#truly the lowest effort

[crunchsomebones]

I feel the itch returning

[cybertron-smash-or-pass]

TF One D-16

[danmeichael]

both ad lib lovers and the summer hikaru died to something really interesting wherein they take typical genre conventions and set-ups of BL and place them into a genre other than romance, while still portraying the romantic undertones. where the summer hikaru died does this with horror, ad lib lovers does this with comedy.

as opposed to hikaru's focus on horror, in ad lib lovers, jealousy, desire, and a fear of inadequacy and loving someone more than they love you is portrayed through the lens of improv. this accurately depicts that having a crush on someone as an adult is humiliating.

[bbuunyy]

Being suicidal is fun because nobody gives a fuck until you up and die.

[sixeyesonathiel]

you should’ve read the damn contract.

but you were desperate. truly desperate. broke to your bones, barely scraping by on instant noodles and tap water. you had holes in your socks, a phone with a shattered screen, and a wallet so empty it echoed. the idea of splurging on a sex toy? laughable. you couldn’t even afford a second-hand toothbrush. so when the sign-up form for "assistant tester" promised fast money with zero qualifications, you didn’t hesitate. clicked agree. no reading. no questions.

and now?

you’re strapped to a glossy, too-clean chair in a sterile lab with your legs spread wide, bound in place. and between them, humming softly with unholy precision, is a goddamn vibrator from the future.

silver, contoured, sleek—latched in place by soft restraints, the head of it resting firm and perfectly angled against your clit. it’s warm from its internal thermal sync, fitted with pressure-reactive gel pads and frequency mapping. you hadn’t even known vibrators could do this. it’s more machine than toy. and you are its first test subject.

“no offense,” satoru drawls, voice impossibly casual as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “but you’re twitching like a virgin in a wind tunnel. and this is literally the lowest setting.”

he grins around the end of a candy stick he’s been chewing for the last ten minutes, bright blue eyes tracking the shivers running down your body. his lab coat hangs off one shoulder like he forgot it halfway through putting it on, and his black compression shirt clings tight to his lean frame beneath it. his pants ride low on his hips where he’s slouched, thighs spread, casual in posture but intent in gaze. the goggles meant for "serious" testing sit uselessly on his forehead, pushing back his mess of white hair, strands sticking out in static waves.

his eyes flicker with amusement, mouth quirking as he watches your body react, fascinated. “don’t tell me,” he says, spinning slightly in his chair with a nudge of his heel. “you’ve never used a toy before.”

you jerk when the vibrator pulses, and your breath shudders. your thighs tremble as you try to close your legs on instinct—only to be kept wide open by the straps. your brows knit, lips parting in a soundless gasp, skin flushed from your cheeks to your collarbones. “i... haven’t,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

satoru blinks. then brightens. “what? oh my god. you’re serious?”

his grin widens—vicious and delighted.

“holy shit, this is even better than i thought. you signed up for high-grade prototype testing and your poor little pussy’s never even met a toothbrush’s vibration mode?”

“satoru!” you cry, humiliated, squirming against the relentless buzz between your legs. your hips twitch with every pass, toes curling in their restraints, spine arching slightly as the pleasure sneaks up your nerves.

he laughs like this is the best thing that’s happened all week. “nah, this is so good. write that down,” he mock-mumbles, pretending to scribble on his tablet. “subject is hopelessly inexperienced. results? extremely promising.”

he rolls his stool closer, the wheels creaking as he leans in. his breath fans across your thigh. he moves with lazy confidence, legs spreading slightly wider, hands loosely folded over his knees.

“can you even tell what part is making you moan like that? is it the pulses? the heat setting? or is it just the fact that someone’s finally paying attention to that sad little clit of yours?”

your hands grip the armrests harder, knuckles white. your face twists with the effort to stay composed, but another whimper escapes, and your lashes flutter from the building sensation. every hum of the vibrator sends your hips bucking.

“stop staring,” you choke, voice breaking from the mix of shame and pleasure.

he snorts. “what, you shy now? sweetheart, you’re on my table, strapped open, soaking my tech. i’m doing you a favor.”

he flicks a finger against the side of the vibrator casually. it twitches in response.

you gasp, whole body jolting. your eyes fly open wide, lips quivering as your muscles lock up for a moment.

he watches your back arch, eyes sharp and entirely too smug. “god, that’s adorable. you really don’t know what to do with it. how long you been walking around with a cunt that’s never been spoiled?”

beep.

he taps the tablet.

the vibration intensifies.

your whole body jumps, a startled moan ripping from your throat. your eyes squeeze shut, face contorting as your chest heaves in shallow gasps.

“ohhhh yeah,” he says, eyes gleaming. “now that’s the sound i needed on record. keep goin’, princess.”

you shake your head furiously, tears pricking at your eyes. your shoulders twitch with every wave of stimulation. “satoru—i c-can’t—”

“you can,” he says, nudging your thigh with his foot. “that’s literally the point. now stop whining and let the tech do its job. unless you want to redo all the calibration logs.”

he leans forward suddenly, forearms on either side of your thighs. he’s close now, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, the sharpness in his gaze as he watches you break apart. “you’re already crying and we haven’t even hit auto-rhythm. wanna see what happens when we let it pick the pattern it thinks you like best?”

“no—!”

beep.

too late.

he watches you twitch and writhe, cheeks flushed, lips trembling from overstimulation. your cunt is soaked. the toy hums louder. your jaw slackens as you pant, barely holding onto your sense of self.

“god,” he mutters, not even trying to hide the awe in his voice, “you’re gonna short-circuit the sensors with how wet you are. is this what happens when broke girls finally get some tech between their legs?”

you let out a strangled sound—half moan, half sob—as your body twists against the restraints, chest heaving in shallow bursts. your head tosses to the side, hair clinging damply to your temple, strands sticking from the sheen of sweat along your brow.

satoru tilts his head, one white brow arching lazily as if he’s genuinely puzzled. his lip tugs up in amusement, eyes gleaming with mischief under the fringe of silver bangs. “what’s wrong? you wanna stop?”

your voice breaks on a whisper, barely audible through your trembling breath. “yes,” you whimper, eyes glassy, lashes wet.

he flashes a grin—wide and obnoxiously bright, the corner of his mouth dimpling as he leans back on his stool, spine stretching in a casual roll like he’s just lounging at a bar, not orchestrating your unraveling. “too bad. you signed a full-cycle clause. twenty minutes minimum.”

his wrist lifts casually, tablet tilted toward him with a flick of his fingers. his thumb scrolls the screen like he’s checking a grocery list. “we’re only at seven.”

“satoru, please—” your voice cracks on the plea, lip quivering as your hips instinctively try to shy away from the overstimulation.

he doesn’t even blink. “oh now you’re begging. yeah, that’s goin’ in the notes.” he mutters it more to himself than you, tapping something in lazily, though his eyes never leave the way your body squirms.

his hand comes down slow, deliberate, resting lightly on your hipbone. the heat of his palm spreads through the thin fabric of the gown they’d given you, and his fingers flex slightly, just enough to feel the way your muscles tremble beneath his touch. you flinch—just barely—but he catches it, and his lashes lower in interest.

“try to keep your voice down, though,” he says, tapping your thigh twice like it’s nothing. “walls are thin. or don’t. up to you.”

then he leans back again, reclining just slightly in his seat, one knee bouncing idly, clipboard resting across it. the corner of his smile twitches as he watches your face twist again, eyes fluttering shut. “science is beautiful, huh?”

[reasonsforhope]

"In one of Africa’s last great wildernesses, a remarkable thing has happened—the scimitar-horned oryx, once declared extinct in the wild, is now classified only as endangered.

It’s the first time the International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN), the world’s largest conservation organization, has ever moved a species on its Red List from ‘Extinct in the Wild’ to ‘Endangered.’

The recovery was down to the conservation work of zoos around the world, but also from game breeders in the Texas hill country, who kept the oryx alive while the governments of Abu Dhabi and Chad worked together on a reintroduction program.

Chad... ranks second-lowest on the UN Development Index. Nevertheless, it is within this North African country that can be found the Ouadi Rimé-Ouadi Achim Faunal Reserve, a piece of protected desert and savannah the size of Scotland—around 30,000 square miles, or 10 times the size of Yellowstone.

At a workshop in Chad’s capital of N’Djamena, in 2012, Environment Abu Dhabi, the government of Chad, the Sahara Conservation Fund, and the Zoological Society of London, all secured the support of local landowners and nomadic herders for the reintroduction of the scimitar-horned oryx to the reserve.

Environment Abu Dhabi started the project, assembling captive animals from zoos and private collections the world over to ensure genetic diversity. In March 2016, the first 21 animals from this “world herd” were released over time into a fenced-off part of the reserve where they could acclimatize. Ranging over 30 miles, one female gave birth—the first oryx born into its once-native habitat in over three decades.

In late January 2017, 14 more animals were flown to the reserve in Chad from Abu Dhabi.

In 2022, the rewilded species was officially assessed by the IUCN’s Red List, and determined them to be just ‘Endangered,’ and not ‘Critically Endangered,’ with a population of between 140 and 160 individuals that was increasing, not decreasing.

It’s a tremendous achievement of international scientific and governmental collaboration and a sign that zoological efforts to breed endangered and even extinct animals in captivity can truly work if suitable habitat remains for them to return to."

-via Good News Network, December 13, 2023

[heybaetae]

so after a couple of hours... how did you like the album? shot glass of tears and yes or no are the winners for me. :D

those two are top contenders for me too 👍🏻 i’ve been busy today and haven’t had the chance to listen a few more times until now. it’s still marinating 😇

[13lunarstar]

Darakaraka in Navamsha - the spouse, marital karma, and the quality of our relationship with the spouse

In one of my earlier posts, I was asked to explore the Darakaraka (DK) - the planet that signifies the official spouse in Vedic astrology, specifically within the Navamsha chart (D9). Let’s take a deeper dive into this important topic.

The Navamsha chart is the divisional chart of marriage, commitment, and soul-level partnerships. It's in the Navamsha that we truly understand the quality of marriage, the nature of the spouse, and the karmic lessons involved.

The Darakaraka is the planet with the lowest degree in your birth chart (excluding Rahu and Ketu). But why is it the planet with the lowest degree? Because symbolically, the Darakaraka represents what we lack but deeply desire in a partner. It reflects the traits we have not fully developed within ourselves, and so we are drawn to someone who embodies them. It is through the DK that we seek balance, completion, and growth in relationships. In contrast, the Atmakaraka (planet with the highest degree) shows traits we have mastered and already carry within us- it represents the soul’s core identity.

How to Interpret Darakaraka in the Navamsha

Identify the DK in your Rasi (D1) chart

Locate where this DK is placed in the Navamsha (D9)

Each house in the Navamsha chart (D9) offers a different perspective on your marriage experience. When the Darakaraka (DK) planet falls into specific houses, it reveals how your relationship karma unfolds.

💎Kendra Houses (1, 4, 7, 10): these are the pillars of the chart, and having the DK here often points to a strong and stable marriage foundation. Relationships are central to your growth, and the spouse may bring balance and support into your life.

🔶 Trikona Houses (1, 5, 9): these are considered highly auspicious. DK in a Trikona house indicates harmonious relationship karma accumulated in past lives, spiritual alignment, and prosperity through marriage. There’s often a natural compatibility and a sense of purpose in the union.

🔷Upachaya Houses (3, 6, 11): Upachaya means "growth over time." DK in these houses may start with some challenges or slow development, but the marriage improves with effort, maturity, and time. These placements reward patience and persistence.

♦️Dusthana Houses (6, 8, 12): these houses deal with karmic debts, suffering, transformation, and loss. When the DK falls here, it often points to unresolved karmic lessons, emotional challenges, or soul-level lessons related to marriage. It doesn't doom the relationship, but it does indicate that growth will come through overcoming obstacles, deep transformations and self-work.

Darakaraka through 12 houses of Navamsha chart

DK in the 1st House in Navamsha: Your partner plays a significant role in shaping your identity. Marriage leads to profound personal transformation and self-discovery.

2nd House: Your spouse is closely linked to finances, family traditions, and values. Stability and shared material goals are central to the relationship.

3rd House: The foundation of your marriage is built on communication, mutual support, and friendship. You may meet through siblings, neighbours, or local travels.

4th House: Emotional closeness and a sense of home are vital in the partnership. Your spouse may be nurturing, family-oriented, or deeply connected to domestic life.

5th House: A romantic and joyful connection defines the relationship. Love, creativity, and possibly children become core themes in your marital journey.

6th House: This placement suggests challenges that require effort, compromise, and healing. Conflict resolution, service (i.e, serving your spouse), or shared work may play a key role in growth.

7th House: A natural placement for partnership- marriage is a central theme in your life. The relationship is likely to be public-facing and deeply focused on togetherness.

8th House: Marriage is emotionally intense and transformative. Themes of vulnerability, trust, various extremes, and shared resources will be central and may bring deep change, including psychological.

9th House: Spiritual beliefs, culture, or higher learning (higher education) unite you and your partner. The relationship may have a long-distance or foreign connection.

10th House: Your marriage influences your public image or career trajectory, though the specific effect depends on the nature of the Darakaraka planet and the aspects it receives. The spouse may be ambitious or supportive of your professional goals, leading to visible success.

11th House: You gain significantly through marriage, whether emotionally, socially, or materially. The relationship is often grounded in friendship and shared aspirations. There might be plans and ambitions to develop something big together as a couple (initiative may come from the spouse) .

12th House: This indicates a spiritual, private, or karmic bond. The marriage may feel otherworldly or fated, and could involve solitude, sacrifice, or a foreign link.

Darakaraka through various planets in Navamsha chart

Sun as Darakaraka

Your partner is strong, authoritative, noble, or drawn to leadership. These qualities you are looking for in your life. They could come from a respectable family or hold a position of power. The relationship may challenge your ego, but it pushes you toward self-confidence, spiritual searching (Sun is the ultimate Soul Planet regardless charts) and clarity of purpose. Marriage might involve status or recognition.

Moon as Darakaraka

Your partner is likely to be nurturing, sensitive, and emotionally intelligent. There is a strong need for emotional bonding, comfort, and family life. The relationship brings emotional growth, but may also include mood fluctuations or dependency themes.

Mercury as Darakaraka

Your spouse could be intelligent, witty, communicative, or youthful in nature. Conversations are central to the relationship. You learn the value of mental connection, flexibility, and keeping things lighthearted. There may be an age difference or duality in personality.

Mars as Darakaraka

Expect a spouse who is assertive, passionate, or fiery. This is a dynamic and often intense placement. While there’s strong chemistry, conflicts or power struggles may arise. Such a marriage teaches emotional control, courage, and assertive balance.

Jupiter as Darakaraka

This is a highly auspicious placement. Your partner is often wise, highly moral, generous, and spiritually or intellectually inclined. They may be a teacher or a mentor figure (even if they do not have such a profession). The relationship teaches growth through values, knowledge sharing, wealth accumulation, and faith.

Venus as Darakaraka

A classic sign of a romantic, charming, and artistic partner. They may be attractive or have refined tastes. The marriage may be centered around love, sensuality, pleasures, and aesthetics. You learn balance, compromise, and the true essence of love. Another lesson here might be connected to fidelity and being faithful to your spouse in marriage (there might be occasional provocations)

Saturn as Darakaraka

This placement indicates a partner who is serious, disciplined, or older/mature in spirit. The relationship may be delayed or tested through time. It teaches commitment, patience, and enduring responsibility. Though challenging, it brings long-term stability when lessons are learned.

Note: Rahu as Darakaraka is used only in some traditions (!)

Rahu as Darakaraka

Rahu as DK can point to a fated or unconventional relationship -possibly with someone foreign, unusual, or deeply karmic. There's intensity, mystery, and magnetism. The partnership challenges norms and pushes you beyond your comfort zone. Growth comes through breaking patterns and facing obsessions.

Understanding the planetary nature of your Darakaraka in the Navamsha reveals the soul contract behind your marriage. It's not just about who you attract—it’s about what you're destined to learn in the current lifetime, balance, and evolve through in love.

To deepen your DK analysis, also examine:

The sign placement of DK in the D9

The ruler of the DK’s Navamsha house and its placement

The nakshatra of DK and its lord

Aspects and conjunctions to the DK in D9

The dignity and strength of DK in both D1 and D9 (If DK is weaker in D1 but stronger in D9, the relationship may improve significantly over time)

[bouquetface]

Vedic Observations 14

Accurcay is influenced by the ENTIRE chart.

7th H Ruler conjunct Sun - It is better if Sun does NOT hold the lowest degree. If the ruler has passed the Sun and is separated in over 5 degrees, there will be less conflict. If ruling planet has passed Sun and is far in degrees, the ruling planet’s traits will truly shine. Spouse is likely confident, and easily gains attention for the ruling planet traits.

If Sun is dominating the conjunction, you may find after marriage there is some authority ruling over your marriage. Depending on entire chart, this could be a donating spouse, dominating in-law or another figure will enter your life that will attempt to dominate you. The closer the conjunction the harder it will be to separate from this authority figures demands and heat.

For example: Maybe you come from a culture where your parents live with you into adulthood. At least one will attempt to dominate your marriage.

Maybe you don’t come from that kind of culture but you or your spouse still require assistance of some sort from a parent. They will try to assert dominance by using their upper hand over you.

Maybe it isn’t a family member at all. It could be a a landlord causing difficulty by raising rent or creating new rules for the property. 

Or simply it’s the spouse or even you. One refuses to submit to the other. One becomes demanding. It may not even be to an extreme extent. It may be something that occasionally appears in personality and causes annoyance.

7th House ruler in Retrograde - Marriage or wedding will be unconventional. 

Potential examples: Secret wedding or relationship is kept secret for awhile. Child before wedding, pregnant during wedding. Interracial relationship. Wedding is non-traditional. 

If retrograde 7th H ruler makes connection to Rahu or the chart contains prominent Rahu - Sometimes this indicates later in life you may have an open marriage or potential for cheating.

Example: Michael Jordan has 7th H ruler Retrograde Mars in Cancer - His wedding was unconventional as the couple had a child together before marriage.

7th H Ruler in 11th H - Marriage will bring change to your social circles. This is unlikely to be a conscious effort. You will simply find yourself changing social circles.

If 7th is placed well in 11th, you may expand your social circles. You may move up a social class too.

If 7th is placed poorly in 11th, you may experience conflict with social circles after marriage - reasoning will vary. You and others could simply grow distant. 

7th H Ruler in 11th H - Marriage will influence your desires. You may drop previous wishes you had yourself. You will change your life plan in some way.

D9 ASC in natal 8th H - One traumatic setback that indirectly leads to you becoming more spiritual and/or secretive is likely to occur.

Examples: Hospitalized, Loss of a loved one, heartbreak.

2nd H of D1 can indicate spouse’s death. Ex: 2nd H ruler in 8th conjunct malefic like Mars - sudden death, violent death, accidental death.

2nd H ruler conjunct debilitated planet, retrograde planet or malefic in 6th, 8th or 12th H can indicate early death of spouse.

Ketu in 4th H in D9 - Distant or bad relations with in-laws. Check depositor for more information.

Your home later in life is likely far from your birthplace. Not necessarily out of country. Maybe a few hours away - far enough it would be time consuming to reach your birthplace.

You may spend a lot of time away from the home. If negative, you find yourself trying to avoid the home/family in your older age. If positive, you frequently enjoy travel.

You likely have pets. You will likely have imagery of animals somewhere in the home. This won’t occur instantly, it will appear naturally - irl example: Statue of an animal. Child draws a painting of a dog that you keep on display for some time. Photos of your own pets. Painting of wildlife. Randomly found a magazine of national geographic left behind in the home.

If you believe in past lives, this indicates somehow even if for a few hours, the soul of a past life family member will come into your home. For whether this is negative, positive, or natural event, check the depositor’s condition.

You and/or spouse will create a private area - ex: man cave, book corner, etc.

[charmedreincarnation]

Success story navigation

I've been getting so many asks with questions that feel like they can't be answered any differently than things I've already covered. It's as if I'm receiving the same queries over and over, and I understand the frustration that comes with feeling unheard. I've also received numerous messages from people who are really at the end of their journey, feeling lost and defeated. Whether it's because you've seen no progress despite your efforts, you've been at it for years without tangible results, or you've tried everything with no success, or perhaps your life has even gotten worse with the law or other obstacles – I get it, I truly do.

I want to address the overwhelming sense of despair that comes when you've exhausted every option for so many years and still see no light at the end of the tunnel. To those of you who feel like you're standing at a billions crossroads with nowhere to turn, to those who feel like you’ve put in years to this journey, to those who feel like you’re life has gotten worse even with the law, know that you're not alone. It's incredibly difficult when you've invested so much of yourself only to feel stuck or worse.

That's why I'm going to link success stories that I believe align with the mindset you likely have. By following their journey and tweaking it to suit your circumstances, hopefully, you can find the success they did.

There's nothing more I can say that I haven't already answered or said, but I hope these stories can provide a new perspective and the encouragement you need. May they guide you in finding the path that leads to the success you seek. Remember, it’s often at our lowest moments that we find the strength to rise again.

The ultimate success story with everything you need, mindset, tips, LOA, and Edward Art

For people who struggle with intrusive thoughts and mindset and want to use that to their advantage

My personal favorite success story

Simple Success story for those who prefer to affirm and persist

Very easy pragmatic success story (maba shortcut)

Age and years it took to succeed doesn’t matter success story

You can shift with desperation and bad circumstances success story

Yes you only need your imagination success story

Everything is possible stop asking

It's easy to feel alone, but remember that whatever you're going through, someone else has also faced similar challenges. We all start in different places; some may have an easier beginning than others, but we share the same equal potential to achieve greatness. It's important to acknowledge that while our journeys might differ, our ability to overcome obstacles and reach our potential is universal. Embrace the shared human experience and take comfort in knowing that you have the power within you to rise above and become the best version of yourself. Realizing this is just as important as becoming the richest hottest bitch with the mastery of the void and shifting okay. You’re not alone, you’re very powerful, and you CAN do it. Everyone has the potential to do it, you’ll have hurdles but where in life do you not!? You can struggle here with those journey or just struggle with the life you don’t want like everyone else. Nothing in life is easy, choose the hard path to get where you want so you can be happy forever, I promise it’s worth it.

This covers all the asks I’ve gotten. I really hope the struggle comes to an end for you guys. I know how hard all of you work, and I am truly happy and grateful to see how much you all love yourselves to put yourselves through an amount that sometimes seems pointless and fake, but it will be worth it. That’s just something you have to allow yourself to understand.

[matchpointfaist]

can we have more physiotherapist reader x art as a treat

part two.. or the one where they get dinner

eek my sweeties!

@cherrygirlfriend this is also inspired by your reblog on the original thank u <3333

a week later, art sent a car to pick you up at seven, planning an entire evening for the two of you, checking all the boxes. he wanted to impress you, despite you having already seen him at his lowest after each match, he wanted to show you how good he could treat you. the restaurant was nice, but not so nice that you couldn’t truly enjoy yourselves, intimate enough for some privacy but not stuffy enough to make you uncomfortable. it was perfect, really.

he met you outside, flowers in hand, a nervous smile on his face as you stepped out of the suv, looking around curiously. god, if you were beautiful in scrubs, you were downright lethal in a dress, your long legs on display for him, leaving him speechless. “you didn’t have to do all this,” you smiled up at him, admiring the flowers, admiring the way he looked in his suit, “you’re so sweet,”

“pretty flowers for a pretty girl,” he looped your hand around his arm as he lead you inside, nearly shivering at the feeling of your skin, “reservation for donaldson,” the hostess led you to a secluded table, a bottle of wine and two glasses already out, just as he requested. he pulled your chair out for you, reminding himself of all the ways he’d been taught by his grandma to be a gentlemen, smiling as he sat across from you. “this place is gorgeous,” you smiled, glancing around, “you really did not have to do all of this, art,”

“i wanted to,” he shrugged, “you deserve to be taken out somewhere nice, anyway. it’s the least i could do,” “you’re just sayin that because you like how i massage your shoulders,” you teased, sipping your wine, “oh! speaking of, i found my replacement. he’ll be starting next week,” “i didn’t want a replacement,” he rolled his eyes playfully, “but i suppose i trust your judgement,” “well if i was still your therapist, i couldn’t do this,” you took his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, “and i certainly couldn’t go back to your apartment tonight,”

“who said i wanted you to come home with me?” he taunted, but you both knew he was bluffing, could tell from the way his eyes trailed all over you near constantly. “be a shame if you didn’t,” you grinned, “you look really nice, by the way. i didn’t say that before,” “you look beautiful,” he smiled softly, “really. you look absolutely perfect,”

the entire night was perfect, really. your conversation never slowed, and he found himself, not for the first time, in awe of how easy it was with you. with other women, he’d overcompensated, always feeling like he had to prove something to them, or to himself. with you, though? words flowed out of him like it was the simplest thing in the world, never once concerned that you’d think he was weird or not funny or anything other than just himself.

you stayed so late the restaurant had started closing around you, other tables being cleaned off quietly as you two chattered on, oblivious to anyone but each other until the server very kindly informed you they needed to close up. art laughed, apologizing and leaving a $100 on the table, making you even more confident in your opinion that he was the kindest man you’d ever known.

he walked you to his car, opening the door for you and watching idly as you slid into the leather seats, his hand coming to your thigh the second he got in beside you. “do you want me to take you home?” he asked, tracing shapes on your knee absentmindedly. “we could go to yours,” you suggested, goosebumps over your skin, “if you wanted, i mean. i’ve never seen your house,” “you’re not missing much,” he laughed softly, “but i’d love for you to come over,”

the drive was quiet, music playing in the background as you hummed along just loud enough for him to hear, a small smile on his lips the entire way. he led you to his house, giving you a half-effort tour, watching as you looked around, taking in his space. “you’re like, really rich,” you finally said, laughing, “i guess i didn’t realize, but your house is insane,” “i’m not that rich,” he blushed, “i mean, i do well for myself, but it’s not insane,” “art, how much did you even pay for this?” you grinned, smoothing out his blazer, your hands pressed to his chest. “800,” he rolled his eyes, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of your hand, trailing his lips down to your wrist. “600 thousand?” you repeated incredulously, “that’s insane, art,” “mm, maybe,” he didn’t care anymore, abandoning the conversation as he kissed up your forearm, up the crook of your elbow to your shoulder, “does it matter?”

“well, no, it doesn’t matter,” your voice had gone all light and breathless, “i was just wondering,” “do you like it?” he hummed, pulling you flush against him by your waist. “of course,” you nodded, cheeks warm as you looked up at him, took in the way his eyes were half lidded. “then i guess it does matter,” he smiled slightly, brushing your hair from your neck, ghosting his lips over your pulse, “i like it much more now,”

“oh,” a soft, surprised sound left you as he nipped lightly at your neck, “should we- do you wanna go upstairs?” “thought you’d never ask,” he grinned, not hesitating as he looped his arms under your legs, picking you up to carry you through the house. “art!” you squealed, slapping his chest lightly, “put me down!” “and why would i go and do something like that?” he teased, pulling you up closer so he could kiss your forehead before starting up the stairs, ignoring your protests. he dropped you gently on the bed with a huff, smiling down at you as you pouted, taking your jaw in his hand lightly, “pretty girl,” he hummed appreciatively, “don’t pout,”

“maybe i don’t appreciate being thrown around,” you huffed, the smile in your eyes giving you away. “somehow i don’t think i believe that,” he teased, repositioning to you to join you on the bed, eyes and hands everywhere, “i think you’d like it quite a bit if i threw you around,” he grinned as you shivered slightly, leaning into his touch, “don’t be a tease, art,” “who said i’m teasing you? i’m just talkin to you,” he murmured, lips brushing your shoulder, “am i wrong, baby?” “mm, maybe,” you giggled lightly as his breath fanned over a spot on your neck, “you’ll have to find out,”

“now who’s being a tease?” he grinned, a satisfied hum leaving him as you took his arm in your hand, massaging it gently. “can tell i haven’t seen you in a week,” you tsk’d, “you’re so tense. you’ve been working it all week, haven’t you?” “been running drills, yeah,” he nodded, wincing slightly as you worked out a knot in his bicep, “just practicing,” “what did i tell you about pushing yourself?” you scolded softly, “you need a warm shower to loosen all this up,” “did you forget you’re my date and not my physio?” he teased, “but yes ma’am, i promise to take a nice warm shower tomorrow,” “you should do it now,” you mumbled, brows knit in concentration as you massaged up his shoulder, over the old surgery scars, “i can wait here,”

“you can’t possibly expect me to pause our date to shower,” he rolled his eyes, sighing softly as you hit a particularly tender spot, “i can wait,” “i’ll come with you,” you didn’t think twice before you said, the words sparking the space between the two of you. a boyish smile crossed his lips, “yeah? gonna shower with me, doctor?” “art, don’t be gross,” you whined, scrunching up your nose, “i’m not showering with you as your doctor,” “yeah? you showering with me as my pretty little date?” he hummed, still grinning as he kissed your jaw, “come on then,”

his bathroom was just as impressive as the rest of the house, all marble and soft lighting, a small sauna situated in the corner. he started the water, unbuttoning his dress shirt and hanging it over the door, smiling to himself as he watched you slip off your heels, setting them by the vanity. “you’re so beautiful,” he said almost to himself, taking off his slacks and undershirt, now just in his boxers. “can’t get this off,” you huffed, looking at him over your shoulder as you fought with the zipper along the back of your dress, “can you?”

he was all too eager, coming to your side in an instant, one hand settled on your low back as he unzipped the material, looking over every inch of your back as he let the fabric fall to the floor. you stood in front of him in just your underwear, a bra apparently not suitable for that dress, and shivered as he traced his fingertips over your spine, humming quietly. “go on, i’ll be there in a minute,” you said softly, missing his touch the minute he left. “don’t take too long,” he said playfully, stepping out of his boxers before stepping into the water, closing the shower door behind him. you joined him soon after as promised, pupils dilated as you took in the image of him under the falling water, “hi,”

“hi,” he let out a breathless laugh, pulling you under the water with him by your waist, “you get more beautiful with each second, i think,” “i don’t know about that,” you laughed softly, shaking your head, “here, let me-“ you took the shower head from its mount, letting the water run directly over his shoulders and upper back, smiling to yourself at his sigh. “gotta start taking better care of yourself,” you murmured, one hand guiding the shower head and the other massaging his back, “y’hear me? gonna end up havin to get another surgery if you keep on,” “i know what i’m doing,” he argued tiredly, back arching into your touch, “i’m not that old,” “didn’t say you were old,” you grinned, “just worry about you. i know how hard you push yourself,” “you keep touching me like that i’m liable to do anything you say,” he hummed, his head tossed back, “god, baby, you’re so good at that,”

you clicked the shower head back in it’s mount, your free hand going over the taut muscles of his mid back, the other reaching around to rest on his abs, “just like taking care of you,” you said softly, resting your chin on his shoulder as much as you could reach, “can feel those muscles relaxing,” he took the hand rested on his abs, gently guiding it lower, biting his lip as you exhaled a surprised, quick breath as your hand wrapped around his cock. “d’you always get so hard when i work on you?” your voice was low, teasing but sultry. he pulled you around, pressing you against the shower wall easily, “are you teasing again?” he pressed a warm kiss to your jawline, “be nice, baby,” “

“i’m always nice,” you protested, eyes falling closed as he trailed his kisses lower. “mhm,” he hummed into your skin, open mouthed and greedy as he worked his way lower. “i’ll show you,” you lowered to your knees before him, grinning up at him at his surprised expression, “i’ll be so nice, art, promise,” he sucked in a breath as you took him into your mouth, glossy lips parting just for him, all warm and wet and his. he kept a light grip on your hair as you took him deeper, humming around him as he brushed the back of your throat, your eyes watering slightly. “oh, fuck,” his eyes rolled back, thighs tensing, “you’re so good f’me, baby,”

a low, satisfied hum left your throat again, vibrating around him enough to have him gripping your hair harder, his hips bucking forward. your tongue swirled around his tip as you pulled back to catch your breath. your hand pumping the rest of him, watching his reactions intently. “need to fuck you,” he managed to get out between pants and broken moans, “god, you’re doing so good,”

he pulled you up gently, desperate to be inside you, pressing you against the wall until your cheek was flush against it, looking at him over your shoulder as he kissed you hungrily. he placed one hand on your low back to keep you steady as he slid inside you, a sharp hiss of breath leaving him, his brows furrowed, “oh, god,” he leaned over you, warm against your back as he thrusted slowly, snaking his arm around your waist to hold you up, “that feel good, baby?” he buried his head in your shoulder, kissing the taut skin absentmindedly. “so good,” you moaned, clenched tight around him, thighs shaking. he dragged his hand lower, pressing his index finger to your clit as he fucked you faster, “such a good girl,”

you were clawing at nothing, nails scratching over the shower wall as you struggled to stay up, his pace relentless. “i got you, baby,” he hummed, feeling your knees nearly give out, beneath him. he pulled out briefly, nearly grinning at the whine of protest you gave him, before pressing your back against the wall, looping his arms underneath your thighs. “what’re you-“ he picked you up fully, sliding you down on his cock, your legs wrapped around his torso, “oh, art, fuck,” he pounded into you, gripping your thighs tight enough to bruise, catching your lips in a needy kiss. he was obsessed with this new angle, the way he could kiss you and look down to see himself inside you, almost overwhelmed by it. your back arched off the wall, pressing your chest against his, your nails leaving searing scratches down his back, “oh,” he panted between kisses, “you’re grippin’ me so tight, baby, you gonna cum f’me? gonna cum on my cock?” “yes yes yes-“ you were a babbling mess, your legs tightening around him, pulling him impossibly deeper, “art- daddy, fuck!”

that did it for him. he came inside you with a hoarse moan, biting at your shoulder, hips twitching desperately. “oh my god,” he exhaled shakily, kissing your cheek, wiping the stray tear that had spilled as you came, “you’re so good, baby, fuckin perfect,” you made a content little sound, leaning into his palm that cupped your cheek, eyes closed and face flushed. “think i was made for you,” you hummed, warming his chest. he helped you down, making sure to hold you tightly so your legs didn’t give out, helping you clean up gently. he washed your hair for you, kneeling down with a laugh let you reach his, sighing softly at the feel of your fingernails against his scalp. after you were both clean, he wrapped you up in his robe, kissing your forehead and carrying you to bed. you’d given up on all protests, too in love with the feeling of his strong arms around you. he settled beside you in bed, trailing his fingers over your skin, his eyes growing heavy with sleep. “goodnight, art,” you whispered, kissing his cheek. “mm, night, baby,” he smiled sleepily, pulling you closer to his chest, falling asleep with his hands still trailing anywhere they could reach.

[coco-loco-nut]

Eternal Sunshine

pairing: pato o’ward x reader

summary: ok, maybe you have a type. at least this time he might treat you right

masterlist requests open

——————————————

They say that in the darkest skies you see the brightest stars, that suffering is essential to growth, that it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. You never believed it to be true until you met your boyfriend. He kind and funny and ridiculously handsome, and he arrived at one of your lowest points.

——

You shouldn’t be here, your mind screams at you to turn around and leave, but it’s the same one that wanted you to be here in the first place.

The track used to feel like home, for five years you got to watch your boyfriend drive and enjoy the secrecy of your relationship. You both put in a lot of effort into keeping the spark alive, even if it meant shuffling some things around. That was until he decided he to cheat on you. It was easy for him, you weren’t public so it was easy to lie that he wasn’t in a relationship. Turns out he’s been cheating for over a year.

But this isn’t Formula One, this is IndyCar. You chose this to get your fix and move on. It would be satisfying to see someone crash into Oscar, maybe he can feel the pain you felt.

“Are you lost?” a deep voice comes from beside you and you look at the man speaking to you.

“A little,” you smile nervously, you haven’t been recognized yet. Maybe you should’ve chosen a race that wasn’t right outside of L.A.

“Luckily for you, I’m an expert,” you don’t know why he seems familiar. You notice his McLaren shirt, similar to your own - except yours was a fuck you to Oscar. You stole some of his official gear when you packed your bag and left.

“Are you a McLaren fan?” you ask, trying to place why he seems familiar.

“I guess you could say that? Are you?” the man asks, and you can’t help to notice some resemblance to Oscar, but he is far more handsome.

“I, um, same. I’m new to Indy, but I’ve loosely followed the F1 team for around five years,” you choose your words carefully. Pato looks at you closer, knowing he’s seen you somewhere before. Your pass says that you have VIP access, so he doesn’t question it as you walk with him.

“I’m Pato,” your brows furrow slightly as you give him your middle name as a cover. Where have you heard that name before. Your eyes catch sight of a video screen and they widen in horror.

“This is embarrassing, you’re a driver,” you are at a bit of a loss for words, mortified at your carelessness. He has got to be so mad, you straight up lied to his face.

“And your name is actually Y/n. I’m surprised to see someone of your talents here. Especially without security,” Pato’s unoffended smile disarms you, making you mentally sigh a breath of relief.

“Sorry for all the secrecy, it used to be the only way I can attend races,. I guess my disguise didn’t work then,” your smile is bittersweet, it’s almost freeing to be at a race without worrying if your relationship is going to be put on blast.

“I understand. I’m actually a big fan myself, so I recognized your voice. I introduced Lando to your music last year,” Pato says but you know the last part isn’t actually true. He may think he introduced your music to Lando, but Lando couldn’t reveal he knew you and your music well. He was one of the very few people who knew about you and Oscar.

“That’s so cool,” even if it’s wrong, maybe even vain, you love hearing things like that. “Did you get to go to the tour last year r hen?” you follow, curious how much he truly listens to your music.

“No, I wasn’t able to make it between races and other duties. I wanted to though,” he replies, scratching his neck while contemplating if he should ask a question or not. He has you as a captive audience though, so it doesn’t hurt to.

“That’s a shame,” you realize that you’ve started walking with Pato, but no one’s stopped you yet.

“Will you be releasing new music soon?” he sees a flash of hurt in your eyes and immediately regrets asking.

“I’ve both lost and gained inspiration, so there may be something in the works sooner than expected,” Pato immediately understands your words. It was widely known that you were in a long-term relationship, but no one knew who you were dating. It seems like you are no longer in one now. You really will have to hide when that bit of news breaks.

“I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay, it’s actually good, in a way. I’m starting to get over what happened,” the last part feels like a lie, but you don’t feel as heavy as before.

“I’m sorry, you are probably busy and I’m yapping on and on. I should probably get ready for practice anyway,” Pato realizes, flushing slightly with embarrassment.

“It’s okay,” you smile and something inside you tugs at your heart at the thought of him walking away and never talking to him again. “Would you like to get drinks or something after the race on Sunday?” you ask quickly, voice slightly shaking with nerves. You watch his eyes light up before he reels himself in to act cool.

“Yeah. I’d give you my number, but I know that you will run into me soon,. Enjoy all the racing” he grins, disappearing into the crowds. You continue to walk around, finding a spot to watch the end of the IMSA practice.

You slip back into your brooding as the sounds of engines put you on edge. It used to be a sound that was a comfort.

You want to kick yourself, how could you let a man - no, a boy - play you like that. And now here you are, wide-eyed and talking to another driver. Stupid. Not only does he drive for Arrow McLaren, but he’s the reserve driver for the F1 team.

All you can think about is how Oscar and Lando would react, how Pato would react if you started something and he found out about Oscar. The words they could use to hurt you. Whore. You would be moving on quickly, but then again, so did Oscar. He moved on while you were still together. Manipulator. Even if you don’t intend on it, it would be very easy to assume that you are using Pato for revenge, as a low blow. So many more.

“Fuck,” you whisper. You have a lot to think about before the end of the weekend.

Pato was right, you run into him (literally run into him) on Sunday. You just finished and early lunch and got on a call with your agent to discuss an opportunity.

“Sorry, I gotta go,” you apologize, hanging up the call.

“When I said you will run into me, I didn’t mean literally,” the smile on his face tells you he isn’t actually mad. In fact, he seems delighted. Yet the uneasy feeling of nerves bubbles in your stomach, you can’t hurt him. You know what you have to do, you have to tell him the truth. Lay it all out and let him make an informed decision, even if it hurts you to talk about.

“Sorry, I was distracted, and I guess I still am. My agent was trying to convince to, um, you know that doesn’t really matter,” you shift your focus to the present moment.

“I’m glad I ran into you, I was going to offer a garage tour,” Pato brushes you odd behavior off and your eyes light up. The look sends a thrill down his spine and butterflies in his chest. He feels like a teenage boy talking to his crush.

“Really? I’ve never been, not even when I-,” you catch your words, quickly clearing your throat, “not even when I attended an F1 race a few years ago,” the excitement from your voice is gone. Pato can tell there is a story there, but he takes your initial reaction and runs with it. Oscar never brought you to the garage. Even Lando offered, but you both said it was too risky. Oscar never even introduced you to the team, other than Lando.

“Follow me!” he leads you through the Arrow McLaren area, and you end up back at his motorhome. Pato did make sure to take pictures during it, especially with you and his car. You don’t think twice when you follow him in and sit down.

“I kinda like this a lot more than F1, it seems more humble in a way. It’s a spectacle like all racing is, but F1 is so flashy and honestly some people wouldn’t realize if there wasn’t a race. As long as all the other entertainment is there,” you unintentionally start on a tangent. Pato realizes he can learn a lot about you by reading between the lines.

“You sound like you have a bit of experience,”

“They, uh, COTA wants me to perform at F1 grand prix. They claim I will be the biggest attraction,” you huff, you really weren’t supposed to say anything, but if anyone would understand it would be Pato. Plus, he’s in the industry and you deep down you know you can trust him.

“They aren’t wrong. I know at least Lando would rather watch you than drive,” Pato smiles cheekily, dissolving your frustration.

“He’s had a private concert before, I’m sure he’ll live if I turn it down,” you abruptly stop laughing when you realize what you revealed. Pato’s brows furrow as he processes your words, maybe you misspoke. Here goes nothing, you have to come clean now.

“Lando and I were kinda friends, we met through my ex,” you reveal some of your truth. Careful to keep some of the cards in your hand hidden. The ones too painful to share.

“Oh, that’s cool! How did your ex know Lando?” Pato asks, almost wondering how you didn’t know who he was when you met. You quickly weigh the pros and cons. If you are going to get drinks with him after the race, he deserves to at least know and make his decision from there.

“My ex is Oscar Piastri,” your voice is quiet at you look at your hands, picking at a nail. Pato observes you as his stomach drops.

“Oh, how, uh, how did you meet?” he tentatively asks, trying to get an answer but not shut you down.

“I grew up as a huge racing fan and I thought he was cute, so I messaged him and that was that. You know my music,” you watch him smile to himself and then meet your eyes.

“Well, I’m glad I’m your type then, unless it’s just Australian racers,” Pato teases and your lips quirk up, relieved that he isn’t mad.

“No, apparently just men who drive for McLaren,” you chuckle. “He um, he cheated on me, and that isn’t part of my type. Hopefully that’s a part of the Australian thing,” your voice is quieter, but not dejected. That’s as much as you are willing to give for now, somethings are still too painful.

“I think he’s stupid to do that. And to not show you off. Plenty of guys would kill to meet you, to be on your arm and the one you come home to. I know I would,” Pato reassures you as he reaches out and squeezes your hand.

“It isn’t weird?” you ask. He just shrugs, looking at you in a way that makes you like a million butterflies are in your stomach.

“It’s not like you came here searching for me. Based off of your story, I doubt you came here looking for a relationship either. Besides, I initiated our first conversation, and you just came here for… why did you come here?”

“I missed racing, and this is really close to LA,” you say honestly. “I really didn’t know who you were, by the way. I wasn’t allowed to be around the F1 team, and everything I new about the team was from Oscar, so I never really thought to ask who the reserve driver was,” you add on.

“I believe you. For the record, I think you should perform at the race. It might be therapeutic not having to hide your presence there,” Pato offers his opinion. Silently adding that it might be nice to show Oscar you don’t have to hide.

“You have a great point,” your smile sends a thrill down his spine.

“Pato!” a girl barges into the motorhome, drawing both of your attentions. “Oh my god, you’re,” she stares at you with wide eyes.

“Hi,” you stand up to greet her.

“Y/n, this is my sister, Elba,” Pato says as she tells him something in Spanish that sounds borderline angry.

“In that case, maybe we should watch the race together?” you want to get off on the right foot, especially if you want to pursue something with him.

“Really?” her eyes light up as she shoots Pato a look again. “Pato, why are you trapping her?” she asks her brother and you fight a laugh.

“I’m not-“

“I ran into him today, literally ran into him, and he offered to show me around,” you offer an explanation.

“I promise I’m much cooler than him,” she tells you. You admire their sibling dynamic, there’s clearly a deep bond for them to interact as they do.

“Why are you even here?” Pato puts an end to things before his sister steals you away.

“Making sure you are ready, you have ten minutes,” she says, walking over to you and linking your arms. Too late, Pato, you are being stolen.

“Oh shit,”

“That’s what I thought,” she hums, walking the two of you out so he can change.

“Drinks on me,” you tell her, knowing you will get along well. And you do, three drinks later you are telling her all about Oscar and even playing a sample of a new song. She happily takes in all the industry insights and background of your music. You answer most of her questions, even one’s like who your least favorite artist to work with is.

You both don’t even notice when the Arrow Mclaren team takes a picture of you laughing in their hospitality area. You only noticed after the race when your phone started to blow up.

“Everything okay?” Elba asks as you stare at your phone with a frown. You are in the safety of Pato’s motorhome, away from prying eyes.

“My publicist is freaking out. I wasn’t supposed to officially be here and being spotted with you as made the public assume things,” the pinched line between your eyebrows tells Elba just how frustrated you are.

“So you aren’t allowed to have friends,” she scoffs. Even if she can tell there is a spark between you and her brother, there’s no need to push that at the moment. A devilish smile creeps onto her face as she looks at you. “I bet those rumors are killing Oscar,” she says while watching the frustration melt into satisfaction.

“I would never use you or your brother like that, but I have to admit I like the idea,” you smile.

“Hello sister and supposed girlfriend,” Pato walks in, causing you to sit up a little. He clearly isn’t bothered by it. Secretly, he loves it, he wasn’t lying earlier about being romantically interested.

“Do your ears burn?” Elba asks, eyebrow raised like this isn’t Pato’s motorhome.

“No?”

“Hm, okay,”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize that a photo of Elba and I would cause so much trouble,” you apologize, a little embarrassed at the public’s reaction. You went from never having a public photo of you and Oscar to having articles being written about you and Pato when you aren’t even together yet.

“So I shouldn’t post the photo of you with my car?” Pato asks lightheartedly.

“Post whatever you’d like,” your words are truthful, it’s a good photo and people already know you are hanging out.

“Good, you look very cute in it,” Pato’s words cause your cheeks to flush.

“I should go, my car is here. Congrats on your podium,” you stand, sneakily leaving a slip of paper on the chair behind you.

Pato and Elba watch you disappear. Guess you aren’t getting drinks tonight.

“You really like her, don’t you?” Elba asks, watching as Pato stares at the door you left from.

“She’s different. I should be thrown off about Oscar, but she didn’t know me. She loves racing too. I want her, but I’m willing to wait,” Pato says wistfully. Elba subtly picks up the paper that you dropped.

“Well, she lefts this. Maybe it’s a good start,” Elba leaves Pato to himself.

Pato, sorry I had to leave quickly. Text me when you get to this address, 10pm…

Your handwriting is neat with the details listed at the end. A quick google search of the name tells him it’s a members-only upscale bar. It’s so exclusive it has a dress code and no address listed online.

His stomach churns with nerves as he sends a text to you letting you know he’s there. A moment later a man in a suit opens the door for him. He’s never been so nervous for a date.

“Mr. O’Ward, follow me,” Pato runs his hands nervously down his button-down, smoothing non-existent wrinkles. The tie feels tight as he steps further into the bar. Pato spots you wearing a sleek black dress with hair perfectly styled. You look absolutely breathtaking as you stand to greet him, pressing a light kiss to his cheek.

“Sorry for the formality, it’s just the best place for privacy,” you apologize.

“It’s okay. This is a really cool place,” Pato looks around, shocked at the big names sitting near him.

“I ordered some food, if that’s okay, but the waiter will be back soon for drink orders,” you tell him. relaxing into the seat.

“That’s perfect,” Pato takes a look at the menu, noticing there’s no prices.

“Don’t worry about the cost, I’ve paid for everything already,” you answer his thoughts, practically reading his mind.

“But-“

“I asked you out and invited you, you weren’t going to pay regardless,” your smile tells him to enjoy being treated so he does.

“How was your first Indycar weekend?” he asks after you order drinks.

“I enjoyed it, I think I might have a new favorite driver,”

“You mean I wasn’t your favorite in the first place?” Pato teases.

“No, it was Nico Rosberg, jury is still out if he’s moving from number one,” your eyes crinkle.

“Will that change if I show you pictures of my dog?”

“Absolutely,” you lean in to look at his phone. You may be a cat person, but you love dogs almost as much as you love cats.

Your first date turns into two, then three, then four, then nights spent together. Pato even occasionally joins you at the studio while you record your new album. The summer flies and you make some appearances at races as Elba’s friend - which isn’t untrue. Your fans connected the dots when you posted a dump that included Pato’s dog and Pato posted the photo of you with his car from your garage tour.

She joins you and Pato at COTA. You’ve spent the whole week both stressed and nervous as you practiced your set and announced your new album, eternal sunshine.

“Are you okay?” she asks as you nervously walk through the paddock.

“No, but it’s okay,” you frown, glancing at your pass. Your cream linen outfit is neutral, you didn’t even touch the Arrow Mclaren gear that Pato gifted you when packing for the weekend. He insisted that you didn’t have to accept Mclaren’s offer to be a guest on the day of your performance, but you told him that you would stick with Elba. Your PR team thought it would be a good idea too, especially since you are known to support the Indycar team.

“We can take a shot before going over,” she suggests.

“It’s not even noon,”

“Doesn’t matter,” she shrugs. You follow her as she leads you to a bar, ordering two shots. You’ll just drink extra water before performing tonight. It doesn’t stop the nerves pooling in your stomach as you approach the papaya area, but it does make your brain not care as much.

“Y/n!” Lando practically falls over himself running over to greet you.

“Hey Lando,” your smile is tight, glad it’s him and not Oscar, but not happy to see him this early in the day. You thought you had another hour at least.

“I’m sorry, I was going to reach out but I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me,” his words fall on your deaf ears.

“Save it. If you want to apologize, keep him away from me,” your words are resolute.

“Too late,” Elba says under her breath and suddenly you wish you took more than one shot. You don’t know Pato approaching from behind you, you are honed in on the person now in front of you.

“I see you have a type,” the first words every girl wants to hear from her ex. Certainly not ‘i’m sorry’ or ‘i am the worst, you deserve better than me’. You squeeze Elba’s wrist, silently telling her to stand down before she yells.

“Right, well, he doesn’t cheat on me in my house and bed multiple times, shamelessly apologize when I walk in on it and then send photos to me together with the same girl in that bed a week later. So, I’d say he isn’t like you at all. And if you think you are my type, then you are sorely mistaken,” your eyes narrow. Lando gives Oscar a WTF look, clearly unimpressed with his teammate. He didn’t know the whole story, all Oscar told him was you broke up.

“It’s a shame no one will know who she’s talking about on her album. Except for the ones that are clearly about Pato. Trust me, you’ll know which ones those are,” Elba can’t resist herself, and you are proud of it. You probably shouldn’t have let her listen to two of the demos though.

“What?” Oscar’s eyes widen, not expecting you to tell the world about your break up. Lando is silently thrilled, he can��t wait for your new album. It’s too bad he will have to wear headphones while listening to it.

“You seriously didn’t expect me to not write about it, did you?” you raise your eyebrow. “I wrote about the good and will sure as hell write about the ugly. Be glad I respect you just enough to not name drop you,”

“Hermosa, let’s go,” Pato wraps an arm around your waist, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, gently removing you from the situation. You startle slightly, not having realized his presence.

“Just wait until she sings tonight,” Elba shoots another comment at Oscar, channeling the spite that you won’t show. Just because you are taking the high road doesn’t mean she has to.

“Elba,” Pato’s sharp voice calling back to her tells her enough and she walks away. Sending one final nasty look over her shoulder before catching up with you and Pato.

“Dude, what the fuck,” Lando turns to his teammate.

“I, she broke up with me,”

“You cheated on her. Multiple times apparently. You know what? We are not having this discussion here. Lucky enough no one was around to see this whole fiasco. Just, stay away from her,” Lando shakes his head, leaving Oscar to wallow in his thoughts.

“Hey, none of that was your fault,” Pato keeps you close, your breathes deep and shaky as you hold yourself together. He brings you into a small empty room, Elba closes the door behind you as tears streak down your cheeks. You sit on the floor, leaning against the wall.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying,” Pato crouches in front of you, thumb wiping away a tear.

“You weren’t ready to encounter him again. I’m so proud of how you handled it, and it’s okay to cry,” he reassure you, which makes you cry harder. Elba bites back a comment about the aforementioned boy, but he should be careful to not run into her again. She’s only nice when not talking to someone who hurt her friend. Pato moves to sit beside you, pulling you into his lap. He lets you cry it out, something you refused to do when you found out about Oscar’s infidelity. You’ve been so strong for so long, you’ve never given yourself the chance to feel your feelings.

“How much of it did you hear?” you tearily ask, a little ashamed that you revealed a part of the story you never told Pato. So much pain put out for the world to hear in a fit of anger.

“Most of it,” Pato answers and you know he knows.

“This is not how this weekend was supposed to start,” you rest your head against Pato’s now damp shirt. Elba stepped out to grab water for you and give you some privacy.

“No,” he agrees, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. Pato won’t vocalize it, but he’s worried about you being in the Paddock for his free practice drive in Mexico.

“Am I doing the right thing by being here? Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to perform,” your voice is thick with that post-cry sound.

“Absolutely, this was hard but I think it will help with your healing. He can’t touch you anymore, he’ll risk your fans knowing he is the one who hurt you,” Pato is reassuring himself too, it was terrifying to find you face to face with Oscar.

“Right,” your tears have stopped.

“Hey, we need to get lunch before sound check,” Elba pops in, carefully tossing the bottle of water to Pato.

“Right,” you sniff, carefully removing yourself from Pato’s hold and standing up.

“Drink this, you need to rehydrate. Fuck, and I need to go to a meeting,” Pato kisses you, letting it last a second too long before leaving you and Elba.

“I can hurt him, make it look like an accident. Then Pato can race this weekend,” Elba suggests. You know she won’t and can’t, but you crack a smile anyway.

“I don’t deserve you or Pato,” you hug her.

“Let’s fix your mascara and get out there. We’ve avoided your team this long, I don’t know how much longer we can manage,” you and Elba find Mclaren hospitality and take advantage of the drivers being in a meeting. You two are gone by the time they get there.

You make your way to the concert stage for a sound check with your band. The hot Texas heat beating down on you.

“I’m making changes to the set list,” you hand them the revised one. “We are doing three songs from the new album. Opening with True Story, then we will do The Boy is Mine and Eternal Sunshine later in the show. Maybe ending with Boy is Mine,” you tell them.

“But those aren’t your singles,”

“It’s a gift to the fans, it’ll help get hype around the album,” you lie, you just feel that they will send the message to Oscar. It’s your little piece of revenge.

“Sounds good, we will practice those later,” your guitarist says. You run through a couple of your hits so the sound levels can be adjusted, before going into a meeting with your team.

“We have an interview set up with F1 TV in half an hour. It’s some type of quiz with Hinchcliffe while doing a hot lap,” your publicist tells you as you hydrate and stretch.

“Right, well, let’s get ready,” you head to the dressing room that is air conditioned, thankfully.

“So, the rumor is that you are a big motorsport fan,” Hinch starts off the interview.

“Ever since I was a kid. I’ve been to a few grand prix before, and now I get to perform at one,” you reply, happy to talk about racing.

“Is Mclaren your favorite team then?”

“No, but I’ll never tell who is,” your playful expression is opposite to the one you wore earlier. No one can tell that you had been crying.

“Well, you’ve been a frequent guest at Indycar races. Who is your favorite driver, me or Pato?”

“I don’t think I can answer that either,” you smile, playing along with the bit.

“So it’s me. Great taste,” he accelerates off the starting line.

“I’ve always wanted to do one of these,”

“Triva while on a hot lap? We all have our own aspirations,” he takes a turn quickly and you cheer in excitement. You confidently answer his questions.

“Can we go again? Can I drive?” you ask, not wanting to unbuckle.

“Unfortunately that’s all the track time we have today,” you sadly unbuckle, giving the in-car camera a thumbs down.

“Thank you for the ride,” you tell him after getting out.

“Thank you, I don’t think I’ve had anyone tell me to go faster. Good luck on your performance tonight,” he is a little shocked at how well you handled it.

“Thank you, I’ll give you a backstage pass if you let me drive,” you say once the cameras stop filming and the mic is removed.

“Unfortunately I cannot this time. Get Pato to rent a track for you. Has he taken you on a lap yet?”

“No, he will in Mexico. Don’t tell anyone, but you are my favorite commentator,” you take your bag from an assistant and hand him a pass.

“I will be holding this over Buxton’s head,” Hinch waves the pass before you part ways. You find Elba and Pato to watch qualifying before you have to get ready for the concert. Elba leaves to get food, claiming that now is the right time while everyone else is busy on track.

“Are you nervous,” Pato asks, his fingers entwined with yours as you stare at the screen.

“A little, but I changed the set to add some of the new album,” you keep your eyes trained on the Ferrari on the screen.

“I have a request from the social media team,” your head turns to look at your boyfriend at the uneasiness in his voice. “They want Oscar and Lando to watch the concert with me, they think,”

“They think it will show team togetherness since you will already be there to watch me,” you sigh, mulling it over. “Fuck. If I say no then it makes me look like an asshole,” your frown deepens at the thought.

“Lando said he will make sure Oscar is gone by the time you get offstage,”

“No, they will want a video or picture of me interacting with them,” you run a hand through your hair and Pato regrets asking on behalf of the team.

“It’s not a big deal if you say no. I can watch from the front row with them and come backstage once you are done. Then the social team still gets what they want,” Pato reassures you with another option.

“Yeah, I think I like that more. Plus, I can sing to you easier that way,” your frown goes away as you lean into him. He removes his hand from yours and wraps his arm around you. “The pass I gave you should let you immediately come backstage, and I’ll have my team inform security to let you through,”

“You are going to kill it, I’m excited to see you onstage,”

“I’m excited too, I can shake off the rust. Oh, and Lando can come backstage with you. Since you introduced him to my music,” Pato lightly groans with embarrassment as you giggle.

“I had no idea you knew him when I told you that! It’s his fault that he didn’t tell me he knew your music,” Pato defends himself.

“Am I too late?” Nolan appears in the doorway, a little out of breath.

“Nolan?” you ask, a little like an excited puppy. You would lay down your life for him, he’s like your baby brother now.

“I couldn’t miss the concert. I tried to be here an hour ago, but the traffic is insane,” he shakes his head as he greets Pato with that weird male handshake.

“Sometimes I think you love Nolan more than me,” Pato says as you hug his teammate.

“I doooo,” you dramatically sway back in forth in the hug.

“I knew it,” Pato shakes his head lovingly. “Oh and surprise. I figured you’d like the extra support,” Pato got your team to give him an extra pass after Nolan dropped some not so subtle hints about wanting to be here.

“Hey Nolan,” Elba returns with a plate of food for you.

“Where’s mine?”

“Um, you can eat later. You aren’t going on stage in a few hours,” Elba waves her brother off.

As every minute in qualifying ticks by you increasingly get both nervous and excited. As Q3 reaches its halfway point, your phone buzzes to summon you away before the crowds start.

“You are going to be amazing, I’ll be front and center,” Pato hugs you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“I will be there too,” Nolan interjects.

“I’ll be backstage before the show,” Elba promises. You thank them and head out. You are immediately thrown into warm ups and hair and makeup.

“15 minutes,” the stage manager warns. You check your phone one last time before grabbing your water and heading to the stage.

“Good luck, you got this, you are an icon,” Elba starts to hype you up, and your laugh makes her join your laughter.

“I’m more worried for my fans, they aren’t expecting new music to be performed,” you shake your head as you are directed to a platform.

“You will smash it,” she says as she’s led to the wings. You focus on your breathing and hydration.

The lights go dark and the crowd silences. A cue tells you to start your first surprise. Your voice is alone in the dark as you start singing. You start rising in the darkness during the first gimmie love section of the intro and as soon as the platform locks into place and your beat picks up a golden light flushes the stage. The show’s begun.

Pato soaks in the vision of you up on the stage and how Oscar has to mask his shock. It didn’t take long for Oscar to realize that bad light you paint of him, the opposite of how you’d written him in the past. You send a subtle smile Pato’s way, one he returns as an eager grin.

“Dude, your girlfriend is killing it,” Lando yells over the music. You are currently singing one of your first hits, and the energy is high.

“I want her to adopt me,” Nolan agrees. Even the songs you wrote about Oscar feel directed at Pato now, and that’s a new level of hurt. The final blow comes as you end the show with your newest steamy song, and everyone know who you are singing about and to.

“Holy shit,” Pato says as he listens to your words, he hasn’t heard this one yet and it’s capital H-O-T. You strut upstage, back to the audience as you end the song. During the final word, ‘mine’, you turn your head back to look at the crowd, quickly finding Pato’s eyes and sing the word. The lights go dark, and it’s somehow more electric than your start.

“I’m actually speechless,” Lando says as Nolan grabs Pato’s shoulders, shaking him.

“Dude,” he is practically jumping. “You are her’s and she let everyone know,” Nolan says.

“Imagine having a song like that written for you, that must be so cool. Right, Osc?” Lando turns to his teammate, still mad about the recent facts he learned about. Oscar swallows, nodding.

“Yeah, that certainly seems very cool,” Oscar begrudgingly agrees.

“Mr. O’Ward and guests, your presence is required backstage,” security arrives just as expected. Oscar follows but before they reach you, the group is stopped. They couldn’t just leave him to a crowd of fans.

“Alright guys, smile,” the Mclaren admin takes a quick picture while they wait for you to finish taking off your mic pack and monitors.

Still high off of the performance, you practically jumping into Pato’s arms, not looking at who else was around. Elba trails you, a jacket in hand for when you get cold from your sweat evaporating away.

“You were incredible, mi amor,” he holds you, letting you kiss him, arms around his neck.

“Hey, we get it, the boy is yours. You literally just sang about it,” Lando jokes as you pull away from Pato. The way you two look at each is different than when you and Oscar were together. Fondness? Sure. But the look you and Pato give one another is deeper.

“I would like to bleach my eyes,” Elba agrees.

“Mind if we get a couple photos?” the Mclaren admin asks and your social team also approaches to get some. You stand between Pato and Nolan. Elba is on the other side of Pato, Lando beside Nolan, and Oscar on the other side of Lando.

“I take it you guys liked the show?” you ask, proceeding as if Oscar wasn’t there. The more you act like nothing happened and you don’t know him, the worse he will feel.

“It was incredible,” Nolan answers for the group.

“I’m glad,” you smile tiredly. The physical exhaustion of the performance hitting you. “Thank you guys for coming, I hope you do well tomorrow,” you give Nolan and Lando hugs, offering just a nod to Oscar. Fans know he doesn’t like physical touch like that, so it doesn’t seem abnormal.

Your fingers intertwine with Pato’s as you practically drag him back to your dressing room, locking the door behind you. You plop down into the comfy chair and Pato helps remove your heels.

“I have to admit, a part of me wanted to climb onto that stage and carry you off of it when you were singing to me,” Pato gently massages your calves.

“I wouldn’t have been opposed. Just wait until the album comes out,” your sly grin widens as he stands up and steps closer to you.

“Be careful with what you say, hermosa,” his voice deepens as you tilt your chin up at him.

“I can be quiet. These clothes need to come off anyway,” your breath hitches as he lifts you up, lips crashing together. His hands slide to your back, working your outfit off.

You spend the next few months laying low as you plan a short tour after your album released on Thanksgiving. You even train with Pato. It’s surprising how similar your training is to his and it keeps both of you accountable.

Everything really hits you again the first time you walk the red carpet with Pato. He’s so proud to be at your side, showing you off and supporting you. It’s nothing you’ve ever had before. He’s here when your album isn’t eligible for awards until next year, when you just have to be here for the appearance.

“Thank you for being here,” you whisper in his ear as you sit at a table, tearing up a little as your hands are joined underneath the table.

“Of course I’m here, you support me. I like being your WAG,” Pato turns towards you, feeling as if he is doing the bare minimum. “Amor, I would go anywhere for you, just like you would for me,” he brings your hand up from under the table and kisses your knuckles.

To him, this is just a scratch of the support he wants to provide you. It feels like nothing in comparison to what you’ve done for him. You scheduled a whole tour around the month of May so you could spend it living out of a motorhome with him.

“I love you so much,”

“I love you more.”

[dovesndecay]

I'm on day 2 of an ocular migraine that has actively put me out of even my lowest effort commission, and sent me to the dark hole of my bed to recover.

(Last time this happened, I went temporarily blind in one eye, so that's a fun worry to have)

I have $89.96 to my name, and absolute bare minimum, just to clear the actively due January bills, and not a cent elsewhere, I need to raise $550. So I'm stressed.

Because February is not going to make that number go down, as we are all aware that's just not (sadly) how bills work. (It will, in fact, double.)

I'm super close to my first goal on Patreon to hit $150/month! I would love to keep that going up, and it's truly the cheapest, most effective way to help me. (If 120 people pledge $10/mo, I'd be able to mostly stop making these posts, for example. And you get art out of it! Woo! I hope)

If you can, if you're willing, boosting, donating, pledging, my appreciation is endless.

PayPal | (link)

Venmo | (dovesndecay)

Cashapp | ($dovesndecay)

[blueraith]

People get way too caught up in "this character is a fighter" trope.

Okay. But why is the character fighting? What cause, person, or thing are they putting their body and life on the line for? It's gonna be something if the character is well written.

Which Vi is.

What happens if they lose that something they've been fighting for over and over and over again? When no matter what they seem to do, their efforts to fight back always end in failure?

Particularly in a story with a theme about the cycle of violence and how it only creates more? When her literal father/narrative mentor figure physically grasps her fist, shakes it and tells her they're only going to cause her more problems?

What do you think the story is trying to say here and throughout the work? It happens early enough to not only be foreshadowing, but a thesis statement for Vi's character.

A thesis statement isn't always just confined to a work overall, they can be applied to characters too. That entire talk with Vander right after the heist is Vi's.

"If people look up to you, you don't get to be selfish."

"This?" Grasps Vi's fist and gently shakes it* "They’re not gonna solve your problems. Just make more of them."

Those two quotes set Vi up as a character for the entire series. Vi is set on a path in which she must learn how to live for herself and she must learn how to live outside of fighting and violence.

Those are the only two directions Vi's character can possibly grow narratively. If there were other options, Vander's talk with her would have been about whatever the fuck her haters wanted. I don't know, maybe, "Well, Vi, you blew up a building, but those Piltie oppressors deserved it. Keep fighting and free Zaun from tyranny."

Obviously Vander didn't say any of that bullshit. My point is that the narrative never, ever sets Vi up as a freedom fighter doomed to always give her life and body for a revolutionary cause. In fact, it does the exact opposite as seen by the conversation above and the later talk Vander has with her about war on the bridge.

If you did not see a rock bottom moment for Vi followed by a drastic change to her character for S2 coming, I question your ability for literally analysis severely. Because Vi surely does not learn the lessons Vander tried to teach her in S1. She actually only ever fights harder and harder and her situation continously deteriorates. Make more problems.

Vi attacks Sevika > Sevika warns Silco she's back

Vi threatens Silco when he finds her > Silco worsens Jinx's mental state with his own trauma with Vander

Vi challenges Silco's relationship with Jinx to Jinx > Jinx feels she has to choose between them in the most violent way possible due to her own trauma

Vi convinces Jayce to attack Silco's operation directly > Furthers tensions between PnZ that culminate into the memorial attack in S2

This is not to say that Vi is solely responsible for the way these events spiraled out of control, but those are her contributions to the cycle of violence. At no point in this story have her confrontational, aggressive, or violent decisions have made anything better.

It gets worse in S2.

Vi joins Cait's taskforce to kill or capture Jinx > Finds out she can't truly harm her sister but not before Jinx turns their strategy with the Grey into yet another terrorist attack on Piltover. (She also loses Caitlyn to Cait's own zeal for violence during her grief.)

Vi succumbs to pit fighting to try and punch away her pain > Hits her lowest point of all, her fighting is now aimless and entirely self-destructive

It's not until she lowers her fists while fighting Warwick that her outlook changes. She finally learns that to make peace, one has to be willing to finally stop fighting.

She does this again at the commune when she takes the gauntlets off without much fight when requested.

This is the story Arcane was always going to tell with Vi. Her's is an introspective and internalized conflict. It was never with Piltover, never as a revolutionary, but always regarding her place as someone grappling with how to escape the cycle of violence and create a life of peace on her own terms.

She wasn’t forgotten, didn't become spineless, and didn't have "nothing" to do in S2.

I think people simply missed this setup with her character. They wrote their own fanwork in their heads in the three year gap between seasons, and have become upset that the version of Vi in their heads was never the Vi Arcane was actually portraying.

I thought Vi's story was poignant, and it's a shame some viewers out there not only completely missed the mark, they're too set in their ways to actually see Vi from this perspective.

[penguin-stars]

⚠️Spoilers for chapters 195+

On a scale of one to ten, how good was your intervention to improve KSE's mental health?

"Good" Friend Brown: *Did his job as an emotional support bunny* 9/10 - Who would've thought that Soleum would rely on a ghost story entity to get him through other ghost stories? They had great chemistry, just talking to him was a huge help for Soleum. And the good friend did his best to be there for him. Not 10/10 because he never told him about his corruption or BSH's antics.

Lee Jaheon: *Threw him into therapy* 10/10 - Very nice of him actually, KSE was practically kicking and screaming during the process, but in the end, he really needed that intervention. Thanks, chief.

Brown: *Kidnapped Invited him to his Talk Show* 5/10 - He thought he was doing Soleum a favor, can you really blame him? They were having fun at the Talk Show! Soleum got contaminated pretty badly and lost all of his points at Daydream, tho. Kinda of an asshole move in the grand scheme of things, but he went in with the best intentions for his friend, so he gets a semi-pass.

D- Squad: *Helped him out of the Talk Show* 8/10 - There wasn't much that they could do, but they still got together and helped him notice his contamination. Wholesome much, D-Squad always got each other's backs despite being disbanded already. Also, the alien body possession was funny.

Brown: *Helped him out during the Taxi anomaly* 7/10 - Soleum freaked out a little when he heard him. But it was nice of him to arrange his meeting with J3. Well done, friend.

Lee Jaheon: *Broke into his room to warn him about his contamination* 6/10 - Don't you love it when you get home after a long day at work and a lizard man is waiting for you in the living room? I know I would A bit of a weird move, and he gets deductions for getting KSE into a huge debt with the Space Shopping Mall, but capitalism works the same way here and in the rest of the Galaxy, apparently. He also nudged KSE to burn the "good" friend after he re-summoned him, and honestly, I wish he had taken that advice. Thanks again, chief(s).

Brown: *Offered to help him at the festival, and once again at prison* 1/10 - A bit late for that, ain't it? You're losing the race, 친구.

Hyeonmu Team + Eun Haje: *Rescued him from the festival* 10/10 - When Soleum needed them the most, Hyeonmu Team stepped up with an exorcism sequence worthy of a shonen manga. Eun Haje really said "Fuck this mission, Soleum is more important" KSE was at his lowest, and this really helped him look forward to his future once again. Great work, team!

Agent Choi: *Threw him into prison* 0/10 - WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU

Agent Bronze: *Took the role of an interrogator* 15/10 - He did his best. He really did. He helped to make Soleum more comfortable in a process that was heading into torture territory. Had a nice dinner and a heart-to-heart with him. Lowkey became the person who got closest to understanding him. Also, mediated between Soleum and Choi, truly middle child behaviour. Too bad his best wasn't enough to deter Soleum from leaving the Bureau. He still gets the highest score for the effort. Everyone, give it up for Ryu Jaekwan.

Special Mentions J3: 🐺/10 - He still hasn't had his big moment yet, but you can tell that he would do whatever he could to help Soleum. Who's a good boy? Go Youngeun: 🐐/10. - She's a good, level-headed companion that Soleum can talk to. No matter the occasion, he can count on her as the sanest, most composed person in the room. Unless Baek Saheon is involved, and now Soleum has to stop them from throwing hands. Blue Dragon: 💙/10 - Not sure if his affection is good for KSE's mental health, but we know that he cares for him. Give him a chance, Soleum. Baek Saheon: 3/10 - Honestly, I think Soleum enjoys messing with him. Like the equivalent of squeezing a stress ball. That's gotta count for something, right? Director Ho: -100/10 - Lmao

Overall Winner: Lee Jaheon. When life's rough, remember that a lizard is looking out for you.

Winner in my heart: Ryu Jaekwan. Dear Ireum-nim, take all his suffering and give it to Agent Choi.

[twentyonetornmyheart]

Past the Darkness, There was Us

Yelena x Fem! Plus Size Reader

Word count: 3,681

Genre: angst, fluff

Summary: You waited like you always do.But this time, the dark came first.And somehow—through all the wreckage—you both still found your way back.

Warning:PTSD, dissociation, childhood trauma, emotional abuse, self-harm ideation, bullying, fatphobia, panic attacks, body image issues, alcohol abuse (mentioned), parental abuse (verbal and implied physical), Red Room trauma, recovery/healing themes

AN: Hey again! I wanted to write something for Thunderbolts because this movie really hit me—it was so emotional and powerful. This fic follows the same general plot, but I definitely added my own spin.

And I know it says plus-size reader, so I want to say this again:

there aren’t a lot of fanfics that center plus-size characters, and I always want to write stories for those of us who want to see ourselves in them. I know it’s not for everyone, but if it is for you—I hope it means something.

I’m still pretty new to writing, so I truly appreciate feedback. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

You didn’t realize what was happening—it all felt so sudden, so utterly unplanned. You weren’t prepared for what was to come.

At that moment, you were sitting at home, curled on the couch, waiting for Yelena to return from her mission.

Lately, she had thrown herself into work like it was the only thing keeping her alive. Days would pass with no contact, and then she’d walk through the front door like a ghost—here, but not really. Her body, a mere shell drifting through this world, her mind somewhere far from here. When she was home, her presence was mechanical—a routine she performed out of muscle memory.

“Hey, baby. How are you? How was your day? I missed you too. Uh huh. Food smells good.”

The words were automatic, shallow echoes of what they used to mean. A kiss on the cheek, a brief squeeze around your supple waist—and then she’d vanish into the home office. Gone for hours.

You’d find her slumped in the chair, half an empty bottle of vodka dangling from her fingers, her expression vacant. You had always known when she left. Her face would become a blank slate, unable to form any emotion. It was almost as if the light in her eyes had dimmed to complete darkness. You’d whisper her name into the room, hoping to pull her out of this catatonic-like state. But no matter your efforts, it was no use. It was as if the Yelena you loved had been swallowed whole by silence.

It killed you to see her like this. Shattered your heart into unmanageable pieces.

You wanted to help. To mend it. To bring her back to herself. But you knew how she was—push too hard, and she’d retreat even further. You were left with no choice but to adapt. You had to teach yourself how to care without pressing. You’d gather the bottles without a word. Kneel to take off her boots. Guide her to bed with gentle, loving hands. You’d carefully use a warm washcloth to rid her face of any dirt or sweat. You’d press your lips softly to her forehead, leave gentle kisses, and run your fingers through her golden tresses with delicate care—hoping she could feel it through the fog.

You missed the way she used to laugh. The way she filled a room with her chaotic, radiant energy. Now, she barely spoke. Barely looked at you.

But still, you stayed.

You weren’t going to leave her—not at her lowest.

T This mission, though… this one felt different.

You remembered the day she told you about it. Something in her eyes—soft, hopeful—had flickered back to life. You could see the light slowly return to her gaze, like she believed in something again.

“This’ll be the last one,” she’d said. “When I come back, everything’s going to change.”

She meant it. You could feel it in your bones, in the quiet certainty of her spirit.

You had held her face in your hands so softly, as if holding too tightly might make her crumble, and whispered, “No matter what happens, I’ll be right here. Waiting for you to come home.”

She had wrapped her smaller, athletic frame around your plush one, squeezing you close, as if trying to remember exactly how you felt against her. As if she was grounding herself in the softness of your body.

But that day hadn’t come yet.

Three days had passed.

No calls. No texts. No heavy footsteps echoing in the hall.

You tried calling Alexei—only to be met with his ridiculous voicemail about his limo business. Your brain was too wired to let you sleep. Your stomach too nauseous to let you eat. You just sat, phone in hand, watching the news like it might somehow save you from your spiraling thoughts.

Like a church in the dark hours before morning, everything was still…

Until it wasn’t.

A breaking report: a massive explosion in the desert. Something had fallen from the sky. A crater had been left behind—immense, smoking, unnatural.

Your heart dropped. You could feel it thudding against the curve of your belly.

You didn’t want to believe it was connected. You tried to come up with every reason imaginable to convince yourself it had nothing to do with the love of your life. But your mind wouldn’t stop racing.

Then it came—the darkness.

It spread across the sky like spilled ink over a bright white canvas, stretching over the city—thick, black, and endless. You stood frozen in your apartment, convinced it would pass you by. That your walls would hold it off.

But they didn’t.

It seeped in through the windows. It bled through the walls. You could feel it breathing against your skin.

You ran.

Out the door, into the hall. But the darkness followed. It curled around you, pulled you under—

And then you were gone.

⸻

Suddenly, you were in your childhood bedroom. You had no recollection of falling asleep or passing out, your brain so confused on how you returned to this place.

The faded green floral wallpaper. The pink bedspread still lined with stuffed animals. Your bookshelf—filled with old, worn stories you used to disappear into.

While you were still puzzled about how you came to be here, it all looked innocent. Sweet, even. As if you were in one of the safer places, compared to others.

Until you saw the girl.

Dark, coily curls crowned the top of her head, delicate and untamed. Her thick, tender cheeks—meant for holding laughter and light—were streaked with warm, salty tears instead of the bright, carefree smile a child should wear.

She sat crouched by your dresser, small and trembling, as if she were trying to retreat into her own skin.

You took a step toward her—

And the door rattled. It was as if the walls around you started to shift, to vibrate.

Fists slammed against it. A voice screamed through the hinges.

“Y/N! OPEN THIS GODDAMN DOOR!”

Your father.

You hadn’t heard his voice in years. You’d tried to forget it. Tried to erase the memories, or push them deep, deep down—as if the things that happened to you in your childhood had never happened.

But they were back now, sinking their claws in deep, clawing their way to the surface, leaving behind angry trails of red—raw and burning.

You knew this day. You remembered what was to come.

The sobbing child on the floor—you.

Tears continued to soak her cheeks. Her hands shook as she clutched a small blade, raising it to her thick thigh.

You remembered the day it hit you—really hit you—that there was no way out of the hell inside your own home. No saving grace. No hero at the door. Just you. And the noise. The chaos. You couldn’t stop the yelling, couldn’t dodge every hit, couldn’t make yourself small enough to disappear. So you did the only thing you could: you learned how to forget. You trained your mind to slip away, to tune out the shouting and the slamming doors. To float above it all like it wasn’t happening to you.

Because somehow, the bruises faded faster than the words.

And physical pain? That was easier.

That, at least, made sense.

You ran to her, dropping to your knees.

“Don’t do it, sweetheart. It gets better, I promise you. This isn’t the way.”

You begged her like your life depended on it—because in some ways, it did. You wanted so desperately for your younger self to believe it. To understand that this wasn’t the answer. That hurting yourself wouldn’t fix the hurt they caused. That even though the sting of physical pain might feel like relief in the moment, it would never ease the weight of the emotional scars buried beneath it.

She looked at you with hollow eyes—so much like Yelena’s sometimes—eyes with no light left in them, only darkness.

“It’s the only way. I can’t do this anymore. It’s too late.”

You reached for the blade—

But something grabbed you.

Hands—cold and unseen—wrapped around your wrists, yanked them back, and tied you to the bedposts. Splintered wood dug into your skin, holding you there as you thrashed, screaming.

“STOP! PLEASE! DON’T!”

You screamed through tears, kicked at the floor, clawed at anything that might make it stop.

And somehow—by some miracle—you broke free from the bindings.

⸻

You stumbled into the closet, desperate to escape the nightmare—but instead of solid ground, there was nothing. Just air. And then you were falling, fast and hard, like the floor had vanished right out from under you.

And you landed on freezing tile.

You looked up.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead at an annoying pitch. Wet, broken tile beneath you. You heard it before you saw it—eerie laughter echoing all around.

You started to recall more memories from your adolescence—your middle school gym locker room.

You turned and saw the group of girls—around twelve or thirteen—gathered in a circle, laughing cruelly.

You stood on shaking legs, your body already remembering what your mind begged to forget. You knew what was coming—had seen it before—but nothing could prepare you to face it again. Not like this.

They parted. And there she was again.

You.

You at the age of twelve, noticeably bigger than the rest of your classmates, your face once again blank of emotion.

You were lying on the floor, surrounded by shredded clothes. Barely breathing.

The humiliation burned like acid in your chest.

You remembered the whispers. The stares. The way they laughed at your body. Called you names. Said you needed motivation. Said if you had nothing to wear, maybe you’d lose the excess weight.

Willing your legs to move, you walked toward your younger self as the sea of girls parted for you. You knelt beside her.

Her eyes were glassy, tear-streaked. Her face blank. You softly laid your hand on her shoulder in quiet comfort, trying to be as calming and supportive as you possibly could.

Silence suddenly fell—a stark contrast to the loud cackling that had filled the room.

The group of girls surrounded you both, forming a wall of shadows.

You stood. Shaking. But unflinching.

You were not backing down. You were tired of giving in, tired of not fighting back. You were done letting others make these decisions for you.

They lunged.

Hands in your hair. Fingernails on your arms. Screams in your ears.

You fought your hardest—kicking, punching, tearing them away from you, lashing out as strong as your body would let you. But still, they overpowered you.

Ten girls pinned your limbs to the shower wall, stopping you from defending yourself—keeping you from fighting back.

You screamed for help until your throat felt shredded, raw like it was bleeding from the inside. Your lungs burned with every gasp, like you were breathing in smoke. And your heart pounded so hard it felt like a war drum echoing in your chest.

But no one came.

⸻

You were too busy fighting for your life—you didn’t notice someone else had entered the scene.

A thunderous boom shook the walls. More broken tile and debris flew through the air, creating a cloud of white dust. A figure charged through the smoke—fierce, focused, furious.

You couldn’t see what was happening, but they moved like a force of nature, knocking the girls away one by one.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t stand. Your body had completely shut down. You were curled on the floor, vision swimming, breath stolen.

You wanted to go home. You wanted it to stop.

It hit like a shadow swallowing the room. Your chest locked up, every breath clawing its way out like it didn’t belong there. The air felt thick, poisonous—like you were inhaling smoke or drowning in silence. Your vision warped, edges pulsing and closing in. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, like something had crawled beneath your skin. Your heart thrashed against your ribs like it was trying to break free.

And worst of all—you weren’t sure if you were dying, or just losing your mind.

Either way, it felt like the end.

And then—you were being held.

Wrapped tightly in strong arms—unyielding as vibranium—your body was pressed against warmth, something achingly familiar, like home you’d forgotten you had. The scent of metal and cedar curled into your lungs, grounding you, coaxing you back to yourself.

A low, raspy voice whispered in your ear, thick with a Russian accent, every word rough and trembling with urgency.

“I’ve got you. Breathe. Just breathe, moya lyubov.”

It was steady. Anchoring. Pulling you back from the edge—back from the panic that had swallowed you whole.

“I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Yelena.

You turned your head, breath hitching.

“Lena?”

Her hazel eyes locked with yours. Dirt and cuts marred her once pristine complexion, but she was real. Solid.

“I’m here, baby. I got you,” she whispered, her accent thick with emotion. “But we need to go. Now. Can you stand?”

Her hands cradled your face with such aching gentleness, like you were the most fragile, precious thing in the world—something she couldn’t bear to lose.

“I… I think so.”

You were exhausted—your body trembling, on the verge of collapse, the last remnants of adrenaline bleeding out of your system. Every step felt impossible.

But the beautiful thing about having a partner who used to be a Widow? She was impossibly, almost unfairly strong.

Even though you were nearly twice her size, she lifted you to your feet without hesitation, as if you weighed nothing at all. Her arms wrapped securely around your soft, curvier midsection, anchoring you to her body as she took on nearly all your weight.

And just like that, she led you—step by steady step—out of this hellhole of a memory.

The hallway outside was chaos—walls cracking, floors trembling. Five figures waited ahead. Two familiar. The others strangers.

“We need a way out,” Yelena snapped, her voice sharp and sure, directed at a tall man with dark hair and soft brown eyes. You’d learn later that his name was Bob.

Right now, he looked as lost as you felt.

But for some reason, they were all looking to him—like he held the final answer. Like he was the one who could pull them through.

He hesitated. You could see the conflict etched into his features, his doubt unraveling the certainty everyone so badly wanted to believe he had.

Before you even realized what you were doing, your body moved. You stepped forward into his space, close enough for your presence to feel intentional.

“Hey,” you said gently. “It’s okay. Whatever this is—we’ll get through it. Together.”

You reached out and touched his arm—light, steady, grounding. A silent promise. That you were here. That all of you were. And that no one was going anywhere.

His eyes finally met yours, and in them, you saw something shift. Just slightly. The weight he was carrying didn’t vanish—but maybe, for the first time, he wasn’t carrying it alone.

You all ran

⸻

You all made it out.

Through dust and darkness and fear—you escaped The Void.

You were all still clinging to one another in a collapsed group hug when the darkness finally began to fade—and the warmth of the New York sun broke through, kissing your skin like a promise.

After that day, everything changed.

Yelena introduced you to the rest of the team: Ava. Walker. And of course, Bob—the man you’d felt an instant, unspoken bond with. You already knew of Alexei and Bucky, their reputations larger than life.

As time passed, something beautiful happened. The dynamics between you all began to shift—not just as teammates, but as something deeper. Closer. Like a strange, chaotic, but loving family you never knew you needed.

Alexei, loud and proud, had never looked more like a dad.

Yelena still rolled her eyes and groaned every time he opened his mouth—but you saw it. The way her expression softened. The way she didn’t actually want him to stop. Their thick Russian bickering had somehow become your favorite background noise.

Bucky took longer to warm up. He watched everything in silence at first—stoic, guarded, always standing just slightly apart. But you never pushed him. And somehow, that earned you a place.

Now, he checked in more than you expected. Threw you quiet looks across the room when he could tell you were anxious. Offered gruff, one-word encouragements that meant more than full speeches.

And on the rare days when he actually let himself relax? He made you laugh in ways that surprised even him.

You and Ava grew close—tag-teaming against Walker to tease him about everything. You swore you and Walker were long-lost siblings the way you two went at it.

And Bob?

Bob became something sacred. Quiet. Reserved. Careful with his words. But with you and Yelena, he found space. He found peace.

The three of you formed a rhythm of your own—painting in companionable silence, playing video games for hours on end, sharing ice cream when the days felt too heavy to carry alone. He didn’t always say much, but he didn’t have to. His presence spoke volumes.

You and Yelena built a home around him—one stitched together with patience, warmth, and safety. A home where he didn’t have to explain himself. A home where he was finally allowed to just be.

Your relationship with Yelena deepened in a way that both scared and thrilled you.

You had the hard conversation—the conversation—about what you each saw in The Void. There were tears, of course. But once the words were spoken, once the silence broke, the weight of it all felt… lighter. Shared.

You held each other with a tenderness that was new, but unshakable. It created a shift between you—opened a new door. One where love wasn’t something you had to work up the strength to give—it simply was. Constant. Unspoken. Necessary.

Because at the end of the day, it wasn’t about choosing each other.

It was that you couldn’t imagine being without each other.

You didn’t have to stay—you wanted to.

And that made all the difference.

Some days, one of you only had twenty percent to give.

The other gave eighty.

You learned how to fill in each other’s gaps. How to carry the weight when the other couldn’t.

When Yelena missed Natasha… when the Red Room crept back into her chest and shattered her calm—you were there. With her favorite mac and cheese drowned in hot sauce, your fingers slowly combing through her hair, your voice quiet as you guided her through steady, grounding breaths.

Sometimes she needed to talk.

Sometimes, she didn’t want to say a word—just needed you near, breathing in the same silence.

You did both. Gladly. Every time.

When your own spirals hit—your body image, your trauma, your fears—she was there.

On the days when you felt self-conscious about your size—when your tummy felt too soft, your thighs too wide, your body too much beside hers—you tried to hide it behind a quiet smile and lowered eyes. You feared that one day she might see you the way the rest of the world had always tried to: as something unworthy of being wanted.

But Yelena never looked away. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t reassure you with hollow words.

She wanted you. Desperately. Completely. And she made damn sure you knew it.

She’d cup your face gently, her voice steady, almost angry that you couldn’t see what she saw.

“You are beautiful. Every inch of you. Your soft belly, your thick thighs, those arms that hold me better than anything ever had—I want all of it. I want you.”

She kissed your stretch marks like they were sacred. Let her hands wander across every part of you the world told you to shrink. She touched your tummy with reverence, squeezed your thighs like they were her favorite place to be.

“They didn’t know how to see you. But I do. And I love every part they told you to hide.”

And when your doubt still lingered—when old voices tried to claw their way back into your head—she pulled you into her lap, wrapped her arms around your body like she was anchoring herself to you, and whispered right into your skin,

“You’re not too much. You’re everything.”

Because to Yelena, your body wasn’t something to look past.

It was something to cherish. Something to crave.

Something to love out loud.

And when your doubt still lingered—when old voices tried to claw their way back into your head—she pulled you into her lap, wrapped her arms around your body like she was anchoring herself to you, and whispered right into your skin,

“You’re not too much. You’re everything.”

Because to Yelena, your body wasn’t something to look past.

It was something to cherish. Something to crave.

Something to love out loud.

You both made it a priority to treasure what you had—to nurture the relationship, protect it, and keep the romance very much alive. Neither of you wanted to slip back into what it once was—distant, routine, or fractured by silence.

There were quiet dinners by candlelight, just the two of you and soft music playing in the background. Lazy cuddles on the compound couch, legs tangled together under a shared blanket. Spur-of-the-moment trips to places you two had always dreamed of—because now you both could, and you both deserved to.

Even when tension rose or disagreements surfaced, you never let it break you. You spoke with care. You listened with patience. You argued like people who loved each other—never to win, only to understand. And every time, you found your way back to each other. Stronger. Closer.

As time continued on, there was laughter from Ava in the background. Arguments over nothing with Walker. Bucky trying to stay serious, but always softening for you.

Alexei declared you his daughter-in-law long before Yelena proposed.

“Why wait?” he said. “You’re already family.”

And it was true.

You and Yelena had found something most people spend a lifetime searching for.

Unconditional love.

Undeniable peace.

A life worth fighting for.

———————————————-——

Thank you so much for reading!!!💖