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wttcsms · 15 days

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excerpts;

i have over 100k+ words in unfinished drafts/wips in my google docs. yikes.

in an attempt to gauge general interest + also to motivate myself in attempting to at least finish half of the projects i've started, i'm going to share some of the fics i think y'all will be most interested in 🤍 (and also because these are my usual first rough draft attempts, so these are just the best of the worst LOL)

as always, lmk what you think, what you're most excited for, and i'm always open to chatting about any of my concepts in depth 🤭

featuring keiji akaashi, atsumu miya, sae itoshi, tobio kageyama, naoya zenin, satoru gojo, + a plot that's still open for any character so tell me why ur fave deserves it (all with fem reader)

— brace for impact, keiji akaashi elevator pitch: rich college girl with daddy issues is roommates/put under the care of old-time family friend, 20-something y/o keiji akaashi

“I just don’t want you to waste your life away.” He answers, which is the truth. He really hates picking you up when you’re drunk off your ass, unable to defend yourself against the swarms of sleazy college guys that are attending the same party as you. He hates the fact that you’ve been raised — if the dozen father-daughter interactions you had with your dad counts as him “raising” you — to believe that money can solve all your problems. Because, sure, having money has gotten you out of many tight spots, but it wasn’t money that drove to a college on the other side of the city to pick you up, it was him. He has to stand here and watch you push the universe’s boundaries, trying to test your luck, to see if there’s a problem or a bad situation that you can’t get out of this time. You’re reckless and privileged and insecure and rich — the deadliest combination for any college age girl to be. You’re going to ruin your life before it even fully begins. It’s like your default mode is self destruction.

“Not this speech again.” You sigh, shifting your body so that your knees are turned towards the door instead of him. “Y’know, Akaashi, you’re not my dad.”

“Yeah, because unlike him, I actually care about you.”

You’re silent now, still staring out the window. He’s usually better at keeping his mouth shut, but it’s hard to do whenever you’re constantly pushing and pushing and testing his patience and he’s just so—

“—sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” His knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. It’s a wonder how the words leave his mouth; you think the way he’s clenching his teeth acts as a formidable enough boundary.

Actually, you think, it’s entirely justifiable. You’re coy, not dumb. You know when you’ve pushed Akaashi too far, and this is one of those times. And, really, you kind of — scratch that — you do deserve it. All of it. And then some. You’re irresponsible, and you drag him out to the other side of the city so he can act as your guardian, your protector, even though that is most certainly not the role he planned on playing. Honestly, you’re just surprised that he hasn’t left you out to rot like everyone else, and you’re thankful, you really are. But what are you supposed to say? That? The truth? Probably.

You don’t, though. You just mutter some weak ass retort that sounds an awful lot like “you need to get laid” before staring out the window for the rest of the ride.

— devil on my shoulder tellin' me i'll die soon (i don't really want that to impact you), atsumu miya elevator pitch: yakuza au but a healthy amount of porn and plot. sequel to this.

The first time Osamu Miya meets you, you’re unconscious, and he has a feeling you’d be grateful about this fact considering the state you’re in.

Atsumu’s carrying you bridal style, and even in your sleep, you still cling to him. The sight would be almost sweet, but Osamu’s not an idiot. There can never be anything sweet in his dear older brother’s life. Even in the pale moonlight, Osamu can see the bruises and hickeys lining your neck, a trail of them that seem to disappear underneath your clothes (he wouldn’t be shocked if there’s a map of hickeys littering your skin). Your hair is sticking up at odd angles, your lips are swollen, and you are knocked out in every sense of the word.

If the situation wasn’t serious (even without verbal confirmation, he’s well aware of how dire this situation is right now; Atsumu wouldn’t have visited him if it weren’t), Osamu thinks he would have made a comment about his brother’s rough handling.

(He doesn’t, though, because Osamu knows all about just how rough his brother can get — after all, they both had the same upbringing.)

“‘Samu,” Atsumu says, and his voice makes him sound like he’s worse for wear. He sounds like when he was fourteen and had his first taste of initiation, when a group of the strongest men would beat him relentlessly for thirty seconds and he wasn’t allowed to fight back. The crack in his voice is subtle, and even though Osamu rarely speaks to his brother anymore, he’s still a master at reading him.

“Who’s the girl?” Osamu nods to your sleeping form, trying not to focus on the purple and red marks. God, he can’t tell if he, Atsumu, you, or all three of you are lucky it’s so dark. Osamu can’t really believe it’s possible to go out in public after a night with his brother; not without being on the receiving end of a few concerned looks.

“I need a favor.” Atsumu ignores his question, which is typical behavior for him, so Osamu’s not entirely too surprised or annoyed. “She’s in danger, and it’s—”

Atsumu grimaces like the next words he’s about to say are going to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. And maybe it’s because that’s his brother and they grew up together, or maybe it’s because ‘Tsumu’s always been a little predictable (or has Osamu just always been good at predicting?), but Osamu can almost mouth what his brother’s about to say.

“—my fault.”

So, you must be someone awfully important to his brother then. Important enough that Atsumu would finally visit him in person after all these years (with barely any warning beforehand, too). Important enough that Atsumu would treat you so roughly (if the marks on your body are any indication of what you’ve been through) and still care about you so deeply. Important enough that he’s finally taking accountability, finally taking the blame for his actions.

He didn’t think it was possible, but Atsumu’s left him genuinely speechless for a moment.

“Please, ‘Samu.” Atsumu Miya is not the type of person who breaks down easily. He does not beg, he commands. But right now, Atsumu sounds like he’s this close to getting down on his knees and clasping his hands together if that’s what it’ll take to get Osamu to help him. “You told me you would owe me after what I did for you. Consider this your repayment.”

Apparently, you’re someone so important to Atsumu, he’s cashing in a favor that’s worth his life just to ensure your safety. Osamu can’t tell if that’s true idiocy or true love — then again, there’s hardly a difference between the two, is there?

“Idiot. I would have helped ya regardless, y’know.” He means it. Every word.

“I know.” And Atsumu means it, too. Because even if they’ve went years with little to no contact, even though they both belong to two completely different worlds, they’re still brothers. Which means that they also know each other as well as they know themselves, and Atsumu knows that Osamu can never truly be at peace until he feels like the completely imaginary debt he owes is paid back in full.

The universe must have a taste for irony, though, because Atsumu thought that ensuring your safety and bringing his brother peace would make him feel good. Instead, transferring you to his brother’s arms allows the weight of the world to rest more comfortably on his shoulders.

Osamu takes one last look at his older brother, and he’s not entirely surprised to see that his attention is on you, dark eyes staring so intensely at your sleeping figure, he wonders if he’s trying to commit your face to his memory. He’s worried about Atsumu. Sure, he’s got a whole entire gang on his side, a rather powerful one too, but ‘Tsumu’s never been the greatest at being left alone to his devices, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

But then Atsumu looks up at him, and Osamu feels like they’re both fourteen again. Trapped, vulnerable, in immense pain… But not alone, never alone.

“Thanks, ‘Samu.”

“Any time, ‘Tsumu.”

(It’s the same words exchanged by their teenage selves years ago, whenever Osamu would help him clean his cuts and sloppily stitch him up.

To them, it was another way of saying “I love you”.)

— it always leads to you [chapter one], sae itoshi elevator pitch: literally the long ass, long awaited start to this series. if you listened to taylor's new album (ttpd)... yeah, that's basically the new soundtrack for this fic. do what u will with that info <3

A hard pill to swallow is that people never get over their first loves.

It’s like, scientifically proven, or something. There’s been studies, you think. Not to mention that you belong to the group of people who have never gotten over their first loves.

You’re aware that it’s probably embarrassing and should be something that brings you shame, but when Sae comes knocking on your door, infrequent, surprise visits that always catch you off-guard, you find yourself opening the door for him.

(He has a key. He can let himself in any time he wants. You think he must forget.)

This time, he’s not knocking on your door, but he is waiting in the stairwell near the entrance to the floor of your apartment. He’s got a baseball cap on and a dark sweatshirt, and you want to tell him that everyone who lives here is most definitely getting shitfaced at the college bar you just left (the one whose only redeeming qualities are that it’s by campus and the drinks are cheap). He doesn’t have to worry about hiding his identity.

You frown when he approaches you.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you pout and complain about this halfheartedly, but it’s all for nothing. Sae never tells you when he’s coming; it’s almost like you’re just a spur-of-the-moment decision to him, which doesn’t feel right since the Sae you grew up with was always meticulous and purposeful with his actions. Granted, the Sae you grew up with left on a plane to an entirely different continent four years ago, and the one you have standing next to you now sometimes feels more like a doppelganger than your ex-boyfriend.

He doesn’t answer, because of course he fucking wouldn’t. He waits for you to fumble with your keys; if you knew he was coming, you wouldn’t have let Akane convince you to take as many shots as you did. Now everything is kind of blurry and hazy, and your hands shake despite the lack of coldness you’re feeling.

You delude yourself into thinking that there’s something of the old Sae left inside of him as he gently pries the keys from your fumbling fingers and unlocks the door to your apartment himself.

Entering your apartment feels like traveling in a time machine, only instead of traveling back in time or to the future, Sae is entering a present-day parallel universe. This apartment, with its best (and only) amenity being a short distance from campus, could have been his. Could have been shared by the two of you, even.

If he had stayed, that is.

Sometimes Sae ponders what his life would be like if he stuck around. If he had never had the ego or the audacity to want to see more of the world. You know better than to ask him why he never visits you when you’re on a holiday break from school, and he thinks it’s because you still know him the best out of anybody, even Rin. The truth is, Sae is too uncomfortable to come crawling back to his childhood home that he grew up in, the one he’s spent years determined to grow out of. He only comes back home when absolutely necessary — out of eldest son/family obligation.

This college apartment, seeing remnants of a life you’re living that he doesn’t know much about (even though all he has to do is ask, and you would gladly tell), feels wrongly nostalgic. Like, the sweatshirt lying haphazardly on the couch displaying a big, fat Tokyo U logo on its front could have been his instead of your roommate’s. He could have played college ball instead of trying to get recruited directly to the big leagues. Sae’s good enough to get a scholarship. Even received a letter informing him that Tokyo U would be more than glad to have him, full-ride.

(The letter resides in the back of his closet, crumpled up but never forgotten.)

And, most importantly, you wouldn’t be looking at him like this.

Even drunk off of cheap alcohol, you sober up startlingly fast when you see him. You shouldn’t give him so much power over your life, but he’d be a damn liar if he said he didn’t relish in the overwhelming relief that you still love him just the same. Nothing ever changes back home, and he says this with disdain, but when it comes to your unshifting affection for him, he figures staying the same can’t be all bad.

“Y’know, it always feels like you’re judging me when you just stand there and look at everything.” An intoxicated you is an honest you. If he wasn’t so determined to mask everything about himself, he would have smiled at your admittance.

He doesn’t smile, though. He just continues to let his cold eyes roam across the entirety of your cramped, college apartment.

— an indentation in the shape of you, tobio kageyama elevator pitch: idol!reader who goes into hiding after a major scandal despite being the victim x pro!tobio who's been hopelessly pining after you since forever. now you're in hiding, but also living in the apartment right across from his.

SEARCH NEWS: [NAME] [SURNAME] > TOP RESULTS (SORTED FROM MOST TO LEAST RECENT)

WHERE DID [NAME] [SURNAME] GO? *INCLUDES EXCLUSIVE PHOTO OF HER MOST RECENT SIGHTING!*Posted on March 10, 2019

[NAME]’S SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS HAVE BEEN TAKEN DOWN, IDOL HAS NOT BEEN SPOTTED IN A WEEK Posted on January 4, 2019 BREAKING: [NAME] [SURNAME] GOES SOLO! LEAVES IDOL GROUP TO START HER OWN CAREER! Posted November 6, 2018

KENTARO TANAKA NOW DATING J-POP IDOL AYAME MATSUMOTO, [NAME]’S FELLOW GIRL GROUP MEMBER!Posted on November 1, 2018

AFTER RECEIVING BACKLASH FROM ANNOUNCEMENT OF HER RELATIONSHIP, [NAME] [SURNAME] ISSUES AN APOLOGY ON ALL SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS Posted on September 3, 2018

NEW COUPLE ALERT! IDOL [NAME] AND HER RECORD LABEL’S EXECUTIVE, KENTARO TANAKA, SPARK DATING RUMORS Posted on August 16, 2018

When you spend most of your adolescent and young adult years standing in front of a camera, constantly served on a platter for the masses to scrutinize during your most formative years, you get used to being seen. People’s eyes locked in on you isn’t a comfortable feeling, but it’s one you’re very well acquainted with. Watchful, judging gazes cling to you like a second skin.

It comes with the job is what your personal manager, Fumiko Gima, tells you, right before she tells you to toughen up. You had been fifteen at the time and saw a blogger discussing how you were the least attractive cast member on the children’s ensemble show you starred in.

All eyes are on you from this point forward. You really going to let them see you cry? Fumiko is not a nice person, but she is incredibly kind, in her own way. She’s the type of person who believes in tough love, all while claiming that she doesn’t even think love exists.

You think about the disapproving frown on her face when you revealed your relationship with Kentaro Tanaka.

“You think you’re in love with him?” Sometimes it’s hard to believe that Fumiko is barely seven years older than you. Her youth is evident in her flawless skin and shiny hair (both of which are maintained by very meticulous routines), but the flat expression she wears on her face makes her seem like a woman who found out the hard way that her thirties are not going the way she planned. You’re eighteen when she asks you this question, and you don’t know how a twenty-five year old woman can have such an intimidating aura, but you think that only adds to her beauty.

“He told me he loves me.”

“People like him and I don’t believe in love.” Fumiko makes a face; sometimes, she lets her poker face drop in favor of making a face of disgust, annoyance, irritation, or extreme smugness. Right now, she looks disgusted. “Well, I wouldn’t normally place myself in the same group as him, but our industries are pretty much the same. You don’t get to where we’re at because of love, that’s for damn certain.”

At this point in time, you’re adamant that it’s love because that’s what he says it is, and you’ve never been in love before, but you know that it’s something great. You’re eighteen, and insecure, and he’s in such a powerful position — he could have anyone he wants, and he loves you, so he picks you. Maybe Fumiko is just bitter because no one’s ever chosen her.

— angel of the morning, atsumu miya elevator pitch: historical, ambiguous war au ft. soldier!atsumu x the civilian sweetheart reader who nurses him back to health

It’s the thunder that wakes you first.

Lately, you’ve been a light sleeper. Paranoia is a good companion whenever you’re a young, pitifully unmarried lady who lives alone. You keep a chair propped under the knob of the front door, and you no longer open any windows, scared that you’ll forget to lock them at night.

Normally, it’s the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer, or the creaks that come and interrupt the silence of the night (your parents used to swear that old houses just make those noises) that keeps you up. Sometimes it’s the neighbors next door; they like to get into screaming matches that seem to be so loud, they shake the walls of your home.

It’s not your neighbors’ arguing that rattles the walls tonight. It’s the thunderstorm that the sweet old man at the farmer’s market warned you about. You be safe out, miss. Take some extra apples. It might be too flooded for you to go out like you normally do.

You pull your blanket over your head, enveloping yourself in darkness but doing very little to block out the noise outside. The thunder seems to only grow louder, each boom punctuating the lightning that you’re certain is striking through the sky. It’s too loud.

And rhythmic.

You listen closer… Three booms in succession. A pause. Three more booms. After a minute of this pattern, the sound only comes more rapidly — louder than before, too.

The loud booms — it’s not from the storm, then.

There’s someone knocking at your door.

You debate hiding under the blanket forever. Maybe this stranger will go away and leave once they realize that no one is going to answer the door. Besides, no one trustworthy is roaming the area at this time of night, right? What possible explanation could there be for someone to be stranded outside at midnight during a major thunderstorm?

But the knocking persists. Whoever this stranger is, they don’t know when to quit. You’d be annoyed if you weren’t so paralyzed with fear.

“Open up!” A muffled voice still manages to cut through the front door, traveling all the way to your bedroom. It only serves to make you more afraid; what sort of monster is waiting for you outside? The storm rages on, and the knocking won’t stop.

What happens if this person is in genuine trouble? Would a murderer truly be going through such lengths to kill someone? A thief?

Well, you rationalize, it’s not as if you have many items worth stealing. Besides, you have no family, no marriage prospects, and a dwindling stash of money with no means to make more. You’re just existing at this point, and you’re surviving on limited time.

So you make your way to the front door, cringing as one section of the floor creaks as you tiptoe through the darkness of your home. You highly doubt the stranger outside can hear you, but you still hold your breath as you peek through the curtains. It’s too dark inside and out for anyone to notice the movement, and all you can make out is a large figure. There’s a knapsack by their feet and hanging off their shoulder is a gun.

The knocks shouldn’t catch you off guard by now, but one particular hard bang against the door has you jumping in surprise, away from the window.

This stranger must be a soldier.

There’s not a lot of fighting to be done down here. The southern towns have mostly been unaffected. Most of the war is being fought up north. All the southern soldiers write back home, telling stories about the cities they visited, careful not to mention the red that runs through the streets and the way the citizens will have to update the population count on the sign outside their City Hall.

But still, you know what everyone knows — when a soldier, especially one from your side, shows up on your front step, you better let him know that this home is now his.

You slide the deadbolt with shaky hands, turn the lock on the doorknob, and only hesitate for a few seconds before removing the chair that serves as your last barrier. He’s a soldier, you remind yourself, hoping that you’re not wrong. The least you can do for him is offer him a hot bath for leaving him outside for so long.

You open the door, revealing a blond-haired soldier weighed down from the weight of his sopping wet uniform, his hair sticking to his forehead because his face is also covered in rainwater, and it’s now that you notice that he’s got one arm wrapped around his abdomen. His hand is pressing down on his side, and you don’t think the dark liquid coating his fingers is water.

“Finally.” He says. “I’m First Lieutenant Miya, and I fight for the south. I am seeking temporary refuge in your home, and I require only what you can afford to give me. I–“ Before he can finish rattling off what he’s been forced to memorize for times like these, First Lieutenant Miya falls forward, his body crashing into yours.

It’s been a rough day.

A rough week.

A rough month.

A rough life, really, but Atsumu Miya’s long past the days of whining and complaining about things he can’t control. For example, he no longer dwells on his father abandoning his mother right before she gave birth to him and Osamu. There’s still a bitter taste that gets left on his tongue when he mentions dear old pa, which is why, for the most part, he chooses not to discuss him at all. He can’t control the way the north and the south view each other; sure, the mandatory draft isn’t his definition of a fun time, but he honestly didn’t have many plans after school, anyway. He probably would’ve joined the cause, regardless of the law or not. It’s just… A choice is nice to have, y’know?

Like, if he had it his way, he wouldn’t have gotten caught up in some ambush tonight. If only he weren’t just a lieutenant. If only his captain weren’t such a dumbass.

If he had a group to command, Atsumu’s certain that he wouldn’t lead his men into obvious traps, unlike some captains. But newly promoted Brigadier General Kita isn’t here to force people to listen to what Atsumu has to say. Kita has bigger problems to worry about, bigger troops to organize.

Atsumu’s morning starts off bright and early with a five mile trek in the woods. The sky is overcast, and anyone with eyes is capable of predicting the storm that’s coming. Atsumu suggests building temporary shelter before the rain makes it too hard to walk; it’s already hard enough to navigate now, but Atsumu’s visited this town before, when he was a little boy. It floods easily, too easily.

His captain doesn’t listen. Typical.

Around noon, they take a short break to eat. Rations are getting lower. Atsumu suggests that two or three soldiers turn around and head towards town to get supplies. His captain argues that their group is already small enough and sneers that Atsumu must be a northie lover since he’s trying so hard to sabotage this plan.

The plan is shit, by the way. The captain swears his intel is good, that he’s just oh so certain that a troop of northern soldiers are planning to invade a series of small southern towns. They’re supposedly cutting through the woods to be discreet, and they plan on striking at night.

Atsumu thinks that the captain is just falling into their trap (spoiler: he’s right). There’s no way anyone would bother capturing small towns, just like there’s no way people ever want to listen to someone who’s just a lieutenant. Nobody thinks they have anything to offer, so it’s not worth the time to even pretend to care. These towns aren’t loaded with resources. They aren’t located in any coveted areas. There are only a couple of farms, but even then, they’re not big enough to justify wasting troops to terrorize the townspeople.

But First Lieutenant Miya follows his orders anyway because what else is he supposed to do? Unfortunately, talking back comes to bite him in the ass because as nighttime starts to settle and the first drops of rain start to fall, his captain gives him a slimy smile before telling him, “Since you have such great ideas, Lieutenant, why don’t you go ahead and turn back into town to get us some of those supplies we needed?”

Well, Atsumu has a few choice words in reply, none of which will get him back into his captain’s good graces (not like he cares to be anyway). Atsumu can argue that it’s dark out, and no one in their right mind is going to be up at night. Atsumu can throw back his captain’s words and remind him that their measly team is already lacking in numbers. He can make the captain look dumb and ask him where the supposed enemy troops are at, since apparently they’re supposed to be capturing the town right about now. He can abandon the men, go back home, and enjoy a homecooked meal from ma. She wouldn’t care enough to scold him for being a dirty deserter; the lecture will come, surely, but she wouldn’t be too harsh with him. Atsumu misses home. He misses his brother, who belongs to a different troop. He misses Shinsuke, his former captain. He misses his mom.

What he does end up doing, though, is biting back his tongue. He barely nods, clenches his teeth as he reluctantly says yes, sir, and treks off on his own.

He’s about three miles in when the bullets start flying.

Isn’t this just a lovely way to finish off the night, he thinks, before sprinting through the trees, weaving between them, trying to ignore how loud and how close the shots sound. He thinks he’ll probably go deaf by the time this damn war is over. A bullet narrowly misses his face, and then he starts to think he’ll probably be dead before then.

He can’t see. If he can’t see, he doubts the enemies can, either. That’s when he gets an idea. His legs are sore, he’s thirsty, and every step he takes is punctuated by a sloshing sound because the area is flooding, just like he predicted it would.

(Sometimes it’s a pain being right all the time.)

The shots are still coming at him in rapid succession, and he believes maybe it’s because they still think they have to shoot at him. If they think they got him, maybe they’ll leave him alone. It didn’t sound like anyone was bothering to chase after him, meaning they’re all probably perched in trees or hiding in bushes, shooting blindly into the night, hoping to land a lucky shot on a target.

Before he can pretend to be hit, though, some bastard does get a lucky shot on him.

“Fuck!” He can’t help but yell out, the bullet piercing the side of his abdomen. A burning sensation begins to form on the spot where the bullet decided to make its happy home, and Atsumu can’t help but fall to the ground, clutching at the bottom half of his body.

A minute goes by with no more shooting, and he’s glad he’s in enough pain not to realize that had he thought of his little plan of pretending to be shot sooner, he probably wouldn’t be in this predicament right now.

It’d be so easy just to lie down and die. It’d be a slow death, sure. Painful, very much so. But no more fighting. No more captains belittling him.

But if you die, a tiny voice in his head reminds him, it wouldn’t just be you that dies. It’d kill ma. It would ruin Osamu. Don’t be a selfish bastard.

He allows himself only one more minute to stay absolutely still. He thinks the adrenaline pumping in his system helps to numb the pain, which is saying a lot, considering the fact that death would be preferable over this excruciating sensation. When he’s certain the coast is clear, he struggles to stand and keep himself steady.

He cannot die like this.

Atsumu Miya knows better than to get upset at things he can’t control. He can’t control flying bullets aimed at him. He can’t control enemy soldiers; hell, he doesn’t even have soldiers he can control, enemy or ally. He can’t control a lot of shitty things that seem to happen to him, but as long as his heart is still beating, Atsumu Miya controls his own fate. He decides what happens next.

It’s only a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, he rationalizes. He walks all the time. It’s not such a hard task. The storm continues to rage on, and Atsumu pretends he doesn’t even mind the water. He pretends that he’s not freezing. He pretends that he doesn’t care that his uniform is sticking to his body, making the dirty fabric cling onto him as if to act as a second skin.

There’s a white flag in his knapsack. During training, they said to use it as a last resort. Die before you wave it, or something like that.

He knows the intended use for it, but right now, he needs it as a tourniquet. He tightens the flag around his waist, using all his diminishing strength to get it as tight as possible. He can trick himself into thinking it’ll stop the flow of blood leaving his body, but at least it’ll slow it down. It’ll grant him enough time to make it into town and get help.

He doesn’t choose the first house he sees; he chooses the one he likes the best. It’s nothing all too impressive — certainly not the biggest, but from what he can make out in the dark, it looks quaint. It reminds him of home, almost. There’s a porch with a bench outside and flowers on a window sill. It seems to glow in the darkness of the town, its paint a much brighter shade than the surrounding houses. A nice family must live here then.

He knocks on the door, and there is no answer. Atsumu Miya did not walk this far with his life literally draining out of him to only make it this far. He knocks and knocks, and because he is too stubborn, even to the very end, he doesn’t quit. Someone must answer the door. It doesn’t cross his mind that perhaps this lovely family he’s envisioning might not even be home. It feels like ages since he first started banging on this door, and he thinks this might be it.

And then the door swings open, revealing a young lady with a certain glow about her. Maybe it’s the blood loss talking, but right now, you look like an absolute angel. His bright beacon of hope.

“Finally.” He swallows hard, trying to remember what he’s supposed to tell you. The proper words are evading him right now. Honestly, even standing is a struggle now. He thinks he does a good enough job, but then he blinks, and his eyes don’t open back up after that.

— to the victor belong the spoils, naoya zenin elevator pitch: the dark longfic i mentioned abt borderline yandere naoya + how he basically slaughtered your whole entire clan and is going to force you to marry him because you have a cursed technique that will basically grant him invincibility

“Who did this?” You’ve seen Naoya so angry that his words seemed to shake the very interior of the room he was shouting in. You’ve seen Naoya so furious that he had everyone in his vicinity cowering in fear, scared to face his merciless wrath. Never have you seen him so enraged that he can hardly speak, the sentence coming out from between bared teeth; they’re discernible growls more than they are words, but his message doesn’t need to be understood in order to know his intent.

Naoya Zenin is out for blood.

“Tell me who did this.” He demands, hand gripping your chin, forcing you to tilt your head up and stare him directly in the eyes. You know why he does this; he can read you like a fucking book. He’ll know if you’re lying before you can even finish whatever fabricated story you’ve spent forever formulating. There’s no point in trying to trick him because it’ll cause him to get angrier, and then what? Then, you’ll have the whole entire room’s blood on your hands. A massacre dedicated just for you.

You hadn’t cried when he had taken you from your home. You hadn’t cried when you were about to be killed by that curse. You hadn’t shed a single tear despite the unfamiliarity of the Zenin Estate, despite the fact that you were forced into a marriage with a man you did not know, despite the fact that you’ve never been this far from home, suffering silently in feelings of isolation and despair. You hadn’t cried after all of that, yet now you’re sobbing? Now you’re here, struggling to stand on your own, clutching onto the material of his shirt as if he’s your only lifeline, dangerously close to burying your face in his chest and crying your little eyes out. He’s been angry more times than he’s ever felt any other emotion. He’s numb to the feeling of his blood rising, of his vision being tainted with red, of having nothing but sick thoughts and vivid memories of torn flesh and severed limbs surrounding him. This emotion isn’t foreign to him; it’s a part ofhim. And he’s angry, yes, but there’s something else that he feels when he looks down and sees you making yourself smaller, as if trying to use him as your own personal shield.

— balancing act [chapter one], satoru gojo elevator pitch: the first month of your bet will you and gojo inevitably get together <3 the start of this series.

You have what you order down to a T. You first started your tried and true method of restaurant ordering when you were but a wee little intern, too shy to go to town on a rack of ribs in front of your peers and bosses. Once you entered the city’s dating scene (which is actually Dante’s tenth circle of hell — it’s just never discussed because that’s truly how vile trying to find a good man in a big city is), you realized that there’s not much difference between lunch dates and client lunches.

You have the obligatory greeting exchanges (“hi,” “hello,” “how are you,” etc.), the awkward smiles, the mental countdown going off in your head as you wait for the perfect moment to get right into business (“what do you expect to gain from this partnership?” — a line surprisingly used more often in your meetings with potential investors and clients). There’s the pained professionalism, the tight-lipped smiles, the napkin resting in your lap, the battle to maintain constant eye-contact. When you sit across from someone at a table, date or client, you don’t see the person; you see a goal.

And you’re good at working towards a goal. It’s why you’ve always been the analyst your managers rely on, why you’ve morphed into the senior associate that all your juniors look up to at G&G Capital, and why you automatically figure that if you set your sights on a man only to have him end things, it’s not you who was at fault. It has to be him. You’ve charmed the toughest clients and built fantastic working relationships with the most well-connected M&A lawyers; if you’re this good at professional relationships, why wouldn’t you also be fan-fucking-tastic at a romantic one?

All the men who have taken you out on dates before wanted to sweep you off your feet. An ex-boyfriend once admitted to you that you appeared so unimpressed at everything, it had become this fun, twisted competition with himself to see what he had to do to get a look of amazement on your face.

“I can tell by the look on your face that you’re impressed.” Gojo says gleefully, holding open the dirty glass door so you and Utahime can walk in.

Utahime looks like Gojo just slid open the backdoor to a white van and told her to get in. There’s shock with a hint of disgust evident on her pretty, doll-like features, and you know you’ve got a similar expression, too.

The floors inside this restaurant — if the dingy, dimly lit shack crammed with small tables and rickety chairs can even be considered a restaurant — are sticky with decades’ worth of mystery liquids that have congealed into the half-inch thick residue that coats the floorboards. You have to purposely think about moving one foot in front of the other in order to walk because actual pressure needs to be applied if you don’t want your heels to become glued to the floor. You’re walking in front of Utahime and Gojo, and you end up choosing a table in the far back; it looks the cleanest. Briefly, you wonder if you’re allowed to be here, then think better of it as Utahime takes the seat next to you, and Gojo takes the one across. You highly doubt there’s a hostess here that’s dictating where the customers sit.

Especially since, upon one glance of the whole place, you realize that it’s empty save for you three.

“Gojo, if we get killed, I hope they murder you in front of us first,” Utahime hisses. Her family’s so rich (and traditional), she’s never willingly been to a restaurant that doesn’t have a Michelin star. Before college, she’s never even eaten out at a chain restaurant. Being caught in a place like this has Utahime mentally spiraling towards rock bottom.

“I hope they would, too. I don’t think I have the stomach to watch you meet your grisly end.” Gojo says serenely. Usually, he says things loudly, teasingly, gets all up in your face. When it comes to Utahime, he likes to play at being nonchalant. He’s been doing this to her for over a decade now, and it still grates her.

Before Utahime can reply, the shaky voice of an older woman is exclaiming, “Oh! Welcome in! Have you gotten a chance to look over the menu?” The voice belongs to a short, plump woman with gray hair, a wrinkly face, but a kind smile that reveals yellowing teeth. She’s got a slight hunch to her back and nails with overgrown cuticles. You try to do a mental calculation of what you could buy this building for, to ensure that this sweet old lady never has to work a day in her life ever again.

“You know what I want, Mrs. Kimura.” Gojo is giving her one of his signature dazzling smiles. “You can just double the portions today since my friend Utahime here eats enough for a family of five.”

Mrs. Kimura lets out a throaty laugh. Utahime kicks Gojo in the shin from underneath the table. You’re wondering what Gojo orders from this place, and why does he order here so often to the point of them memorizing his meals?

“I’m glad you brought friends with you today, Satoru. Meals always taste better when shared with loved ones!” She directs a warm smile in your direction, and you feel bad for returning it with your normal polite one. Tiny and brief. It’s more muscle memory than born from any real emotion. She’s shuffling away to the kitchen before you can try to summon a genuine smile for her, and Utahime’s phone is ringing, filling this near empty space with the tinny, anxiety-inducing sound of an iPhone ringer.

She doesn’t excuse herself; just looks down at the glowing screen, grabs her phone, and heads outside to take the call.

Which leaves you sitting across from Gojo. Just the two of you. Just the two of you in a dingy restaurant seemingly run by only one old woman. The table looks older than you. The chair you’re sitting on makes a weird squeaky noise with any slight movement of your body. There’s no decor on the walls, no windows either. Nothing to distract you, nothing for you to feign interest in as you wait for Utahime to come back.

You straighten your posture, try to discreetly look out the front door to gauge how close Utahime is to wrapping up her conversation, and find yourself with no choice but to look in front of you. All you see is Gojo.

He’s tall, you know that. Broad shoulders. Definitely not hideous, you can give him that much. You just feel shocked at how much space he takes up, how it feels like your eyes have to stretch to try to accommodate all of him.

You don’t know why you feel so awkward, almost like a teenager going on her very first date with a boy she barely knows but still, for some inexplicable reason, wants so badly to impress. You can’t remember the last time you’ve ever felt this way, and you definitely don’t like this feeling at all.

“How’d you find this place?” You ask him.

“I like to support small businesses.” He’s not teasing you, but Gojo has this bad habit of always adding a playful inflection to his words.

“I hope you tip well. You look like their only supporter.” It’s not meant to be an insult to the painfully empty restaurant. You know how much Gojo is worth; when Itadori Googled “Satoru Gojo net worth” and showed the results to everyone, Gojo caught him in the act, looked at the top result, and threw his head back in laughter as he told Itadori to “add an extra zero and triple the number.” You think back to your calculation and assessment of the place. “Might as well buy the business.”

“You make capitalism so cute.” He has to be teasing you now. You scowl.

(He means it.)

— i wish to know the fatal flaw that makes you long to be magnificently cursed, satoru gojo elevator pitch: yandere gojo, royal au, nanny!reader... yeah idk what happened to this fic either, just that it was depraved and i wish i wrote more to share LOL

You’re acutely aware of the noise you’re making, every huff and small, desperate gasp for breath only further betraying your location, but you can’t find it in you to care.

You know, deep inside your pounding, frightened heart, that it doesn’t really matter how fast or how far you run.

I will always find you.

Just the mere thought of him is enough for you to ignore the ache in your legs and push forward. If you can find the exit, if you can just see the daylight, surely you’d be able to—

You stop in your tracks.

There are two paths: one right, one wrong. Left or right? Freedom or imprisonment?

There’s no time to waste, but you can’t make a choice. Which decision would be the right one? Surely either route would still be able to lead you to the exit, right? The sharp snap! of a branch being trampled on leaves you even more frightened. Without thinking, you take a left.

— i think you're too divine for my human mind, undecided elevator pitch: rough around the edges but w a heart of gold underground fighter!character x ring girl!reader. i think this was gonna be for bakugo LMAO but i do not have bnha brain rot so maybe a bllk or jjk or hq boy... NO ONE SAY ATSUMU I DON'T WANNA GIVE IT TO ATSUMU

The couch seems to shift with his weight, and you swallow hard, staring straight ahead at the same cement wall you’ve been staring at for the last ten minutes because you’re still too much of a fucking wimp to navigate this area by yourself.

Despite the two of you sitting at opposite ends of the couch, there’s only about one foot of space separating his knee from yours. You suppose that he gets away with the manspreading since he probably has no qualms with punching anyone who voices their offense. After witnessing just how brutal the infamous [ring name nickname] can get, you know that you’re definitely not going to be the one to say shit to him. You can’t even look at him.

Where the fuck is your sister? You have your arms crossed, covering your torso, and you think you must have subconsciously pressed yourself as far back into the couch as you possibly could. Everything about you must scream out “she wants to disappear!!!”, and the worst part of it all would be the fact that it’s the truth. You knew coming down here would be a bad idea, and the sinking feeling of regret is practically solidifying itself into your stomach. You think you could throw up.

“Hey,” a voice — a deep voice, scratchy and low and so scarily close to you — breaks the silence. “You must be…”

Of course, you’re used to it by now. Always being referred to as “Akemi’s little sister” no matter the situation, the person, the setting. It makes sense, you rationalize. Everyone knows Akemi. And so, by extension, they must know you — her shadow, her little sister.

“...helped out Sakura.”

“What?” You don’t know anyone named Sakura, but you finally turn your head to properly look at him as you answer. He’s got on a white shirt now, incredibly form-fitting, and he’s staring right back at you. You're quick to meet his eyes before getting too nervous and focusing on the space just below his eyes. Then, that becomes too close to eye contact for comfort, so you settle for staring at his jaw. It’s a nice jaw. Sharp. He could probably cut you with it if you contradict any of his statements, so maybe you should pretend to know this Sakura girl.

“You must be the girl that helped out Sakura.” He repeats. He says it slow and almost carefully, like he thinks you must be some sort of idiot who can’t comprehend the most basic of statements. “Gave her your jacket.” He clarifies, and it makes sense. The girl with the hot pink colored hair must have been Sakura.

“Yeah.” You nod.

“So why are you here?”

“Huh?”

“Y’know… Pretty girls like you don’t normally end up here without a reason. So what’s your reason?”

He says it so casually, throwing it out there as easily as a punch. He probably means nothing deep by it, probably doesn’t even realize the fact that it is a compliment.

He called you pretty.

“My sister.” You answer, finally looking away at him to look down at your hands that have settled nicely into your lap. Your cheeks feel a lot warmer than they did a second ago. You decide to blame this as a result of too many sweaty people in one basement.

“She a ring girl?”

“She’s dating a fighter here.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you dating a fighter here, too?”

You look him properly in his face after that comment, almost resisting the urge to laugh. Fear that he’ll get offended and smack you into the floor stops that reaction. Instead, you stare at him, slightly surprised, lips almost curled up into an amused smile at just how unbelievable it would be for you to date anyone like him.

“You finally did it.”

“Did what?”

“Look at me.” He holds eye contact, almost as if he’s trying to challenge you into looking away. “I don’t bite, y’know.” He smiles, showing off a surprisingly straight row of white teeth, not a single tooth missing despite the nature of his… job. “It’s against the rules.”

Yeah. Because [character], the fucking [ring name nickname], looks like the type of man who follows the rules.

#atsumu miya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #satoru gojo x reader #keiji akaashi x reader #sae itoshi x reader #tobio kageyama x reader #UGH i hate going thru my drafts #bc im like damn why didn't i finish writing these #anyway lmk ur thoughts. i have to work on comms so no plans to release these this month but perhaps june

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misc-obeyme · 7 months

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You know what time it is.

Lesson 33 spoilers, including the hard lesson, here we go!

I am pleased. And I am not pleased.

I had so many great moments with all my faves. Solomon being there for me, Levi being a lil cutie, THIRTEEN DATE, Barbatos giving me lil Ds. What glorious moments. I shall share some screenshots momentarily.

BUT FIRST.

Belphie. What the fuck.

Technically, this is Mammon’s fault. He was the one who was like it’s not wrong to feel upset about it and like yeah he’s right, but Belphie is clearly taking that statement to an EXTREME.

We are dealing with YANDERE BELPHIE, my friends.

If I remember correctly, he was always supposed to be yandere. So now we’re really leaning into that, huh? Like straight up, I am going to keep you here forever because you’ll be happier with me than if you leave. Our boy’s gone a little off the deep end lol. I kinda love it.

Though I was really surprised by his final line of “I don’t want you to see what’s inside my head.” He seemed really concerned about it. Considering all we’ve seen already, it can’t be that bad, right? Then again, I wouldn’t want anyone I know to get inside my head, either. Please stay out, you don’t need to see the horrors, thanks.

Also, we still haven’t made a pact with Levi. Just like we didn’t actually make a pact with Beel. Is it because now they’re not sure they want to have pacts with us because of the whole needing magic to get back to the human world thing? I swear I have a memory of Solomon telling us that we could make pacts with all of the brothers at the same time. But we already have pacts with three of them? So why would we only make pacts with three or four of them at the same time? I’m so confused. Someone please share your thoughts with me on this because I don’t get it???

I really feel like they directly addressed some of the concerns we’ve all been having in this lesson, too. I mean Solomon straight up talks about wondering what the brothers we left behind are doing. Or if time is still going there or if we’ll end up exactly where we left etc etc. HOWEVER all that soup talk makes me think they are just going to mesh it all together. ‘Cause Solomon also said this:

What does that mean? How can the future brothers influence what’s happening in the past? Unless their memories are changing in real time… ugh why did they have to go with time travel shenanigans?? Don’t they know this junk hurts my brain??

Anyway, now it’s time for some of my favorite moments, enough about time travel and feelings and pacts!

Because my favorite sorcerer also said this. And I know there are some questions about his motives and blah blah but I don’t care. I love him. He’ll be all serious, then say something sweet and reassuring, then do something crazy or try to cook again… he’s got so many sides to him lol.

STOP MAKING ME LIKE YOU MEPHISTOPHELES. (Please you were like the last character I was neutral about I can’t afford to get obsessed with anyone else.)

Honestly, I laughed so hard when he said this. Mammon just called him out directly and he LAUGHED. He laughed and was like yeah duh of course, idiots. And look how pleased he is about it, too.

May I bring your attention to my baby Levi? Look at this silly guy. I was so happy I got to hug him. And the group hug was adorable, too. Satan protesting the whole time lol. Lucifer coming in and being like… I regret asking.

I swear sometimes I wanna kiss this guy JUST to watch him blush. It’s so freakin’ cute.

Smitten. I am smitten.

The way she’s like I don’t get why you like these weirdos, but I know they matter to you. Don’t worry, it’s going to work out. How she gets all defensive of MC. Her cute little smile. The way she suggests coming to visit MC in the human world & saying that Solomon can come too?! LIKE. I love her so much.

HE KNOWS.

Listen I was thrilled about this whole part - Barbatos being mysterious and giving me a weird piece of paper and a Little D? Yes forever. But also I think we’ve all suspected him of knowing the truth and this part right here just solidifies that for me. He definitely knows. He knows everything about what’s going on. I don’t think that means he’s Nightbringer or even that he’s working with Nightbringer. He could just know because he’s got access to all of time and what not. But either way, he knows.

Honestly I love Barbatos so much. Just the small parts we had with him were enough to get me in my feels. I also really enjoyed the hard lesson because even if Luke doesn’t know what’s going on, I think Simeon does. And their discussion was interesting.

So I’m gonna leave you with one last Barb moment.

I’m so impatient is it the end of the season yet?? I wanna know how it ends right NOW.

#it’s been a minute since I did a whole post with screenshots #but there were so many good moments this time tee hee #obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me nightbringer spoilers #obey me nightbringer lesson 33 #obey me solomon #obey me leviathan #obey me belphegor #obey me barbatos #obey me thirteen #spoilers #misc lesson recap #misc rambles

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luaveltarot · 1 year

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🪞ᑭᗩᑕ🪞: ᗯᕼᗩT ᗪO YOᑌ ᒪOOK ᗷEᔕT Iᑎ?

🪩🪄✨📸

ᑭIᒪE 1

Chaotic Art Academia/ Trendy Dark 🧲💣

Lol your style is the complete opposite of your selection of image which is the red necklace. It’s funny but let’s talk about what you look really good in. Ok so you are my simple 90’s minimalist chic girlies.

You look best in black but your other wardrobe faves could be denim, white, tan, grey and light blue. Your black/tan statement flat or mules go with just any outfit so keep wearing them. I see you have the masculine boss look to you which is again ironical with the pic you’ve chosen (I’m sorry, i don’t want to sound like a broken tape recorder but you get it, right?). Your black bodysuit looks really nice with tan trousers. Your oversized blazer enhances your style even more. I get that people love your choice in handbags, sling bags etc. You can still wear your white shoes everywhere, it goes with everything.

You accessories your outfit less, one ring , a bracelet and a watch does the job on most days for you (which is a lot for you ik). Your hair looks best when you leave them as they are and don’t fret over it being perfect and neat from all sides. You look tamed even with wild hair so don’t stress about it.　

ᑭIᒪE 2

Colourful trendy/ oh so miss perfect 🧸🛍

You like solid colour outfits and co-ord sets. You have a light and warmth to your fashion. It’s breezy, flowy and one feels bright when they look at you. You have a thing for light shades.

You look so hot if you wear turquoise liner to your eyes. You have a good sense of eye make up. You look your best in off-white and cream coloured shades. Coral, rust, latte and peach; shades of sunsets at a beach kind. You look feminine and in your power in midi dresses or tucked tops and midi skirts. Turtle neck tops and parallel trousers/ short skirts with belt accentuates your lean figure and you look taller.

You should wear heels often, it looks good on you. I don’t feel you are much of an accessory fan may be just a classy earring, also I think you don’t need accessories since your make up holds all the glamour. Instead I get you are more into hair accessories like hair scarves and hats. You understand your style very well so I don’t need to say anything more.

ᑭIᒪE 3

The hippie baby/ colourful vintage 🎨 🗝

Colourful butterflies or should I say vibrant chameleons ( not in a bad way,I just feel whatever you wear , that colour looks good on you). I get aquatic kind of neon colours, something that catches the eye. You wear colours related to water, wellness and nature.

You look best in pink-orange colours and light blue- dark blue colours, shades of sea and candy pink. You look best in patterned clothes which have a boho edge. You look elegant and put together in skirts with crop tops and even an oversized jumpsuit. I don’t get any specific styles that you look best in because you have many styles, your mood reflects in your outfits and you like to dress accordingly. Though you could look great in floral patterned clothes, beach prints and abstract arts.

You are into accessories, you match your bags, footwear and glasses accordingly. You could like to wear rings in all fingers and if you don’t then you should try it, I feel it will make you more chic even if you choose to dress lazily.

ᑭIᒪE 4

Boss chic/ Flashlight on you 🔦 📸

You have Capricorn placements? A prominent mercury or a moon sign. You are a fashionista and have the model look,no matter your size, right, colour or hair texture. You have a look that turns people’s head. Your colours are silver, gold, purple, blue , yellow and red.

You look best in striped tucked button up shirt and dark blue jeans. You can have shoulder length hair and it looks exquisite. You can even wear a gold pendant or chain frequently or always which make you look dapper and elite. Your aura is really surreal with specs of silver and gold making you look beautiful.

You should wear boots often because that will accentuate your outfit. Try a kimono if you haven’t or leave your shirt unbuttoned and wear a vest underneath. Also a crystal ring or crystal bracelet covered in some metal will suit you. You look hot in two piece sets too.

ᑭIᒪE 5

Travel beauty/ ‘Who is that charming girl ?’ They say 🤳💅🏼

You are a true beauty even when you feel you look homeless. You have the, ‘who is that girl?’ Look, especially at airports and in grocery stores or even the girl who just passed by. You remind me of the meme where a guy who is with a girl has turned his head to look at the other girl lol. Your social media got many stalkers too haha.

You look the best in all white but if you want colours then wear a black top and red skirt with pencil heels. I also see that you look best in brown and black. You have an air of innocence in your dressing style which is draws in people like bees to honey.

For accessories your would look nice in caps, sunglasses, a watch but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to wear jewellery, you can wear earrings and necklaces but I just feel you look pretty in simple styles with light make up and branded high quality clothes.

ᑭIᒪE 6

Ancient witch / mythological goddess 🪄

You have a traditional look to you. You look gorgeous in your ethnic clothes or from the culture you belong to. I feel when you dress up in your social standings, you stand out. Then when you wear casual clothes for regular days people are taken aback by your transformation because one minute you looked so transitional and next you look like a model posing for brands in pictures.

You look best in traditional outfits as mentioned before, besides that you look really cute like kittens in dresses. You look pretty in sleeveless tops and relaxed fit straight jeans. Even a beach resort shirt with a sports vest and cargo pants. You look best when you have a sporty vibe to your personality.

You should leave your hair open mostly and a pair of earrings in accessories will accentuate your outfit enough to make you look just enough. Colours like orange and yellow look good on you too.

ᑭIᒪE 7

Fairy in the forest 🧚🏻 / Invisible crown Queen 👑

For some reason I feel that people find you unreal and unique in your fashion. You give off the severity vibes with the way you dress that people feel they’ve encountered a beautiful garden where there are many flowers and greenery.

You look best in pastel/nude colours and especially floral prints. You should wear the nude pink dress with little floral prints, even I feel enchanted by your presence. Even fur clothes make you look attractive.

For accessories, you should wear pearls because it will give you the moon glow and go well with your pastel outfits. If you have been feeling like colouring your hair then take this sign as a yes you can and also don’t cut your hair short. Your hair holds all the beauty.

ᑭIᒪE 8

Mermaid around the corals 🪸 / Angelic Baby👼

You look so sweet and dreamy. You look beautiful in shimmery clothes or see through tops. Crochet knit tops, trousers and skirts.

You should incorporate more of shiny pinks and turquoise colours in your wardrobe. Also purple is your colour. Clothes with shells or accessories with shells will enhance your personality

Stop being shy and dress as you wish girl. I feel you hesitate a lot in dressing authentically. Embrace your ethereal beauty, stop being the mermaid who hides in the abyss of darkness to protect herself from intruders. You can look beautiful and still be in limelight, please don’t shy away.

ᑭIᒪE 9

Bad bitch who is all money 💰/ luxury femme fatale

You dress expensive. You have all the trendy high brand clothes which most people can only eye. You have all luxe accessories and make up products.

You look best in everything because all your clothes screams money and let’s admit, expensive clothes look good on everyone. Your silver dress, silver boots with silver earrings will look best just in case you ever felt confused about what to wear.

Don’t forget to paint your nails red because you are the classy and elite chickkkk. Always and I mean always wear necklaces and a heavy ring because they are meant to be shown off and not to be kept in drawers.

Thanks for reading. Have a lovely day or night wherever you are. Sending you love and healing energy:)

#divination #tarot #tarot reading #pac #pick a pile #tarotblr #witch #pick a card #tarot witch #witchy #luaveltarot #tarot community #pick a card reading

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buckymorelikefuckme · 1 year

Text

and really bad eggs

pirate king wanda x fem reader

words: 2.1k

warnings: **18+ ONLY** mentions/slight description of injury, hurt/comfort, smut, scissoring. if i missed anything pls let me know!

a/n: well i guess it's a series now lmao~ is 3am posting going to become my new thing? we shall see. i hope you enjoy :) also, there's a cameo of two of our fave dudes in here hehe! unbeta'd. any and all mistakes are mine. feedback is encouraged & appreciated ♡

part 1 ❀ part 2 ❀ part 4

You pace impatiently along the deck, eyes straining through the moonlight as you search for the return of your crew mates and captain. They should've been back ages ago. You'd been given strict instruction to stay on the ship, the captain using the excuse of your poor combat skills for her reasoning.

“I've been practicing with Natasha,” you'd protested as you watched Wanda gather her effects.

You would be approaching the port soon and she always liked being ready to step off the ship the moment it was docked. Feeling desperate yet helpless, you continued staring at your lover as she checked her pistols and secured her sword.

Wanda sighed. “Yes, and I've heard of your improvement,” she admitted. “But Natasha still thinks you need more time before you're ready for a real fight.”

“You say all the time how rare fights happen once the villagers realize who you are!” you retorted.

“I am not going to argue with you on this,” she replied, her tone firm. “My mind is made up. You will stay here.”

You clenched your jaw. “Are you saying this as my captain, or as my lover?”

Wanda spun to face you with a hard look. You lifted your chin, having been on the receiving end of such an expression several times before. She was always calling you stubborn, and that wasn't going to change any time soon.

“When did I stop being both, hm?” she wondered, taking slow, deliberate steps towards you. “What have I done to deserve this treatment?”

You didn’t reply, frowning as you broke your stare. When Wanda spoke again, it was low, so quiet it was almost a whisper.

“I could not live with the thought of you getting hurt, or worse, because you could not defend yourself properly,” she confessed. “Perhaps I do not express myself well enough, if you are under the impression that I could be so impassive with your precious life.”

You blinked away the tears that built in your eyes.

“I have fought in my fair share of duals, and even I have had many close calls, despite my years of training,” she added, and you hated the reminder, having bore witness to the scars that decorate her skin to prove her words. She cupped your cheeks, forcing you to meet her imploring gaze. “I will not have your blood on my hands.”

A shaky breath escaped you, still feeling utterly helpless, useless, but you reached up to gently grasp her wrists. As much as it pained you, you nodded in understanding. She sighed, eased, and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, promising to return as quickly as possible.

Now, a sense of foreboding has been steadily rising within you. It's never taken this long for a raid. You wring your hands anxiously, contemplating if Wanda would be angry with you if you left the ship with your sword in hand.

However, you don't get the chance to decide. You hear voices approach, and soon after, the crew bustles out of the tree line. Your relief is palpable as you press your hand to your chest, muttering a quick thank god under your breath as they grow nearer.

It takes a moment for you to notice, so washed in comfort by everyone’s return, that a few people are carefully carrying someone back to the ship. Just as quickly as the relief appeared, it leaves you entirely. Your skin goes hot then cold, so fast that it leaves your head spinning, dread settling heavily in your stomach.

As the crew begin boarding the ship, none of them meet your eyes. Panic wells, and you find yourself stumbling across the deck, shouldering past several people. Natasha stops you before you can go around her.

“She's fine,” she murmurs.

“She–She's being carried onto the ship,” you point out dumbly.

Natasha grips your shoulders. “Her wound is not serious. We had to clean it and stitch it to stop the bleeding before we could return.”

You whimper, covering your mouth as fresh tears fall. “She was bleeding?”

Natasha sighs heavily. “Before we could announce ourselves, some skinny, little idiot and his friend thought themselves to be heroes and charged us.” She rolls her eyes, agitated all over again by this person. “The Captain stepped in and was grazed by his dagger while she was trying to subdue him. Once he found out who we were it was easy to get them to back down.”

She pauses, huffing. “For whatever reason, the Captain invited them to join the crew after they'd apologized a million times and begged her pardon.”

You blink a few times, mind whirling. “But she's okay?” you clarify, your only worry.

Natasha’s face softens as she nods. “Aye. I made them carry her back so she wouldn't put a strain on her stitches. It's just a superficial wound.”

Just then, Wanda is carried on board, and you rush to her.

“This is ridiculous. I am perfectly capable of walking,” you hear her grumble and it makes a choked sob slip past your lips. Her eyes meet yours and she orders the men to stop. “Put me down,” she tells them, and when they try to argue, “Now!”

Not wanting to receive some form of punishment, they listen, gingerly helping her rise and stand. She winces, her hand clutching her side, just below her ribs. You take cautious steps toward her, but you stop a couple feet away.

“Come here, my love,” she says, holding out her free arm.

You close the space between you, tears spilling down your cheeks as you check her over for more injuries, hands hovering unsurely around her. She grabs one of your hands and pulls you into her, hugging you tightly. You bury your face in her neck as you cry, relieved all over again, feeling her warm and solid beneath your hands. She shushes you softly, kissing you wherever she can reach.

“I'm alright, my angel, I'm fine,” she reassures.

“You were hurt,” you correct thickly. “I wasn't there and you got hurt.”

“It's nothing I can't handle,” she replies. She brushes your hair off your shoulder so she can kiss along the expanse of your collarbone. “Why don't we go to my quarters, hm?”

You swallow past the lump in your throat and nod, letting her lead you in the direction of her cabin. Along the way, you spy two new faces; a skinny, blond man whose eyes are wide as he takes in the massive ship, and a dark haired man that follows close behind, looking resigned to his fate. You make a mental note to give them a stern talking to later.

Wanda closes and locks the door to her cabin once the two of you are inside. She turns to you and meets you halfway for a bruising kiss.

The only thought playing on a loop in your mind is that you could have lost her. It's silly, especially knowing her injury is not that serious, but also knowing that she'd gotten hurt and you weren't there to help makes your chest seize uncomfortably. You just need to assure yourself that she really is okay.

Your hands grab fistfuls of her hair as you deepen the kiss into something sharper, messier. Wanda grunts, her own hands sliding down your back until they can squeeze your ass. You moan brokenly into her mouth.

She breaks the kiss to mutter, “Feel me? I'm here, safe, with you.”

“If you think I'm staying behind next time, you're mad,” you respond, licking a hot line up the side of her neck.

Her head tips back as she laughs, the sound teetering off into a gasp when you bite down and begin sucking a mark into her skin.

“I figured you would say so,” she says.

Without a word, you make quick work of undoing the laces of her trousers. She helps you undress her, slipping off her coat and unbuttoning her waistcoat before she reaches for you. Her deft fingers work on removing your corset and dress until you're completely bare. She steps out of her trousers that have pooled at her ankles, kicking her boots off in the process.

The stark contrast of the stitches against her skin is like a punch to the gut. You softly trail your fingers just below them.

“Lie down,” you tell her.

She opens her mouth to protest, but you send her a look that begs her to simply do as she's told, and for once, she listens. She walks over to her bed with you in tow and eases her way onto it. You crawl on after her, sitting between her thighs.

“No teasing,” she intones, tacking on a quiet, “please.”

You hadn't planned on such a thing anyway. Instead of verbally replying, you lift one of her legs and straddle the other, shuffling forward until you can align your pussy with hers. You place a kiss on her calf and then grind forward.

Twin gasps echo in the room, pleasure setting your bodies ablaze. Wanda’s eyes close as she pants at the feel of your wet cores sliding together. It sends a shudder down your spine, mouth falling open as your clit is stimulated perfectly.

“Doing such a good job, my angel,” Wanda praises, making you whine and grind harder. “You feel exquisite. Love feeling your cunt, dripping and desperate against mine.”

“My King, please,” you whimper.

She moans and yanks you down for a kiss, sucking on your tongue, biting your lip. You cry out when her fingers pinch and tug your nipples, hips twitching out of rhythm for a moment before you regain it. Both of your thighs are messy with slick, the sound of it sending heat up to your face, makes your clit throb.

“Come on, then. Let me hear you,” she orders. “Want to see you come apart on top of me.”

You feel a sudden smack to your ass and you're keening, grinding faster as sweat forms across your hairline, on the small of your back. Wanda isn't faring any better, her cheeks flushed a stunning shade of pink. She keeps spanking you, urging you on. Your ass stings, but it's a welcome feeling, a reminder that she's here, below you.

“Come for me, pretty girl,” she requests.

You can only listen, your clit beating in time with your heart as you grind it on hers, moaning loudly when your orgasm consumes you. Wanda pulls you down entirely, shifting you to lay on your side and lift your leg. With pleasure still clouding your mind, you blindly follow her silent instruction. The high of your climax hasn't even receded when she slides two fingers inside you. A surprised whine falls past your slackened lips.

“I've got to get one more out of you, my love,” she informs you, immediately thrusting her fingers at a brutal pace. “I know you can do that for me. Can't you?”

You nod, letting out noises that you're sure the crew can hear. Wanda doesn't seem to care, though, so you can't find it in you to care either. She licks into your mouth, her tongue tangling with yours, making you shiver and clench around her fingers.

“That's it, there you go,” she coos.

Her thumb joins in, swiping over your sensitive clit. You nearly scream her name. She grins proudly, curling her fingers and rubbing over the spot inside you that is sure to have you wailing. It takes only a minute longer and then your second orgasm rushes through you.

“Beautiful, so beautiful, my sweet angel,” Wanda is saying in your ear, kissing along your jaw as spots dance in your vision.

You weakly push at her hand when you become overly tender. She removes her fingers and gathers your wetness, bringing her hand down to her clit and using it to quickly get herself off. She holds your heavy lidded stare until her orgasm takes over. She tosses her head back with a cut off shout, her hips bucking into her hand.

“My handsome captain,” you say, kissing her shoulder. “Took such good care of me. Thank you, my darling.”

Wanda sighs as relaxes. “Always for you.”

You trade sweet nothings and even sweeter kisses for a few, long moments until you remember her injury. The skin around it looks more irritated than before, but she promises that she's fine, kissing away your worries.

You stay wrapped up in each other, running soothing hands over each other’s bodies for a while. When you yawn and blink drowsily, Wanda covers you with the blanket, letting you cuddle up even closer.

You're asleep between one blink and the next.

#avengers fic #marvel fic #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #pirate king wanda x reader

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goatskickin · 1 month

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hi, i've been learning how to make hair retextures and clothing recolors and your tutorials and tips have been super helpful! i was wondering if you could explain how you retexture clay hair? i'd want to add more realistic looking textures to some clay afro hairstyles but i don't know how to do it and i haven't find a tutorial for it

Hi anon, that's great! Making CC is really fun. 😊 I think so, anyway. So, I do have a tutorial about how to retexture clay hair, but instead of just providing you with that link, let's talk a little bit more about what you're interested in: adding more realistic looking textures to clay afro hairstyles. You're in luck - that's a thing I like to do sometimes too! Clay hairs often lend their shape very well to locs, braids, puffs, knots etc.

So this hair, @miniculesim's 4t2 conversion of okuree's Clementine. I have done before but didn't change the texture at the time. But I could! Let's try it.

This is the mesh and texture we will be working with.

Sometimes I like to view a mesh in UV Mapper so I can get way up in the mesh. Like way up in there.

I'd like to use my fave TS4 texture on this mesh.

This is the original texture for Clementine.

Where I have circled in red is where I am going to paste one long rectangle section of the TS4 Dread texture I prefer.

See? That's not so bad.

One big difference between retexturing alpha hairs and retexturing clay hairs is how the texture looks when the hair5 connects to the head.

See these starred red areas? We will come back to this. Because I don't like how that looks, and I can do better.

So, this is Clementine, with all of the locs texture that I'd like to have on it. It has the original scalp texture, however. It is okay, but not the vision I had in mind.

What I am going to do is put my afro texture underneath the locs.

I use Photoshop which allows me to have many many layers in an image.

My layers would be like:

1)Locs 2) Afro texture 3) the original texture.

It looks a little better. Not quite done yet, though.

When it comes to clay hair, I'm always on the side of 'if you can't beat em, join em!'.

Clay hair meshes have their textures painted to match their UV maps exactly. So, retexturing is tricky. I don't mind leaving in a little of the original texture, because why put it to waste when it's useful, you know?

I need to adjust the hairline texture though. That's not quite right.

What I have here is the 1) original texture around the hairline, then the 2) TS4 dread texture I added, and then 3) my afro texture layered both underneath and on top.

This works, I think! I like it.

And then in a black recolor of course, very important that that looks good on any afro/protective style.

I hope that this is helpful! Please feel free to DM me if you have questions. :)

#answered asks #sims 2 tutorial #rly hope that made sense!

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sirenjose · 24 days

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So I've been really into your analysis lately and I'm a huge fan now, wanted to ask some questions, feel free to not answer any

1- what was your favourite idv story/event to analyze?

2- your least fav of the latter?

3- are you into anything else besides idv?

4-how do you find the motivation to analyze stuff? I've tried before and it was very draining :')

Thanks for your time, hope you have a lovely day

I'm very happy to hear you're enjoying yourself despite my own low opinion about much of what I put out. I'll do my best to answer!

Hmm I always dislike picking favorites because I'm bad at picking eheh... But the ones I liked most... I honestly enjoy T&I and COA (1-5) even more than the main story. So I think I might pick... Atropos' Ropes for T&I and for COA, thats harder... 3-5 are my faves but I might pick 4 just because of how it felt it had the most story/details given than all the rest. Even the *SONG* had story. I loved it.

Least fave, eh... Orfeo and Zinaida immediately come to mind, though Orfeo I'd say was worse... COA 1 is another primarily because of how DIFFICULT it was for me to figure it out enough to put together an analysis. And I had to rewrite that thing at LEAST 3 times to the point I'm just hoping it's good enough and leaving it alone. Time of Reunion I think is another that comes to mind, mainly because I didn't appreciate how they treated Norton in there, especially in the videos (but at least those aren't canon like the in-game event was). So based on all that, I might say Orfeo if I really had to pick 1. Then rank ToR 2nd and Zinaida/COA1 3rd.

FF14 and Honkai Star Rail especially I'm playing actively these days, but I honestly like a lot of stuff. Like Persona (espeially 4), 999 aka Zero Escape, and Star Ocean Til the End of Time. Least in terms of games.

Hmm... Maybe because the 1st reason I play a game is because of the story, and gameplay is always 2nd to me. If the story and characters are good, that gets me interested. Issue with IDV is we only get bits and pieces. Really need to look deeper to really understand some of the characters. I actually only started analyzing because I challenged myself (partially out of curiosity for the answer) to see if I could prove if Norton wasn't as evil as people thought (based on all the comments I saw when I 1st joined the fandom a long while ago). From there, there was Jose who I wanted to analyze because he honestly had so many plot holes I couldn't (and still can't completely) solve. So I get the most enjoyment analyzing something that doesn't have a clear answer. Which is why I don't always post for every letter. A big part of it is I enjoy history and culture and such, so it's fun for me to learn about different foods, or time periods, or how bad the environment was for miners or sailors back in the day, etc... I dont think I have an easy answer (I can see I'm rambling). Norton I actually only began to like because I was spending so long working on my 1st analysis for him (and my perfectionism made me analyze all of Norton's essences before i could call it finished). Jose was because I love Captain Hook, and then after because of the plot holes that bothered me. Then for others, I think I enjoy making analyses to... try to sometimes change people's opinoions/beliefs. Like with Margaretha or Vera. With Edgar was because I was more interested in his story and him as a character only once I put together all his lore. Sort of goes on from there. I could ramble on but I'm going to get even more guilty. I hope this helps somewhat, but let me know if it doesn't and I'll keep going. Maybe the simple is A) I like history/culture/research, B) I like to convince people that certain characters arent as evil as they think or change beliefs I think aren't quite accurate, C) I like solving puzzles and I love story, D) I already think too hard about literally everything, and combined with my perfectionism, we get analysis

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vettelsvee · 1 month

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WHY HAVE YOU LIED TO ME? | Sebastian Vettel

f1 masterlist | history series masterlist | season 1

summary: diana finally discovers what she didn't even think about: sebastian has a girlfriend, and it's that hanna that was supposed to be just his friend

word count: 4727

warnings: mentions of masturbation, bad language, curse words, sexism and bad treatment towards women. the way characters are represented in this story is not how they are in real life. remember this is a work of fiction and nothing here is the same as reality.

taglist: [@theseerbetweenus @annewithaneofthegreengable @vincentvanshoe @formulaonebuff @roisinivy] if you wanna be tagged in each part just tell me in the comments <3

a/n: this is my fave chapter for now. translating it made me remember the way i cried writing this (and also the fact that the hardest chapters are about to come)

feedback, as well as reblogs and comments, are truly appreciated!

2009

German Grand Prix Nürburgring, Nürburg

July 12 Sunday

Despite trying to shake off the intrusive thoughts that seemed to want to overwhelm her, along with the constant nausea that accompanied them, Diana had a sense of foreboding for that Sunday.

Her anxiety only grew as the pressure in her chest, which had not disappeared since the call she received the previous night from the Clinical and Provincial Hospital of Barcelona, increased. While she was pacing in her room at the Nürburgring Congress, a male voice on the other end of the line informed her that they had had to make a sudden change in her father's medication, who had been hospitalized for about two weeks, because recent tests were confirming that his health was deteriorating rapidly.

The news had left the Austrian with a lump in her throat. All she wanted at that moment was to take a flight back to Spain and be there with the man who, although he hadn't acted as a father should since her mother's death, was the only family she had left, along with her sister.

Now, with her eyes fixed on the computer screen containing Sebastian's telemetry and qualifying data from the previous day, Wagner wished with all her might that the day would be as peaceful as possible, and above all, that it would end as soon as possible so she could return to the hotel, get into bed, and sleep for hours until her alarm went off in the early hours to catch a flight back to Barcelona.

"Hey, you."

Diana lifted her head and saw a blonde girl approaching her furiously from a distance. She didn't like to judge people at first sight because she believed that the important thing was getting to know them; however, that day she allowed herself the luxury of not being true to her beliefs. At first glance, she seemed like one of the many Germans who believed they were entitled to everything, as if they were royalty or something like that: her completely blonde, almost platinum hair, and her blue eyes leaning towards greenish, set off alarm bells; hearing her speak in her mother tongue as soon as she put her hands on the desk and proudly positioned herself over Diana confirmed it.

"Yes? How can I help you?" Diana replied politely in the same language.

"Where's the bathroom?"

The dyed blonde couldn't help but tense up at the lack of manners with which the girl had spoken to her, but she decided to overlook it. She had to maintain her composure at her job, and she didn't feel like getting into a fight with anyone. Besides, Diana always tended to see the good side of people and ended up excusing those who behaved that way by saying they must have had a bad day even though it was quite the opposite.

"Just at the end of the hallway, on the left," she indicated in the same friendly tone, not forgetting to give her a big smile.

The other girl felt annoyed and walked away without even saying thank you. Diana tried not to pay attention and let her go without watching her leave. A few minutes later, she was there again, approaching her; now, her steps were much more haughty and challenging than before, and her head was held high, as if she were the owner of Red Bull Racing itself, and, as if she had planned it, as she passed by the university student, she made her shoulders collide forcefully. Diana, upon receiving the blow, made a great effort not to curse.

"Excuse me," Diana said, even though she wasn't at fault. "I hope I didn't hurt you."

The blonde girl looked at Wagner disdainfully and continued walking through the pit without a fixed destination until she decided to stop a few meters away from her. At that moment, the guest dropped a tissue to the ground, and Diana, in an attempt to be helpful, as always, approached to pick it up with the bad luck of losing her balance and falling sideways due to what seemed to have been a "slight bump" from one of the legs of the stranger who was increasingly testing her patience.

"Ow..."

Don't be silly and get up, you've faced worse. It's not your problem that people are rude and think they're the kings of the world, Diana told herself as she tried to calm the mix of emotions that were beginning to emerge from within her. The cause of her growing bad mood seemed to have disappeared without a trace, and that made her much calmer.

As she began to get up carefully, a friendly voice sounded nearby. Mark Webber was in front of her, with a hand extended for her to take and a face consumed by concern, curiosity, and pity at the same time.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

"Nothing, don't worry," the blonde replied, downplaying what had happened, "I stumbled while picking up this," she pointed to the garage, perfectly tidied up by her that same morning, "Today I'm clumsier than usual, so don't take it personally. I'm sorry, really."

Her explanation was far from the truth, but she didn't want to aggravate the situation or, much less, tell what happened because, after all, it was silly. In addition to that, she couldn't forget that causing trouble in the team wasn't the best, especially if it was about a guest who seemed to be much more important than her.

After all, she was just an unimportant intern.

"Are you sure?" insisted the Australian. "Your constipated face doesn't seem to say the same," he commented, pointing to her face.

"Yes, yes. It was just a silly fall, believe me," Diana insisted again. "Thank you for worrying about me, you didn't need to. You have to get ready for a race that starts in a few hours, and you know as well as I do that you shouldn't be here," the Austrian indicated, "but with Helmut or Christian talking about your driver stuff."

The man didn't seem completely convinced, but he accepted the girl's answer almost reluctantly. He knew that on race days there was a lot of stress, so he thought it was stupid to add more stress than necessary.

"If you need anything, whatever it is, you know you can count on me. You're going to do great today!" he shouted to Wagner as he walked away, receiving a nod from the girl.

For the third time that day, Diana tried to focus on the data, but it became increasingly impossible for her. Her distractions were becoming more frequent, and it was completely normal considering all the commotion that was beginning to form in the garage, especially considering that the start of the race was getting closer and closer.

Since she became aware of the high competitiveness in the team she was part of, she always tried to give her best every Sunday; rather, she tried to be the best. That day was no exception, especially with the extra pressure she had put on herself for being Sebastian's home race. She knew perfectly well that it was a special occasion for him and that that day, more than ever, he deserved a victory, especially considering that his family was there to see him.

Diana was able to see in the distance as soon as she raised her head from the monitor how Sebastian's parents, brother, and three sisters were already there to support him. Her gaze met Norbert's, who greeted her with a cheerful wave, just like him. The blonde replied, but as soon as she could, she ignored their smiles and focused again on improving Vettel's car performance.

However, she didn't manage to reach the threshold of concentration because a few seconds later, she had small fingers playing around her waist, causing her to tickle. Diana guessed who the person causing her laughter was. When she lowered her gaze and saw Lara, she couldn't help but smile knowingly, knowing that she had guessed right.

"Lara!" she pretended to be surprised, "What are you doing here?"

The eleven-year-old girl hugged the dyed blonde as soon as she could, feeling completely comfortable with someone in the garage, finally, that day. If there was one thing Lara Vettel hated, it was feeling completely out of place wherever she went; the same thing that happened to Diana Wagner, although she tried to hide it at all times.

"I was bored because mom and dad keep talking all the time about Seb" she explained, moving her hands at the same time. "I'm so bored of them, and since I saw you alone and realized you weren't talking to anyone, I decided to come and keep you company."

"Wow, I really appreciate it a lot," she confessed to the girl, "but I'm not up for many distractions right now."

"Why?"

"Well..."

She couldn't tell the dark-haired girl everything that was on her mind, especially about her dying father, at that moment; so she just shrugged, not letting her smile fade away.

"Well, you know, the usual for a race in Germany. We're working hard to try to make your brother win his home race."

"Yeah!" Lara exclaimed, starting to jump around the girl. "If he doesn't win today, it's because he's a loser, but that's not going to happen because Mom and Dad say you're doing a great job helping Seb."

If the words she had just heard were true, it was the best thing she had heard since she had started her stay in Formula 1, but she had to be realistic with herself: Sebastian's achievements were due to a lot of people, and she wasn't among that group.

"Wow, thanks, Lara, that means a lot to me," she replied feigning. "I'm just here to help, if they let me, and also to make sure your brother becomes the best."

The girl's enthusiasm seemed to grow with what Diana had just said, even though it was a lie on her part.

"I know, and that's why you're the best! Mom and my siblings want to meet you, and especially Hanna! She says she would like to thank you personally for helping Seb so much in every race."

After hearing that name silence, accompanied by a rather strange and unknown feeling, began to invade Diana. She tried not to attach importance to the name she had just heard. She had no reason to be jealous because, as much as she wished, the blue-eyed blond Formula 1 driver who raced with the number 5 had no commitment to her.

"Hanna? Sebastian's friend?" Wagner intruded, wanting to know more despite being fully aware that he was getting into a tricky situation.

Lara, not understanding what Sebastian's friend was saying, turned around and searched among the hustle and bustle of the garage for Hanna. When she finally found her, she proceeded to point her out with enthusiasm without her realizing it, letting her friend see who her brother's girlfriend was.

"That's Hanna, Diana!" the pilot's younger sister exclaimed excitedly. "Isn't she beautiful?"

And she was indeed. Despite having behaved badly with her a few hours ago, she had a lot to envy her. Diana felt tiny when she compared herself to her, and unfortunately, that was all she could do.

"Yes, yes, Lara... But she's his friend, right?" she almost demanded to know. "Just his friend, right?"

Diana's insistence totally showed the state of shock she was in. That Hanna had to be, surely, the Hanna that Sebastian had talked so much about during the almost year and a half they had known each other.

She had to be the same girl who the driver had stood her up after the press conference in Monza, and also the one who had woken them up early in the morning when they had fallen asleep, together, in the Austrian hotel room.

That Hanna who was just his friend.

"If for you a friend is someone you're kissing all the time and walking holding hands with... yes."

No, that couldn't be true.

"Lara... Is Hanna Seb's girlfriend?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

The girl, with a completely puzzled expression and not believing Diana's behavior, shook her head and sighed, a little tired of the fact that the older girl didn't seem, or, rather, didn't want, to realize what she was telling her.

"Diana, of course she is!" she shouted, facing her without any ill intention. "My brother and Hanna have been best friends since they were little, but they've been dating for a couple of years or so," she innocently explained, not knowing that Diana didn't want to know, at the moment, anything about the love life of what she considered her crush. "I hope they never break up. They're literally like..."

The revelation the little girl had just made hit her like a bolt of lightning. Little Vettel seemed to know much more about the couple's relationship than Diana had imagined, something that was completely normal if she thought about it calmly. Although she tried to turn a deaf ear to everything the preteen was telling her, it was impossible for her not to hear the wonderful love story starring the two Germans since, she believed she had heard, 2006.

She couldn't process the information. Right now, her life was a dream, and she was about to wake up, she was clear about that.

Little by little, reality was hitting her, and she began to worry about how all that would affect her relationship with Sebastian... She couldn't continue to be in love with a guy with a girlfriend, could she?

No, no, that was wrong no matter how stupid her partner was, apparently, lacking empathy towards others.

Lara's voice, which was growing as she recounted the beautiful story her brother was living with the woman he claimed was the love of his life, began to make its way through the walls of the Red Bull garage. All those present, including the protagonists of the story, turned their gazes towards the girl and the young woman next to her, completely shocked and without any expression.

Hanna, who was enjoying Diana's gaze on her, decided, without prior thought, to take Sebastian's face in her hands and kiss him passionately to show who the driver’s girl was. The couple joined in a kiss that was deepened when the blonde, who was not aware of his paddock girl's gaze on them, took his girl by the waist and pulled her even closer to him.

Diana had no words for what her eyes, already filled with tears, were seeing. She knew the blonde had come out on top, and that hurt; what was hurting her the most, besides bothering her, was the feeling of failure as she saw that the German had accomplished her goal: to hurt her by showing her the hidden side of the life of the person who had been kindest to her.

"Diana, why are you crying?" Lara's words went ignored because she couldn't focus on anything other than the couple in front of her. Despite her insistence that she was okay, her gaze was fixed on Hanna Prater, who was looking back at her with malice, while romantically embracing Vettel with a possibly triumphant smile on her face.

The Austrian began to gather everything that was on the table as if it were a copying mechanism. She grabbed her few belongings as quickly as she could, and despite Lara Vettel pulling on her uniform shirt, she left as fast as she could, dodging all kinds of obstacles and people, trying not to fall because her head was bowed.

Sebastian, who didn't seem to have witnessed the staring contest between the two blondes, began to become aware of what was happening when he saw Diana leaving the box through a gap formed by some people. He felt like a complete idiot, and he knew it was all his fault because his friend had found out, not in the best way, that he had a girlfriend.

If there was something Sebastian Vettel had started to regret after his date with Wagner in Barcelona, and that almost kiss he was so willing to give at first, it was the direction their friendship seemed to be taking. Also, not having told her sooner that Hanna was the first, and only, woman in his life.

At least for now.

Without worrying about Britta's shouts, which urged him to leave the girl alone, he separated himself from Hanna abruptly and ran after the Austrian.

"Di! Di, wait!"

The girl didn't respond or pay attention to his demands.

"Di, seriously, wait! We need to talk..."

"Don't you take no for an answer?!" she shouted, pulling away before the blue-eyed boy could take her wrist gently.

"Let me explain," he tried to be understanding, speaking as cautiously as possible. "This isn't what it looks like."

Wagner looked up, finding what Sebastian was saying surreal. There was no doubt that it was exactly what it seemed, for God's sake... it was more than clear!

"Then explain to me what it looks like!" she yelled, her eyes flashing with anger. "How could it even cross your mind to kiss another girl in front of me if supposedly she's nothing to you?"

"It's not what you think," he tried to excuse himself again, even though he knew the tone behind Diana's words. "Hanna is..."

"Let me guess: your best friend, your lifelong friend, the one you've been in love with for so long that she's a part of you," she interrupted. "She must be a very special friend, and above all, you must have a lot of trust with her to be kissing her in public."

Sebastian's frustration was increasing, but he knew it was all his fault. He had messed up big time, and now, he was trying to fix everything when he knew perfectly well, from the beginning, that there was only one correct answer.

Hanna Prater or Diana Wagner.

"Di, if you'd just listen to me..."

"Don't you dare call me Di again," she reprimanded him. "I've heard enough, Sebastian. I considered you my friend," she revealed, regretting it immediately. "I trusted you more than I've trusted anyone in a long time. Why have you lied to me?"

Fury began to invade Sebastian, who, besides not knowing how to answer the question he had just been asked, was feeling increasingly angry not with the girl in front of him, nor with Hanna, as was obvious, but with the situation he was experiencing, and especially with himself, especially considering that he had a race to compete in a few hours and that the pressure that was beginning to build in his head would most likely make him lose the result he was hoping for.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself either, Diana," he began to speak without thinking. He knew he wasn't premeditating his words, and that what he was about to say would haunt him for a long time, but his pride wouldn't let him act any other way. "You know that, deep down, we're just coworkers. Our relationship is strictly professional even though we get along," he snapped with increasing arrogance. "So, from my point of view, I don't think I have the right, and even less the obligation, to tell you anything about my private life."

The Austrian couldn't believe what she had just heard coming out of the boy's mouth, whom she had always respected so much. Had it all been, perhaps, just a mirage?

Without saying anything else, she quickly walked away from the scene as tears rolled faster and faster down her face. The gaze of everyone in the pit lane and their inability to be discreet only increased her anxiety, even when she heard Sebastian's shouts telling them to leave her alone and get back to what they were doing, that they shouldn't meddle in matters that didn't concern them.

Diana's mind was completely clouded by confusion and pain, and she didn't even know how she was finding the strength to flee the place. When she collided with someone on the way, the insults in German, which seemed to have been ready to come out of her mouth for quite some time, began to leave her body quickly, only to receive, almost immediately, an invitation to calm down in the same language. The truth is, it wasn't in the young woman's plans to raise her head, bowed, and come face to face with none other than Michael Schumacher.

"Please, let me go. I don't want..."

"Wait, wait, don't go," intervened the man trying to hold her back. "You're Diana, right? Seb's Diana. Seb has talked a lot about you."

Seb's Diana. The last thing she needed to hear was that fateful day.

She had never been Seb's. Now, after what had happened, she knew she would never be, no matter how much she wanted it.

As much as the seven-time world champion was her idol, her state of shock made her have, only, the image of Sebastian kissing Hanna circling in her head, unfortunately, constantly. Now, the former driver's words only made her feel even worse, as if her world was crumbling more and more around her.

"Don't talk to me about him, please," Diana replied with the utmost politeness she could muster. "I just want to rest a bit."

"Sebastian never stops talking about you whenever he has the chance, really," Schumacher insisted. "The same thing happened when you helped him win for the first time. They couldn't stop talking about you around here for weeks."

Wagner couldn't take it anymore. She didn't know who to trust or what to believe. She felt as if her subconscious was betraying her at every moment, so she turned around and left, knowing perfectly well that she was the center of attention, completely unwanted, of the paddock.

Tears continued to run down her face as she walked away, and the second anxiety attack in less than twenty-four hours was about to bloom, even more so when she became increasingly aware that the scene she had just starred with Red Bull's golden boy would be the headline of all the news, magazines, newspapers, and any existing media starting the next day, if it wasn't already.

As soon as she reached what had become her comfort zone in her most overwhelming moments, she spotted Valentina behind the bar. Concerned for her new friend, the Argentine approached the intern. She had seen her on stressful days, when she couldn't take it anymore, but her completely reddened eyes and paler than usual face made her understand that there was something more than just "I'm nervous, help me."

Before Valentina could ask any questions, Diana began to speak, as if she needed to let everything out:

"I need to tell you everything that has happened," she began to recount with a trembling voice. "Between last night, my father, and now, Sebastian... I can't take it anymore."

At some tables nearby, Nico Rosberg was sitting with Edward Patterson, Sebastian's coach since the beginning of preseason, and with whom the German driving for Williams had become good friends during the last few races. The former couldn't help but overhear part of the conversation, and although he didn't pay much attention at first, Diana's expression, and especially her story, ended up consuming his attention.

As he listened to what the blonde was telling the brunette, his mind began to connect the dots. Cautiously, he approached the American, speaking to him in hushed whispers so no one else could hear:

"Eddie, did you know Vettel had a girlfriend or did he pull a Diana on you?"

The coach shook his head seriously.

"No, I already knew," he clarified. "I found out about her existence when I heard Seb moaning her name while he was jerking off…" he commented in a joking manner, "I think."

Nico's face intensified, and he started making gestures as if he were vomiting at what he had just heard.

"I mean, I didn't see them," the brunette spoke quickly again, "but the 'oh, Hanna, I wish your mouth was sucking me off right now' kind of gives away a lot."

"Do you think Wagner is going to leave?" Rosberg suddenly blurted out, ignoring what Vettel's coach had just said.

He shook his head again, not very sure of what would happen from now on with the driver and the intern.

"The situation is complicated, to be honest," Eddie said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "And I don't know what to think. Diana has been working pretty hard in the team: even during final exams, she was giving feedback to Rocky about the races," Patterson informed him. "She never completely disconnected, and yet she still managed to get several honors," Rosberg was impressed when he heard that. He assumed Diana was smart, or she wouldn't be there, but not that much. "I don't know what these two were up to, but Seb should have told her about his girlfriend sooner."

"She looks devastated," Nico commented, pointing to the blonde, who was now lying on the bar pretending to be asleep or dead, he wasn't sure. "Although I'm not going to lie, I think she overreacted a bit," he admitted, "but I don't blame her: she's a woman, but she definitely deserves more respect from Sebastian."

Eddie ignored the last thing Nico said about Diana. He was surprised that the Austrian hadn't said or done anything beyond what she had witnessed. If he had been in her place, things would have gone differently.

"You weren't there, but as soon as Seb's sister started shouting about their relationship, that bitch of Hanna planted a huge kiss on him that looked like it was straight out of a movie," he said with a more aggressive tone than necessary. "So if you call that overreacting..."

Edward Patterson recounted to his friend in detail what had taken place in the Red Bull garage. Rosberg could only nod, with his mouth wide open from the surprise of hearing all that chaos that seemed to have erupted, and that he hadn't witnessed because he was doing more interesting things with a girl he had met the night before.

"I'm sure Hanna was enjoying the whole show," the coach continued. "And if you add to that the fact that Sebastian ran after the other one..."

"Red Bull is going to hell, my friend," he raised his water bottle as if to toast and took a sip. "Cheers to Diana Wagner, and let's hope she realizes she deserves better than that compulsive liar who only knows how to screw things up in everything except driving that shitty car."

No matter how much he pretended otherwise, Nico Rosberg had never stopped paying attention to the blonde who had captivated him so much. If everything she was saying, combined with what had come out of Edward's mouth and the rumors that had started to spread throughout the Nürburgring, Diana had finally found out that Vettel had a girlfriend, and all her rival had done during the time they had known each other was hide behind a mask, giving her false hopes of creating a future together that would never come to be.

The best part? Nico hadn't come out looking like the bad guy, and finally, he could try to win over the girl who had caught his attention ever since he first saw her enter the world of Formula 1.

[...]

DIANA WAGNER'S VOICEMAIL [1 UNHEARD MESSAGE]

Sebastian Vettel left you a voicemail today at 11:33 AM

Hi Di. This is Seb...

You won't hear this because you told me to go fuck off, but... I'm sorry for everything I said the other day. It's not your fault I'm an dickhead...

I really wanted to talk to you about Hanna, but... fuck.

I didn't want us to stop being friends because you might think she'd be mad at you or something.

Honestly, I wanted to explain everything to you in Barcelona, but things ended up being different, you know I almost kissed you and...

Yeah, Hanna, it's nothing!

Damn it, Di, just wait a moment, please. I...

[MESSAGE DELETED]

#f1 #formula 1 #sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel fanfic #sebastian vettel fic #sebastian vettel x fem oc #sebastian vettel x oc #fluff #sebastian vettel fluff #history #diana vettel #emma stone #sebastian vettel imagine

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arcsimper5 · 11 months

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So... I've seen a few Bad Batch headcanons about how they'd react to their SO safewording during a session but I haven't seen many of the 501st guys (I'm probs just looking in the wrong places but, yeah), so I wanted to write some for Fives, because he is my fave and he deserved better.

NSFW, female reader. Established relationship Light bondage Use of safe words Aftercare

Please be gentle as this is my first HC post! Feedback is welcome!