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traveler-at-heart · 15 days ago

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Hot and Cold

Summary: Natasha's playing with fire when a new resident joins the Compound.

A/N: Queen of Angst @esposadejoyhuerta asked for the fluffiest, sweetest, tooth rotting story ever and I was happy to deliver, even after they changed their request to inclue jealousy BECAUSE no one can stop me. Love ya, baby!

Another day, another mission. Since last week’s mess, it seems like Fury’s been finding ways to torture the team.

Yes, at the end they were able to retrieve the drive with the data of over twenty enhanced individuals. But so did HYDRA. And now the Avengers are on a race against time to locate them before the Russians do.

Natasha walks to Fury’s office, not excited at the prospect of risking her life to recruit people who didn’t really want to be found.

“Yes?” she says as soon as Fury turns around. He hands over a very heavy binder. “Is this their criminal record?”

Great, a weirdo with a troubled past. Natasha might not make it out alive.

“No, that’s their academic stuff. She’s a scientist. Crazy smart” Fury explains. “Have you heard of Bio-Thermokinesis?”

“No, not really”

“The ability to manipulate the body temperature of oneself and/or others” he recites, having learned the concept just now.

“That doesn’t sound so bad�� Natasha says, closing the folder. It’s certainly better than the last few people she had to chase down.

“Yeah, until she induces a heat stroke or hypothermia” Fury scoffs. “We’ve been failing at recruiting these people. It would be nice to have a win. Plus, she could work in the lab with Banner and Stark”

“I don’t think Nerd Club is worth one’s freedom” Natasha mutters, skimming through the file.

“Well, either way, this mission doesn’t requires strenght. It requires charm. You up for it or should I send Hill?”

As Natasha gets to the picture of the target, she looks up.

“I’ll handle it”

—

As usual, you’re carrying more than you can possibly handle. Books, your laptop, a sandwich from the cafeteria, and correspondence from the main office.

By the time you manage to open the door to your office, half of the things in your arms are dangerously close to scattering across the hardwood floor.

“Oh, shit” you mutter when your keys drop.

“Need a hand?” a voice says and you jump back, the rest of your stuff flying across the room.

“Uh… can I help you?” you say, because the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen is perched up on your desk, legs crossed and a playful smirk across her striking features.

“Are you Doctor Y/L/N?”

“Yes. How did you…? I’m pretty sure the door was locked”

Is she a thief? You have absolutely nothing of value, at least not for a conventional burglar. You run every possibility in your mind and then you land on your second least favorite one.

Natasha notices the room getting warmer, probably because of how flustered you got. The file seems accurate regarding your power.

“AC broke down?” she asks innocently, undoing the top button of her shirt.

“Uh… I… I’ll open the window” you say, pushing it and leaning against the window pain. You consider jumping down to escape, but it’s a considerable height. You take a breath, deciding to face the matter head on. “So, which agency sent you?”

“Ever heard of S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Yes, that was my first guess” you admit with a sad smile. “What can I do for you, Agent…?”

“Call me Natasha” she says, hopping off the desk. “I’m afraid I am the bearer of bad news… and a generous offer”

“Mmm” you nod, fixing your glasses.

“A tactical team was sent to stop the purchase of confidential information for 30 enhanced individuals. We were able to obtain it… and so did HYDRA”

“Listen” you raise your hand, taking off your glasses and pinching the bridge of your nose. “I get it. HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. know about me. The thing is, my power isn’t something you can leverage in a fight. I doubt they’ll be very interested in me”

“I think you’re wrong. And it’s not just your ability. Your expertise in science and your genetic makeup can be used to experiment”

“So, is that what S.H.I.E.L.D. wants to do with me?” you sigh, looking out the window. You’re enjoying the view, vaguely aware that life as you know it is over.

“We want to offer you shelter at the Avengers Compound. 24 hour security, top facilities and technology. You can continue your research” Natasha says, trying to make it sound like a great deal.

It brings her back to that time Fury told her it was either work for the US government or end up in the Raft.

Your offer is slightly better, but a golden prison is still a prison.

“Are there any questions I can answer before you make a decision?” she offers with a kinder tone.

“Yeah. Do I even have a choice?”

—

Academic life is all you’ve ever known. Grants were the perfect way to do your research without having to look for a benefactor and expose yourself. You could learn things about your DNA, your abilities, while doing other stuff without anyone noticing.

Now, you wake up and there’s nothing that drives you. You live with people who have exceptional skills, physical prowess, and military training. Their world is avenging, your world is scientific papers and books.

Sure, their lab is nice, but most of the times you end up leaving early, completely unmotivated and feeling empty.

Natasha watches from afar, and although this isn’t her doing, she feels responsible. She tries to include you in activities she understands, like training, but you’re very obviously not the athletic kind.

Banner is, as usual, isolating himself and Tony speaks nerd, but is barely around unless a mission requires his presence.

It isn’t until one day that Peter shows up to the Compound that Natasha gets an idea.

“Hi, Miss Romanoff. Is Mister Stark around?” he asks in that shy tone he always uses when he’s around Natasha.

“Nope, not to my knowledge. Do you need anything?”

“FRIDAY told me to meet him here. He must have forgotten. I guess I better get back to my Biochem project”

Wait a minute.

He’s a nerd.

“Stay” she says, looking him up and down. Peter reminds her of a puppy when he stops completely, as if he learned a new command. “Wait for Tony at the lab. I’ll try to find him”

“You’re sure? I’m not allowed inside by myself” he hesitates, following Natasha.

“Yeah, it’s fine” she types in the access code, and of course, there you are, spinning in your chair.

As soon as you hear the door opening, you stop your movements, almost falling off.

Natasha finds your blush adorable.

“Hey, Y/N. This is Peter. He’ll be around waiting for Tony”

“Oh, hey. Ok, I was just leaving. I’m kinda stuck either way”

“Ordinary Differential Equations?” Peter says as soon as he gets his eyes on your board.

“Yes. Very impressive” you nod. “This is focused on genetic network. I’m trying to determine inborn errors of metabolism”

“Oh, you know? There’s a brilliant Doctor who’s working on that, maybe her paper would be great for you. She’s Y/N Y/L/N”

“Yeah, that’s me” you say, tapping your chin and examining the board. “What is your ability? If you have any? Maybe I can use a different set of data”

“Yes! I would love to, what do you need from me?” Peter says, a little starstruck at finding out you’re one of the most prestigious researchers in the world.

“For now, a blood sample” you wink at him, adjusting your glasses.

Natasha sits in the back of the lab as you and Peter work together, and you explain every concept to him. This is the first time since you arrived that you don’t look so miserable.

The Russian takes it as a small win when you join her in the common area for dinner.

Since Peter found out about your abilities and your permanent stay at the Compound, you’ve been advising him on his project and college applications. Which is a really nice distraction, but it also makes you miss your own college days.

So, even if you’re in a better mood, it’s still hard to socialize with the team.

One day, you enter the lab to find Rogers, Wilson and Barnes looking at a screen, while Natasha types.

“Whoever encrypted this is slightly smarter than me. Only slightly”

They look away as you drag a chair to focus on your own stuff, a cup of coffee in your hand and a cookie in your mouth.

“Hi…” you wave at them, feeling intimidated as usual.

“Hey, weather girl” Sam winks at you.

Natasha rolls her eyes and elbows him.

“Ignore him, Y/N”

You can tell she’s getting frustrated, so you inch closer, looking at the code over her shoulder. Placing your hand on her elbow, you silently ask for permission to take over.

The redhead eyes you curiously, but stops typing and moves the keyboard your way. It takes you twenty seconds to hack into the files.

“How…?”

“I used to hack into databases to make sure my name wasn’t on any watchlist” you explain casually. Natasha laughs at that. “Anyway, there you go”

“Thanks, Y/N. You’re my hero” Natasha says, smiling up at you. Her tone makes you blush and you nod, going back to your desk.

“Nice work. We could use your help if you’re free some other time” Steve says as they leave the lab.

“Of course, Capitan”

—

An intruder changes your mind about training. The threat is handled swiftly and you don’t even have time to hide before F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirms the suspect has been taken into custody

But you don’t even know how to begin to defend yourself, so you come back to Natasha, asking if her offer still stands.

Needless to say, the spy is more than happy to train you. Not just because it means you’re comfortable asking for things, but because Natasha can teach you something that will help you protect yourself.

You start with two sessions per week, which later turns to four, until you’re comfortable with training almost daily.

The rest of the team joins from time to time, giving you advice and helping you when Natasha’s away on missions.

After a few weeks, Natasha notices how your resistance is better and you’re building some muscle.

Only as a professional observation. It’s not like she finds you attractive, with that nerdy charm and toned arms.

One day, as you’re leaving the gym, she checks her bag, cursing when she notices she forgot a change of clothes.

“Wanna borrow one of my hoodies?” you offer, handing over your NYU sweatshirt.

“You sure?” Natasha hesitates.

“Yeah, I got tons of these. From all the places I’ve done work or research”

“I’ll give it back” she promises, taking it.

That turns out to be a lie.

A few days later, when you’re folding your laundry, F.R.I.D.A.Y. requests that you join Tony and Banner in the lab. Leaving the basket in the living room, you think nothing of it, nor do you notice that a couple of your sweatshirts are gone.

It all comes to light a week later, when Natasha comes back from a grueling mission. The only thing that will make her feel better is staying in her room while wearing your UCLA hoodie.

She totally forgets about her attire when she answers the door.

“Huh, so that’s where it was” you tilt your head, smiling.

“I…”

“I’m watching a movie, care to join me? It’s one of your favorites”

“Ok” she nods, surprised that you’re not mad about the stolen sweatshirt.

Natasha enters your room, appreciating the combination of books, notes and the board with equations. After you apologize for the mess, you offer a place to sit in your bed.

“It looks good on you” you compliment the redhead. Natasha smiles, trying to be nonchalant about it.

“Thank you”

It becomes a habit, to steal your hoodies.

“Objectively speaking, you don’t actually need them as you can regulate your temperature” Natasha comments one day, digging through your closet. To her shock, she finds a sweatshirt with a sorority logo on it.

“Not mine. A girl I hooked up with in college” you explain.

Natasha rolls her eyes, throwing the garment as far away as possible while pulling a face. You laugh at her reaction.

“Don’t be jealous, Natty. You’re my favorite” you promise, unaware of the effect your words had on her.

“And yet you never let me wear the Harvard one”

“That was my first” you shrug your shoulders.

“First college or first hook up?” Natasha taunts and you laugh.

“A nerd never kisses and tell. Actually, a nerd rarely kisses anyone to being with” you try to joke, pulling out the Harvard sweatshirt from your closet to put it on.

Natasha eyes it, and you catch her intentions a little too late. She inches forward and you stretch your arm back, trying to place the hoodie out of reach.

“Nu-uh” you shake your head, laughing as she keeps trying to steal it. “Natasha, there are like ten other hoodies you could take!”

“I want this one!” she insists, jumping. Her body crashes against yours, and you both stumble, falling in your bed. Limbs are tangled and her laugh tickles your ear as she struggles to lift herself up. After a moment, Natasha smiles, looking at your lips. “Gotcha”

You don’t even know what to say, her intense stare making you feel warm -both literally and figuratively - and your heart beats faster when it seems like she’ll lean forward and kiss you.

“Agent Romanoff, there’s an urgent call for you” FRIDAY interrupts the moment.

Natasha sighs, standing up and looking at you.

“Catch you later?”

“Yeah” you nod, trying to hide your disappointment.

—

Natasha was gone for a week, and returned with a very bad injury. You heard the news as Steve and Tony were arguing in the kitchen, blaming each other as usual.

“Where…? Is she ok…?” you try to interrupt them, but they’re in the middle of a screaming match.

“Come with me” Maria says, taking you to a whole different wing of the Compound. Since you’ve never been on missions, you didn’t know about the Medbay.

Natasha’s lying in a hospital bed, asleep.

“She’s ok. A guy threw a knife at her, but it was only a superficial stab wound. Doctor said she’ll be discharged tomorrow” Maria eases your nerves.

Of course, for her it’s easy to say it’s no big deal. Agents are shot, blown up, killed in the field. A little scratch is nothing, especially for Natasha. But you take a deep breath, leaving the Medbay in a rush.

As you lock yourself in the Avenger’s Lab, you make F.R.I.D.A.Y. a simple request.

“Show me the mission’s footage”

—

Natasha’s had worst, truly. But still, her head is throbbing when she wakes up. The doctor discharges her with the instruction to rest for a week. No training either.

The Russian notices a bag with clothes on the chair next to her bed. She finds your Harvard sweatshirt, which puts a tiny smile on her face.

You are nowhere to be found in the Compound when she returns, so she goes to her room to take another nap, the painkillers making her sleepy.

By the time Natasha wakes up to get something to eat, F.R.I.D.A.Y. requests her presence in the lab.

“What is it?” she says, surprised to find you working on a tablet. It looks like you haven’t slept in the last 24 hours, five or six cups of coffee around the various tables in the lab.

“I created a new technology for your suit” you jump right to it. “It has motion sensors that are triggered by incoming threats. That way, if someone tries to sneak up on you, you can either get an alert or program a defense mechanism that can be shot from any part of the suit”

Natasha takes the tablet, running the simulation. She’s impressed with the level of detail you’ve placed on this and on such short time. She’s about to thank you, but you’re already asleep in the couch of the lab, clearly exhausted from all the work you’ve done.

The sight of your sleeping form makes Natasha’s heart flutter.

—

Movie night is the one tradition you’ve always been on board with. Coincidentally, it’s Natasha’s least favorite. Depending on her mood, she’ll join everyone on the living room, or talk you into watching something else in your room or hers.

Tonight, she stops by once the movie has already started. As usual, you’re on the couch in the far back of the room, your glasses reflecting the screen as you eat some popcorn.

“Hey” Natasha leans over the back of the couch and whispers against your ear, making you jump. Your eyes follow her as she jumps over to plop down next to you.

“You’re not supposed to be doing that with a hole on your side, Natasha” you reprimand.

“It’s fine” she lies, grabbing some popcorn.

As the movie keeps going, the woman inches closer to you. At first you think she’s settling in her seat, but then her hand spreads on the back of the couch, dangerously close to your neck.

It’s fine. You can handle it.

Nope, you absolutely can’t. Not when you feel Natasha’s nimble fingers playing with the hairs on the back of your neck, her digits alternating between caressing the skin and scratching your scalp.

“You’re hot” she whispers at some point and you turn to look at her, dazed.

“Huh?”

“You feel hot” she clarifies a second later, her eyes looking at your lips. “Is everything ok? Those powers of yours are acting up”

“I’m fine” you nod, looking back at the screen. Aware that you are in fact increasing the temperature in the room, you take a breath and close your eyes, before anyone else notices.

You’re almost back to normal when Natasha stretches and lies across your lap, her left hand squeezing your thigh as the other one begins to trace patterns in your skin.

All while she's wearing your Harvard sweatshirt.

Your only thought is to take it off, along with the rest of her clothes and kiss every inch of her body.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., is the thermostat broken…?” Tony finally snaps, annoyed at the sudden changes in temperature. “Never mind”

Everyone follows his eyes as he looks to the back of the room, where Natasha is playing dumb while riling you up.

“Can you two find a room to turn into a sauna and spare the rest of us?” Tony says, which makes your eyes widen, and the room practically turns into a freezer. “Great, now we’re all turning into popsicles. Cap, you’re familiar with the feeling, right?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Tony” Natasha finally stands up, showing you some mercy. “Come on, detka”

“Uh, ok” you say, your voice barely a whisper as you allow the woman to drag you back to her room.

As soon as the door is shut, she pushes you against it.

“So, tell me” she says with a playful smile. “How hot do you think it will get here?”

You can only shake your head, speechless. Natasha smiles, kissing you softly. All thoughts leave your head, opening your mouth to give her access. You’ll do anything she asks, anything at all.

“I see” she smiles when the room gets hot. “Good thing we won’t have our clothes on”

It’s the best sex of your life.

So much so, the fire alarm goes off in the entire Compound.

“Fucking worth it” you sigh as you’re both naked in bed, the water from the sprinklers evaporating from all the heat in the room.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n

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wethotcrazy · 3 months ago

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Buona Fortuna

pairing: Mercedes F1 Team! Kimi Antonelli x F1 Academy Driver! Reader

word count: 5500

trying out some new stuff, but chat i fear i cooked a little too hard. also if you like this tell me (i might make more parts to it), and sorry for the sudden change i just wanted it to be all in one part instead of two.

The Mercedes F1 hospitality area was nearly empty at 11 PM, save for two figures huddled at a corner table. Kimi Antonelli, still in his team polo despite the late hour, sat across from Y/N, who was surrounded by engineering textbooks and a laptop displaying race telemetry data.

"You know," Kimi said, sliding a fresh cup of coffee toward her, "most people would think I'm crazy for spending my free evening watching someone study thermodynamics."

Y/N looked up from her calculations, offering a tired but genuine smile. "Most people would think I'm crazy for studying thermodynamics between F1 Academy practice sessions."

"That's why you're you," he replied with a soft smile, a familiar warmth of admiration in his voice.

Their friendship had always been like this – comfortable silences, shared understanding, and mutual support that went beyond their racing careers. It started back in their Prema days when they were both trying to navigate the delicate balance between racing and high school.

While Kimi had treated academics as a necessary obligation, Y/N approached it with the same passion she showed on track. He remembered watching her in awe as she'd switch seamlessly between analyzing racing lines and solving calculus problems during their breaks.

"How do you not get burned out?" he'd asked her once during their Prema days.

"Because I love both," she'd answered simply. "The racing helps me understand the physics, and the physics helps me understand the racing. They're not separate things in my mind."

That response had stuck with him, reshaping his own approach to racing. While he might not share her enthusiasm for academic pursuits, her words had taught him that true excellence came from understanding every aspect of what you do.

Now, a couple of years later, he found himself gravitating toward her study sessions whenever their racing schedules aligned. Sometimes he'd ask questions about the engineering concepts she was learning, genuinely curious about how they applied to their cars. Other times, like tonight, he'd simply keep her company, finding inspiration in her unwavering focus.

"Remember when you posted that congratulations message when we graduated?" Y/N asked suddenly, looking up from her textbook.

Kimi grinned. "How could I forget? 'Proudest teammate award goes to @KimiAntonelli,'" he quoted the replies that had flooded in. "I meant every word of it, you know. Still do."

"You always have been supportive," she laughed, but her eyes showed deep appreciation.

"You know, I joke about you being a nerd all the time, but..." he paused, gathering his thoughts. "Watching you excel in both worlds, it made me realize I wasn't pushing myself hard enough in some areas. When I'm tired after a long day of practice and all I want to do is sleep, I think about you studying after equally long days. It makes me want to be better, to understand more, to push harder."

Y/N set down her pencil, touched by his honesty. "Kimi..."

"I mean it," he continued. "Everyone in F1 asks me about my rapid rise through the ranks, but they don't see what I see. They don't see my friend who's working twice as hard, not just winning races but understanding the very science that makes these cars work."

A comfortable silence fell between them as Y/N returned to her studies and Kimi started reviewing his own race data on his tablet. This had become their routine whenever their race weekends coincided – her studying, him working, occasionally breaking the silence to share thoughts or ask questions.

"Another win for Y/N L/N!" the commentator announced as she crossed the finish line. "The F1 Academy sensation continues to dominate while pursuing her mechanical engineering degree..."

After Y/N won her F1 Academy race, Kimi was the first to reach her in parc fermé. As they hugged in celebration, he whispered, "You always make it look so easy."

She laughed against his shoulder. "Nothing about this is easy."

"That's what makes it impressive," he replied, pulling back to look at her. "And don't worry – I saved you a spot in the hospitality area. You've got that fluid dynamics test to study for, right?"

"You're not sick of being my study buddy yet?"

Kimi's expression softened. "Never. Besides," he added with a playful grin, "how else am I going to learn why my car does what it does? My engineers would be proud of how much engineering I've absorbed just from listening to you study."

That evening, as they settled into their usual spot, Kimi watched Y/N dive straight into her studies despite the exhaustion of race day. Her dedication wasn't just about achieving good grades or winning races – it was about pursuing excellence in everything she did. And while he might joke about her being his inspiration, the truth was far deeper than any joke could convey.

Because in Y/N, Kimi saw what true passion looked like. It wasn't just about being fast on track or smart in class – it was about the relentless pursuit of understanding, the dedication to growth, and the courage to chase multiple dreams at once. Her drive pushed him to be better, to learn more, to dig deeper into his own craft.

"Hey," he said suddenly, making her look up from her books. "I know I tease a lot, but you really are an inspiration. Not just to me, I know so many others out there that really look up to you."

Y/N's face softened into a smile. "And you're the best study buddy a racing driver could ask for."

"Even though I still don't understand half of what you're studying?"

"Especially because of that," she laughed. "Your confused face keeps me entertained during the boring parts."

As they settled back into their comfortable routine – Y/N with her studies, Kimi with his race notes – he couldn't help but smile. Some might find it strange that a Formula 1 driver chose to spend his free time watching his friend study engineering, but to Kimi, these quiet moments were as valuable as any time spent on track.

Because it was in these moments that he was reminded of what real dedication looked like, what true passion meant, and how the pursuit of excellence in one area could inspire growth in another. Y/N might joke about him being her study buddy, but in truth, she was teaching him something far more valuable than engineering principles – she was showing him what it meant to never stop pushing, learning, and growing.

And that, more than any podium or pole position, was why his admiration for her only grew stronger with each passing day.

The Mercedes garage buzzed with pre-qualifying preparations, but Kimi's eyes were fixed on his phone screen, watching Y/N's F1 Academy race. He was supposed to be reviewing track data, but he couldn't help himself – her racing style had always captivated him.

"Antonelli!" Ollie Bearman's voice cut through his concentration as his friend poked his head into the Mercedes garage, Haas race suit tied around his waist. "Let me guess – watching Y/N's race?"

Kimi didn't even bother hiding his phone. "She's in P2, fighting for the lead."

"When are you going to admit you're in love with her?" Ollie teased, settling beside him to watch.

"I'm not—" Kimi started to protest, but his words were cut short as Y/N executed a perfect overtake into Turn 1. His involuntary smile said more than any denial could.

"Sure, sure," Ollie laughed. "You've only been like this since our Prema days. 'Y/N's so dedicated,'" he mimicked. "'She's so inspiring. Did you know she got another perfect score?'"

Kimi felt his cheeks warm. "She's my friend."

"A friend you can't take your eyes off of," Ollie pointed out. "A friend whose races you watch while you should be prepping for quali. A friend who—"

"She's through! She's won!" Kimi interrupted, jumping slightly in his seat as Y/N crossed the finish line. Without thinking, he immediately opened his messages.

Kimi: Incredible drive! That move into T1 was pure class. Good luck with studying later - FaceTime after quali? Need to hear all about that overtake 👊

Her reply came quickly:

Y/N: Thanks Kimi! 🏆 Those racing lines finally making sense 😂 Absolutely yes to FaceTime - I'll be watching your quali! Show them how it's done ❤️

The heart emoji made his own heart skip a beat, though he tried to ignore it. His phone buzzed again:

Ollie: I saw that smile when she texted back. You're not fooling anyone 😏

Kimi rolled his eyes, but couldn't completely suppress his grin. His race engineer called him for the final quali briefing, and he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Yet as he slipped into his race suit, he found himself thinking about how Y/N would be watching.

The qualifying session was intense, but knowing Y/N was watching somehow made him push even harder. As he crossed the line to secure P3 in Q3, he could almost hear her cheering.

The moment he parked in parc fermé, he was pulling out his phone, FaceTiming Y/N while walking to his media obligations.

Her face appeared on screen, beaming with pride. "P3! Kimi, that last sector was incredible!"

"Not as incredible as your overtake earlier," he replied, unable to stop smiling. She was sitting at her desk, engineering textbooks already spread out around her, hair still damp from her own podium celebration.

"Are you seriously doing this interview while FaceTiming?" she laughed as he positioned himself for the post-quali interviews.

"You're more important," he said without thinking, then quickly added, "Besides, you can help me with the technical questions about car balance."

A Sky Sports reporter approached, amused to find him on FaceTime. "Kimi, fantastic qualifying! Who are you talking to?"

"Y/N L/N," he answered proudly, turning his phone to show her. "She just won her F1 Academy race today."

"Kimi!" Y/N protested, embarrassed by the attention, but he could see her trying not to smile.

The reporter, well aware of their friendship, played along. "Any advice for him, Y/N?"

"Remember what I taught you about apex speeds," she teased. "It's just like solving differential equations – all about finding the optimal solution."

Kimi laughed, his expression softening in a way that made Ollie, watching from nearby, shaking his head knowingly. "Always the engineer, even on race day."

As he moved through his media obligations, he kept Y/N on the call, their easy banter and shared joy making the tedious process enjoyable. She occasionally chimed in with technical insights that actually impressed the journalists, making Kimi's chest swell with pride.

"You should be studying," he finally said, once he was heading back to the team motorhome.

"I am studying," she protested, holding up her thermodynamics textbook. "I'm just also watching my favorite Mercedes driver crush it in quali."

"I'm the only Mercedes driver you know personally," he pointed out.

"Still my favorite," she winked, and Kimi felt that familiar warmth spread through his chest.

Maybe Ollie was right. Maybe these feelings went beyond admiration and friendship. Maybe the way his day felt brighter when she smiled, the way he looked forward to their study sessions, the way he felt proud of her achievements as if they were his own – maybe it all meant something more.

But for now, he was content to walk through the paddock, phone in hand, listening to Y/N explain her winning overtake while flipping through engineering notes. In that moment, with hundreds of miles between them but their connection as strong as ever, Kimi realized that some feelings didn't need to be admitted out loud to be real.

"Hey," Y/N's voice softened. "You went quiet. What are you thinking about?"

Kimi smiled, watching her juggle her textbook while trying to maintain eye contact through the camera. "Just thinking about how lucky I am to have you in my corner, even when we're racing so far apart."

Her expression melted into something tender that made his heart race faster than any qualifying lap. "Always, Kimi. We're a team, remember? Even when we're not teammates anymore."

And if Ollie happened to catch him later that night, still on FaceTime with Y/N as she studied and he reviewed race data, both of them fighting sleep just to stay connected a little longer – well, maybe his friend wasn't completely wrong about those feelings after all.

The F1 social media landscape exploded one Tuesday morning when Prema Racing announced their 2025 Formula 2 lineup. Among the names was Y/N L/N, making history as she stepped up from F1 Academy after a dominant season.

Within minutes, Kimi's notification feed was flooded as fans tagged him in the announcement. He didn't hesitate to share his excitement:

@KimiAntonelli: From studying engineering between races to fighting for the F2 championship - this is what dedication looks like! So proud of you @YN_LN! Time to show F2 what you're made of! 🏎️📚

The tweet quickly went viral, but it wasn't just the announcement that caught fans' attention. Within hours, racing fan accounts began sharing compilation videos:

"KIMI AND Y/N: FROM PREMA TO F1/F2 🥺❤️ (a thread)"

The first video showed them as young teenagers at Prema, Kimi helping Y/N carry her textbooks to the engineering room while she explained race strategy concepts. Another clip featured their podium celebrations, where they'd always find each other first for a congratulatory hug.

@F1Moments: "The way Kimi BEAMS when talking about Y/N's achievements? We're not okay 😭❤️"

The clip showed various interviews where Kimi praised Y/N:

"She's not just fast on track, she understands these cars like an engineer..."

"While we're all focused on racing, she's getting perfect grades in mechanical engineering..."

"Y/N shows that with enough passion, you can excel at anything..."

@MotorsportEdits had created a masterpiece: a split-screen montage of their parallel journeys. On one side, Kimi's rise through the ranks to Mercedes F1; on the other, Y/N dominating F1 Academy while pursuing her degree. The video ended with their recent FaceTime sessions during Kimi’s post-quali interview, Kimi turning his phone to face the Sky Sports camera.

#KimiAndYN started trending on racing Twitter.

@RacingNews: "Remember when Kimi brought his phone to post-quali interviews just to stay on FaceTime with Y/N? 🥺"

@F1Academy: "From study buddies to racing's power duo! Congratulations to our champion @YN_LN on her promotion to F2!"

Quote tweeted by @MercedesAMGF1: "Our boy @KimiAntonelli's biggest cheerleader is moving up to F2! 🙌 #KimiAndYN"

The social media storm reached new heights when an old video surfaced from their Prema days:

"Can someone please explain the physics behind this overtake?" Kimi asked in the clip, while Y/N drew diagrams and equations on a whiteboard, both still in their race suits.

"Every time I explain physics, you somehow turn it into a racing question," Y/N laughed in the video.

"Because you make it make sense!" young Kimi protested.

@PremaRacing decided to join the fun, sharing a collection of photos: "Buona fortuna e buon viaggio! #KimiAndYN"

The photos showed their journey: studying together between practice sessions, celebrating podiums, Kimi and Y/N's high school graduation, Y/N watching Kimi's first F1 test from the pitwall while highlighting her engineering notes.

Ollie couldn't resist commenting:

@OllieBearman: "If I had a euro for every time @KimiAntonelli talked about @YN_LN during our Prema days, I'd be richer than Lewis Hamilton 😂"

Y/N finally responded to the chaos with a photo of her and Kimi from their Prema days, both asleep in the engineering room, textbooks and data sheets scattered around them:

@YN_LN: "Some things never change ❤️ Thanks for always believing in me @KimiAntonelli! 📚🏎️"

Kimi's heart skipped when he saw her post. He was in the Mercedes simulator when his phone exploded with notifications, but he immediately took a break to respond:

@KimiAntonelli: "From helping me understand physics to making history in motorsport. Proud doesn't even begin to cover it. Can't wait to share the paddock with you again ❤️"

Later that evening, during their regular FaceTime call, Y/N couldn't stop laughing about the social media storm.

"Have you seen the edits? They found clips I didn't even know existed!"

Kimi grinned, watching her sort through her F2 contract papers while simultaneously organizing her study materials. "My favorite is the compilation of every time I've talked about you in interviews. Apparently, I'm not subtle."

"When have you ever been?" she teased. "Remember when you brought me up during your first F1 press conference?"

"Because they asked about inspiration! And you're..." he paused, his expression softening, "you're the most inspiring person I know."

Y/N's cheeks turned pink. "Keep saying things like that and these fans might get ideas."

"Let them," Kimi said softly, watching her juggle her racing dreams and academic pursuits with the same grace she'd always had. "They're not entirely wrong."

The hashtag #KimiAndYN continued trending well into the night, with fans sharing more memories, creating new edits, and celebrating their journey. But for Kimi and Y/N, it was just another evening of FaceTime study sessions and race discussions, their bond stronger than any trending topic could capture.

@F1Community: "Find someone who looks at you the way Kimi looks at Y/N when she's explaining engineering concepts 😍 #KimiAndYN"

Attached was a recent photo from the paddock: Kimi leaning over Y/N's laptop, completely absorbed as she explained some complex engineering principle, his expression a perfect blend of admiration, affection, and awe.

Some things really never did change.

The Italian summer sun painted long shadows across the Antonelli family's garden as Kimi watched Y/N from the kitchen window. She was curled up in her favorite spot on the outdoor sofa, engineering textbook balanced on her knees, hair gathered in a claw clip. Even on break, some things never changed.

Last summer had been at her family's house – he smiled remembering how her mom had fussed over both of them, making sure they took actual breaks from racing and studying. This year, it was his family's turn to host, and his mother was equally determined to fatten them both up with endless servings of homemade pasta.

"She's still studying?" his mother asked in Italian, appearing beside him with fresh bread for dinner.

"Always," Kimi replied fondly. "But watch this."

He grabbed two glasses of fresh lemonade and headed out to the garden. The moment he sat beside her, Y/N automatically shifted, making space while never taking her eyes off her thermodynamics equations. It was a practiced movement, born from countless study sessions across years of friendship.

"Mum's making that pasta you love," he said, setting her lemonade within reach.

"The one with the pistachio pesto?" Y/N looked up, eyes brightening.

"Of course. She says you're too skinny from all this studying."

Y/N laughed, finally closing her book. "Between your mom and mine, we're never going to go hungry during these summer breaks."

It had become their tradition, these shared summers. Between the chaos of the racing season and now Y/N's university schedule, these precious weeks were their chance to just... be. No pressure, no cameras, no podiums to chase – just them, family, and the Italian summer stretching endlessly ahead.

"Remember last summer when your dad tried to teach me proper Italian, Tuscan?" Kimi asked, settling deeper into the sofa.

"And you kept mixing up your words?" Y/N grinned. "And the look on his face…"

"Hey, I've improved! Besides, you're one to talk – you still use engineering terms in Italian."

"That's different! Those are technical terms!"

Their laughter mingled with the sound of cicadas and the distant clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Y/N's textbook lay forgotten as she tucked her feet under herself, turning to face him fully.

"I love this," she said softly. "How even with everything changing – you in F1, me heading to F2, all the craziness – we still have this."

Kimi's heart warmed at her words. He knew what she meant. These moments were precious: the quiet afternoons studying, the family dinners where their parents swapped embarrassing stories about their karting days, the late-night gelato runs in his dad's old Fiat.

"You know," he said, watching the sunset paint her face in golden hues, "I was thinking about our first summer together, back in Prema. Remember how you made me help you study for physics?"

"You mean how you used every physics problem as an excuse to analyze race strategy?" she teased.

"It worked, didn't it? I understood downforce better after your explanations."

Y/N smiled, reaching for her lemonade. "And now look at us. You're living our F1 dream early, and I'm..."

"Being absolutely incredible," he finished firmly. "Racing, engineering degree, and still finding time to spend summers with me and my crazy family."

"Your family is my family too, you know that. Plus," she added with a mischievous grin, "your mum's cooking alone is worth the trip."

As if on cue, his mother's voice called from the kitchen: "Bambini! Dinner!"

They shared a look – they were hardly children anymore, but to their families, they'd always be those two kids from Prema, dreaming big dreams between study sessions.

"Five more minutes!" Kimi called back, not ready to break this moment.

Y/N leaned her head against his shoulder, a gesture so natural it made his heart ache with familiarity. "Your mom's going to come get us out here if we're late."

"Worth it," he murmured, watching the last rays of sunlight fade. "Besides, you need a break from studying."

"Says the one who spent three hours analyzing race data this morning."

"That's different!"

"How?"

"Because..." he paused, smiling. "Okay, maybe we're both workaholics."

"Maybe that's why this works," Y/N said softly. "We understand each other's drive."

The garden was growing darker, fairy lights automatically twinkling to life along the pergola. From the kitchen came the warm sounds of family life – his mother singing along to the radio, his father setting the table, the rich aroma of dinner wafting through the air.

"Ragazzi!" his mother called again, more insistent this time.

Y/N laughed, standing and offering him her hand. "Come on, before we get in trouble."

Kimi took her hand, but didn't immediately get up, just holding it for a moment. "Thanks for choosing to spend summer here again."

"Always," she squeezed his hand. "Where else would I want to be?"

As they walked toward the house, Y/N's textbook tucked under one arm and their empty glasses in hand, Kimi felt that familiar surge of gratitude. For all their success on track, for all their dreams coming true, it was these moments he treasured most – the quiet evenings, the shared laughter, the simple joy of having her here, making his family home feel even more like home.

"Race you to the table?" Y/N challenged, eyes sparkling.

"You're on, F2 driver," he grinned, both of them breaking into a run like they were kids again.

Some things changed – their racing categories, their achievements, their growing dreams. But this – their summers together, their understanding, their connection – this remained constant, as reliable as the Italian sun and as sweet as his mother's lemonade.

And as they collapsed into their seats at the dinner table, breathless with laughter while his parents fondly shook their heads, Kimi couldn't help but think that of all their victories, all their podiums and poles, this might be his favorite kind of winning.

"And crossing the line to take pole position in, Y/N L/N with a stunning lap!"

Kimi's celebration in the Mercedes garage was immediate and enthusiastic enough to draw knowing looks from his entire team. He was supposed to be preparing for his own qualifying session, but his eyes had been glued to the timing screens.

His phone was already in his hand: Kimi: POLE POSITION!! That sector 2 was absolutely insane! Call later? 🏆✨

Her reply came seconds later: Y/N: Learned from the best 😉 Good luck in quali! I'll be watching between engineering lectures ❤️

"Antonelli!" George Russell called out, grinning as he passed by. "Tell your girlfriend congratulations on pole!"

"She's not my—" Kimi started, but George was already walking away, laughing.

@GeorgeRussell63: Caught our rookie watching F2 quali instead of prep 👀 Wonder why? 😏 @KimiAntonelli @YN_LN #Busted

The tweet immediately went viral, with fans cooing over Kimi's obvious pride in Y/N's achievement. The F1 paddock's collective teasing had become relentless since summer break ended.

Later that evening, after both their sessions were done, Kimi settled into his hotel room for their nightly FaceTime call. Y/N appeared on screen, trophy visible in the background, textbooks already spread around her.

"There's my pole-sitter," he beamed.

"There's my Q3 hero," she countered. "P4! Kimi, that was incredible!"

"Thanks to your tip about the kerbs in turn 9—"

A notification interrupted them: @LandoNorris: @KimiAntonelli mate your face literally lights up every time you talk about @YN_LN 😭 Remember when you made us all watch her F1 Academy race during the drivers' briefing?

Y/N burst out laughing. "You did what?"

Kimi's cheeks reddened. "It was an important race! And they all wanted to watch anyway..."

Another notification: @OscarPiastri: Can confirm. He gives us daily updates about both her racing AND her engineering degree 😂 #Whipped

"The whole grid is against me," Kimi groaned, but he was smiling.

"At least Ollie has backup now," Y/N teased, adjusting her laptop so she could better see him while highlighting her thermodynamics notes.

"Speaking of Ollie—" Kimi started, but was cut off by yet another notification.

@OllieBearman: Throwback to Prema days when these two would "study" together but really just stare at each other for hours 👀 #IveBeenSayingItForYears Attached was a photo of teenage Kimi and Y/N in the Prema engineering room, books open but clearly lost in conversation

"We did not stare at each other!" Kimi protested.

"No, you just watch me study every single day," Y/N smirked.

The notifications kept coming:

@CharlesLeclerc: Remember when @KimiAntonelli asked for restaurant recommendations in every city because he wanted to "surprise a friend" during race weekends? 🤔

@CarlosSainz: The friend: @YN_LN 😂

"You asked Charles for restaurant recommendations?" Y/N's expression softened.

"I wanted to make sure you had good places to eat during race weekends," Kimi mumbled. "You forget to eat when you're studying..."

@MaxVerstappen: Called it! Pay up @SChecoPerez - told you he'd watch her quali instead of prep 💰

@SChecoPerez: Next time hide your phone better @KimiAntonelli 😂

Y/N was fully laughing now. "You've got a betting pool on us?"

"The whole paddock apparently," Kimi sighed, but couldn't help smiling at her joy.

@AlexAlbon: POV: You're trying to discuss race strategy but @KimiAntonelli is texting @YN_LN Attached was a video of Kimi smiling at his phone during a strategy meeting

"I'm never going to hear the end of this," Kimi groaned.

"Poor baby," Y/N teased, then her expression turned more serious. "Hey, did you see the analysis I sent about your sector 3? I think if you adjust the entry angle—"

Kimi's heart swelled as she launched into a detailed technical explanation, seamlessly switching between race engineer and student mode. Even with an ocean between them, she was still looking out for him.

@LewisHamilton: Y'all leave them alone - it's sweet 🙌 Some of us remember what it's like to be young and in... racing 😉 @KimiAntonelli @YN_LN

Their phones buzzed simultaneously with a message from Ollie: Group chat "Prema Days" Ollie: LEWIS KNOWS 😭 Even the 7-time champ sees it! Just kiss already!

Y/N rolled her eyes, but Kimi caught the slight blush on her cheeks. "We should probably study," she said, clearly trying to change the subject.

"Of course," Kimi agreed, already pulling out his own notes. "But first - that move into turn 1 for pole? Walk me through it?"

Her face lit up as she began explaining the technical aspects of her qualifying lap, and Kimi found himself smiling softly, completely absorbed in her enthusiasm. In the background, their phones kept buzzing with notifications, the entire F1 grid apparently determined to point out what everyone else could see.

@ValtteriBottas: Taking bets on how long until they officially announce... their "friendship" 😏

@MercedesAMGF1: The way @KimiAntonelli watches all her races from our garage when we're at different tracks 🥺

@ZhouGuanyu24: Don't forget how he explains her engineering projects to us during track walks! Never seen someone so proud 😂

But for Kimi and Y/N, wrapped up in their own little world of race analysis and study sessions, the teasing was just background noise. Their connection, whether across the paddock or across continents, remained as strong as ever – even if the entire F1 grid seemed determined to turn it into the paddock's favorite love story.

"Hey," Y/N said softly, interrupting his thoughts. "Earth to Kimi?"

"Sorry, just thinking."

"About how the entire F1 grid is never gonna let up on you?" she teased.

"About how lucky I am to have you in my corner, even from far away."

Her expression melted into something tender that made all the paddock's teasing worth it. "Always, Kimi. Distance doesn't change that."

@OllieBearman: I've been watching this romcom live since Prema and let me tell you, it only gets better 🍿 #KimiAndYN

This time, neither of them bothered to protest.

The blue light of the laptop screen illuminated Y/N's face as she finished highlighting another passage in her thermodynamics textbook. A soft snore made her look up at her phone propped against the desk lamp - Kimi had dozed off during their FaceTime call, his face peaceful in sleep. The sight brought an involuntary smile to her face.

It was typical of their study sessions these days. Between his F1 schedule and her F1 Academy races, late-night calls were often the only time they could catch up. He'd insist on keeping her company while she studied, claiming he was reviewing race data, but more often than not he'd fall asleep to the sound of her pen scratching against paper.

She closed her textbook quietly, though she knew the sound wouldn't wake him - he could sleep through anything after a long day at the track. As she started her bedtime routine, her mind wandered over their relationship, this comfortable space they'd carved out for themselves between friendship and something more.

The paddock gossip was relentless these days. Every shared smile, every supportive tweet, every time he watched her races from the Mercedes garage - it all became fodder for speculation. Even Ollie, who'd known them since their Prema days, wouldn't let up with his knowing looks.

Standing at her bathroom sink, Y/N caught her own reflection smiling at the memory of Kimi's proud face when she'd explained a particularly complex engineering concept earlier. He'd leaned closer to his camera, completely absorbed, that familiar warmth in his eyes that made her heart skip a beat.

The truth was, she knew how she felt about him. It was there in the way her day felt brighter when his name lit up her phone, in how naturally they'd gravitated toward each other since their junior racing days, in the comfortable silence of their study sessions. But timing was everything in racing - they both knew that better than most.

They were both chasing their dreams at full speed. He was making his mark in F1, living up to the immense expectations placed on Mercedes' youngest driver. She was balancing her engineering degree with her F1 Academy campaign, working toward her own F1 dreams. Adding another variable to that equation felt risky.

Climbing into bed, Y/N glanced one last time at her phone. Kimi had shifted slightly, his features soft in sleep, Mercedes team jacket still on. They had something special - something that had grown organically from shared ambitions and mutual understanding. Maybe that was enough for now.

Racing taught you patience, after all. Sometimes the best moves weren't the boldest ones, but the ones you waited for, setting them up carefully until the moment was just right. For now, she was content with their late-night study sessions, his proud smiles after her wins, the way he'd listen intently to her engineering explanations even when he was exhausted.

"Goodnight, Kimi," she whispered, ending the call. Whatever they were, whatever they might become, it was worth protecting. Some things didn't need to be rushed.

Her phone buzzed with a text from him, sent automatically when their call disconnected: Sweet dreams, engineer. Proud of you always. ❤️

Yeah, Y/N thought, settling into sleep with a smile. They were just fine exactly as they were.

here are some of the tags: @floweringanna, @hiraethberry, @holendernik, @oooom4arie, @burnhampeaches, @dying-inside-but-its-classy

let me know if you want to be added to the list :))

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carnifexus · 6 months ago

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what's crazy is THEY JUST LET ME GO. they were like well ok we're sending this to the Big Lab. and I was like ok??? what then?? and they smiled at me like this 8) and i did not ask any more questions. and then they never even emailed me or anything about it they just ghosted me.

the other thing is that i mutated fruit flies for like 20 generations until they were so fucked up we didn't have any info on their DNA strain in the fly database. and then I gave them a bunch of diseases to see if we could get any cure worked out and we could not. and everybody was chill with that and we all went on like usual but whaaaat the hell.

so the next time somebody tries to tell you scientists know what they're doing it's only like 75% true. we literally just be doing shit and sometimes it does what we want and other times we almost accidentally contract a fungal infection of our own creation. do not be fooled we are just as confused as you. the next time you are writing a fic using any sort of science and you're thinking "this isn't probable what's the logistics on this" MAKE SHIT UP. make it up. scientists have no idea what we're doing either. it would probably work anyway

i post silly shit on the internet but y'all bitches don't know the bullshit i did in college. i had my lab get quarantined because i accidentally created a new (undiscovered more like) cordycep species in a bunch of isopods i was infecting with crab diseases. they had to examine me and everything. and then we all just moved past that like it wasn't insane

#carn yammers #nerd shit #science #stem majors #we don't know anything #fruit fly #isopods #fanfic #writing #bland tags but u know how it be #this was insane but I do have an entire laptop full of raw data

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httpsdana · 3 months ago

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heyy! i feel bad for putting in a request hopefully ur not busy. just wanted to say i love ur fics sm and hope u are having a great day.

so today im like not feeling myself and upset and wanted to know if u could make a cubarsi fic with fluff.

so i have a science project and im the only one working and we have so much to do and my friends are stressing me. my parents are helping but yk when it’s too much.

so anything with Pau x reader with Pau comforting her would be amazing tysmm! 💕🫶🏽

Heartfelt Equations~Pau Cubarsi

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

y/n is staring at her laptop screen, eyes glazed over, feeling like she's drowning in numbers, notes, and complicated diagrams.

The clock on the wall ticks loudly, reminding her of the deadline creeping closer, and she can feel the stress building like a storm inside you.

Her group of friends was supposed to be helping, but one by one, they’d left her to handle everything alone. Her family offered what help they could, but it was clear that science projects weren’t their strong suit. She was in this alone, and it was overwhelming.

Suddenly, she heard a familiar knock at the door, followed by the gentle creak as it opens. Before she can even turn around, a pair of warm arms wrap around her shoulders from behind.

“Hey, mi pequeña científica,” Pau’s soft voice fills the room, his chin resting on top of her head. (my little scientist)

“You look like you’re about two seconds away from throwing this laptop out the window.” he joked, sensing her overwhelmed situation.

y/n let out a sigh, leaning back into his embrace. “Two seconds? I think I’m already there,” she muttered, closing her eyes to keep the frustration at bay. “This project is impossible, and none of my friends have helped at all. I’m just… I don’t even know where to start anymore.”

Pau gently spins her chair to face him, his hands resting on her shoulders as he looks down at her with a soft smile. “Let me see this mess, then. I’m here now, and I’m not leaving until we get this done together, okay?”

She looked at him, a flicker of hope sparking in her chest.

“You mean it? You don’t have to—” she started

“Of course I mean it,” he interrupts, pulling her up from the chair and guiding her to the kitchen table where all her papers are scattered. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let my amazing, hardworking girl drown in science notes?”

y/n let out a laugh at his words, feeling some of the tension slip away. “Alright, you asked for it. Welcome to the chaos,” she said gesturing to the mess of papers, half-finished calculations, and diagrams that don’t even make sense to her anymore.

Pau grins, sitting beside hee and picking up a stray page. “Wow, you really went all out here. Let’s see, we’ve got… a million equations and some pretty impressive doodles on the side of this page.” He points to a little sketch she'd absentmindedly drawn of a sun with sunglasses.

she blushed, reaching to snatch the paper from him, but he holds it out of reach, laughing. “No way! I’m keeping this as evidence of your creative genius. But seriously,” he says, his expression softening, “you’re incredible for even attempting this all on your own. Now, let’s break it down together, alright?”

With a deep breath, she nods and explains the project to him, pointing out all the sections that still need to be done. Pau listens carefully, nodding along, and as soon as she's finished explaining, he grabs a pencil and a fresh piece of paper.

“Alright, my love. You take care of the data, and I’ll start on the graphs. Let’s tackle this step by step.” he said, giving her an encouraging smile.

They both dive into the work, and it’s like a weight has been lifted. Pau’s presence grounds her, his little jokes making her smile as he meticulously draws out her graphs and even colors them in with highlighters he found in her pencil case. Every now and then, he looks up at her with a grin.

“You know, you’re gonna owe me a big thank-you kiss for all this coloring,” he teases, holding up a bright yellow bar he’s highlighted.

“Oh, trust me,” she laughs, “I’ll give you all the kisses you want after this.”

“Deal,” he says, his eyes twinkling as he reaches over and plants a quick kiss on her forehead.

Hours pass, and the project finally starts coming together. With one last click, y/n saves the final document, and an overwhelming sense of relief washes over her. She slumps back in her chair, exhaling deeply.

“It’s… it’s done,” she whispers, almost in disbelief.

Pau immediately pulls her into his arms, lifting her off the chair and twirling her around. “I told you we’d finish it. Look at you, mi genio. You did it” (my genius)

Giggling, she wraps her arms around his neck, clinging to him as he spins her. When he finally sets her down, they're both breathless and laughing. Pau cups her face, brushing his thumbs gently over her cheeks.

“You know, I’m really proud of you. You didn’t give up, even when it got tough,” he says softly, his gaze filled with admiration. “You’re amazing.”

A blush rises to her cheeks as she smiles up at him. “Thank you, Pau. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Of course you could have,” he says, pressing a gentle kiss to her nose. “But I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. Now…” He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “How about we celebrate?”

y/n snuggled into his embrace, feeling the last remnants of stress melt away. “What kind of celebration did you have in mind?”

“Hmm,” he says, pretending to think, “how about ice cream? The biggest sundae we can find?”

She laughs gently, looking up at him with a grin. “You know the way to my heart.”

He chuckles, leaning down to kiss her softly. “I know, hermosa. And for the record,” he murmurs, brushing his lips across hers, “I love you. Stress and all.”

Her heart fluttered as she reaches up, winding her arms around his neck. “I love you too, my little science assistant.”

He laughs, pulling her in for another kiss, deeper and slower this time. The world feels calm and steady, and in his arms, everything feels perfectly, wonderfully right.

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the-oblivious-writer · 1 month ago

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The Science of Loss

Dexter Morgan and Reader

Part Two: Dexter’s Perspective

Summary: Even in death you hold a great impact in Dexter Morgan's life.

Warning(s): Swearing, (major) character death, clinical descriptions of death/crime scenes, mentions of violence, grief/loss, secondary trauma (Deb), and murder/references to

Notes: Although this is a part two, it can be read separately from Deb's perspective. This is a platonic Dexter and Reader fic, let me know if I should do more

Debra's Perspective

You were one of the few people who never made Dexter feel like he needed to perform humanity. Your interactions in the lab had a comfortable precision – you'd both speak the language of blood patterns, trajectory analysis, victim positioning. He didn't have to manufacture the appropriate emotional responses because you never demanded them. You understood silence.

Now he stands in the lab where you used to work, and the silence feels different. Heavy. He touches the microscope you'd use to analyze trace evidence, remembers how you'd explain your findings without the theatrical flourish Masuka employed. Just clean, methodical observations. You'd been easier to understand than most humans.

"The blood pool indicates they were conscious for approximately two minutes after the shot," he tells Deb, because these are the facts he knows how to process. His sister stares at him with red-rimmed eyes, and he recognizes that this information isn't helpful. You would have known how to translate between his analytical approach and Deb's raw emotion. You'd done it countless times before.

The security footage plays on his laptop. He's analyzed it like any other crime scene: entrance angle, shooter position, blood spatter direction. But something uncomfortable shifts in his chest when he watches you step in front of the teenage clerk. A protective instinct that doesn't align with efficient survival. It's the kind of human behavior he's always struggled to understand, but somehow made sense when you did it.

"You know what's fucked up?" Deb's voice cracks. "They would have fucking loved analyzing their own crime scene. All that blood spatter data."

Dexter nods, because you would have. You shared his fascination with the technical aspects of death, though yours came from a place of justice rather than necessity. You'd once spent three hours explaining to him how different blood pattern classifications could reveal a victim's final moments. Not because it was relevant to a case, but because you recognized his genuine interest.

He finds himself in the morgue at night, standing where your body had been. The metal table reflects the fluorescent lights, and he remembers how you used to joke that the morgue had better lighting than your apartment. Dark humor that made others uncomfortable but made perfect sense to him.

"I don't know how to help her," he tells the empty table. Deb is spinning out, breaking down, and his usual scripts for performing brotherly comfort feel inadequate. You would have known what to say. You always knew how to reach her when she retreated behind her walls.

The irony doesn't escape him – seeking advice from a memory of someone who helped him understand human connection. But you had been different. You didn't try to fix his peculiarities or demand conventional emotional responses. Instead, you'd simply included him in your understanding of human variation. "Different wavelengths," you'd called it, "but still on the spectrum."

He keeps your last case file. Not for sentimental reasons – he doesn't do sentimental – but because your analysis was always impeccable. Sometimes he reads your notes, appreciating the logical progression of your thoughts. The way you could look at violence and find patterns, meaning, justice.

The young shooter is caught three weeks after your death. Dexter sits in the observation room during the interrogation, studying the teenager's body language, the tremor in his hands. His Dark Passenger whispers familiar suggestions, but he remembers your voice during late-night lab discussions:

"Justice isn't always about punishment, Dexter. Sometimes it's about understanding why."

You'd said that after a particularly brutal case, your gloved hands steady as you processed evidence. He hadn't understood then – his own sense of justice had always been more… direct. But watching the terrified kid break down during questioning, he thinks maybe he's beginning to grasp what you meant.

Deb finds him organizing blood slides one night. Not his special collection – just routine case evidence. But he's doing it the way you taught him, with that extra level of precision you always insisted on.

"You miss them too, don't you?" she asks, her voice rough. "In your own way."

He considers this. Misses your predictable presence in the lab? Yes. Misses how you helped him navigate complicated social situations? Also yes. But there's something else – an unfamiliar discomfort when he passes your empty workstation. A hesitation before using your favorite microscope.

"Yes," he says simply, because you appreciated when he didn't elaborate unnecessarily.

Harrison asks about you sometimes. You'd been good with him, patient in a way that matched Dexter's own careful approach to fatherhood. You'd explained complex forensic concepts to Harrison in ways that satisfied his curiosity without disturbing his innocence. A balance Dexter often struggled to find.

"Where did Y/N go?" Harrison asks one evening.

Dexter remembers your discussions about death, how you'd emphasized the importance of being honest with children while respecting their developmental stage. He tries to channel your measured approach.

"They died," he says carefully. "Someone made a very bad choice with a gun, and Y/N tried to protect another person."

"Like a hero?"

Dexter thinks about your final moments on the security footage. The calculated risk, the protective instinct, the technical perfection of the blood spatter you left behind. "Yes," he says. "Like a hero."

He helps Deb pack up your apartment because that's what siblings do, according to the social scripts he's learned. Your forensics journals are organized by date and subject matter. Your case files are meticulously labeled. Even in death, you maintain the order that made you comprehensible to him.

"Fuck," Deb chokes out, finding one of your hair ties. She crumples, and Dexter moves to support her weight, remembering how you'd coached him through similar situations.

"Let her feel it," you'd advised during one of Deb's previous crises. "You don't have to fix it. Just be there."

So he is. He holds his sister while she breaks apart, and though he can't fully understand her grief, he recognizes its patterns. The way it spreads like blood spatter – predictable trajectories, measurable impact points, analyzable distribution.

Later, he finds your notes on his own blood spatter analysis. Margins filled with observations, questions, suggestions for improvement. You'd approached his work with the same detailed attention he gave to his… extracurricular activities. Not questioning, just analyzing. Seeking to understand.

"Your brother processes things differently," he overhears you telling Deb once. "It's not wrong, just different. Like how blood spatter can tell different stories depending on the angle you view it from."

The metaphor had been oddly perfect, much like your presence in his carefully constructed world. You didn't disrupt his patterns or expose his secrets. You simply observed, analyzed, and accepted the evidence before you.

He keeps your forensics kit in his lab. Not out of sentiment – Dexter Morgan doesn't do sentiment – but because your organizational system was superior to the department standard. At least, that's what he tells himself when he finds his hands lingering on the latches, remembering how you'd walk him through your processing methods.

"Evidence tells stories," you'd say, "but only if we listen carefully."

He's listening now, in his own way. To the stories told by your absence. The way Deb's grief spreads like high-velocity spatter. The void you left in the lab's carefully calibrated ecosystem. The subtle changes in his own patterns since you've been gone.

It's not grief as others experience it. He knows this, just as he knows he processes everything differently. But it's something. A disruption in his carefully maintained routine. A gap in his understanding of human interaction. A missing data point in his ongoing study of normal behavior.

You would have appreciated the analytical approach to processing your loss. Would have helped him categorize these unfamiliar reactions with the same precision you brought to blood spatter analysis. Would have understood that his version of missing you would manifest in reorganized evidence boxes and late nights reviewing your case files.

The science of loss, he discovers, is messier than other sciences. Less predictable than blood spatter. Harder to categorize than DNA evidence. But he continues to study it, methodically documenting its effects on Deb, on the department, on his own carefully structured world.

Because that's what you would have done. You would have looked at the evidence, analyzed the patterns, and accepted the conclusions – even the uncomfortable ones. Even the ones that suggest that maybe, in his own unique way, Dexter Morgan is capable of missing someone who made his world more comprehensible.

The security footage plays one last time. He watches you make the statistically illogical choice to step in front of danger. Watches the blood pattern bloom across your chest – medium-velocity spatter, consistent with a single gunshot wound. Watches you break protocol to protect another person.

And something in his carefully ordered mind shifts, just slightly. A new pattern emerging from familiar data. A different way of understanding sacrifice, justice, connection.

You would have appreciated the symmetry of that – teaching him something new, even after you're gone.

-----------

#dexter morgan x reader #dexter Morgan x gender neutral reader #dexter morgan x you #debra morgan #debra morgan x reader #debra morgan x you #dexter fanfiction

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seeingivy · 10 months ago

Text

death by a thousand cuts

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

an: a wild taylor as gojo has appeared. enjoy. satoru as taylor swift anon who is always in the asks, this is for you. i see you and i hear you.

“holy shit. there’s no way you’re on his fucking linked in during class?” megumi whispers.

you feel your eyes widen as you look to your left to find a very, deeply distraught megumi staring at you. and it’s almost like clockwork, the way he abandons his accounting spreadsheet – and quickly slides into the messages app on his laptop.

the three consecutive buzzes of your phone thrum under your thigh come before you see nobara and yuuji turn their heads back, two rows ahead of you in the lecture hall, and looking awfully more distraught than megumi.

“you’re kidding.” nobara mouths.

“freak!” yuuji whispers, earning you a set of weird glances from the group at your right.

you glare at the two of them, before turning to megumi and bringing your foot down on top of his. megumi winces, giving you a very characteristic and unbothered eye roll, before he returns to finishing up his spreadsheet.

you pull your hood up over your ears, cheeks warm and pink from embarrassment, before you focus back on the screen.

you know that he’s right. that there is really no point at looking at his account – not when you have all of the details memorized.

Satoru Gojo Senior Data Science Student @ Tokyo Technical Institute

three work experiences. data analytics intern for the justice project. hackathon project lead. meadow investments development engineer.

two degrees under his education. because he’s dual enrolled and set to get a bachelor’s in computer science and a masters in engineering by the end of his term next year.

and one organization. alpha kappa psi, the business fraternity.

the only reason you were at the scene of the crime.

it was all miwa’s fault. and partially yours, for being so willing to come to her aid – at all times. when she asked you to accompany her to the bid party – just because she wanted to support mechamaru fresh in their new relationship and didn’t do too well in social situations – you had all but obliged. at the most, you would get a cheap shot and brownie points to get miwa to run the errands for the entire month.

except when it came to it, miwa wasn’t nervous at all, only because mechamaru had spent the past few weeks hyping her up to his pledge class. which left you alone, stuck to roam around until she was ready to leave at the end of the night.

the floor was sticky with beer, there was an almost rancid, putrid smell lingering in the air that you couldn’t pinpoint, and you were stuck with sixty of your peers – shitfaced to a point you didn’t even know was humanly possible.

and with miwa long gone, doing god knows what with mechamaru and you were stuck leaning against the fridge, bored out of your mind. that’s when he found you – pawing your way through the food.

his smell was the first thing that caught your attention, second to the fact that he was hovering over your shoulder, cheeks brushing against each other. it was almost minty and stark – almost eradicating the lingering smell of weed that was burning your nose.

the skin on his cheek was soft, featherlike when it brushed against yours.

“whatcha doing, dollface?”

you immediately curl your nose, turned off by the unnecessary sweetness. you had your fill of dirty frat boys during orientation week, three years ago, and knew damn well that you had to steer clear of whatever was happening here.

“playing where’s waldo, genius. i’m obviously looking for food.” you state.

you reach for the closest box, a perfectly cut slice of cake, encased in a wrap. the plastic is covered in messy scribbles on the top – spelling out satoru in loopy letters.

“you’re just going to eat someone else’s cake?” he asks.

“how do you know it’s not mine?”

“intuition.”

it’s only then that you stop yourself to look up at this stranger whispering in your ear, only to find glimmering blue eyes, peering over the top of a set of sunglasses. the sunglasses are god awful – even worse with the combination of the tanktop and the snapback he’s wearing backwards.

you swear there’s a faded, glittery pink lipstick mark indented at the top of his cheek.

“you-you’d be shocked.” you stutter, as you pull the box out of the fridge and place it on the counter.

he momentarily walks away – which is when you take the second to ogle him in full. a toned back, a tattoo on the top of his shoulder that you can’t entirely make out. white hair, veiny arms, and a silver necklace hanging against his collarbone.

he returns back, two forks in hand, before making a dramatic display of handing you one.

“for you, my sweet lady.”

“i’m not sure why you brought two forks. who said i was going to share with you?”

he grins, leaning his head back to laugh like a little kid, before he scoots closer to you – the sweet scent coming back.

“c’mon.”

he reaches for your hand, before lifting it to place it against his chest. you can feel his heart beating under the feeling of your fingertips, his eyes wide and expectant as he waits for and answer.

“do me a favor, yeah? let me share my cake with a pretty girl at a party. there’s only a limited amount of joys in this life.”

you scoff, before pulling your hand back.

“you’re corny.”

he shrugs.

“you’ll get used to it.”

you groan, as you slam your computer shut – the image of his shiny headshot staring back at you getting burned into your eyes.

stupid. stupid, stupid, stupid.

one stupid joke, a slice of cake, and somehow you woke up in his bed the next day being spooned by him. and one thing led to the next because he was somehow taking you to brunch, then settling his head in between your legs before dinner, and then back at your house the next day.

it was an arrangement at that point. the dinners, what happened in between, and the morning after.

you’re not sure what the terms and conditions are in a predicament like yours – with a guy like satoru. you know for a fact that he still flirts with other girls, because you’d see him walking with a different one every time you stopped at the coffee shop. but then he’d invite you to dinner, honey sweet words falling from his lips before he tucked you in for bed each night.

friends with benefits. but he buys you gifts and takes you to dinner. and calls you beautiful. comes to your house after frat parties, with the faintest scent of a flowery perfume on his neck that you swear you’re imagining.

letting him walk out of your apartment was your own personal tourture, of death by a thousand cuts, because every step farther away from you was closer to someone else.

and that sinking, deep rooted dread, only got worse as time went on.

you feel a hard smack against your head.

“do your fucking homework.”

satoru gojo has distinct features that you always find yourself staring at. a mole on his shoulder, a scar on his pointer finger, and the rings he wore. sometimes, you find yourself asking them about him.

you reach forward, locking your fingers in on the chain around his neck, and using it to pull him closer. it's of a little postage stamp, though the silver looks rusted – like he’s worn it to death. he’s quick to oblige, a warm kiss on your cheek, before you yank again.

“what, baby?” he whines.

“where’d you get your necklace?”

he leans back, looking down at the chain, before his eyes meet yours again. there’s a dim fluorescent glow coming in from the blinds of the window, sun far gone in the horizon, and it’s the only thing that makes this bearable.

that his piercing blue eyes somewhat subdued from the lack of light.

“you want it, princess?”

“what? no. i just like it. i wasn’t –”

it’s a boyish giggle that comes out of satoru’s mouth as he quickly unfastens the clasp from his neck before tangling it in his fist.

you’re not an idiot – because it’s his freezing cold fingers pulling your shirt over your head – before he pulls you into his lap.

this was one of satoru’s favorite things to do. pull you close, till you’re straddling him in his lap, and you can feel his breath tickling against his collarbone as he whispers sweet nothings to you.

you wonder if he can see your blush in the dim light. if that’s part of why he likes it – seeing the effect he has on you.

he reaches forward, pulling your hair to the side and pressing a kiss to your collarbone, before he fastens his silver necklace around your neck.

“you know. when i said i liked your necklace, i said i liked it on you. i wasn’t asking for it.”

“but i like seeing you wear it more.”

satoru’s eyes are focused as he fixes the tangles in the chain, letting the little charm hang right in the little divot where your collarbone ends. and then he brings his hands in around your face, nearly squishing the softness of your cheeks together, before he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“will you wear my hoodie?” he jokes.

you scoff.

“are we in sixth grade? also, it quite literally says ‘yuuta’s big’ on the sleeve. that’s not obvious at all.”

satoru rolls his eyes.

“you would love yuuta, though. he’s your pseudo little brother, because you’re with me, you know?”

you shake your head, as you crawl out of his lap, and reach for the water bottle on the side table. you try to ground yourself, head spinning as you try to decipher what that means – and tap your feet on the floor.

you can feel him at your side, his observant blue eyes burning holes into your skin, as you note the steady, almost cautious tone in his voice.

“you okay? something i said?”

you shake him off.

“yeah, yeah. sorry. got out of the mood there for a second, just have a lot to do this week.”

satoru hums, before bringing his hands around your torso, leaning his entire weight against you as he settles his chin into the crook of your neck.

“you ever think you work too hard, pretty girl?”

“working hard or hardly working?” you joke. even his corny jokes were rubbing off on you.

you hear satoru scoff, before he starts rubbing circles into the bare skin of your stomach, as the goosebumps start to trickle over your skin.

“oh, don’t be like that. you’re the smartest person i know.”

“is this a clever way to get into my pants?”

“no. it’s me telling you that i think you’re very intelligent, you’re very driven, and you don’t have to worry about if you’re working hard enough. i know the only breaks you take are to go to that dumb movie theater downtown with your grumpy friend or when you scream my name every –”

“satoru.” you whine.

“don’t say my name like that. it turns me on.”

you grin.

“satoru.” you hum, teasing him.

“fuck off.”

he pauses, before pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your neck.

“but really. you’re a clever, you’re pretty, and irritatingly very accomplished. slow down so i can catch up, okay?”

“that’s rich coming from you. mister three internships, two degrees in four years.”

it’s quiet.

“how’d you know that?” satoru asks.

you can hear the smile in his voice. and the dread pooling in your stomach.

“what?”

“how’d you know it was two degrees?”

“you-you told me.”

“no, i didn’t. i just got accepted a few weeks ago, i haven’t even told some of my friends yet.”

you groan, before bringing your hands up to your face. you bury your eyes into the sockets of your eyes, getting caught embarrassedly red handed.

“where?”

you sigh.

“i stalked you on linked in.”

satoru grins wide, before pulling you back onto the bed and into his embrace. you can hear his giggling in your ear as you try to pull away.

“oh, baby you didn’t.”

“i had to make sure i didn’t apply where you worked!”

“no, you didn’t. we don’t even work in the same field.”

“you don’t know! i could change my mind!”

satoru laughs, before leaning forward to press a quick kiss to your lips.

“you have a crush on me! angel, you should have just said so!”

you give him a hard push, before crossing your arms over your chest.

“quit teasing. so i’m a stalker! so what? i just want to make sure i’m not putting out for a loser. you could be coding some AI for the government for all i know and i don’t want to be –”

“okay, okay. relax. i’m just teasing, i just think it’s cute you keep tabs on me.”

you glare.

“i don’t like you.” you state.

he rolls his eyes, before flopping his head down on your pillow and tapping the space next to him. you crawl into the space, before nestling yourself into his arms. you can feel your brain spiraling – instant regret for saying too much, being too weird, too harsh, and not saying what you felt – as you focus on the feeling of his hands running through your hair.

“i can tell that the hamster in your brain is working overtime. just go to bed, okay?”

“okay, lock the door when you leave?”

“i don’t have plans tomorrow morning. if you could humble yourself to eat breakfast with me, i’d actually like that.”

you frown, stomach jolting in your guts.

he had never stayed for an arbitrary reason – like spending the night just to sleep next to you. you shut your eyes, burying your face deeper into the sweet smell of his skin, and throw the thought away.

“mimosas?”

“you want to drink that early in the morning?”

“it’s saturday. gives me a good kick to start my day.”

“aren’t mimosas made with champagne? i hate champagne. and it makes you really handsy.”

you smile.

“you like when i’m handsy.”

“i mean, yes. but we can just do pancakes and go to the library together so we can do work. i’ll keep you accountable and find you snacks when you get inevitably cranky. then when you come home all tired, we can be as handsy as we want. it’s more satisfying when you have to work for it.”

you groan, burying the complications of spending yet another day with him in the back of your head as you try to flutter your eyes shut – in futile attempts to quiet the thoughts racketing around in your mind.

“okay, okay whatever. we’ll see tomorrow, i just – i’m really tired right now and –”

“shut up, dollface. just sleep.”

you get invited to the alpha kappa psi formal. miwa – who found out from mechamaru, whose pledge class brother is very close with satoru’s little yuuta – said that satoru wanted you there.

then why didn’t he ask you?

you bite the bullet anyways, borrowing one of kugisaki’s pale blue slip dresses – and attend as mechamaru’s pledge brother – todo’s date – to get in.

he’s a strange guy, who doesn’t pay you too much attention. it’s one polite wave and a cardstock ticket he hands you before you don’t see him again for the rest of the night. and you’re stuck with miwa and mechamaru, who are bigger fans of pda than you are.

“how’s satoru, y/n?” mechamaru asks.

“ah. he’s good. you know as much as i do, right?”

you can feel yourself sweating.

would satoru leave if you said too much? if you embarrassed him in front of one of his brothers? did they know you guys had an…arrangement? was it an arrangement? were you seeing each other? why did they think he invited you?

“dunno. aren’t you guys really good friends?” mechamaru asks.

“um, yeah.”

“yeah, he was telling us you studied together at the library the other day. figured he’d want you to meet suguru and ieiri.”

suguru and ieiri.

“yeah. i’m gonna go get a drink. do you guys want anything?”

“i’m good, love. we’ll be here.” miwa states, giving a reassuring squeeze to your bicep before you drag your heels to the makeshift bar.

you walk over to the bar, straight to the open bottle of rosé that has your name on it, as you lean against the wall. you pour way too much into your flute, nearly spilling it over the back of your hand, as you curse.

“do you want help?”

you look up to find a boy looking at you, wide eyes, with his bangs sweeping down the side of his face. he has tired eyes, but it’s a seemingly bright smile he offers you.

“sorry, yeah. i’ll clean it up, i swear.”

“no, no. no problem.”

he hands you a handkerchief from his pocket, before he pulls your hand in his and wipes the excess pink stain on it. you cringe at the stain on the cloth before he tucks it back into his pocket.

“i’m sorry about that. that’s really kind of you, i just –”

“no problem! you seemed…kind of frustrated there. happy to help.”

you shoot him a polite smile, before nervously sipping – maybe a little too fast for comfort. but the warm feeling is enough to temporarily curb the nerves, which is perfect for your sake.

“are you a brother?” you ask.

“yeah! is this your first formal?”

“yeah. i’m seeing someone in your frat and he asked me to come. well, he didn’t ask me to come, he told someone else he wanted me to come so i came as one of the other brother’s date. but not really his date, because i haven't seen him since then. or the guy i’m talking to.”

he leans back, eyes wide.

“right. do you like him? if…if you mind me asking.”

“my date? i can’t even remember his name. he’s like a tall, muscular guy. man bun?”

“no, yeah. his name is todo, i figured that’s who you were talking about. i mean the other guy.”

“oh. well, yeah. but he’s so…i don’t know. he’s a frat guy. and a chronic flirt. the first time i met him he had a lipstick stain on his cheek. and he smells like girly perfume every time he comes to see me, so –”

he sucks his teeth in.

“idiot.” he murmurs.

“what?”

“no! oh my god, not you! i meant…me! just thought of something. gotta run for a second, i’ll be back.”

“wait, you didn’t even tell me your –”

you watch as he rushes off, in a speed walking fervor, as mechamaru and miwa join you at your side. they give you a polite smile, which you return, as you swirl the glass in your hand.

“mechamaru. do you know that guy who just walked away? tired looking, the long hair?”

“oh, yuuta. yeah, what about him?”

“yuuta?”

“yeah, you’ve never met him? he’s like gojo’s pride and joy.”

you sink against the wall, embarrassment coursing through you, as you down the rest of your glass. and then three more, which is accompanied by weary looks from miwa. and after finishing off the entire bottle – an hour and a half into the party without seeing satoru – you’re set on leaving.

and it’s only on your rageful stomp out the door, well past tipsy, that you find the godawful man of the hour, leaning against the wall.

it’s enough to fill you with a rage. because he’s leaning against the wall, shirt slightly unbuttoned, and smiling brightly at whichever girl he’s talking to. you’re almost positive that it’s probably her flowery perfume that you’re smelling on his neck at the time, that she’s who he sees when he’s not with you, and it’s like pins and needles in your stomach.

and you almost make your escape, before he catches you on your way out.

“y/n? wait, y/n!”

you’re one step out the door, before he grabs your bicep, and pulls back, giving you a bright grin.

“i didn’t know you were here yet. i’ve been waiting, come here, c’mhere.” satoru mumbles, quickly rushing you over to the group of three people standing by the door, who all turn their heads for you.

you groan as you turn to the group of them. it’s the same tired eyes as before – that you now know belong to yuuta – and two strangers you’ve never seen before. a guy almost as tall as satoru, with swooping bangs and a manbun, and the girl – who you can’t stand to look at, with perfect beach waves swooping past her shoulders.

and what you can’t help but notice is a sparkling, silver postage stamp necklace around her neck. the same one around yours, that you had been fidgeting with since satoru gave it to you weeks ago.

“here’s your drink, satoru.” the girl states, handing him a glass of white wine that he takes.

it’s enough to make your rage bubble to the surface.

“the lady of the hour, guys! this is y/n, she’s my –”

you scoff.

“are you kidding?”

“hm?”

“lady of the hour? for what, your jokes?”

you watch as satoru’s face drops, before he sets the glass of wine down on the closest table.

“huh? what do you mean? i wanted to introduce you to ieiri, i know you’re going to love her.”

you can feel the tears accumulating in your eyes, that you’re almost positive that satoru notices, because his face visibly droops even more, this time replaced with genuine concern that sends a pang in your chest that has you wrestling your wrist out of his hold.

“you…you’re so mean, satoru.”

“baby, what?”

“don’t…why are you calling me that? every morning you wake up next to me and you’re still not my baby. that’s not exactly fair. you smell like a different girl and you still…you still flirt with other people.” you whisper.

his eyes go wide.

“no, i –”

“every time you walk away i’m half convinced you’re just going to someone else you’re stringing along like me. i’m sitting there thinking about how you’ve walked hundreds of steps away from me hundreds of times and it feels like a thousand little cuts every time you do and it kills me that you don’t even care.”

you can feel that whatever is coming out is word vomit, like it’s started and now it won’t ever stop.

“i see you everywhere, because you literally come everywhere with me just to leave. any song you’ve sang is now our song, any movie, literally anything you’ve even touched. i can’t even wear certain clothes without thinking about how you complimented me in them and i’m stuck thinking about how you probably say that to everyone. you don’t even drink wine and you’re over here drinking some with this random girl at this party, when that’s my thing that we drink wine together. you gave her the same necklace as me, and you apparently asked me to come to but didn’t even tell me about to my face? then you sick your little frat brother to ask me if i like you just so you can….i don’t know, i don’t know what you’d do with that information!”

you watch as satoru pinches the bridge of his nose, only to turn to the three of them at his side, who are all shaking their heads dismissively.

“suguru. i fucking told you he had to be leaving something out.”

“well, i didn’t realize it was going to be like this, shoko. no wonder she won’t date him.”

you swallow hard, as you seem to sink deeper in the pits of your own embarrassment, which seems to be a record low.

“fuck. you…you said her name is shoko?”

geto offers you a smile.

“that’s right.”

“like satoru’s hometown friend? the…the lesbian?”

“that would be me.” she confirms.

you cringe.

“oh my god. i’m really sorry, i’m really drunk. i drank an entire bottle of wine after i accidentally talked to yuuta and i just –”

“well, i’d get drunk if i were you too. he smells like other girls? and flirts with them?” shoko asks.

“i do not! i don’t even know what you’re talking about. i didn’t even know she even liked me back till twenty minutes ago.”

“the necklace is a nice gesture. satoru, geto, and i all have these matching postage stamp necklaces from this shitty place in our hometown. we got them together when we graduated so we wouldn’t forget about what was important when we all go to college.”

you turn to satoru.

“and you just gave that to me?”

“well, i knew you’d take care of it.”

“that’s like…that’s like sentimental, satoru. you literally gave me your childhood best friends memento and that’s so-”

“well, obviously that seems like a little much if you think we’re just friends with benefits!”

you scoff.

“you’re the one who wanted to be friends with benefits.” you clarify.

“what are you talking about? you literally cringe away from any affection i give you!” satoru retorts.

“because you flirt with other girls!”

“not since you! why would i flirt with other people?”

“you tell me. i smell the perfume.”

satoru groans.

“that’s your perfume, dipshit. you left your hoodie at my house and it smells like you so sometimes i sleep next to it and then i smell like it. how do you not recognize your own smell?”

you pause.

“you do what?”

“not in a fucking weird way. i just miss you when you’re busy. you smell nice, it’s –”

“hopeless.” yuuta states, earning him a nod from suguru.

“you didn’t even ask me to come here with you.” you state.

“shoko had to be my date so she could come. i had to make yuuta drag maki in through a window because geto was his plus one. i just wanted you here so you could meet my childhood friends, who i care about. they’ve heard about you for so long that i just thought –”

“you talk to your friends about me?”

“an insufferable amount. though most of his agony seems self inflicted now, because he’s a fucking idiot.” shoko confirms.

“okay, let’s get y/n some water, yeah?” yuuta suggests, before shuffling the two of them off, to which satoru sends a grateful smile before turning back to you.

he crouches down a little, just so your eyes are level, as you frown at him.

“is this what that hamster in your brain is doing up there? overthinking literally everything?”

“you –”

“if you asked, i would have clarified for you. we’ve always been exclusive and if you talked to someone else while we were talking, i’m going to have to kill him.”

“don’t be stupid.”

“i’ll just send a threat! sign his emails up for scientology. he was talking to my girl!”

you glare at him.

“you…you’re so stupid, satoru. you confuse me so much and i just…you take up too much space. you’re everywhere – literally no part of me that you haven’t taken up and i just…”

satoru frowns, before pulling his hands around your face, and angling up by your chin to look at him.

“don’t give up now. it just got good.” he whispers.

“satoru.”

“cmon. let me lick all thousand of your cuts clean.”

“ew. you’re…you’re so gross, satoru.”

“okay, that was just a dirty joke. but let me make it up to you, really. i didn’t realize you…you were thinking all that. i thought you just liked me because i was sexy and because i eat your –”

“satoru!”

“please. let me into that hamster ball in your brain. i deserve some space.”

“it’s all boarded up. the hamster ball house burned down.” you groan.

he leans back, like he’s inspecting your face, before he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“dunno. i’m seeing some flickering lights in there. i can tell your hamster in there really wants me.”

“quit….quit calling me a hamster! you’re so…ugh. i have a headache and i’m drunk and i’m really confused and i just –”

satoru mimics a little salute, before he loops his hand around your waist and walks you towards the little bar.

“okay, test run. i’m on boyfriend duty. if this goes well enough, you give me a chance tomorrow.”

you squint your eyes at him.

“okay, water first. then i have two baby aspirin for you in my pocket. three kisses on the cheek if you won’t insult me after and a compliment if you won’t kill me.”

“really?”

“yuuta told me you downed a whole bottle. since you’re too mad to be handsy, you have a headache. but don’t worry, i came prepared. meaning i forced yuuta to find some baby aspirin or else. and also, kisses because you smell good and you’re wearing this pretty blue dress that’s the same color as my eyes and you’re about to meet my favorite people ever and you’re my favorite person ever, so this is a big deal.” satoru responds.

he’s rambling so hard that you feel like you can see the hamster in his mind working overtime.

“what’s the verdict?”

satoru’s voice is like a thousand bullets in your head as you smack him in the face, trying to silence the chattering coming out of his mouth.

“satoru. what…what time is it?”

“six in the morning. but it’s the next day and i need to know how my test run went.”

“your….what?”

satoru whines.

“no, no don’t tell me you’re too drunk to remember? my test run! to be your boyfriend?”

you groan, flickering your eyes open to the alarm clock on your bed, spelling out the time. 6:07 am.

“no, i remember. you need the answer at six in the morning when i’m hungover?”

“this is agony! i really get this whole thousand cuts thing now, this hurts. tell me.”

you push his face into the pillow, before mumbling it as quietly as you can.

“you pass.”

“huh?”

“you heard me. you passed. just…shut up, please.”

it’s his giggles you hear before sleeping and a warm kiss on your forehead, before you pass out again.

satoru as taylor swift songs masterlist

taglist: @invisible-mori @porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @torureadz @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga

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alexistudies · 4 months ago

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september 22nd, 2024

the first month of the semester has consisted of a lotttt of reading, iced coffee, and ordering stuff for lab. some highlights: im narrowing down what i want to do for my dissertation, i'm getting a really nice work laptop, and i got a raise!

i had my first clinical neuro exam on thursday and i actually think it went okay, but we'll see what my grade is lol. i have my data science class final in a couple weeks (its an accelerated course) and then right after, my biostats and informatics class starts for the last half of the semester.

i hope everyone's semester is off to a great start!

pictured above:

some papers i printed and read for my dissertation

a new lab notebook

iced coffee on campus

a thick ass neurology textbook and my data science book

#alexistudies #alexi's phd year 2 #studyblr #studying #study blog #study hard #studyblr community #study motivation #genspen #heygen #morningkou

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 10 months ago

Note

With the latest Science Experiment!Reader - how would Jason react after her nightmare? Would Jason try to stay with her after the nightmare so she doesn’t wake up alone and drugged? Or would he leave, then sneak back up there? Or would she react badly to him being there?

Ari, I can’t thank you enough for sharing these stories - I simply adore them, and am so grateful that you share the gifts of your Muse with us. Be safe, well, and as happy as possible.

I'm just doing my best. One dummy with a laptop and a dream

For two days, you were like a ghost.

The only evidence you'd been anywhere was a shadow. A sense of unease they hadn't felt themselves. A whiff of body spray lingering. The rattle of ice in a metal water bottle.

You hardly ate. You didn't sleep. But you worked. Usually, while the rest of them slept. Buried under piles of data, evidence, and reports. Watching out for new leads.

And Jason could hardly stand it by day three. He looked at your empty chair at breakfast. Everyone else had long since left. Leaving he and Bruce the only ones still nursing coffee. "Don't," Bruce cautioned.

"You tell the rest of us to get over it," Jason snorted.

"The rest of you can't make people kill themselves with your mind," Bruce sighed.

"I can make it look like they did," Jason said.

"Not the same thing."

"But-"

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, "Listen. She feels guilty. She feels ashamed. And she's trying to maintain control. I spoke to her and she was... less than stable. It's uncomfortable for her to be this close to people. And it's... well frankly not comfortable for people to be around her unless they're prepared to deal-"

"I watched her scream like a cat in a blender and twist herself into a pretzel while she made Alfred damn near piss his pants," Jason huffed. "I think I can handle some self-hatred and guilt."

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #science #science experiment!reverse

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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 10 months ago

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Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 13

I hope you all enjoy! please comment and reblog and tell me what u enjoyed <3

MASTAPOST

The reality hit Maddie like a truck, once they’d ferried the kids home, and returned to Fentonworks. Bruce Wayne had excused himself, and went back to his hotel after bidding farewell to them.

That left her and Jack alone on the couch. Jazz was upstairs, probably studying psychology and sciences, on her way to be a genius just like her family.

Just like Danny.

Tears wracked Madeline. Jack was openly sobbing at the couch. Not the silly way he would sometimes cry at small things that he would get over quickly. Maddie could feel the bone-deep anger and grief seeping through her and her husband.

She needed to tell Jazz. Tell her what had happened. But she dreaded the thought of talking to her daughter in this state. It wouldn’t do to give her the news and then break down underneath Jazz’s feet.

That thought didn’t do much to stem the tide. Maddie idly reached for the tea, cold from where they’d left it in the afternoon. The realization that this was happening again, again in the family, rocked her to her bones. Maddie’s mind conjured up images of blood over wooden floors, and red hair spilling out and covering still, dead eyes. Claw marks over a bruised throat.

She had trusted Danny. Loved him more than anything. What mother couldn’t trust their child? That sweet boy whose eyes sparkled with kindness and who jumped up and down on dreams of seeing the stars. His kindness meant he gave anything a chance. She had thought she’d lost him. She had raged and tore through everything and everyone and suddenly, through no result of her actions, he came.

And now he was gone again. Taken, just like her great-great-grandpappy. Just like so many others across the world. Just like Alicia’s son. Never to be seen again.

There had to be a way, an answer. There had to be some kind of inconsistency in the data. Something that could show the path forward, a path where her baby boy could still be out there and able to returned home safe.

Maddie descended the stairs into the labs, ready to look over dusty notebooks, and old journals. Jack followed her soon after, not a word exchanged between them.

To say Bruce Wayne was shaken was an understatement. That girl, Samantha, had no idea what she was talking about. All Bruce was interested in was the safety of his son and Daniel Fenton, and the pursuit of justice.

That didn’t mean she would’ve had a point, once upon a time. How Jason came back, but it wasn’t a joyous celebration, but the beginning of more pain, more misunderstanding and accusation. How Damian first came to them. He had a son who had finally returned home, but there was no celebration then either.

They had just started to get along again. They were this close to being happy.

Bruce held his head in his hands. He needed to review the facts again. The facts, the players, the unknowns and mysteries. Damian just had to be out there, he just had to.

Sirens, the GiW, the Fentons… Where to begin?

A message pinged on his comm. It was from Tim. Had he finished sifting through the files?

Bruce opened his laptop, seeing an email with attached analysis and files. Good work, Tim. He knows how hard it must be for him, to dedicate this effort into saving a brother with whom he had a very rocky start.

The email confirmed many of his suspicions. Tim was able to recover the majority of the files that Tucker Foley had attempted to destroy. Damning evidence showed Samantha and Tucker engaging directly against various sirens, using magic and technology respectively. Daniel Fenton was nowhere near such attacks, but his role as supplier to Phantom was clear. At several points over the last few months, the boy could be seen sneaking into secluded areas with experimental weapons and gadgets stuffed into his pockets, that would later be seen in the webbed hands of Phantom.

Daniel was hardly ever seen in the same vicinity as Phantom, or any other siren. That was not surprising. The kid wasn’t athletic in any way like Samantha, nor did he have her talent for the mystical arts. He didn’t have Tucker’s affinity for technology, either. That, combined with the obvious discomfort around his parents’ grudge against sirens meant that it was reasonable he’d avoid being seen around sirens at all costs, while silently supporting them from the background.

The kid had his convictions, was for sure. But what kind of motive would cause the boy to do such a thing? Going against his parents was normal, almost ubiquitous at that age range. Did this trio harbour desires of becoming a hero, like Dick and Jason and all others that followed?

Tucker Foley kept Tim and the Batcomputer out for half an hour with nothing but a laptop. Sam Manson had an incredible drive to do right, and a less impressive sense of restraint (it pained him how much of his children that reminded him).

It was clear they had the hearts of heroes, and the potential too. But those desires landed his children in immense pain over the years, failures Bruce would regret for the rest of his days, and now those same failures repeated once more.

He needed to do this, for them.

The GiW were suspect. He would need to direct the Batcave into cracking their secrets open. Those men could not be trusted one bit. Not their DNA test, not their documents, not their badges. And certainly not for their CSI skills. They didn’t even report whether there were signs of a struggle on the island where Damian’s blood was found!

And for what motives did the sirens even abduct people in the first place? The more he considered, the more the GiW’s explanation of Damian being devoured seemed like utter bullshit. He hoped that was not denial speaking.

Bruce began to plan.

His phone rang. He ignored it. He formed a list of contacts to call upon for advice and consultation.

His phone rang again. He made a web of connections to the Fentons.

His phong rang, rang, rang again. A collage of every unsolved missing persons’ case ‘from the last twenty years.

The phone answered itself on speaker. It jolted Bruce from his work. Alfred’s stern voice sounded out. “Master Bruce, you are spiraling again, sir.”

Bruce hummed. “I’m working, Alfred.”

“Yes, I know. However, in your pursuit to discover Master Damian’s whereabouts, I must remind you that your other children still need their father. Master Timothy is on his eighth cup of coffee, and Master Richard has sent twelve common crooks to the emergency room. Master Jason had to calm him down, sir. They need you, sir.” Alfred stressed.

Bruce stood up, his back cricking from the strain of hunching over documents and files. He stared at the growing pile of papers on his desk and tabs on his laptop, before sweeping them all to the side.

“You’re right, Alfred. Thank you for reminding me.”

Why? Why? Why, why, why, why why? That was the question running through the Fenton parents’ heads as they combed over observations, data, charts, and historical records. The documents and files sprawled out over the floor of the lab. They had to find the connection, if there was one out there.

Why did the sirens abduct humans?

Despite what the goons in white thought, the biologist in Maddie found herself doubting it was all for food. Considering their latest population estimates, the amount of humans required to sustain siren numbers was completely impractical.

Ok, maybe they don’t have to eat humans, but do it as a luxury?

Such a hypothesis would have seemed more plausible, had there not been a plethora of new data counteracting that point. The Amity Island sirens pursued a number of different goals, very few of which overlapped, very few of which involved eating humans in any way. If there was an incentive to eat humans or even just abduct, then far, far more people would’ve been grabbed off the piers and beaches, even if Phantom could stop them all.

That lead to another question. Why would the sirens of Amity not even bother with abductions for the most part, when the majority of sightings and suspected siren incidents were brought to light because of the missing people?

Maddie kicked the wall. The impact resounded and echoed through the room.

Jack wrapped his arms around her waist tenderly, a calm presence. Maddie’s heart relaxed a little, the scent of chocolate bringing her back to warm nights with the kids. “You know this reminds me of a story grandpa Fenton told me about when he was a kid back during the war.” Jack said quietly. “His grandpa used to be a surveyor or analyst or some kind of smart guy at some big factory, makin’ planes to fight the Japanese. One morning he was banging his head on the desk.”

Maddie wasn’t sure where Jack was going with this, but she nodded for him to continue.

“And so Grandpa Fenton asked him, ‘Gramps, what’s the big deal?’ and great great grandpa showed him these pictures. They showed where bullet holes would appear, said it was to design better armour for ‘em. But the strangest thing was that none of the bullet holes were in the engines or near the tail. Gramps was seriously worked up about it! Spent all day pacin’ back and forth.”

Maddie gasped. Jack continued, although trailing off. “Anyway when Grandpa Fenton told me about it, all I could think of was how nice that they had planes comin’ back anyway. Have you seen the casualty rates for those things? Gave me the stuff of nightmares!”

Information whirled through Maddie’s head.

“And that’s how I gave up my dreams of being a fighter pilot!”

“Jack, you’re a genius!” She shouted. Jack blinked.

“Huh? What for?”

Maddie jumped up and kissed her amazing husband. This was a breakthrough.

It was survivorship bias. The reason none of the planes returning had bullet holes in the engines and lower fuselage was because the planes that had taken hits there were too damaged to return in the first place!

They were too busy looking at what they could see and not spending enough time looking for what they couldn’t. Jack’s great, great grandpa needed to look at the situation holistically, and from there it would all make sense.

What did that mean?

Sirens were crafty. And as they learnt from the attacks on Amity, they were petty, ambitious, power-hungry, lustful, and vengeful, among many other insidious attributes.

She and Jack had been fixating on the missing people cases, but what if those cases were only a small number of the illicit criminal dealings these monsters had been unknowably perpetrating in the human world? And if sirens can commit many, many other crimes than mindlessly violence and murder, then that means there could be any number of other reasons they could abduct a human.

If they wanted revenge or to satisfy their bloodlust, would they not have left a body somewhere? But no such body of either Damian Wayne or Danny was found. If they ate the boys, then the blood would’ve attracted sharks, but no sharks were to be found either.

Terrifying scenarios passed through Maddie’s mind. Slavery, trafficking, arena fighting. Any number of horrendous crimes that would not require any spilt blood. Horrors unimaginable for a woman to see her child suffer through. But a tiny, faint light shone through all of them: hope.

Because she had reason now to believe Danny and Damian Wayne were alive, out there somewhere, praying for their parents to come save them from the nightmare.

Jack blinked, expression blank. “You know I don’t mind staring at your beautiful face for hours, but I feel like there’s something you’ve figured out.”

Maddie’s eyes turned steely and determined. “Jack, get the SAV ready. We’re going on a hunt.”

The only one who knew where the boys were was Phantom, and Maddie would extract every secret that menace kept, even if it meant tearing him apart. Molecule. By. Molecule.

#dpxdc #danny fenton #merman #damian wayne #dcxdp #merboy #angst #mermaid au #maddie fenton #jack fenton #good parents jack and maddie #bruce wayne #good parent bruce wayne

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allthecanadianpolitics · 1 year ago

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When you need to drop off your tech devices for a repair, how confident are you that they won't be snooped on? CBC's Marketplace took smartphones and laptops to repair stores across Ontario — including large chains Best Buy and Mobile Klinik — and found that in more than half of the documented cases, technicians accessed intimate photos and private information not relevant to the repair. Marketplace dropped off devices at 20 stores, ranging from small independent shops to medium-sized chains to larger national chains, after installing monitoring software on the devices. In total, 16 stores were recorded. (At four stores, the tracking software didn't log anything, or the stores didn't appear to turn the devices on.) Technicians at nine stores accessed private data, including one technician who not only viewed photos but copied them onto a USB key. "These results are frightening," said Hassan Khan, associate professor in the school of computer science at the University of Guelph. "It's looking through information, searching for data on users' devices, copying data off the device.... it's as bad as it gets."

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

#Tech support #Privacy #Computer repair #cdnpoli #canada #canadian politics #canadian news

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uniquexusposts · 10 months ago

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Her || Charles Leclerc

Main characters: Charles Leclerc x OC Genre: fan fiction, fluff Story type: novel Part: 3/? Word count: 1510 Co writer: @mistrose23

Story summary: Matilde Jørgensen, the new Scuderia Ferrari team principal, faced the nerve-wracking challenge of reviving the team's fortunes and aiming for a championship. Leading a historic team as a 'newbie' and separating her work and personal opinions posed a significant challenge. The big question: is she capable to do so?

Previous chapter

Chapter 1. A New Role, A Nervous Start

Matilde entered the meeting room with an apologetic look on her face. She was holding her laptop and notebook under her arm, having a cup of tea in her other hand. "I'm sorry, I walked to the wrong truck," she said and sat down.

"No worries."

As the team principal settled behind her laptop, the other people in her team got ready for the pre-race debrief. They all were eager to discuss the strategy for the upcoming race, the first race, but also talk about track limits, and other information. Yesterday, after qualifying, they talked about the outcomes and the possible strategy for today. Today, it was time to finalise it.

It was the first time Matilde was about to witness the pre-race briefing at her new team. She had been at the briefing yesterday and the day before, but this was different. She still had to figure out how the briefings at Ferrari worked. Matilde was nervous; what could she expect later today? She decided to let the team lead the briefing, since it was them who had to lead their drivers through the race.

"Just like last year, we are considering a two-stop strategy with a soft-hard-hard combination for plan A," Carlos Galbally, Head of Tyre Science, announced after discussing other key points.

Everyone nodded in agreement; they agreed on this yesterday, and it seemed like the right tyre strategy. However, Matilde looked doubtful, keeping her opinion to herself. She listened to the other plans, but none of them felt right to her.

"Do we have other options we are looking at?" Matilde then asked out of curiosity.

The room fell into a brief silence as everyone pondered the options. Matilde could sense the tension, it was like she had said something out of place or that was too personal.

"Just asking," she added, attempting to ease the atmosphere with a soft smile.

"At the moment, not really. Why?" Xavi, the engineer of Charles Leclerc, asked.

"The data shows that the C3 has shown a strong pace," Matilde said. "I suggest we do soft-soft-hard. Gain a safe advantage, perhaps even perform an under or overcut and gain a few spots."

Ravin Jain, Strategy Director, looked at the only woman in the room. "Sounds reasonable," he admitted, but before he could continue, he got interrupted.

"The softs may have shown a strong pace, but they won't last long in these higher temperatures," Charles said, leaning forward. He was confident in understanding how the car felt with different tyres.

Matilde nodded, acknowledging his point. "They won't last long indeed, but they are great to push and gain some positions," she responded. "We expect everyone to start on softs, except Magnussen, and we have seen everyone fly away. If you get the softs in the second stint and push even more, the second stop may be free. And it brings you to the front of the field."

"The hards allow us to postpone the pit stops."

"But you have to stop eventually whether you have softs or hards under your car," Matilde brought in.

Charles sighed and looked at his laptop screen, visibly frustrated by the discussion. "The softs won't last long. It's great to start with them, but the hards give us more time," he said. You should know that, he thought. Charles looked up, gazing into her eyes.

Eyes shot from Charles to Matilde. She felt a hint of dislike in his gaze. "I suggest to pit around lap 15 for softs and then pit around lap 35 for hards to finish it. You both have shown that you can extend your stints on softs to twenty-five laps. I believe we can build a gap early on and keep it growing after the first pit stop."

It became silent. Both the Strategy Director and Head of Tyre Science were considering both approaches, weighing the risks and benefits of each strategy.

Charles didn't hesitate to reply to the suggestion. "I will stick to plan A. I know this track better than anyone, and I'll make the call if I sense an opportunity."

Matilde wished she could protest his decision, but she knew she couldn't change his mind because the entire team stood behind the plans. Carlos agreed with Charles, admitting he preferred the first strategy better.

"Then we will go for those plans. Thank you for your input," Matilde then said. "But if we see an opportunity to make a change, we will go for it. Whether you sit in the car or not, we will go for the opportunity," she said, determined to start with a podium this season.

With the strategy decided, the briefing continued, discussing various other aspects of the race. Matilde made sure to hear everyone's input and ensured that they felt valued and motivated.

The briefing ended, and all the staff left, heading to their respective duties. Matilde made some quick notes for herself and looked in front of her, taking a moment to gather her thoughts and emotions. It felt so unnatural to her to lead a team instead of being part of the plan. She had to think of so many other things now. It felt unnatural, but also cool.

Matilde got up and left the room, ready to attend media meetings. All eyes were on her, her first race as principal. During the interviews, she was asked about her thoughts on the race and the results she expected. Everyone remembered the disappointing results of last year like it was yesterday. Matilde refused to promise anything, but she would try and do her best to get the best possible results. She told the media that she was excited to see the race and that she was looking forward to seeing what her team could do with her as principal for a week.

After some time, every car lined up on the grid. Matilde finished up the last interview and made her way to the grid. At first, she walked to one of the red cars in the third position. Charles was standing with his engineers, going over some last-minute details. As she approached them, she wondered what she had to do here. What was Christian always doing on the grid? When she was a strategist, she sat behind in the garage, observing the footage. Now she was facing cameras and a lot of people. Matilde put on a professional smile.

"Good luck, Charles," Matilde said and smiled warmly.

She guessed she could wish her drivers all the best.

"Thank you," Charles replied, his eyes avoiding hers.

Mathile looked at the engineers and gave them a nod before walking over to the other side of the track: P4 and one of the other red cars. "Good luck, Carlos," she said.

Carlos looked gratefully at her. "Thanks, Matilde," he said.

When she wanted to walk back towards the garages, she got stopped by Martin Brundle. A polite smile came on her face.

"How are you holding up, Matilde?"

"I'm pretty nervous," she replied. "It is the first time in over a year since I am back on the grid, and of course, the new role at Ferrari."

"How do you think it will go?"

"Realistically, it won't be a winning race. Of course, we all have hope, but Red Bull is just immensely strong. We have a new team, we have to see if it all works out and how we react to it. But I think we will get a decent race, we are well prepared, and we have the pace," she replied.

Brundle smiled and nodded. "How does it feel to see your old mates work in a different team?"

"Weird," was her first response. "I must admit, I walked to the wrong garage this morning when I was in my own mind," she laughed. "And seeing them work, I almost want to go over and stir into the conversation. But those are habits that need to wear out. I am excited to start this new chapter and fight against them."

He nodded again. "Thank you. And good luck."

"Thank you," Matilde replied and briefly looked at her assistant next to her. Galileo looked satisfied.

As the drivers got ready to step into their cars, Matilde walked back towards the Ferrari garage. She still observed the mechanics performing their final checks on the screens in the garage. It was a tough first week. She got along with Carlos pretty well, but she knew she had to earn Charles' respect, and it wouldn't be an easy task. The team reacted well to her, but it had only been a week. The media and some fans weren't sure about this decision. Matilde had encountered similar challenges before in a male-dominated sport, but this felt different.

Matilde sat down at the pit wall, taking the middle seat. This was new to her, but a dream came true. The formation lap came to an end, and the cars lined up. She took a deep breath and felt her heart race in her chest as the lights popped up one by one. The lights went out, and the race began.

Next chapter

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hand-written-dreams · 2 months ago

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CRIMSON SHADE

Chapter 18

Monsters stuck in my head

You've got no place to hide.

And I'm feeling like a villain,

got a hunger inside.

One look in my eyes

And you're running 'cause I'm coming

Gonna eat you alive

- ( The song of this chapter is 'Monster' by Ruelle.)

A steaming cup of coffee slides into view, the rich aroma pulling her from her intense focus. She blinks, realizing how long she’s been staring at the screen of the bullet-riddled laptop.

She looks up, startled, to find Mr.Mathur’s smiling face.

“You’ve been at it all day,” he says, nodding toward the laptop. His gaze flickers to the disarray of cables and tools scattered across the desk.

Khushi sighs, stretching her arms. She pushes the laptop aside, satisfied that most of the data has been extracted. The rest still need more work. “Thank you, Mr.Mathur. You’re a lifesaver,” she says, reaching for the cup.

“Please, call me Aman,” he replies with a light chuckle. “Mr.Mathur sounds too formal. Makes me feel ancient.”

She smiles. “Only on one condition… call me Khushi.”

She can see why someone like Mr.Raizada is friends with Aman. He carries an aura of comfort, a natural ease that draws people in. Everyone within his radius seems to instinctively relax, their guard lowering without even realizing it.

For someone like her, who’s spent the better part of her life building walls, it’s a bit disarming.

“Deal.” He leans against the desk, folding his arms. “So, you graduated from college with honours, huh? I was dragging my ass just to pass my computer science course,” Aman says with a chuckle.

Khushi arches an eyebrow, momentarily surprised by his candidness. “The Harvard course must’ve been tough, no?”

“I actually graduated from MIT,” he corrects, his smile easy and relaxed.

“Oh.” She blinks, caught off guard. “I thought you graduated from Harvard with Mr.Raizada.”

Aman shakes his head, a soft laugh escaping him. “Oh no, that man went to Harvard for business studies, all high and mighty. Meanwhile, I was at MIT, knee-deep in code and circuits. We were in a…long-distance friendship.”

There’s a playful lilt to his tone, but Khushi catches a subtle fondness beneath it. The contrast between him and Mr.Raizada intrigues her. They couldn’t be more different.

She chuckles, "I don't have that much knowledge in geography, but I believe both these universities are situated in the same city in Massachusetts... Cambridge, right?"

"To me, it seems like you have pretty good knowledge of geography."

"I searched all things about MIT. I wanted to go there." She doesn't know why she shares this with Aman.

"Your father didn't let you, did he?"

Khushi keeps sipping her coffee. Not responding to him.

Aman sighs, settling into the chair in front of her, letting the matter drop. “So....Arnav didn’t really explain what ‘special task’ he’s assigned to you. Something about finding a hacker? What’s all that about?” he says, his tone turns slightly curious.

Khushi takes a careful slow sip, the heat of the coffee settling in her stomach. “Someone stole some important documents from me,” she says, her tone clipped. “And made it look like Mr.Raizada was behind it.”

Aman tilts his head, his brows furrowing slightly, his eyes scanning her face. “You know I’m not really into the whole dark web hacker business. But let me know if you need my help with anything. By the way… mind telling me the hacker’s ID? Just curious.”

For a moment, she hesitates. Her hand tightens around the mug. “TheShadowMonster,” she replies.

Aman stares at her, deep in thought and what looks like confusion, as his brows furrow. Then, his lips quirks into a half-smile. “Huh, that sounds like something a kid would come up with.” He gives a short, quiet laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, yet his tone struggles to contain his amusement.

Khushi watches him closely, something in his reaction unsettling her. “It actually was,” she responds, deadpan, her tone colder than before.

Can it be him?

BSc in Computer Science from MIT.

But, but, but..

Why would he frame his best friend?

And why didn't Mr.Raizada share this information with Aman?

Does Mr.Raizada not trust him fully?

Does he suspect Aman or what?

If that was the case, then sharing this information with Aman would be dangerous. But it could also open new doors for her.

If he is indeed that hacker, the one pulling the strings from the shadows, she could play him. Mislead him.

Just like he did to her.

Aman’s gaze sharpens, just for a moment, before his expression softens again. “Excuse me?”

“He created the account when he was twelve. He’s older now…I guess.”

“And how do you know that?”

“He told me.”

Aman studies her for a second, his brow furrowing further. “He told you? When? How? I mean, I’m happy to help you find him if you need, but I don’t want to get tangled up in some… lovers' spat.”

“It’s not like that,” her voice sharper than she intended, her eyes studying him. She then quickly looks away. “We bumped into each other.....talked from time to time. He's intriguing, kind of a genius...he taught me many online spying techniques. With that, I collected lots of evidence. Evidence that he ultimately stole.”

“So… you were friends?” The way Aman is looking at her now makes her uncomfortable. It’s as if he’s studying her, dissecting every word, every movement as if she’s some specimen under a microscope.

She shifts uneasily, wishing she could retreat from his probing eyes.

She feels the knot in her stomach tighten. “I don’t know,” she murmurs, staring at the screen but not really seeing it. “Can you even call online acquaintances friends?”

His gaze softens, and he nods slowly.

“I think you can. And I think you’re upset because, online or not, you considered him as a friend....or at least a confidant. You trusted him.” He pauses, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “And he betrayed you.”

She doesn’t know why his words feel like they’re cutting deeper than they should. She looks at the laptop, forcing herself to focus on the work that still needs to be done.

It doesn’t matter.

But it does. She doesn’t know why, but it does.

All her life everyone just did that.

Betrayed her.

Her parents betrayed her.

Her best friend betrayed her.

TheShadowMonster betrayed her.

It's the new trend.

Betraying Khushi Sen Gupta.

“Can I have a word?”

She pauses at the threshold of the lavish office, her steps faltering as her eyes land on him.

Seated in the high-backed, leather chair, he exudes an almost unnatural stillness, his sharp features illuminated by the faint glow of the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Mr.Raizada looks up, “Isn't that why I am here?”

She rolls her eyes. She texted him yesterday after she recovered all of the data from that laptop. That was some highly encrypted CBI laptop, and it took almost two days for her to decrypt it.

"Glad that your sarcastic tongue didn't fall off. But I want to talk about something else."

"Hmm, take a seat."

“We got interrupted discussing our deal terms that night,” she says, her voice steady but her hands fidgeting at her sides. “We didn't settle actually what I want from our deal." He remains silent, so she continues, "I want you to make me disappear. New identity, new address…somewhere far away from here...anywhere, as long as it's not here.”

He leans back in his chair, his sharp gaze scrutinizing her. “Done.”

Her breath hitches at his quick agreement. “I have it open,” she says, turning the laptop screen toward him. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“That was fast.”

She smirks faintly. “Was that a test?"

He chuckles, "No."

"Why are we looking into a CBI agent’s laptop? And I know you took it from my father’s study, don't you dare deny it.”

"Good morning, Boss," Aman enters the room and takes the chair beside her, "Good morning, Khushi."

It doesn't escape her eyes how his eyes narrow, and his browns darken at Aman's calling her by her first name. But he quickly drapes his stoic mask over his face.

"I promised you evidence against Mr.Gupta, didn't I? Consider it a token of appreciation for you to accept my deal." His lips curl into a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. “And...I’m not entirely sure about the CBI agent part. Either he was an undercover mafia operative in the CBI, or an undercover CBI agent in the mafia, doubling as a dealer in the Triad Tribe.” He leans forward, his tone low and pointed. “You know about the Triad Tribe, right?”

She stays silent, nodding faintly.

“Anyway, Mr. Gupta killed him,” Mr.Raizada continues, his voice growing colder. “The owner might have used the laptop as a shield to protect himself from getting shot.”

“There are multiple IP addresses of warehouses,” she says after a moment, her fingers flying across the keys. “Information about shipments… What’s in these warehouses? Arms? Drugs?”

“Humans.”

Her fingers freezes mid-typing. She looks up sharply, her face pale. “But human trafficking was shut down…”

“The Serpents are trying to reopen it,” he says, his voice dark, his jaw tightening. “They’re exploiting their special privileges with the border in West Bengal and the influx of Rohingyas in Bangladesh. They’re collecting people, trying to strike a deal with the Chicago Outfit as a test run. If it works, every other family will jump at the chance to restart it.”

She stares at the screen, her throat tightening. “I looked into all of them. Only few of them have CCTV cameras. I hacked into them yesterday. They were empty."

"They'll probably fill up the warehouses a few days before the shipment. To avoid suspicion." Aman adds.

She looks at the dates of the shipment and sees the warehouse with a CCTV camera has the closest date, two days from today. "Let me look into it again." The feed appears instantly. Her voice trembles as she continues. “They’re all kids… boys mainly. What, six or seven years old?”

Mr.Raizada's face darkened. “The Chicago Outfit has an assassin-making organisation called the 'League of Shadows',” he says, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “They train children into killers and sell them to clients....or use them to eliminate their enemies. Kids that young are more impressionable. Easy to mold. Loyal....they might be in storage of children to train.”

"This shipments can't happen...I don't want to empower the enemies any further. Tomorrow, they could send one of these boys to slit my throat in my sleep. Who knows?" He adds with a shrug.

“Can’t we do anything to stop it?” she asks as she glances back at the screen.

“I hope you can,” he says, his tone softening for the first time, though his expression remained grim. “Alert CBI about the shipment discreetly, not the police. The police are in Mr.Gupta's pocket.”

She nods her head faintly

"Are you guys up for an outing this evening?" Mr.Raizada asks, his voice low and calm, but his eyes glint dark.

"Excuse me?"

"A celebratory outing to welcome you in our company. We are going to a casino." Aman says with fake enthusiasm.

"What do you mean?" She asks utterly bewildered.

"You will see," Mr.Raizada says in a grave voice.

That’s what she’s seeing.

A tablet screen.

It is balanced precariously on her lap as she sits on the lid of a commode in a restroom stall. The underground fighting arena roars to life just beyond the walls, the sound vibrating through the tiled floor beneath her feet.

Such a celebratory outing.

“Khushi, are you done?” Aman’s voice crackles through her earpiece, his tone strained but calm.

“Almost,” she whispers back. “Just ten more seconds.”

The chanting from the arena grows louder with each passing moment, a relentless tide of sound pressing against her nerves. Her disguise feels stifling. The jet-black straight-haired wig with its blunt bangs and the large black-rimmed glasses perched awkwardly on her nose, that was all she could come up with to hide her identity. She shifts uncomfortably, hoping the disguise is convincing enough.

They are all on an undercover mission, Aman and her. Mr.Raizada tasked them with hacking the Triad Tribe database stored in a server room of the casino above this underground arena. It could only be accessed from close proximity, forcing them into this chaotic labyrinth, or should she say restroom. She is sure two people in her next stall are having sex.

She closes her eyes, taking some deep breaths. She instantly regrets her decision. It smells like something have died in here, something probably have.

She taps rapidly on the tablet, installing the undetected virus into their system. Once successful, they’ll have full access to the Triad tribe’s sprawling empire... casinos, resorts, hotels, and more.

Finally, the screen blinks in confirmation. Mission accomplished.

“Done,” she whispers.

Minutes later, they make their way toward the main hall where the fights are taking place. The moment they step inside, a bell rings, and the crowd erupts. A massive, burly man thumps his chest like a gorilla, roaring in triumph as his opponent lies unconscious on the floor. The crowd is mostly men and a few women, with some bouncer-type scary men standing around the ring and against the walls keeping an eye on everyone.

She adjusts her glasses, keeping her head low as she and Aman take their seats in the gallery overlooking the fighting ring. She has never been in places like that before.

The cacophony of the crowd swallows them, the metallic tang of sweat and blood sharp in the air. And despite the overwhelming chaos, her focus zeroes in on the centre ring.

The announcer's loud voice echoes in the space, "NOW TAKING THE STAGE...THE LEGEND, THE ALL TIME WINNER...THE STOWSTOPPEEEERRR, AT 225 POUNDS, 125 VICTORIES, DHRUUUUV RAO."

Dhruv Rao steps into the ring. Shirtless except for his boxing shorts with all of his muscles in full display. The crowd goes crazy at his arrival.

Her nose crinkles in disgust like she smells something rotten. Well, she won't mind watching Dhruv Rao taking some punches tonight.

"AND HERE COMES OUR ANONYMOUS GUEST TONIGHT. AT 200 POUNDS, AND 0 VICTORIES."

A roll of "haha's" and "boos" ripples through the crowd as the man in question steps into the circle of harsh fluorescent lights.

A predator in disguise among his prey.

A wolf in a black coat.

Well literally in full black.

He’s dressed in a black full sleeved t-shirt that clings to his defined, muscular frame like a second skin, paired with dark combat pants. Thick white gauges wrap around his knuckles.

His face is obscured by a simple black mask, covering the top half of his face, leaving his eyes and his already damp-with-sweat hair exposed. The strands falls back over his eyes in tousled disarray. His mouth and jaw below the mask are visible, highlighting the tension in his clenched teeth. Yet he seems utterly unaffected by the roaring crowd. His calm is unnerving.

"Are you disappointed that he'll fight like that?" Aman asks, his eyes carefully scanning the arena.

"What do you mean?" She leans slightly closer.

"I mean, he’s fully clothed," he gestures toward the ring with a subtle nod. "I came to my first underground fight expecting flesh, blood, and sweat. Instead, I get a guy in a tactical black outfit. Feels like I’ve been cheated."

She smirks, her tone teasing. "You wanna see him shirtless, huh?"

"What?" Aman scoffs, though the corner of his mouth twitches. "Don’t act like you don’t. After all the pain that bastard put me through, I at least deserve the satisfaction of seeing him beaten black and blue." His tone is almost affectionate, almost.

"You know very well why he can't be shirtless."

Aman sighs dramatically. "Yeah, yeah. It’s not like I forgot." He pauses, his expression shifting to one of mock pride. "But let me tell you about that shirt...it’s a polymer blend. Practically indestructible. I pitched the idea, of course...That guy is very particular about what he puts in his body."

Her brows knit slightly, and she glances back at the figure in the ring. "I noticed…" shit, "I mean, not noticed. Please forget that I said anything," she fumbles, immediately regretting her words as Aman chuckles under his breath.

He shouldn’t be here, same as them.

None of them should be here.

If he went shirtless, his tattoos would be visible. People would know who he is.

"If they could’ve seen just a glimpse of that bird tattoo on the back of his hand, this arena would be dead silent right now," Aman chuckles, more to himself than anyone else.

The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air. She finds herself staring at the man in the ring again, wondering how someone can command this much power without even lifting a fist yet.

"Does that tattoo mean anything, or only for aesthetics?" She asks feigning nonchalance.

"Probably, I don't know."

That man is a vault. Ever his best friend doesn't know everything about him. She chuckles internally.

"He got that in his first year of college. He trademarked it in his name. Nobody in the Triad is allowed to have this tattoo." Aman finishes with a low chuckle.

"That's pretty early. How many tattoos does he have other than that?"

Aman smirks, tilting his head as if to taunt her. "Wouldn’t you like to know? Though I haven’t seen him shirtless in a long time...but not much. He’s got his Eagle on his back and a Bratva tattoo on his chest."

"The Bratva? As in the Russian mafia?" Her eyebrows furrow.

"He is an honorary member of that mafia family, particularly a captain."

"How? Is he going to marry the Russian mafia princess," she says teasingly, but the expression on Aman's face turns sly, so she adds bewildered, "He is, isn’t he?"

Aman chuckles, shaking his head. "That’s his personal matter. You have to ask him."

"Why would I? Not that I care," she mutters quickly, crossing her arms. Heat rushes to her cheeks as she quickly looks away.

"Of course not," he quips, biting back a laugh. "Why should you?...Anyways, Dhruv Rao’s about to regret ever stepping into that ring....I am waiting for this crowd to go pin-drop silent when Dhruv hits the ground."

She arches a brow, "Confident much?"

"That’s what best friends are for," Aman said lightly, though his gaze lingered on Arnav, a glimmer of something deeper flashing in his eyes. "Cheering through life...and making sure the world knows who’s boss...and besides do you know who trained him."

She shakes her head.

"The league of Shadows. Dhruv Rao doesn't even stand a chance. But we have let him think that he does. It's fun, isn't it?"

The league of Shadows.

The assassin organization he was talking about in the morning. That explains all his wall climbing and all.

Her attention shifts as the crowd erupts in cheers. The arena turns into a brutal, chaotic world of sweat, blood, and adrenaline. The roar of the crowd echoes off the concrete walls, deafening and relentless. Harsh fluorescent lights cast an almost theatrical glow over the bloodstained mat.

And there he is.

The man in black.

The sharp angles of his face are illuminated under the stark lights, his expression unreadable. He looks entirely out of place in this savage setting yet utterly at home.

A loud bell rings, signalling the start of the fight. Dhruv charges first, roaring, fists flying, hoping to overwhelm the masked man with sheer force. But the vulture is faster, more precise. He sidesteps, the rush of Dhruv's attack barely grazing his side.

Dhruv charges again, throwing wild

punches. This time, his blow connects. A brutal hook to the jaw that sent the vulture stumbling. The crowd erupts in cheers.

Her heart leaps forward as she winches as well. The crowd’s cheers blur into white noise as her focus narrows to the man in the ring. She doesn't like the idea of him being hurt.

What's wrong with you, Khushi?

He's the enemy.

He straightens up slowly, his expression unreadable at first as blood trickles down the corner of his mouth. He drags his thumb from the corner of his mouth across his chin, smearing the blood along his jawline before spitting

a crimson glob onto the ground.

Slowly, he turned back to Dhruv, his lips curling into a sinister smile. The crowd hushes seeing this menacing aura. Dangerous, dark, and unsettling.

It sends a shiver down her spine.

He tilts his head, wiping the blood by the backside of his hand as if savouring the taste of his own pain.

She hates the helpless awe curling in her chest. He is as sinister as the devil and twice the pretty. He is all seven of the deadly sins wrapped in a tall, alluring frame.

She can't comprehend how something as menacing as this moment can be so maddeningly captivating and so utterly mesmerising.

He cracks his neck, and then, in a fluid motion, the devil delivers a brutal elbow to Dhruv's ribs before Dhruv can block them. The sickening crack of bone echoes in the arena. Dhruv stumbles, gasping for breath. The vulture delivers some quick jabs to Dhruv's shoulder and a spinning kick to his knee, making Dhruv kneel on the ground.

Still Dhruv stands up and lunges again, this time with a knee aimed at the gut, but the vulture catches him mid-air, twisting with brutal force, slamming his body to the ground with a brutal thud. The sound reverberated through the arena. The crowd's roar falters, and their cheers turn into stunned silence.

Blood drips from Dhruv's mouth as he groans, struggling to lift himself. The vulture circles Dhruv as he pushes himself to his knees. With a sharp twist of his torso, the man in black delivers a punishing uppercut to the kneeling man's jaw. The force of the punch snaps Dhruv's head back, his body collapsing back to the ground.

But the devil doesn't stop. He's relentless, almost animalistic. He takes hold of Dhruv's hair as his fist slams into Dhruv's face once, twice, three times, each blow raw and brutal. His knuckles crack and bleed, but he doesn't stop.

A few more strikes and Dhruv is barely conscious, his face a mangled mess of bruises and cuts. He stands over Dhruv, breathing heavily, eyes wild as his opponent lies sprawling on the bloodstained mat.

And the arena falls into the pin-drop silence Aman wished before. And all she does is watch, watch and watch him. His breathing is ragged, and knuckles are raw and bleeding, but his face remains impassive, a mask of icy composure.

But his eyes, they tell different story.

Dark. Unyielding. Wild.

And they meet hers, the same time the crowd erupts again. This time in a roar for him.

Yet, his eyes hold onto hers, unwavering, through the chaos around them.

They pierce through her with a force that causes goosebumps to erupt in her skin. His browns darkest she ever saw.

Raw. Untamed. Feral.

And that leaves her utterly undone.

It feels like an eternity.

There's a dangerous intimacy in his gaze, an undeniable claim.

She should be afraid. But she's not.

The animal in him calls to the animal in her, and she can’t look away.

He is a weapon.

There's a raw, primal violence in him.

The violence that paints the floor with his opponent's blood. Each strike is devastatingly precise, his strength terrifyingly controlled. She's captivated by the way he stands untouched by the brutality he's just unleashed.

lt's terrifying.

It's magnetic.

It's beautiful.

It's making her feel alive in a way she’s never felt before. A raw monsterous hunger consumes her, burning through every nerve, every inch of her skin.

And the answer to that hunger terrifies her. The beast in him, the predator in him, the monster in him that calls to her, but it’s also the thing that could destroy her.

And she has a frightening feeling.

This beauty won't survive her beast.

If Arnav Singh Raizada ever happens to her, she won't survive him and she won't let him survive her either.

She and him.

They are monsters.

They will rip each other apart, limb by limb, drowning in destruction, before they'll let each go, before he'll be out of her system.

Author's Note:

This author is very lazy. Lovely Readers please have your patience. See you soon. Coming up next: a date night 😜.

@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @chutkiandchotte @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @simplycurlz @9artsdragon @chaiandtakkar

#arnav singh raizada #ipkknd #khushi kumari gupta #arnav and khushi #arshi #13 years of ipkknd #arshi fanfic #crimson_shade #ipk 13th anniversary fiesta

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