you haven’t learned anything.”

The words slice through you, sharp and final, and desperation surges in their wake. You can’t let her leave—not again. Before she can move further, you reach up, your hands trembling as they find her hips, gently but firmly holding her in place. Your lips brush against her folds, pressing soft, pleading kisses that linger just a moment longer than they should.

“Please, Ms. Cho,” you whisper against her, your voice breaking. “Don’t leave. I know I can do better. Please—just let me try.”

She doesn’t move. You press another kiss to her, slower this time, the desperation in you mounting. “Please,” you murmur, your voice shaking. “I need this. I need to show you. I won’t fail you.”

Another kiss. She doesn’t lower herself, doesn’t speak, and the silence feels crushing. Your kisses grow more frantic, more desperate, your lips trembling as you pour every ounce of pleading into them.

“Don’t go,” you whisper between kisses, your voice cracking with emotion. “Please, Ms. Cho. I’ll do anything—just give me this chance. Let me prove I can please you.”

You press another kiss, and this time it lingers, your lips soft and reverent against her warmth. “Please…” you murmur again, the word barely audible, carrying the weight of everything you’ve felt this past week—the sleepless nights, the ache in your chest, the obsessive need to have this moment again.

For a moment, the air is suffocatingly still. Her body remains poised above you, her thighs tense, her piercing gaze boring into yours, unreadable and unwavering. You’re left hanging, each second dragging painfully as you wait for her to decide if your pleading, your desperation, is enough.

Finally, she shifts, lowering herself back down slowly, deliberately. Her weight settles on you again with a quiet finality, her thighs bracketing your face and trapping you completely beneath her warmth. Her presence floods your senses again, her scent, her taste, her closeness—more consuming now, more intense after nearly losing it.

“Continue,” she says, her tone clipped and cold, leaving no room for hesitation. “This is your last chance.”

Her words settle heavily in the air, fueling your determination. She lowers herself slowly, her weight pressing down on you with deliberate command. Her warmth engulfs you completely, her thighs framing your head, trapping you in place. Her scent surrounds you—intense, musky, and deeply familiar, stirring the longing that had haunted you since her rejection. This is your moment, your chance to prove yourself, and you won’t squander it.

You press your tongue to her carefully at first, savoring the sensation. Her taste floods your senses—earthy, slightly salty, and utterly her. It’s overwhelming, a reminder of everything you’ve been craving since that first evaluation. You move cautiously, tracing along her in slow, deliberate strokes, letting her subtle shifts guide you.

As you work, her hips begin to move slightly, a faint rhythm that you match immediately. You focus entirely on her clit, finding it with purpose and letting your tongue trace precise circles over the sensitive spot. Her body responds subtly at first—a slight flex of her thighs, a faint deepening of her breathing—but then she begins to grind against you, her movements deliberate, setting a demanding pace.

Her thighs tighten around your head, holding you firmly, and her warmth spreads against you as her arousal builds. The faint scent of her grows stronger, more intoxicating with each passing moment. The low sounds that escape her—soft, unrestrained moans—cut through the silence, quiet but impossible to miss. The sound of her pleasure fills you with renewed purpose, driving you to push harder, to make her lose the control she clings to so tightly.

You adjust seamlessly to her movements, your tongue pressing more firmly as her hips set a rhythm that grows more demanding with each passing second. The warmth of her envelops you completely, her scent thick and intoxicating, saturating your senses until nothing else exists. Her thighs flex around your head, tightening their hold, as if to anchor herself against the rising tide of sensation. Every inhale you take is filled with her, each shallow breath a reminder of the position she holds over you.

Her soft moans slip past her lips, each one slightly louder than the last, their restrained nature fraying at the edges. The controlled grace she carried moments ago begins to falter, her movements sharpening as her hips grind against your tongue with increasing insistence. You respond instinctively, letting your tongue trace circles that align perfectly with her pace, adjusting to every subtle cue her body gives.

Her thighs tremble against your cheeks, their strength faltering as the tension in her body builds. The moans grow breathier, tinged with urgency, and her weight presses down more fully, holding you in place beneath her. Her breathing becomes uneven, hitching with every deliberate motion of your tongue as you follow her lead, unrelenting in your efforts to meet her every need.

Suddenly, her movements grow erratic, the control she held so tightly slipping entirely. Her body tenses above you, her thighs clenching tightly around your head, cutting off your world to everything but her. A sharp, shuddering moan escapes her lips, low and unrestrained, the sound raw and involuntary. Her hips press down fully, grinding against your tongue with forceful, almost frantic motions, riding the crest of her climax.

Her body tightens completely, trembling violently as wave after wave of pleasure overtakes her. You remain steady beneath her, your tongue moving with careful persistence, guiding her through every pulse, drawing out each lingering sensation. Her knuckles whiten as her grip on the head rest tighten, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps.

For a long moment, she remains like that—tense, trembling, pressing herself fully against you as the final shudders of release course through her. Only when her body begins to relax does her grip loosen, her thighs softening their hold on your head. Even then, you don’t stop entirely, your movements gentle now, offering a last, tender caress as her breathing begins to steady once more.

Her breathing slows as her movements begin to still, her weight easing slightly as she lifts herself just enough to create space. But as her warmth pulls away, a thought flashes through your mind: this isn’t enough. You can’t just meet her expectations—you need to surpass them.

Sliding your hands up, you let your palms glide over the curve of her hips, steadying her as you adjust her position slightly. Your fingers trail downward, curling firmly to grab handfuls of her cheeks. The sensation of her soft skin under your hands is electrifying, and you feel the tension in her body shift as you grip her firmly. You spread her open with care, creating the perfect angle to access her most sensitive, tightest spot. It’s a bold move—one she hasn’t guided you to, one she hasn’t even hinted at—but you know you need to take this risk. You have to make yourself unforgettable.

With deliberate intent, your tongue traces lower, teasing the sensitive curve of her entrance before pressing further, exploring the tight ring of her ass. The sensation is new, unexpected, and her reaction is immediate.

Her body jolts slightly, her hips lifting momentarily in surprise as a sharp, breathy gasp escapes her lips. For a split second, your heart races, unsure if you’ve overstepped. But then her hips press back down against you, a reflexive movement that tells you everything you need to know. Her thighs tremble against your cheeks as her weight shifts fully onto your face, and the tension in her body gives way to something rawer, more unrestrained.

Her moans begin to spill freely now, soft and breathy at first, slipping past the tight control she holds so carefully. The sound fuels you, driving you to press deeper, to let your tongue move in slow, deliberate circles over her most sensitive areas. Her grip on the desk falters as her hips grind harder against you, her movements growing more erratic, more demanding.

You alternate between her ass and her folds, moving with seamless precision. Your tongue delves deeply, savoring her, while your nose brushes against her slick warmth with each shift. Her hips jerk, grinding against your face as though her body can’t decide which sensation to crave more. The weight of her bears down heavily, leaving you struggling for air, but all you can think about is her. Every detail—the way her thighs tighten around your head, the faint tremble in her muscles, the unrestrained sounds spilling from her lips—it consumes you entirely.

Her thighs shift slightly, and then, with a deliberate motion, she lifts her legs off the floor, letting her entire weight press fully onto you. The headrest beneath you creaks slightly, adjusting to the added pressure as she settles in, trapping you completely beneath her. The shift is overwhelming, her body sinking into yours entirely, her warmth and slickness engulfing your senses. Each shallow breath you manage is filled with her scent, and the sensation is intoxicating.

Your hands tighten on her cheeks, spreading her wider as you focus entirely on her ass. You let your tongue explore deeply, pressing into her with slow, deliberate strokes, circling and teasing the sensitive area with unrelenting purpose. Her body tenses above you, her thighs trembling violently as her breathing turns ragged and uneven. Each exhale is sharp, shaky, and punctuated by guttural moans that grow louder and less restrained as she begins to lose control.

Her hips grind down against your face, her rhythm faltering, her movements desperate. Her breathing becomes erratic, catching with each flick of your tongue, until the sounds spilling from her lips dissolve into broken gasps. The pressure of her weight presses down harder, and her thighs clamp around your head with such force that it feels like she’s grounding herself entirely in you, refusing to let you go.

Her body begins to quake above you, losing all rhythm as her hips move erratically, chasing the sensations building within her. Her breathing stutters sharply, and then, with one raw, unrestrained cry—the loudest, most primal moan you’ve ever heard from her—her climax overtakes her.

Her entire body shudders violently, her hips grinding down fully, pressing you deeper into the headrest as she rides out wave after wave of intense pleasure. Her slick wetness spills onto your face, warm and undeniable, marking the raw power of her release. The sensation spurs you on, your tongue moving with soft but purposeful strokes, coaxing every last tremor from her body.

Her thighs quiver uncontrollably, gripping your head like a vice as she rides through the overwhelming storm of her climax. Each moan spills from her lips in sharp, uneven bursts, her control shattered entirely. Her grip on the headrest tightens, her knuckles white, as though anchoring herself against the intensity of the moment.

You can feel her unraveling completely, her body vibrating with aftershocks that seem to go on forever. Her weight remains heavy on you, holding you in place as she takes in shallow, ragged breaths, her body still trembling with the echoes of her release. Even as her movements begin to slow, her thighs remain locked around you, as though she’s reluctant to let go of the sensation. Every ounce of her focus is still on you, every ounce of yours entirely on her.

Finally, her body begins to relax. Her breathing slows, and her thighs loosen their hold, trembling slightly as she lifts herself off you with deliberate care. Her legs are unsteady as she straightens, smoothing her skirt with the practiced precision you’ve come to expect. Her breathing is still uneven, her chest rising and falling as she regains her composure.

For a moment, she stands there silently, her gaze heavy and unreadable as it lingers on you. The scent of her, the taste of her, clings to you, saturating your senses entirely. The room feels charged, her presence commanding even in stillness. You dare not assume anything—she’s still the one in control, and any sign of approval must come from her. Yet, in the weight of her silence, you can’t help but feel that you’ve done something right.

Her chest rises and falls evenly as she regains her composure, her expression remaining as poised and inscrutable as ever. You think you’ve proven yourself, think you’ve risen to her exacting standards, but the thought lingers, unspoken, as you wait. Every second stretches, heavy with anticipation, until finally, she speaks.

“Well done,” she murmurs, her tone softer than usual but still carrying that commanding edge. The weight of her approval lands squarely on you, and a quiet sense of pride begins to unfurl in your chest. Then, with a slight glance back at you, her lips curve in what could almost be a smile—subtle, fleeting, but unmistakable.

“Bold,” she says, her tone as measured as ever, but there’s a hint of something beneath it—impressed. “Unexpected, but… effective.”

The words hit you like a wave, filling your chest with pride, though you keep your expression neutral, refusing to let the satisfaction show too openly. Still, the acknowledgment lingers, affirming that your risk wasn’t just noticed but appreciated.

“Report here Monday morning,” she continues briskly, her tone returning to business. “You’ve earned your place.”

Her words hang in the air, settling over you like a blanket of relief. You don’t let the triumph show too openly, knowing she’s still watching you, but a quiet sense of accomplishment blooms within. She turns away, stepping back toward her desk with deliberate, unhurried movements, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. The sound carries finality, a subtle dismissal, but also an acknowledgment of what you’ve achieved.

You remain where you are for a moment, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath, her scent and taste still vivid, still clinging to you. The weight of her words settles warmly over you—a victory hard won, a moment of validation you’ll carry with you. You’ve proven yourself tonight, but you know better than to assume it’s enough. This is only the beginning.

A faint trace of satisfaction flickers across her face as she glances at you one last time, her gaze lingering briefly before returning to her work. With an elegant nod, she dismisses you, her attention already shifting back to her desk.

Carefully, you rise, your legs unsteady from the intensity of the moment. Before leaving, you reach for the bench, the familiar weight grounding you as you lift it and carry it back to its original place in the corner of the room. The small act feels significant, almost ceremonial, as though returning it to its spot closes this chapter of the evening. Once it’s in place, you step back, sparing a glance at Miyeon, who is already engrossed in her work, her demeanor as composed as ever.

Each step toward the door feels deliberate, carrying the weight of everything it took to earn this moment. As you leave her office, the memory of her words—and her body—lingers in your mind, a reminder of what you’ve achieved and what’s still expected of you.

The quiet buzz of the building greets you as you exit, a stark contrast to the intensity of the room you just left. The evening air feels cooler, crisper, as you step outside, but the warmth of her approval stays with you. Miyeon’s words echo in your mind, solidifying the pride swelling in your chest.

“Bold. Unexpected, but effective.”

Those words, more than anything, stay with you, reminding you of the risks you took and the reward you earned. Monday will bring new challenges, but for the first time, you feel fully prepared to meet them. You’ve been given a chance to prove yourself again, and you’re determined to exceed every expectation.

-----

Back in the office, after the door softly clicks shut, Yuqi steps inside and leans against the frame, arms crossed and a smirk on her lips. “Alright, spill,” she teases. “What’s the deal? You actually allowed a second chance? I thought that wasn’t your thing.”

Miyeon glances up from her desk, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Oh, please. I knew from the start I was going to,” she says smoothly. “There was potential. I just needed to see it under the right conditions.”

Yuqi raises an eyebrow, the smirk widening. “So the whole week of calls and emails? You’re telling me that wasn’t just for your entertainment?”

A faint smile curves Miyeon’s lips as she leans back in her chair. “Maybe I enjoyed it,” she admits. “But desperation does something extraordinary—it strips away everything unnecessary. What’s left is either weakness or strength.”

“You and your tests,” Yuqi mutters, shaking her head with a laugh. “You could’ve just brought it up on Monday.”

“That wouldn’t have shown me what I needed to see,” Miyeon replies with a knowing glance. “Pressure reveals everything. It’s like a diamond—only the right conditions bring it out.”

“Wow,” Yuqi says, stepping forward to nudge Miyeon’s shoulder lightly. “Soft-hearted Cho strikes again. Admit it, you like a little drama.”

Miyeon chuckles, her tone turning playful. “Only when the effort is worth watching.”

“Noted,” Yuqi replies, heading for the door with an exaggerated wave. “Don’t worry, I’ll mark this historic event down. Second chances with Miyeon Cho—they’re like spotting Bigfoot. Rare and highly debated.”

Miyeon shakes her head, unable to suppress a laugh. “Get out of here, Yuqi.”

Yuqi grins, pausing at the door. “Hey, if you get bored over the weekend, you know where to find me. Or maybe I’ll just swing by Monday with popcorn to watch the show.”

Miyeon points to the door, her expression feigned exasperation. “Out.”

“Fine, fine,” Yuqi says, throwing her hands up in mock surrender before slipping through the door with a grin. “Don’t get too sentimental on me, boss.”

As the door closes behind her, Miyeon’s smile lingers. Her gaze drifts back to the now-empty space, thoughtful yet satisfied. She had known all along what could be achieved, but sometimes the right kind of desperation was the key. Pressure, determination, and grit—it all had to surface naturally, and it had.

With a quiet exhale, she turns back to her desk, already contemplating the days ahead with a sense of certainty.

#kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #girl group smut #kinkvember #kinkvember 2024 #gidle #gidle smut #gidle cho miyeon #gidle miyeon #gidle cho miyeon smut #cho miyeon #cho miyeon smut #gidile miyeon x reader #cho miyeon x reader #miyeon #miyeon smut #miyeon x reader

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planetxiao · 11 months ago

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# REAL LOVE, BABY!

𖤐 sakura haruka ; togame jo ; kaji ren x reader

⟢ fluff, scenarios // random instances with them that feel like real love to you and him.

𖤐 SAKURA HARUKA

All it took was a misstep on uneven ground for you to twist your ankle. Of all the things that could’ve taken you out, it was a spot in the sidewalk that was all broken up. Regardless, it hurt like hell to walk on, and as luck would have it, you have a somewhat willing boyfriend to help you out in any way you need it.

With blushing cheeks, you’re hoisted onto his back easily. Your arms came to rest around his neck, a small smile forming on your lips. Sakura carried on with one destination in mind: Kotoha’s cafe in hopes that she has the means to care for your injury. His gaze remained on the street in front of him, though it would shift back to you every once in a while. However sneaky he thought he was being, you caught every glance sent your way.

“I’m sorry Sakura,” You laughed bashfully, “I hope I’m not too heavy.”

“D-Don’t get the wrong idea! It’s just faster this way!” He sputtered out, averting his eyes to the dull pavement on his right to try to hide his burning cheeks once again, and grumbled quietly, “Can’t even feel you on me anyway.”

You giggled to yourself at his antics, ever the most easily embarrassed. His poor attempt at hiding the colored tinge of his skin gave you instead a view of Sakura that was your favorite. The rosy pink complemented his pale skin in a beautiful way, heterochromatic eyes acting as a perfect accent to a most delicately painted picture. You couldn’t imagine anyone matching up to how pretty Sakura Haruka looked right now.

You laid your head on his shoulder, honeyed gaze lingering on him alone.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

Sakura felt his heart skip a beat at how close your voice sounded in his ear. Your very existence did nothing but permanently leave him red. With a stutter in his step, Sakura scoffed.

“Don’t thank me. It’s my fault you got hurt.”

You huffed. “Sakura, I’m going to flick you.”

“Hah?!”

Sakura furrowed his brow with an incredulous look. Was this a challenge? What did he even do?

“Stop talking like that or I’m going to flick you hard!”

That time, he turned his head to bark something back, but his words caught in his throat as soon as his eyes connected with yours. Your face was mere inches from his. He wasn’t expecting your lips to be so close to his, to see the little details of your irises, to feel the heat radiating from your skin. His hard expression melted into a flustered one with a quiet gasp, eyes widened and mouth fallen agape. He was quick to turn his head away again.

Your lips curled. Your tough boyfriend was just too cute for this world.

𖤐 TOGAME JO

“You always pay, ‘game! C’mon, it’s my turn!”

Togame acted blissfully ‘unaware’ of your claim, not even sparing you a glance as he swiped snacks from your hand. You gawked at the action. He totally brushed you off. The only sign that he heard you was the playful glint yellowed by his colored glasses.

Oho, okay. He wanted to play games with you, huh? Well, you weren’t going to turn down this challenge. Not without a fight, at least.

You’d just have to beat him to pulling out the change. Easier said than done, considering your boyfriend’s brute strength. But you were determined. He paid for you both every time you guys went out — he never let you, anyway — and you just wanted to pay this one time.

With Togame’s hands full of the snacks, you pulled out your wallet and tried to do the math on the total before you both reached the counter. Togame wasn’t oblivious to your antics, nor did you think he was, but he wasn’t going to try to stop you. He really just found it amusing — cute, even.

Togame set your items down on the counter before resting his hands in his pockets. You glanced at him quizzically. He wasn’t going to try to do anything…? Was he actually going to let you pay?

Of course not.

Once the total was given and you were about to hand the change to the cashier, a toned body shoved between you and the counter. Your eyes stared at the lion emblem on the back of the man currently body blocking you from the cashier, taking a second to process what had just happened.

You jumped to the other side of your boyfriend, trying to thrust the change at the cashier as fast as possible, but Togame’s body shifted in a way that pushed you away again. You jumped back to the right side, and again his body shifted to block you.

“Togame Jo, move!” You exclaimed, bouncing back to the left.

Blocked.

“Oi, stop moving,” He laughed, “It’s making it hard to count the coins.”

Oh, you could hit him.

You glanced up at the cashier to see them snickering at your attempts. You huffed. Trying to fight Togame was an uphill battle you were not winning.

Though you continued trying to slip the change through his constant guarding, the cashier ended up taking Togame’s coins instead of yours. He wore an easy smile on his face as he took the bag of goodies from the counter. You stared in both defeat and a bit of annoyance that you couldn’t best your boyfriend in a battle of strength. All because you wanted to pay this time around.

Togame patted your head, emerald eyes crinkling behind his yellow lenses.

“C’mon, the boys are waiting for us.”

You vowed to get him next time.

𖤐 KAJI REN

Static muffled the music playing from the speaker just above your head, making the melody barely decipherable amongst the bustle of the busy cafe. The dishes you both ordered had yet to come due to the sheer volume of customers surrounding you. Apparently, there was a new special being offered that drew in a crowd from all across town. You had no idea. When you asked if Kaji knew, he simply shrugged. You had somehow managed to accidentally pick the most crowded cafe on their busiest day. What luck you have.

The waiting game was no easy feat when you were hungry, but neither of you minded too much. Your head came to rest on Kaji’s shoulder in the meantime, causing the blond haired boy to tense up a bit. Kaji still wasn’t fully comfortable with public affection, but small things like that he was learning to get used to. But only a little bit.

You stole glances at Kaji – well, you tried to, at least. The first glance up at him, you had been met with his very same gaze, which was averted after a blink or two. It left you both with slightly burning cheeks. The second and third you managed to sneak were successful, and you were able to take in his pretty features: smooth, pale skin; deep blue irises that rippled with something akin to curiosity; soft pink lips which held a lollipop stick between them.

A small smile graced your face. Kaji had no idea just how pretty he was, and every time you told him, red would stain his cheeks and the tips of his ears. You closed your eyes, trying to remember a picture of him like that. The song playing over the speaker seeped into your mind, though, and with strained ears, you barely recognized it. It was a simple little tune that played on the radio from time to time. It wasn’t anything special, but it reminded you of something you’ve been meaning to show Kaji.

You sprung up with a blooming grin. Kaji jumped.

“Can I see your phone?”

Kaji furrowed his brow but pulled the device out of his pocket and gave it to you. You excitedly took it from his hands, typed in the password and found his music app.

“There’s a song that I think you’ll really like. I forgot who it’s by, but it’s right up your alley.”

You pressed play before he could really register what you had said. Before Kaji even moved his hands, his headphones were being pulled over his ears. How you were able to swiftly do all of that in a matter of 45 seconds flustered him.

“Hey, wait–! Stop-”

And then everything froze. At least, that’s how it felt to Kaji. He halted his protests as soon as he saw the alluring curl of your lips. It drew him in like a siren to a sailor, insatiably with a promise to show him things he’s only dreamed of. The twinkle of loving anticipation in your eyes made his heart jump in his chest. Even though Kaji had never heard this song before, he swore that the sight of you before him made the melody sound that much softer.

An unknowing smile softened Kaji’s face, causing yours to grow wider.

“You like it, right? I knew you’d love it!”

Kaji blinked away the trance he was under with wide eyes. Pink tinged his skin as his heart rate began to climb. All he could do to distract from his embarrassment was poke your forehead lightly.

I love you, idiot.

note: i don’t know if you can tell but i love kaji <33 also YEAHHH MOTHE’S COMEBACK LETS GOOO!!! big shoutout to koi ( @dear-koi ) for helping me with these!! you’re the best

#wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #sakura x reader #sakura haruka x reader #togame x reader #togame jo x reader #kaji x reader #kaji ren x reader

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wonderlandwalker · 1 year ago

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First impressions | Eddie Munson x reader

stranger things masterlist / inbox summary: Eddie learns that Dustin has a recently reunited sister, and from the moment he meets you he's a goner.

word count: 1.4k

tags / content warning: pure fluff, henderson!reader, tiny mention of a fight but nothing descriptive, not edited, no use of y/n

a/n: Eddie brain rot cause I couldn't keep it in. Don't know if this is my best work but I'm planning to write more chapters on this so it's just a start, hope you like it

“You need a ride home after this?” It was more of a formality than an actual question, he always drove Dustin home after a session.

“Oh that’s okay, my sister is picking me up.” Dustin didn’t even look up from packing his things away, but Eddie’s head shot up.

“Your- you have a sister, since when?” As far as he knew Dustin was an only child, but now he was wrecking his brain trying to think if he had ever mentioned you before.

“I know you’re bad at math Eddie, but I just told you she’s driving so try and put the pieces together.” Dustin was looking up at him now, challenging him.

“Alright smartass, it’s time for you to shut up.” He told him as he ruffled through his hair, leaving behind an agitated Dustin trying frantically to fix it.

The others had already gone home, but Dustin stayed behind late to help Eddie finish up, a habit that became more and more common as the two grew closer. When they finished packing up Eddie locked the door behind them, and while walking to the parking lot decided he wasn’t quite done interrogating Dustin.

“If you have an older sister, how come I've never seen her around before?”

“I mean she’s been around during holidays before, she lived with dad though but they had a big fight so she’s moved here.” It seemed like a sore topic, so Eddie dropped it for now.

As they got to the entrance of the school and felt the cool air on their skin Eddie indeed noticed another car in the usually empty lot, and you were sitting on the hood of it, a book in your hands as you patiently waited. The last rays of sunshine graced your figure as if the heavens themselves were blessing you, and Eddie had never been so sure he’d seena goddess in his life. It was just like the tales he knew so well, the ones he still devoted his life to, it was as if they were becoming true. You looked up when you heard them approach, smiling at the sight of them and giving Dustin a quick side hug as they reached you.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot of good things.” You held your hand out for Eddie to take, but all he could do was look at it, staring ahead as if hitting pause in a game, he stood still. He wanted to react, to not make the most horrible first impression possible, but the longer he looked at you the worse it got, getting lost in sight of your smile.

“Alright, not a fan of handshakes, noted.” You chuckled as you withdrew your hand, and Eddie cursed himself for not having taken the opportunity to feel how soft your skin must’ve been. You looked at him again, your eyes piercing straight through his soul and he wondered if maybe he had found himself in one of his fantasy worlds, he must have. But the next second he shook himself out of it, because you were real, you were real and in front of him and expecting him to say something.

“I’m Eddie.” he said, nodding his head as if to confirm his own statement.

“So I’ve been told.” Another giggle slipped past your lips, and Eddie wasnt sure if it was from nerves or entertainment, but he was dying to hear more of it, even if he had to make a fool of himself to do so.

Dustins head kept going back and forth as if watching a tennis match of idiocracy. He had never seen Eddie so flustered, so used to the man flaunting with every opportunity that presented itself that this seemed quite out of character. In full disclosure, it was kind of freaking him out to see Eddie so beside himself, and it was freaking him out even further that he couldn’t figure out why. It was probably blatantly obvious to anyone else, but maybe it was for the best that Dustin couldn’t place where the tension originated from, either way, his patience had run out

“Can we go home now, I still have to call Mike to discuss our net strategies” You tore your eyes from Eddie, deciding that maybe it was for the best to head home.

“Yeah alright, maybe I’ll see you around Eddie.” You gave him one last smile as you got in the car with Dustin and drove off, but it took him another minute to pick his shambled ego up from the concrete ground as he berated himself for not being able to utter one coherent sentence. As he got in his van and drove home as well he decided he’d have to grill Dustin for more information on you the next time he’d see him. As he got to the trailer he grumbled a hello to Wayne before disappearing to his room, ignoring the backhanded comment he got about his grumpy disposition.

He wondered if he’d ever be able to convince you he was cool, whether he’d be able to get you to agree to see him again, but after what just transpired he figured the odds were slim. Not that he’d give up so easily, he didn’t have much of a reputation to lose and if he’d be able to get you to laugh again that would be more than enough. But he didn’t get to wonder for long as Wayne knocked on his door, he was ready to tell the man to leave him alone, but the next sentence was one that confused him immensely

“Someone on the phone for you.” Wayne held the phone out to him, expecting him to get up from the bed and take it, but Eddie didn’t move an inch.

“For me, you sure?” He was still not quite sure what to do.

“Unless another Eddie is living here I’m pretty sure.” He moved his hand again to accentuate the phone that was still on hold, but once again Eddie just sat there.

“If you want I can tell her to call back-” That’s when he sprung into action, snatching the phoen out of Wayne’s hand

“No! No, I got it. Thank you.” The old man simply chuckled as he left again, closing the door behind him to give his nephew some privacy.

Eddie cleared his throat once before picking up the line put on hold.

“Hello?” he asked, still not quite sure what to do.

“Hi, Eddie it’s me, just wanted to see if you were doing alright.” your sweet voice blessed his ears once more. He doesn’t know what he did to get the universe on his side like this, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.

“Yeah I’m good, listen-” Eddie figured this time he shouldn’t waste his chance, and he probably had some making up to do.

“- I’m sorry if I freaked you out earlier, just never seen anyone that pretty before.” You were giggling again, and it brought the biggest grin onto his face.

“You didn’t weird me out at all, it was kinda cute. I had to bribe Dustin to let me use the phone so I don’t have much time but I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go out this weekend?” Maybe he should’ve waited a beart before answering, but he was too eager to care.

“Go out, as in a date?” It got him blushing, the red creeping up on his cheeks as he wondered if that’s really what you were asking

“I mean, kinda, if you want to.” He could almost see you blushing on the other side of the line as well, and he decided it was now or never.

“I’d love to.”

“That’s great, I’m still kind of new around here, do you know any good places?” Your smile was present as you spoke, and he was already looking forward to seeing it again, now knowing he wouldn’t have to wait long.

“How about I come and pick you up, we can go to the mall.” His confidence was growing with the minute now, absolutely elated by the turn of events.

“Im looking forward to it” He wondered what you’d wear, knowing whatever it was it would look beautiful on you, and he knew he’d spend the entire date amazed at your presence.

“Me too” he said before the both of you hung up the phone, he had already started planning the most amazing evening out, and maybe, he thought, maybe this year really would take a turn for the better.

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gibberishfangirl · 4 months ago

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Hi hi! I’ve gotten a recent hyperfixation on Windbreaker and your blog has been a life saver when it comes to content. I love how you write the boys, especially Choji. :]

How do you think the boys would treat a more androgynous partner? Especially one who likes play fights?

WINDBREAKER | playful love

Characters ✰ Haruka Sakura, Hayato Suo, Akihiko Nirei, Toma Hiragi, Choji Tomiyama

Contains ✰ sfw!, gn!reader, no pronouns used for reader, play fighting involved, sweet content of the boys being playful with their s/o

★ a/n <3 : tysm!! im glad you’re enjoying my content :3 i love chojiii he deserves more love <33 sorry for being late to this request, i hope you still enjoy! i broke the content up a little since the first portion consists of the playful scenarios and the last section is more focused around the relationship :) ★

★ matches energy, lowkey is very serious during it due to his competitive spirit so he matches whatever energy you’re putting down ★

-> Haruka Sakura ᡣ𐭩

Sakura has a very competitive spirit so he takes every little challenge seriously. even if he tries to play it off like it’s nothing, it’s everything. will literally have the most sore ego whenever you beat him at an activity. it could be basketball, air hockey, video games, etc. anything that requires any small amount of skill he goes all out for. Sakura’s has secretly sulked for a bit after you beat him in most games. it’s not your fault you happen to be seriously talented at so many activities. if you’re feeling humble enough you’d try to make Sakura feel better by saying it’s just luck. (you know it’s not luck).

play fighting is no different in Sakura’s eyes. doesn’t matter who you are, how tall you are, how muscular you appear, if you can fight he wants to see it for himself. Sakura wouldn’t be the one to ever start that fight with you, so the moment you start to bounce on your feet a little while putting your fists up he’s ecstatic.

he’s quick to jump onto his feet and meet your pace. the two of you don’t really throw hands with each other so it’s more a light slap boxing match. the way this always goes down is whoever is the first to land three hits wins. sometimes he wins, other times you’ll win. you don’t usually keep count of those wins but he does. which is why he’s secretly salty when he does the math and realizes your score is higher than his. despite being a sore loser he’s very proud of how good you are. sometimes will make fun of his friends by saying his s/o is better fighter than them without even trying.

Sakura would definitely be a very protective boyfriend over you despite being so competitive with you himself. he considers you not only his partner but one of his closest friends. he cherishes you deeply and ensures no one upsets you or makes you uncomfortable. the two of you have a tamed relationship since you two understand each other on a deeper meaning. you both share the same boundaries and perspective when it comes to relationships which is why the two of you go well together.

-> Choji Tomiyama ᡣ𐭩

Similar to Sakura, Choji also shares a very hyperactive and competitive nature. sometimes the way he displays it is a lot bit more aggressive than others. he can’t help it, it’s not 100% intentional, he just really admires a good fight. something that you always give him and he has a lot of fun with. in a lot of ways you two are actually pretty similar in that case. you both are very quick to match each others energy no matter how small or big the activity is. Choji’s glad he found someone as upbeat as you are since he often feels like he himself can be a bit too much. he never feels that way with you and you never make him feel that way. Choji’s never too much for you, he’s perfect in your eyes.

There are plenty of times where you two will be found tussling on the ori stage. Togame always has the honor of playing ref during your matches. He’s typically the one who also breaks up the fights due to him being the only one who’s capable enough to do it. surprisingly enough you’re actually a decent match against Choji, giving him a run for his money. Your defense is unreal as you share the same agility as your opponent. Choji secretly breaks a sweat whenever you two play fight (not that he’ll admit it) and he loves the fact that you’re the one who’s capable of challenging him.

Choji shares a special bond with you due to the fact that he feels completely accepted by you. Choji doesn’t have many preferences when it comes to relationships or attraction. he prioritizes the personal relationship he has with someone over anything. he finds himself getting easily attached to those who don’t make him feel like he’s less than them or make him feel like he needs to live up to their expectations. you’re relationship would most likely be more emotion based since he’ll spend hours talking to you about dark times that he went through. the fact that you could sit there and listen to him talk for hours about everything and still not judge him makes him be mesmerized by you.

★ defense king, engages in your playful antics but plays a rather defensive role instead of meeting your aggression ★

-> Hayato Suo

Suo is super good at defense and reflecting so when you start to play roughly or get carried away he doesn’t struggle with defusing the situation. most times he will play along by just blocking you simply because he likes seeing how happy you are. he’s not one to play fight but he never would put you down. especially not when he sees how much fun you’re having. he’s definitely surprised when he realized how fast you are with your swings. you have yet to land a hit on him… it’s suo, don’t get your hopes up.

As time goes on he definitely finds himself enjoying these moments more. sometimes he’ll even start the play fights himself by blocking some of your movements such as hand holding or hugs. you picked up on the fact that this was his signal on telling you he wanted to play fight without actually having to say it. his guard easily goes down whenever he’s around you.

as previously mentioned you’re one of the few people (if not only person) who Suo actually lets his guard down around. he’s never been the one to be open with others about personal issues or make things about himself. he’s more of a listener than a talker which you never minded. you’re a bit of a yapper yourself and he’s more than glad to sit there with a smile and listen to you for hours on end. even if you weren’t a yapper you couldn’t help but have word vomit around the man since he made you feel so comfortable. Suo was practically the definition of a “judgement free zone”. eventually Suo gets more comfortable being the talker himself and will get lost laughing and sharing funny stories that happened between him and his friends to you. you’d always catch yourself smiling completely love struck by the handsome man in front of you.

★ reluctant but caves, isn’t too much of a playful person himself but for you? he always caves ★

-> Akihiko Nirei ᡣ𐭩

Nirei already can’t even fight— play fighting is no different. he is equally as bad if not worse- he’s super embarrassed about that fact so he tries to avoid your playful behavior at times. he spends more of his time running away from your harsh pushes than actually trying to fight back. he still has so much fun regardless. he can be found laughing and losing his breath at the same time while running for blocks trying to get away from you. because of this Nirei has gotten surprisingly faster than he’s ever been before. most people assume he’s probably been training or working out more but no, he’s simply just been running away. “hey Nirei have you been training for a race or something?” “huh? no? why would i do that?”

he’s 100% the type to call out or tap out once he’s under you. doesn’t even try to fight back once you finally track him down and tackle him down. expect him to squirm underneath you and tap the floor three times to signal he’s down. on some days he’ll even carry a small white flag and wave it around when he gets tired of running. his friends are also smiling watching him have fun with you. they even mess with him a little by telling you where he ran off to. he no longer even tries to hide with them or behind them because of how fast they are to rat him out. sometimes his friends (sakura and tsugeura) and would be a little envious about how much fun the two of you are having. they’ll join in a few times because of this.

Nirei wasn’t the type to date in general. he was always flattered about the idea but was too insecure to actually go for it himself. that didn’t necessarily change when he met you but it tempted him so much. he would go out of his way to talk to you at times but would always fail and become a stuttering mess. it didn’t help that he did so much research on you beforehand. “oh i love ice cream!” “yeah i knew tha— I MEAN! me too…” he couldn’t help but feel drawn to you, you were very welcoming and friendly. completely oblivious to how whipped you had your boyfriend even before the two of you had started dating. yes you asked him out and he blushed like a mad man. he even looked around for some cameras to make sure he wasn’t getting pranked

-> Toma Hiragi ᡣ𐭩

please this man needs some fun and relaxation in his life. he can be very stressed at times and has almost little to no energy because of this. sometimes your energies can crash since his can be incredibly low while yours is through the roof. however, if you catch him on a day off where he has no plans he surprisingly can match your energy level with ease. it’s almost like he’s a different person once he actually has the time to lay back and have some fun with his favorite person.

when it comes to play fighting he does approach it very differently. at first he didn’t entertain the idea at all since he’s very experienced with it and you aren’t. he doesn’t like the possibility of you getting hurt especially not if he’s the one who did it. he eventually caves since he can never help but spoil you. he loves you way too much to ever even utter the word “no” to you. fun fact; he’s never actually said no to you before, his rejections usually consist of a sigh or simply ignoring the request but a “no” will never escape his lips.

#haruka sakura #sakura haruka x reader #hayato suo #suo hayato x reader #nirei akihiko #nirei akihiko x reader #toma hiragi #toma hiragi x reader #choji tomiyama #choji tomiyama x reader #fluff #wind breaker (satoru nii)#wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #drafts #sorry this took so long

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moongreenlight · 1 year ago

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Mafia!Price is NOT your fucking aesthetic. A full comprehensive list as to why.

He cooka da pizza!

He goes to church every Sunday. A massive Roman Catholic Church downtown. Ancient building with floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows depicting the life and loss of Christ. Full two hour masses that he always wears a suit to. At first it starts as some last-ditch attempt to absolve him of his guilt, but then it became habit.

And maybe it was his wife. Her parents were devout and just about keeled over when they found out their only daughter was married by a quick ceremony in the courthouse to a man they’d never met. Her mother was the worst, though it was to be expected. Likely didn’t know John had won his new bride when her husband didn’t have the funds left to pay off his debt. Fucking miracle she hadn’t yet done the math and realized his first child was born seven months later. He’d be persecuted to no end.

There was a target on his back since the wedding. Always put him in the hot seat on Sunday evening dinners while his wife was trying to wrangle their children into eating their vegetables. Drilled into him about work and life and why he always seemed too busy to prioritize “something worthwhile” in his life. Mother sets in on him like she’d been waiting for the opening all evening.

“So, John. Remind us what you do for work.” Accusatory. Glaring over her barely touched plate of roast at him.

“Contracting. Bit of this and that.” He fights the urge to roll his eyes, if only barely.

“Hm. And what does that entail? Can’t keep you as busy as you swear you are.” She’s unabashed. Her husband doesn’t share the sentiment. He sighs into his glass of brandy and tries to catch her eye.

“Don’t do much hands-on these days. Project management and bookkeeping for me now. Brought on a few guys to do the grunt. You remember from when we did your bathroom, I’m sure.” He doesn’t shy away from the challenge. Principled.

“Boys would do well to have some structure. Bet they haven’t been in a church since they were baptized.” She ignores his parry and switches to what she really wants to talk about after looking over to her daughter who is all but force-feeding them florets of broccoli. Typical.

He finally wore down after a Christmas where the only gift he got from them was a deep brown leather-wrapped bible. Used. Split down the spine, dog-eared pages. Like they’d stolen it from the shelf in the pew for the dolts who weren’t well-mannered enough to bring their own.

From then, it had become a welcome escape from reality. Church in the morning. 8am service, because he was up before the sun anyway. Sipping coffee in the kitchen beforehand, pouring over a heavy binder with the title ‘family finance’ scrawled in his wife’s delicate handwriting across the front.

He could hear her wrestling with their two boys in the bathroom upstairs. Their indignant screeching clueing him in that he should probably get up and help, but he always tried to steal a few more moments to himself. Calm before the storm.

The boys have sour looks on their faces when they stomp down the stairs not five minutes later, though they’re nothing in comparison to their mother who’s only a few steps behind. They get the deep furrow in their brows from him, the bitter curl of their lips from her.

“Glad you’re enjoying your slow start, John. Really.”

He should feel worse for not helping. Tries to lay her hackles back down by snapping the binder shut and pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. She barely pauses to accept it before pushing past to pack her purse. Four bibles, his ratty one, her perfectly white one with different colored sticky notes poking out the sides, and two smaller children's bibles that she’d shove in their laps for appearance sake. Snacks for the boys, and a flash of the handle of her small handgun- safetied and then shoved into the bottom of her tote.

“Should’ve shouted f’you needed help. Can’t hear a thing down here.” The boys snicker when he winks over at them. They’re outfitted in their Sunday best. Slacks with damp finger marks on the thighs from where she’d tried to smooth out wrinkles. Buttoned-down shirts that they were already tugging at the collars of. Hair gelled back, no doubt the reason for their griping earlier.

She doesn’t find it nearly as funny as they do. Shoots him a nasty look over her shoulder before disappearing into the spare room to grab a pair of low heels.

“We’re already late. If we have to sit in the back again, you’ll never hear the end of it.” It’s not an empty threat. They’d missed one service and some aunt had told her mother in passing. Took three months to get her to stop bringing it up.

“S’not even half seven. Takes fifteen minutes to get there.”

It’s supposed to mollify her, but it has the adverse effect. She looks ready to throw a shoe at him when she sits on the bottom stair to tug them on. He raises his hands in surrender.

“Easy.”

Somehow all four of them make it to the car in one piece. He sends a message to Kyle before they leave telling him to save them a space toward the front to err on the side of caution.

#I'm mafia-baiting sorry #This was really just to get me back into posting my writing lol #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #sephspeaks #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #drabble #price cod #captain john price #john price #captain price #price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #mafia au

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deezee112 · 7 months ago

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The worst ending 2 : A Laugh Too Far

The worst ending 1 | The worst ending 3

Yandere!Ace Trappola x GN!Reader

A/N : Hello! Thank you for sticking with this second installment of the series! I'd like to say that this episode is a little better for me, but it's still a little bit too much 😔 But I will try my best at the end of the next chapter. Enjoy reading this chapter!!

Warning : This story contains themes of emotional dependency , psychological strain , accidental death , and overwhelming guilt. , A soft yandere.

Tags :

@iris-arcadia

If you want me to tag you please tell me.

You tilted your head, considering the name carefully. The doll before you blinked its sharp amber eyes, a mischievous glint already visible in its eerily lifelike expression. Something about him seemed playful yet challenging a troublemaker waiting to be unleashed.

“ I’ll name you Ace ” you said finally, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

The doll smiled back, wide and crooked, as if approving of you choice.

From the beginning, Ace was different. Where other children or dolls, as you reminded you self in the early days might show tentative affection or shy obedience, Ace was bold and irreverent.

“ Why do I have to learn math? ” he whined one afternoon, slumping against the couch with exaggerated dramatics.

“ Because it’s important ” You replied, your voice firm but tinged with weariness.

“ Important for what? I’m not planning on becoming an accountant ” he shot back, grinning cheekily.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “ You’re going to drive me insane, Ace. ”

“ That’s the goal ” he said, leaning closer with a sly smile.

Despite his antics, you couldn’t help but feel a grudging affection for the boy. Beneath his teasing exterior, Ace had a charm that was hard to ignore. He was quick witted and curious, always testing boundaries but never pushing too far at least, not at first.

But as Ace grew, so did his confidence. He loved pushing you buttons, watching you react with exasperation or an occasional smirk.

“ You love me. ” he’d declare smugly after one of their verbal sparring matches.

“ Don’t flatter yourself. ” your reply, rolling you eyes.

But deep down, you know he was right.

You relationship was a constant tug of war between irritation and affection. Ace’s teasing could be relentless, but it was always accompanied by a boyish grin that made it impossible for you to stay mad for long.

“ You're so annoying. ” you said one evening as he stood behind you while you cooked.

“ Annoying? I prefer ‘charming’ ” he quipped, snatching a piece of carrot from the cutting board.

“ You’re lucky I don’t chase you out of this kitchen. ”

“ You wouldn’t do that. ” he said confidently. “ You’d miss me too much. ”

You shot him a glare, but there was no malice behind it. Ace was infuriating, yes, but he had become an integral part of your life.

As Ace grew older, his teasing took on a sharper edge. He still smiled and laughed, but there was an intensity in his eyes that hadn’t been there before a possessiveness that made you uneasy.

One evening, as you sat on the couch watching a movie, Ace suddenly turned to you.

“ Why do you work so much? ” he asked, his tone unusually serious.

You blinked, caught off guard. “ Because I have to. That’s what adults do. ”

“ But you’re always tired. ” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “ You should spend more time with me instead! ”

You chuckled, ruffling his hair. “ You’re clingy, you know that? ”

His expression darkened slightly, but he quickly masked it with a grin. “ Only because you’re my favorite person. ”

It was an ordinary day, one filled with the usual back-and-forth banter between you and Ace. You was preparing dinner , humming softly to youself , while Ace lounged at the kitchen table , spinning a knife absentmindedly between his fingers a habit that always made you nervous.

“ Ace, put that down before you hurt yourself. ” you said without looking up.

“ I’m not a kid anymore, y/n.” he replied, his tone teasing but laced with something heavier.

“ You’ll always be a kid to me. ” you retorted, glancing at him with a smirk.

He grinned, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes something vulnerable, almost desperate.

“ Do you mean that? ” he asked quietly.

“ Mean what? ”

“ That I’ll always be your kid.. ”

His smile faltered, and for a moment, he looked like a child again uncertain and scared. But the moment passed quickly, and he leaned back in his chair, his usual cocky grin returning.

You paused, you hands stilling as you turned to face him fully. “ Of course, Ace. You’ll always be my little troublemaker. ”

“ Good... ” he said.

It happened so quickly that you barely had time to process it. One moment, you was teasing Ace about his messy handwriting as they sat together at the table. The next, he was holding the knife again, flipping it between his fingers like a dangerous game.

“ Ace, stop it. ” you said, you voice sharper than usual.

“ calm down, I’ve got this ” he replied, laughing.

But in his attempt to show off, the knife slipped from his hand, spinning through the air. You didn’t think you just reacted, lunging forward to catch it before it hit the ground.

You caught the blade, but not by the handle.

The sharp edge sliced through you palm, and you gasped in pain, dropping it immediately. Blood pooled in you hand, dripping onto the floor.

“ y/n! ” Ace’s voice was high-pitched with panic as he rushed to you side.

“ I’m fine.. ” you said through gritted teeth, though you face was pale.

“ No, you’re not! ” he said, his voice trembling. He grabbed a dish towel and pressed it against your hand, his movements frantic.

But in his panic, he didn’t notice the chair leg behind him. As he tried to steady you , he tripped , pulling you down with him.

Her head struck the corner of the table with a sickening crack.

“ y/n..? ” Ace’s voice was shaky as he knelt beside you. “ Hey, wake up. This isn’t funny! ”

You eyes fluttered open, but you gaze was unfocused. Blood trickled down the side of you face, staining you hair and pooling on the floor.

“ Ace.. ” you whispered, you voice weak.

“ I’m here. ” he said quickly, his hands shaking as he cradled you head. “ You’re gonna be okay. I’ll call for help. Just—just stay with me.. ”

You gave him a faint smile, you fingers brushing against his cheek. “ You’re such a troublemaker. ”

“ Stop talking like that! ” he shouted, his voice breaking. “ You’re gonna be fine! You have to be fine! ”

Your hand fell limp, and Ace’s breath hitched. “ No. No, no, no, no! ”

Tears streamed down his face as he clutched you close, rocking back and forth. “ I didn’t mean it! ” he sobbed. “ I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted you to notice me. To love me. ”

You didn’t respond. you chest no longer rose and fell.

“ y/n… ” His voice cracked as he buried his face in you shoulder. “ I’m sorry. Please come back. Please… ”

Ace sat alone in the dimly lit kitchen, you blood still staining the floor. The knife lay where it had fallen, mocking him with its cold, unfeeling presence.

“ I didn’t mean it.. ” he whispered to himself, over and over, as if the words could undo what had happened.

But no matter how many times he said it, you wasn’t coming back.

He looked down at you hands, trembling and stained with you blood. “ You were the only one who cared.. ” he murmured, his voice hollow. “ The only one who put up with me. And I…I ruined it. ”

Ace never left the house after that day. He couldn’t bear to face the world without you, the person who had been his anchor, his guide, his everything.

The laughter , the teasing , the arguments they were all gone. And in their place was a crushing silence that Ace couldn’t escape.

“ You were right... ” he said one day, his voice echoing in the empty room. “ I am annoying. ”

He laughed bitterly, tears streaming down his face.

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #yandere ace #yandere ace trappola #Yandere Soft #au doll

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witchlight-lore · 2 months ago

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Episode One

Below is a detailing of the first episode of Once Upon a Witchlight by Legends of Avantris

Frost's home in the Order was a mountainous, snowy region in Yulong, not unlike Tibet

The party has been together traveling for 'many years', and the Carnivale existed for a decent amount of time, under multiple names.

They were in Agwé for one month.

Largely they'd all like to reinstate the Carnivale (Kremy the least)

They repeatedly tried to contact Garou for his help with letters.

The Crossroads in the only inn that might let them stay.

They've never gotten as low as 2 gold before.

Pierre is a Grinning Sinner/Catfish employee.

Gricko doesn't know how to play poker but thought he did. Frost watched him play in horror and didn't say anything. Gricko focuses far more on the looks of cards than thinking about meanings.

Gideon considers the group's money his AND Kremy's. Kremy wanted to cut Gricko and Frost off.

The drinks at the Hungry Catfish potentially have a charm influence to them, making you behave how you normally wouldn't.

Frost doesn't like cigars.

Gricko almost got arsenic poisoning from eating a cigar.

Kremy still has 'lesser contacts' in Agwé.

The Grinning Sinners sometimes have invisibility.

Kremy understands Bullywug but doesn't speak it. The Sinners speak Bullywug but understand common.

Kremy doesn't blame Pierre for anything, since he's just doing his job.

Frost considered breakfast the most important meal of the day.

Immediately offers to give Gricko half his meal after he throws up.

Garou considers 'knowledge' to have monetary value that can be taken from him.

He has been watching Kremy for years since he left him, and knows every single scam he ran, and the amount he 'earned'.

Gideon, Gricko, Hootsie and Frost are named as inheritors of his debt.

They salted mines in Grizzlepaw, and 'something else' Gideon seems concerned about.

They earned a significant amount they earned in Beavercreek, and Gideon actively tries to forget something that happened.

Gricko and Frost were with them the majority of the time.

Gossip travels fast in Agwé

Gricko assumed the Carnivale made no money and that's why he wasn't paid.

Kremy DID pay some costs of the carnivale, just not wages.

Gideon isn't a morning person.

Frost is good at arithmetic.

Gideon's idea was to put Frost back on the tables and card count to win 100,000 gold.

Gricko enjoys making Frost do quick maths. Gricko is bad at maths.

Kremy knows that anyone who wins big against the house always end up dead.

'There's probably no one worse to owe money to (than Garou).'

Garou has more 'friends on that other side' than Kremy.

Frost gets easily distracted by maths challenges.

Kremy fucking hates the idea of honest work. It seems to disgust him.

Gricko thinks much better of people than he really should.

Kremy is absolutely terrified of Garou when he's in his bad books.

Gideon offers to sell Hootsie, suggests that he and Kremy have talked about doing that privately. They genuinely consider it. Especially Kremy.

They can't run from Garou, he will always know where they are.

Kremy considers that the fact that they both work for the Baron is why Garou can watch him.

Kremy lies and says he will ask the Baron for help but doubts he'll help, then tells Gideon he won't. 'Not a fuckin' chance, he'll sloop my eyeballs right outta my head.'

Frost suggests they could perform a heist or marry rich.

Gricko thinks very highly of himself as a partner and thinks it's too early for him to marry.

Frost doesn't really think about women at all.

The richest people in Agwé are Remy Garou and Alphonse Le'Blanc, a vampire.

Mace's first roll is a natural 20.

Derek's is a natural 1.

Garou set up at least 4 Sinners to watch them in the Crossroads tavern, Gaston, other Pierre.

Frost was going to suggest they kill Garou.

Hootsie had buttons thrown at her for a jig she did.

Gricko is extremely gullible and believes Frost's deadpan sarcasm even when it's ridiculous.

The Crossroads is in the Crawdad Quarter, an area where everyone has hunting knives and will stab you over money.

They all try to look cool when they get up except Gricko who focuses kn Hootsie.

Frost crushes a rat with Mind Sliver the second he sees it for Hootsie. Gricko enjoys watching. He praises her for catching dead rats.

There are food stalls, taverns, stalls and shops with busy people around.

Gricko thinks very fondly of the carnies and acts.

They were run out of town for the IOUs given and trusted a shitty accountant.

Garou counted the IOUs.

Frost considers that he could be forced to be a barmaid. (I should draw that)

5 silver for a calico cat belonging to Francine.

Bayou Brass Bar and Music Shop, musical act 10 gold a night, tips guaranteed.

Cousins Louie's looking for a bellhop, 5 gold

Rich Boy Po'boy line chef, 5 gold. Kremy's Meemaw goes there. Free meal every shift.

Gricko likes the idea of that, Gideon can't cook and Kremy refuses to 'go back to that professionally'.

They have 3 weeks.

Kremy considers it unimportant what Garou will do to them, they'll die regardless.

Kremy says Garou can 'pretty much' suck your soul through your eyeballs. The fellas when he's done look like empty caprisuns, withered away.

Gricko thinks you have to spend money to make money. He wants to buy soap with prizes inside in the hopes that one will have 100k inside.

Frost promises to show Gricko how to play poker and smoke cigars. Gricko claims he's 'always smoked a pipe', and its 'very easy, simple'.

Frost in INT based.

Everything else on the job board is much older but Frost feels bad about the cat and wants to keep an eye out for it.

Roslof is part of a Warlock guild. He wants a adventuring party to travel into the Feywild to find his patron.

The advertisement for the patron was put up a long time ago.

Frost wants to go for the cat over the patron seeking because 'cat owners are shifty' and suggests they can find something in her mattress. He doesn't like that the patron one isn't specific enough

Guilds have tons of gold because its very expensive to be part of one. Kremy isn't in a guild.

Frost makes a joke about peacelocks as opposed to warlocks.

The patron post looks like its made with shitty clip art.

Kremy considers Archfey warlocks totally different to him.

Kremy knows the layout of Agwé well and has heard the name Madrick Roslof, he's been around for a LONG time. He's rumoured to be wealthy, his house is nice despite being on the edge of the swamp. He 'swims in the same circles' as wealthy elite

Frost knows what Archfey are.

Frost is upset that they said the giant pumpkins weren't big enough, happier when they're 20 by 15ft

Kremy thinks the patch itself is huge

Madrick's full name is Steve Madrick Roslof.

Kremy didn't know he was a warlock.

Gricko would save the Archfey for friendship and to help people rather than gold.

Richie stole Nikkie's dice.

Multiple Sinners are watching them outside.

Agwé is surrounded by swamp.

Magnolia Promenade is another area.

Gideon also believes deadpan sarcasm and obvious lies from his friends.

Gricko can't take a hint.

Kremy knows the swamp itself like the back of his hand, they go through the water itself. Knee deep.

Takes 2.5-3 hrs to get to Roslof's home.

25 giant pumpkins in the patch.

The house seems dwarfed by the pumpkins around it. The house smells like pumpkin pie.

Kremy loves pumpkin pie.

Kremy claims the pumpkins were normal sized last time he was in the area, suggesting a lot of time passed.

Gricko doesn't catch onto innuendos a lot of time. Frost does and kinda hates it.

Gricko just wants pumpkin pie. Frost would rather have money.

Gricko tells Hootsie to mind her manners, speak up but only speak when spoken to.

Kremy knocks with his cane skull topper.

Roslof doesn't come to the door until they knock loudly.

Roslof wears a black cloak, a long tailored embroidered shirt, billowy pants and house slippers.

Two 'what appear to be pixies'. Blonde in purple clothes, red in green clothes.

Roslof's hair is very long, down to his back, solid white. His eyebrows are bushy, piercing blue eyes, small tattoo of his right eyebrow in the shape of a chicken foot. He's hard of hearing.

He can hear the pixies even when nobody else can.

He runs the guild.

Kremy claims Roslof was a regular of 'Crusty Dick's', where he worked as a cook 'back in the day' that served crab.

Roslof says he's 'spritely'.

It's a cosy, comfortable cottage with lots of books. The pixies have a tiny shrunk oak tree with tiny houses with porches as a pixie tower. They drink tea.

They seems to speak telepathically to Madrick and verbally to each other.

Madrick might do crochet, he has crochet throws and there are balls of yarn in a basket 'he clearly enjoys yarnwork'.

Kremy makes sure to ask for pie for Hootsie. Coffee exists and they all like it.

Gricko immediately offers to help Roslof, Kremy and Gideon just sit down. Hootsie settles into a dog bet that's much too small for her.

Roslof may have owned a sausage dog called Sparklebutt, he has a pillow with one on and a small dog bed.

The calico cat from the missing poster is in his home (missing things find their way to the Feywild?)

Kremy and Gideon start looking for things to steal.

Roslof wears a apron that says 'kiss the cook'

He serves it with iced custard, candied pumpkin bits, homemade whipping cream and cinnamon, the coffee is pumpkin spiced.

Gricko tries to make conversation with him and asks questions about his home.

Roslof has giant pumpkin seeds around his home.

Kremy knows the fey are 'tricksy'. Gideon doesn't have a great memory.

There are photos of Madrick on the wall documenting his life and the adventuring party he used to be part of.

Kremy gets nervous that the pumpkin pie is the grand reward.

Frost also helps bring the coffee and pies.

Roslof mistakes Gricko for being Frost's 'green child', and Hootsie for a dog he likely has poor eyesight even with his glasses. He thinks its weird that Gricko is named Gricko Morning.

Roslof realises he's a goblin when he squints and moves closer, so he's near sighted.

Gricko is the oldest of the group.

Gricko thinks its considerate and nice to be offered a booster seat but he doesn't need one. He loves colouring books, especially mazes. Frost automatically does the word jumble over Gricko's shoulder. Gricko claims he 'always does this'.

Nobody's visited Roslof in a long time.

He spent 35 gold on making the advertisement.

Roslof hasn't heard from his patron in 15 years. He still has all his magic.

He seems to be very observant, telling Kremy he's a 'great liar' when he's barely said anything, just claimed they want to help him.

Kremy takes it as a compliment.

Madryck comments that Gideon is ‘Very Large’, that Frost is ‘Very, very smart’, and that Kremy is a ‘Great liar’. All three say ‘Thank you for noticing’ in return. To Gricko he says ‘I like you a lot’, and Gricko thanks him.

Madryck expresses concern that the group may not be up to the task, as many do not survive the Feywild.

He clarifies that Prismeer is a domain in the Feywild that Zybilna reins over, ‘the Queen of the Palace of Heart's Desire.’

Madryck describes her as a ‘fairy godmother, of sorts’, ‘she's kind, and gentle, she is sorely missed.’

Kremy has heard of the Feywild but has never been.

Frost admits he's never been, but it is one of many planar locations he would like to visit.

Gricko hasn't either, Gideon says he hasn't, ‘I don't think’. Gricko asks Hootsie, and Derek pretends to voice her saying ‘once or twice’.

Hootsie has been to the Feywild pre-carnivale as that is where Owlbears are native to in Avantris.

Kremy asks if Madryck can help them get to the Feywild, and he brings up that the Witchlight carnival is in town. He clarifies that Zybilna made the carnivale originally as a gateway into the Feywild for those who wanted to meet with her, to get her help.

With the reveal that the carnival is in town, Gricko exclaims ‘has it already been eight years? Hootsie, have we been together for eight years?’, as the carnival only appears once every eight years.

Gricko considers the day he got Hootsie as her birthday, and tells her they have to throw the greatest party.

They do not throw her a birthday party :(

Gricko worked for the Witchlight carnival last time it was on the material plane as a ‘temp gig’, that he was ‘down on his luck’, prior to meeting Frost, Kremy or Gideon.

Gricko never mentioned it by name before, only referring to it as ‘the carnival’, because he found Hootsie there and immediately ran away with her.

Gricko gets very emotional thinking about how tiny Hootsie was when he took her from the carnival, implying that Hootsir was an extremely young owlbear cub at the time.

The Witchlight carnivale is owned by two Shadar-Kai, natives to the Shadowfell, called Mr Witch and Mr Light, but they were not the original owners.

He visited the carnival when Gricko was working there.

Gricko was a ‘base level carnie’ and stuck with other goblins, not interacting with high levels of staff.

He did beast taming, juggling and other minor acts and jobs.

The carnival has a high turn around rate and doesn't have good benefits for employees.

Gricko only worked for a few days.

Gricko has wood carvings of Hootsie from the first day he met her, detailing all her milestones, including teaching her her first jig (in a little hat), her first corn and corn alone day. in the form of flat wooden tokens in the style of fold out pictures in a wallet.

He also has one of him and Frost together, they both like it.

Madryck Roslof falls asleep multiple times very easily during conversation. His bedtime is 5pm.

A local man called Tom sings outside who Roslof claims is an asshole. Gricko tells him not to give uo on his dreams, then to give up on them after he's told Tom is an asshole.

Madryck doesn't remember information he told them only two minutes ago.

Zybilna ‘takes many forms’, and that she is a ‘statuesque woman, with ‘large blonde hair, with a chickenfoot tattoo over her eye.’

Roslof tells them he wants to die, Kremy says ‘We could help you with that!’, and Derek immediately mimes Frost picking up a pillow to smother Roslof with, saying ‘It's gonna be alright, it's going to be fine Mr Roslof it's all over,It's fine, we'll take care of your pixies. We'll sell your pumpkins for hundreds of thousands of gold pieces.’

Zybilna has gifted Roslof with an extraordinarily long life, and he claims to have millions of gold along with a trove of magical items worth an untold amount. He will give his entire fortune to whomever will go into the Feywild and find out what happened to Zybilna.

They all agree that it would be the right thing to help Madryck pass on peacefully, if for different reasons.

Madryck has never been to the Feywild.

The carnival is 2-2.5 days from Agwé.

Madryck bought a novelty plaque that says ‘I smell old people, oh that's just me’ from Dr Etouffee, who sells fake magical items, and is described as looking like Kremy but older. Kremy confirms to Gricko that he is his brother, and his real name is Kermy.

They need to collect proof that they found Zybilna.

Madryck has written a letter to Zybilna on the back of a paper that says ‘Antiques made daily’. Frost currently has it.

Roslof has signed a magical contract from Kremy to affirm the agreement.

Roslof has diabetes and arthritis.

He has a crocheted purse, which contains mittens, multiple pairs of bifocals, another coffee mug, an old wallet that is empty, a picture of a really sexy older lady and an envelope filled with a down payment.

The down payment is a bag of magical beans, a cloak of displacement, some letters, and 500 gold pieces.

The gang each get a free ticket to the carnivale. They're very high quality.

Kremy is self conscious over how low quality his carnival was despite it being his own fault.

Kremy calls many people ‘friend’, regardless of his intentions.

Gricko communes with the spirits of monsters whose parts or hides he uses to make sure they don’t mind and thank them for it before he uses them.

They go back to Roslof’s twice.

The carnival is located near Bogpossum, north west from Agwé.

There is a cleric group called ‘The Church of the Blinding Light’ that has set up in Agwé, and are passing out pamphlets to advertise their religion. These are the worshippers of Pholtus.

The followers of the Blinding Light are against the Witchlight carnival existing in Agwe, claiming it is ‘crawling with evil’ after being taken over by Shadar-Kai. Kremy suggests they might get violent against the carnival.

Frost does not understand the prejudice against Shadar-Kai.

Carnival Lecroux had a similarly bad reputation.

Gricko casts guidance on Gideon to help him with reading, which comes in the form of a Rust Monster, a flea-like monster whose spectral form swirls around Gideon before returning to Gricko. Frost casts Resistance, which does not help.

Gideon struggles to read, and does so slowly. Guidance helped.

Roslof ‘always wanted to be the Witchlight Monarch’, and asks the krew to try to become the Witchlight Monarch. ‘You can be a Monarch, a real one’.

Frost and Kremy agree that it's strange and illogical that something of such good fortune would so easily befall them.

Frost has a deep urge to smash the giant pumpkins.

Kremy leads the krew toward Bogpossum.

Cypress trees are native to Agwé and are the dominant species in the swamp surrounding it.

Mangrove and poplar trees are an indicator that the veil between the Material plane and the Feywild plane is thin, and the two are overlapping in parts, allowing fey to find their way over as much as mortals can get into the Feywild.

The air glitters, sounds are heightened, and the land appears to have completely changed, as the land shifts and changes in the Feywild.

Hootsie wears socks.

Mangrove trees do not grow at ALL in Agwé, nor anywhere nearby.

Agwé feels ‘darker, grimier somehow, doesn't feel like home’ to Kremy compared to last time he visited after the Feywild leaks through.

The Feywild does not affect Kremy's innate sense of direction.

Gricko believes heavily in Fate as a guiding force of the universe, and believes that wherever he ends up is where he was meant to be.

Gricko was worried about the missing cat, and teases Gideon about being worried about it, who gets very defensive.

The missing cat, a small tabby, was in Roslof’s house when they visited, sitting on the stairs. Frost recalls it but says nothing.

They all roll CON to try to fight off fey curses in the form of swamp gas. This is the first curse of the show.

Mikey rolls a 27, Mace a 16. Mikey has to reroll, and gets a 34.

Gidron believes he becomes a rotting corpse, vomiting up his internal organs, his flesh decaying. Gricko believes himself to be made of solid gold. They're both hallucinating, but Gideon is literally vomiting.

Frost covers his mouth and nose and advises Kremy to do the same, immediately working out that the gas might be doing something.

Gricko says he is ‘Trapped and so beautiful at the same time…also have a very nice intrinsic value.’ Frost responds that he's glad Gricko has ‘finally come to realise that’ and comments on how stiff he's standing.

Gricko does verbal self affirmations after stretches in the morning.

Gideon just gives up once he believes he's dying, saying they had a ‘good run’.

They had shrimp and grits for breakfast.

Poking at Gideon's vomit with his cane, Kremy released more swamp gas, and so he and Frost had to roll CON at disadvantage, and both fail.

Derek got an 88, Richie an 83.

Kremy claims he'd get Gideon to a doctor if he was actually dying, but he seems no worse than a usual night out, suggesting that Gideon drinks so heavily on nights out that he often ends up vomiting, and Kremy stays around when he does.

Frost's legs become fused. He's convinced everyone else is fine, but he's experiencing a real problem.

Gricko comments that Frost has ‘very nice calves’ and that he's never seen Frost skip leg day.

Vines and leaves grow from Kremy's body hair, which doesn't make sense because as a lizardfolk, Kremy has no body hair whatsoever, but he gets vines regardless.

Superhero/mutant comic books exist in Avantris, and Kremy has read some. He does the spiderman hand motions when he uses his ‘vines’.

Frost tries to redirect Kremy's attention to his legs, insistent that his is the only real curse, and Gricko tells him to ‘spread em, Frosty!’ after Frost claims he can't move them.

Kremy attempts to pull open Frost's legs with his vines and it does not work.

Frost is intelligent enough to understand that the others are experiencing some kind of magical effect. But his curse is real.

Frost's legs are spread wide apart the entire time.

Gricko's main concern is that Hootsie might not love him anymore when he's metal.

Hootsie believes she is the greatest bard to ever live, and dances. She does help Gricko when he asks, pushing him forward, but without use of his legs he falls forward into the swamp.

Frost expresses concern that Gricko might actually die from drowning. He attempts to army crawl over after Kremy fails to help with his ‘vines’, but gets caught on mangrove roots.

Frost uses Message to tell Gricko he can move and has to roll over to avoid drowning and come help Frost. Gricko believes him, claiming he might be gold but he has 16 points of articulation.

Frost is actively doggy paddling to try to keep his head above water while he's trapped by the root, keeping his head above water.

Hootsie starts drumming on a log with some sticks, and Gricko praises her, saying she's a real natural drummer, and that she IS the greatest bard to ever live.

Kremy gets somewhat short with Frost, telling him to just get up and help *him*. Gideon believes himself to be a complete skeleton. He lies on the ground, acting dead.

Kremy tries to tell him that he has a skeleton INSIDE him, but that he's fine, using the fact that they're still able to communicate as evidence that Gideon is in fact still alive.

Gideom struggles to retort, saying that that's a good point, but he is just bones.

Kremy then brings up that if he was a skeleton with no muscles, he wouldn't be strong anymore. Gricko agrees, telling Gideon he has ‘some impressive gains’.

Gideon believes himself to be expelling bone chips, but in reality it's pieces of shrimp and some sausage.

Gricko casts Lesser Restoration to try cute Gideon's puking, the spell manifesting as a blue spectral basilisk. They quickly realise that the spell would be useless, but decide to use it anyway.

Gricko has the idea that if Frost started a nation, his gold body could back the currency, or that they could cut him up and give parts of him to Garou to cover their debt, or live as a tasteful statue in the Hungry Catfish.

Kremy successfully manages to convince Gideon to punch Gricko and Gricko to let Gideon punch him, using the logic that if their delusions were true, Gideon wouldn't be able to punch him with no muscles and Gricko wouldn't get hurt because he's solid gold.

Gricko is openly deeply concerned about hurting his friend’s hand.

Kremy tries to bite off the vines, they taste like kale.

Frost's legs are ‘About as far apart as legs can possibly be, trust me, (Gideon) would know!’ They're in the shape of a Y in the air.

Gideon jokes that he's ‘taken Gricko's head off one time’.

Kremy laments that they'll be stuck in the swamp forever.

Frost tries to convince Kremy to try to bite Gricko, as he's the only one with working legs, and pure gold is soft, as a means of testing the delusion to see if it's an illusion. If Gricko bleeds, ‘like a jelly donut’, it's not real.

Gideon punches Gricko, and believes his arm to shatter into bone fragments, and Gricko believes he's unharmed, despite taking 10 points of damage.

Frost finally starts to believe that Gideon and Gricko are ‘clearly skeleton and gold…’

Kremy decides that this is true but they just need to deal with this new reality and move on. Gideon agrees to carry Frost with one arm, claiming he's light, which Frost protests before he's put over Gideon's shoulder. Kremy lifts Gricko around the waist.

Gideon tells Frost that when he finally dies in the swamp, don't let anyone know what happened on Bearpaw mountain. He likely means Grizzlepaw mountain. Hootsie sings and follows.

After ten minutes, they get out the muck and the delusions fade immediately.

Frost considers Gideon's shoulder to be ‘surprisingly comfortable’.

Kremy immediately considers bottling and selling the swamp gas as a drug in Agwé.

Gideon apologises for breaking Gideon's nose and making him lose multiple teeth.

Derek does the horrific nose breaking trick.

The trees change back to cypress trees and Kremy recognises a landmark. They've been travelling for at least a day. Behind them it's only cypress, no mangrove trees.

After asking how he looks after resetting his nose, Gideon tells Gricko to ‘rub some dirt in it’, Kremy says ‘you've probably looked worse, in the years I've known you’, and Frost tells him he likely needs medical attention.

A spectral Girallon appears to give Gricko a bunch of bananas as his form of the Goodberry spell. Gideon takes two.

Avantis goblins can regrow their teeth a seemingly unlimited number of times.

The Witchlight Carnival can be seen from miles away, with lights and music and smells.

They sleep once in the swamp, they have tents.

( To be continued, ends at 2:28:51)

#ouaw #legends of avantris #once upon a witchlight #avantris #avantris lorekeeping #kremy lecroux #ouaw kremy #gideon coal #gricko grimgrin #hootsie grimgrin #morning frost

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shattereality · 2 months ago

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Fluff and dumbass couple vibes™ Aphareos pregnancy reveal headcanons, filled with giggles, grumpy confusion and a Deathwatch Captain getting hit with fatherhood like a Krak missile to the heart.

Pregnancy Surprise – Headcanons

You are glowing... suspiciously. You’re giggling, humming and randomly beaming at Aphareos during briefings.

Every time he gives you a side-eye glance, you just smirk and walk off like you know a secret he’ll never guess.

Aphareos assumes you’re planning some ridiculous prank again.

Aphareos: “You put lho-sticks in Belenor’s rations again, didn’t you.”

You: snorting laughter “No! This time it’s... very different.”

Aphareos just watches you with his arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Belenor: “What is she plotting?”

Aphareos: “Unclear. But she is... pleased. Whatever it is, it will likely involve glitter or food theft.”

Deep down though, he’s fond. He likes seeing your grin like that. The storm in his mind stills when you’re like this.

Suspicion Intensifies™

You keep running your hand over your abdomen when you think he isn’t looking.

Keep calling him things like “My big strong warrior” and “the genetic goldmine.”

Aphareos, in his mind: ...she’s planning an ambush. With confetti.

The Setup – “Guess What!”

You make a list of how to tell him. Dramatic reveal in front of the squad? No, too much pressure. Stuffing a tiny onesie into his gear bag? Might get crushed. Leaving a message inside his bolter mag? …absolutely not.

You settle on something simple and chaotic: making him guess.

You corner him in his quarters. He’s cleaning his chainsword. You look too smug.

You: “Guess what’s new!”

Aphareos, without hesitation: “You challenged an Eversor to a duel.”

You: “No!”

Aphareos doesn’t look up. “You adopted an alien rodent and hid it in the vents?”

“Nope!”

“You found an explosive pudding again?”

“Warmer! But no!”

“You were promoted to Inquisitor?”

“Too cold now! I’m pregnant!”

The Aphareos Processing Screen™

“…...You are with child?... Are you certain?”

He stands still for an uncomfortably long time.

You can hear the servos in his brain whirring.

He sits down. “I… see.”

He does not see.

Aphareos.exe has stopped responding.

It takes him a moment—he processes the words slowly, then questions the biology, then does quick internal math like a machine spirit calculating orbital trajectory.

Inside he is: 👶❓❤️💥😳🚨🛐💀🔞🥺

You nod. “The medicae confirmed it.”

Another pause. “Is it healthy?”

“Perfectly. Just like me.”

He doesn’t smile outwardly. But his gaze softens immeasurably. He places one large hand carefully—reverently—on your stomach. “Then so shall it be protected.”

You step forward, put your hand on his.

Batting your lashes, practically purring:

“So, you put a baby inside me, Captain.”

Wink.

Aphareos freezes mid-motion. His servo-arm jerks slightly.

You’re grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.

Tenderness (His Version of It)

When he recovers, he stands, towering over you and presses his forehead to yours.

“You honor me,” he says lowly. “With this... legacy.”

Aftermath Shenanigans

He starts escorting you everywhere.

You: “I’m not fragile—”

Aphareos: “You carry a VITAL IMPERIAL ASSET.”

He stares down medics until they flinch.

He personally inspects rations.

Starts painting — he paints you with a barely-there swell in your belly, surrounded by golden light. He doesn’t show you. Not yet.

Quiet Moments

At night, he kneels beside your cot, listening to your breathing and — if possible — the faintest whisper of two heartbeats.

He sometimes mutters ancient prayers under his breath, a hand resting protectively over your belly.

Baby Name Discourse

You jokingly tell him naming the baby something like, “Snickerdoodle.” Aphareos suggests, “Sanguinarion.”

You meet in the middle.

Your surprise nearly crashed Aphareos’ operating system but once he reboots, he becomes the ultimate protector dad-to-be.

You get all the affection, all the supervision and the most emotionally constipated tender love in the galaxy.

He starts behaving even more like a fortress than usual. You climb stairs? He carries you. A mission comes up? He volunteers himself.

Secretly, Aphareos carves a tiny talisman. In the shape of a dove clutching a flame. He wears it under his armor. For his child.

#— featuring aphareos cordir of the deathwatch #warhammer imagines #wh40k fic #space marine x reader #adeptus astartes x reader

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persephone1700 · 1 year ago

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Please me- Michael Gavey x Reader

Hello! I've been obsessed with all the smut stories I've been reading on this app about several characters… so I've written something I thought of.

Please be kind since English is not my first language and it's the first thing +18 I've ever written ( I kinda took advantage that I was ovulating to imagine the most dirty scenarios and write them hehe)

I plan to divide them in three parts.

I hope you like it.

Warning Tags: 18+ ONLY. Smut, Oral Sex (Reader receiving), Embarrasing himself.

Part 2 Part 3

It was a Friday evening, and the campus was almost empty. Half the students were either at local pubs, attending parties, or had gone home for the weekend.

Almost everyone, except for Michael. He had stayed behind without any plans, as usual. As a "Norman no-mates" kind of student, he found himself without an invitation to any parties.

He decided the best use of his time was to begin working on the final list of problems he had due in a month.

He didn’t want to be with those wankers anyway.

He had no need to study or even try—math was just so obvious and simple. Yet, he made his way to the library, trying to escape his pristine bedroom for a while.

When he walked into the library, he didn’t expect to see you there, sitting at a table with your bare legs crossed, leaning into the table, focused on a paper you were working on.

Everybody at school seemed to gravitate towards you and your group of friends, thanks to Felix Catton.

Michael couldn’t begin to understand what was so interesting about that damn bloke.

Even his best mate and only friend, Oliver, had found himself enjoying the company of Felix and his superficial group of friends rather than his.

How can anyone be friends with someone who doesn’t even have an ounce of gray matter?

They must all be idiots.

Every one of them. Including you.

He had decided that the first time he met you during tutorial sessions with Professor Ware. He didn't even understand how you ended up paired with him for tutoring—your majors clearly displayed you were opposites, and he liked to think he was the smartest one.

On top of that, he believed people were a mere reflection of the friends they surrounded themselves with. So, what does it say about you if you are friends with the most superficial twat on campus?

No matter how pretty he thought you were, with those plump lips, big eyes and soft curves… You still were a vapid cunt.

...Or were you?

Michael Gavey wouldn't call himself your friend, but unlike everyone else, you never dismissed his presence. You were always quick to challenge his aggressive comments in the classes you shared, often proving him wrong.

Your friends, of course, found it amusing, but you never laughed. He considered you the smartest among them—not as smart as him, of course, but not sharing the same brain cell as your mates.

Sometimes, during lectures or in the halls, he caught himself watching you. Dressed in expensive clothes, you navigated the halls with an air of confidence.

He found your outfits too revealing, almost inappropriate for lectures, yet he was secretly grateful for the glimpse they offered him of your long legs and cleavage.

You were too pretty and nearly as smart as him. And you knew it, which only made things worse.

You seemed to be every guy's dream.

Every guy, including him.

Damn it.

"Michael? What are you doing here?" you asked, noticing him standing frozen in front of you, staring and holding some books.

"Uh… I'm here to finish some homework," he answered bluntly, attempting to head to a corner table.

"Sit with me. There's no one else in here, you know. You may as well just sit here, and we can keep each other company," you said, stopping him in his tracks. He hesitated, then made his way over and sat beside you, almost uncomfortably.

Opening his books, he tried to focus on the problems in front of him, his palms sweating as he feared you might notice the effect you had on him.

"Why aren't you at the party?" you asked, jotting down some notes on your paper, trying to make conversation and lighten the mood.

"Not fucking invited," he said simply, watching as the realization dawned on your face. You both sat there alone at the library, and continued working on your paper in silence.

"Why aren't you glued to your friends? How does studying alone work for your social life?" he asked after a moment of silence.

"Just wanted some alone time. Needed to catch up on the activities, and I was getting bored with them. Plus, it gives me a break from Felix, so I don't murder him when he's a pain in the ass."

"He's been acting like an arse lately, hasn't he?" Michael commented as he picked up another math textbook, flipping through the pages. He wasn't sure if it was true; to him, Felix may have been an arse since he was born, certainly.

"Not more than usual—shagging some girls, getting drunk, and partying. The usual," you said, shrugging as if it were normal.

"And you don't seem to mind his stupid behavior?"

"Why would I?"

"I… I thought you were a thing. I heard a rumor you two were together…" He said, almost embarrassed to admit he paid attention to gossip and social life.

"What?" you snorted at his admission.

"Yes. I'd suppose anyone with a brain would be jealous if their boyfriend was sleeping around with other girls," he said, tightening his grip on his pencil and trying to sound nonchalant.

"Definitely not. We just enjoyed some benefits in the past," you dismissed his comment casually. "We've known each other since childhood; we're not a couple. Sex is a necessity, wouldn't you agree?"

"Uh… I…" Michael was stunned, to say the least. "I…" He tried to speak, to form a response, but he was too flustered and speechless.

"Oh my God," you turned towards him, looking surprised. "Michael, are you a virgin?" you asked in a low voice.

Michael's eyes widened at your words, a red blush instantly appearing on his face. He looked away, trying to avoid your gaze. He couldn’t even deny it.

How could he when it was so painfully obvious?

"N-No!" he lied, trying to keep his cool but failing miserably.

"Have you ever seen a woman naked, Michael?" you asked, smiling with a glint in your eyes at the discovery.

Michael wished he could die at that moment. The embarrassment he felt was so intense that just when he thought he couldn’t blush more, he grew even redder.

"Yes, of course I have!" he responded defensively, too fast as if trying to convince himself. Who was he kidding? He let out a huff and muttered, "No, I haven’t, okay?"

"Why not?"

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, there’s not exactly a line of women trying to get with me, obviously" he scoffed.

"I think you’re cute," you said, smiling at him. He obviously thought you were lying. "So… uh, what exactly do you do to relieve any urges?"

How else?!?

He let out a loud groan at that question, covering his face. He did not want to be having this conversation, yet here you were, asking him the most embarrassing questions.

He leaned back in his chair, avoiding your gaze, and couldn’t believe he was admitting this to you.

"I… have a few magazines and videos…" he mumbled, his face still red. "And I… use them, obviously."

"So… you take care of yourself then. It's perfectly normal and healthy." You smiled, noticing his red cheeks. "Nothing to be embarrassed about. I do it all the time when I'm stressed."

Of course, you knew how he took care of himself; you were not stupid. You had a feeling he was a virgin and a prude, and you just wanted to hear him admit it.

You had taken some interest in Michael since the beginning of the term. At first, he was just a lonely student who was too eager to prove himself better than anyone in classes, commenting on how useless non-math topics were.

It was when Farleigh told you how much Michael stared at you in classes and made fun of him, claiming that he had a silly crush on you, that you started to notice him more.

The way his sandy blonde hair framed his face, the big blue eyes behind the framed glasses, his thin lips always pouting unconsciously as he disregarded everyone else.

You were now too interested in him, and you started to wonder what it would be like to be with him and teach him. To make him eat all his words… and satisfy your curiosity.

"What’s it like…?" he asked suddenly, his voice slightly above a whisper, looking over at you.

"What?" you smiled at him. Michael’s cheeks turned a shade redder, and he cursed himself inwardly for even asking that question. Yet he was too far gone now, his curiosity having taken over.

"Touching a woman…" he mumbled, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Maybe you'll just have to find out for yourself," you shrugged.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" he turned towards you. "You asked me all these weird questions and now you can't answer mine?"

You were slightly taken back by his outburst, noticing the way his cheeks were red out of embarrassment and fury.

"What do you even ask them for? To make fun of me with those suckers?" he snarled.

"No. I asked because if you want to, maybe I can teach you," you said simply, staring into his eyes.

"How?" was all that came out of Michael's mouth as you stood up and quickly gathered your things.

"Come on, follow me." He watched as you walked over to a private study room at the end of the hallway, one of those reserved for group studies. It had a large meeting table and boards.

Understanding, he grabbed his things in a hurry and followed you to the room. He entered, locking the door behind him and glancing at where you were standing, at the center of the room, sitting at the edge of the table.

He walked over to you, trapping you against the table. He stood there for a moment, watching you, not knowing what to do next. So, you moved closer to him, taking him by surprise when your lips pressed against his in a slow kiss.

He closed his eyes, breathing in your scent, his lips kissing yours desperately. He felt it when you took his hand and carefully led it to your breast.

With your hand upon his, you gave it a squeeze and parted the kiss, watching his bewildered expression, the tint of red in his cheeks growing darker.

"Maybe you can finally explore the body of a woman," you whispered. He was too stunned for a moment, as if he was daydreaming, but then you looked into his eyes and nodded.

His gaze grew darker, and he carelessly pushed down your shirt, watching your breasts peek out.

His breath hitched, and you could see how his pupils dilated at the sight of them. His hands slid through your tits as he stared down at them with amusement.

Between his thumb and index, he reached for your nipple and noticed the way you let out a sigh out of pleasure, your nipples growing hard at his touch.

He bent down and started kissing and sucking your neck, leaving small bites here and there, where he thought people would be able to see them.

His tongue started lowering and lowering until he reached where his hands were formerly placed, and his lips started sucking on your nipple, with a free hand he cupped your other breast, moving his fingers in irregular circles.

He focused his gaze on you, and noticed the way a moan escaped your lips.

You were desperate for his touch; he could see it.

He could feel his heart throttling, as his mouth explored every inch of your breasts, the movement of his lips and tongue was a mix between inexperience and pure desire. Your fingers moved to his hair, encouraging him to continue.

"Michael…" - his name escaped your lips in a low voice. - "that feels good, do you want to keep going? "

He nodded desperately, eager to continue exploring the fullness of your body. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

Without a word, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was urgent, his trembling hands sliding through the side of your legs until he gripped your ass.

When his fingers brushed the hem of your skirt, you felt a surge of anticipation.

Slowly, almost reverently, he began sliding your skirt upwards, exposing more of your thighs.

He leaned back to admire the view, your breasts on full display, your red cheeks, and the way the fabric of the skirt gathered up your hips.

His hands started exploring the flesh of your inner thighs, tracing circles in his path as his fingers ventured closer to your core, a soft moan escaping your lips as you tilted your head back.

Michael's eyes darkened with desire at the sound, and his hands stilled for a moment, savoring your reaction.

He knelt in front of you, and he watched with amusement the way his fingers traced a path at the edge of your panties, the fabric acting as a barrier between his touch and your core.

He ran a finger through the fabric and felt how wet it was, before he moved it aside and a moan escaped his lips at the sight of your pussy. His gaze met your eyes, almost shily with a question written on them of whether he could go further.

When you nodded, his fingers started touching you, moving his finger up and down slowly, trying to find the place that would give you more pleasure, when his finger met your clit, he noticed the way your body shivered and he focused his attention there.

He started moving his fingers slowly against your bud, and the quiet moans he heard and the way your breath hitched, made him think he was doing a good job, so he started to move his fingers faster, in a painful way.

A whimper left your mouth, and your hand grabbed his, stopping him.

"No. Not fast or it hurts. " - you said between breaths, when he nodded in understanding, you guided his fingers once again against your clit.

Guiding him through the right pace which makes your skin grow hotter.

His fingers started moving with more confidence, finding rhythms and patterns that made you moan.

His name erupted from your chest in a cry of pleasure, and suddenly his touch was not enough, with a hand placed against the table you leaned forward and watched the way his gaze was focused on your core.

His fingers were not enough, you needed more.

You needed him pressed against you, so with your other hand you grabbed his hair and pulled him closer to your pussy, a groan reverberated in your skin, and his lips started sucking on it.

His erection was hard since he entered the room, and as he watched you moaning and pulled him closer it grew painfully hard, the boxers restraining him and making his cock start to twitch.

He thought it would be more painful the embarrassment he would feel if he came on his boxers at the simple sight of her moaning while he ate her up, so he tried to focus solely on her.

He failed...

You started breathing heavily at the way his fingers slither inside you and his tongue moved against your pearl.

Fueled with pleasure your back arched, and your fingers tightened their grip on his hair, pulling him closer. His touch was electric, and your eyes opened, locking your gaze with him... hen he lost it.

His cock started throbbing against his boxers, seizing as he came undone at the sight of you.

#ewan mitchell #ewan nation #michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #saltburn #saltburn posting #felix catton

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