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sramoonlight · 3 days ago

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Back in town

What if the Batfam got another version of their spidey?

Content you’ll see here: neglected!reader, yandere!Batfam, spidey!reader, female!reader, mentions of death, ATSV x DC

English it’s not my first language, so please be patient

You are spider woman, you’ve been a spider for two years and even when things go hard you make it worth over and over again

That was always your best power, you won’t gave up easily even if the things go hard, so when a spider person appeared to ask you to join his team you were excited.

You lost your universe because of that.

Homeless, you keep living in Miguel’s dimension, he kinda feels guilty about loosing your home like he did something for you to be in this position, he didn’t

But this was your only home now, even if his guard is up not letting himself be seen as something more than a boss, that men sees you as a daughter and you see him as a father

You never had one, actually, you and your mother were by your own not caring about a male figure who could give you comfort or something like that.

So you clenched into that man like your life depended on it

He keeps acting like he doesn’t care, he does

Maybe that’s why you stopped going on dangerous missions

You lived there like nothing happened, missing your mother and the city you used to protect with your life but there was nothing for you to do, only pretend like you were born there.

And that surprisingly lead you to this moment, the moment where you were walking to find Miguel on his “office” if you can call it that.

You took a deep breath hearing how he was humming a song you don’t know, it’s weird to see him acting that way but sure it’s a thing you should appreciate

— Miguel — You spoke, his humming stopped and he looked down to you, the platform going down slowly.

The way he looked at you showed how he is struggling to find the words, a very rare thing to see from him

He walked to you, his hands wrapping around his waist

— I need to send you on a mission — He said in a sigh, like it was a hard thing to say

— I’ll do it, big man! By why would you not just tell Lyla to tell me? — you chuckled imitating his pose

That sent a weird expression to Miguel’s face.

— There is an anomaly in a dimension without Spider-Man —

You swallowed, that type of missions are the toughest but why would he send you and not someone like Jess to do it?

And he wouldn’t send you to do something if you don’t have a reason to do it.

— What’s the catch? — he bites his cheek, the skin tearing by the way his fangs got into it

— There’s a you in this dimension, she was suppose to be Spider-Woman but she died —

Damn that was tough, you looked down thinking about it

A you that died, but your world kept going without you or maybe it wasn’t, if Miguel is giving you this mission probably is because it’ll give you the chance to save a dimension

Like you didn’t to yours.

Taking a deep breath you took his hand

— I’ll do it, it would be just a flash and I’ll be back — that surprisingly set a smile on his face

He ruffled your hair making you laugh and try to pull him away

— I’ll get going now, see you soon —

You tapped your clock, a portal opening as you crossed it.

And everything felt familiar, you were send to a restroom in a school and you can see it as your old dimension

Different, the colors are darker like you could just hide on the shadows not matter the colors you were wearing.

You checked yourself in the mirror, you’re using an uniform

Is this… Gotham Academy? Damn, the you from this dimension lived at Gotham? You are not surprised she died

And that makes you wonder, Miguel didn’t tell you to hide your identity, that means the corpse hasn’t been found

Your other you is probably there, alone in a dark place waiting for someone to care enough to look for her

Anyways, you patted your cheeks leaving the restroom

There was a smile on your face, clinging into the backpack on your shoulder while trying to look from there

— (Reader)! I was looking for you! — a pair of arms hugged you leading you to your classroom.

The chat was something trivial, luckily, your friends talks too much for you to not say anything out of line and keeping some information for yourself

First, the you on this dimension likes chocolate milk, it isn’t something you’ll drink in your nowadays but damn! You drank just a sip and you can guess why she loved this milk

In your dimension, on Brooklyn, you wouldn’t look at the milk boxes because they would be filled with expired milk, you can feel yourself shiver at the memory.

The day at your new school wasn’t something bad, it does have a proper education and you guess it’s because your family is wealthy enough to pay a good education

Speaking of which, you are dying to have this day done so you’ll get back to your mother! She isn’t your mother, but she would be the mother from this version

Probably she didn’t die in that accident, if you’re wealthy enough to afford this school she wouldn’t be working in a gross street with crime all over it.

And the day was over, you left the school with your friend by your side

— Are you walking home again? Damn, Mr. Wayne doesn’t care about your well-being —

What?

Mr. Wayne? THE Bruce Wayne? Your mother married Bruce Wayne on this universe? What a surprise! And damn good! Not even Bruce Wayne could look away from your mother

— Nah, I prefer walking — you smiled at him, leaving him behind.

Now, Where is the Wayne manor? You looked on your backpack looking for a phone but there wasn’t

Doesn’t she have a phone? That’s a thing you’ll tell Mr. Wayne to give you! Now you think about it, you know he has a problem with adopting kids but everyone left him after turning eighteen

Not even his youngest, the one from that failed marriage with the Al ghul’s daughter cared enough to stay and he was just fourteen.

He is going to be a good dad right? Sure he is, he would probably spoil you every day to gain some love for you.

Typing something on your watch you rushed to press a device on an alley, the little spider bot crawling to hide on a safe place

— Lyla, are you here? — You whispered and the hologram showed at your side

— What is it? — she changed her appearance, a shirt with “I love Gotham” on it

— Can you… could you please look where the Wayne manor is? —

You’re helpless, you sure are.

You entered the manor with slow movements, it’s quite late and you are sure your new step father would be mad about it

You don’t want your first memory with him being scolded, that would be so wrong and bad at the same time

Maybe you could stick yourself on the ceiling and go to your room, wait, no, if there is no Spider-Man here that means there is not canon for you to do your usual things and don’t get caught

Damn you have to walk, and the stairs are just in front of the dinner room where you can hear voices.

Taking a deep breath you prepare yourself, you walked to the stairs

— Miss (Reader)! — it was worth the shot.

— I thought you didn’t attend school, I’m sorry for not picking you up, come here, let’s eat lunch — the butler, an old man took your arm leading you to the table

The chat between everyone ended, they all looked at you like you didn’t belong

That… that isn’t a thing for a loved child to experience.

You sat down, next to an empty seat probably for you mother, she would be so mad when she sees how everyone is looking at you

The butler sets a plate in front of you with food, it was onions on it

You hate onions.

Probably the you from this universe doesn’t mind them, there is no way anyone would make you eat it if you don’t like it

The chats start again like you aren’t eating there, now it feels weird

Is this family the classical evil one from those fairy tales? You are sure in there the step mother is the villain, but Bruce Wayne doesn’t look like a bad person

And suddenly everything clicks.

Your friend complaining about Bruce not caring about your well being, the butler not knowing if you attended school and.. the reason your body hasn’t been found

No one looked for you.

No one care enough about you

So that’s the catch, the you from this dimension is a no one beside your family, they don’t care about you.

You feel bad about her, you sure do, she died and at the last second maybe she thought her family would care about her but there you are, taking her place

But it feels off, you know every Spider-Man has someone for them to rely when they feel bad or someone for them to look up

Was she really this lonely?

Ah, for her it must be this butler

The one who dragged you to the room even if no one wants you there

Probably this man is the only one who cares about you, there only one who would cry when he finds out you are dead.

You rushed to eat, you need to leave this place quickly

— Miss (Reader) be careful, you are going to chock — you didn’t listen, instead you picked up your plate even if the butler looked like he was about to take it from you

And..

You hugged him, tightly

— Thank you, thank you for everything —

You’re sure he would feel bad about not saying goodbye, probably he would think he had to do more for you even a little more

The feeling of having the chance to do something but being unable, you know it, you are not her, and yet this man needs a way to say goodbye.

You left the room running upstairs, you could only hear a voice

— Isn’t she acting weird? —

Let’s get back to you, you followed your intuition to where your room is supposed to be

It happens to be a place filled with spiderwebs and dust, a place you wouldn’t expect you to sleep and see as a safe place.

Opening the door you realize, you are the protagonist of a weird story where Bruce Wayne is the evil stepfather and his kids the villains

It’s too small, small for a whole manor where at least five people live at

— There used to be posters — You whispered touching the small pieces of masking tape left on the walls

You can see a piece of paper left on the floor like it was just teared off

And… in a small corner, where everything seems to find their reason, there is an altar

With your mothers photo

— So you’re dead even in this universe — You mumbled, your hands moved to grab the photo smiling at the view

In your universe, you had photos of her, but when everything disappeared the photos did too and you don’t have the heart to ask Miguel to see her from the computer

You can’t see her face again, but there is something for you to hold even if it doesn’t feel the same anymore

— You wouldn’t let this happen, you would make this girl happy — it feels off,

You know, you just know the you from this world only finds comfort on the idea of living for her mother

She died alone, alone by the thought of what could be.

That gave you an idea

Immediately, you moved across the bedroom looking for something until you found it

A diary.

— Damn, how lucky I am — You smiled opening the small notebook.

“Dear diary, I’m not going to write dear diary everytime I want to write on you, sorry not sorry”

Yeah, that kid is you for sure

“My name is (Reader) (Last name) Wayne, Am I supposed to present myself? Well I did! Anyways, uhm, the life on Gotham is pretty weird”

“My father, he is too much into his own life to care about me and I don’t mind, I mean, I always thought he left us behind but he didn’t know about me and now he’s forced to take care of me, he doesn’t even pretend to like me”

So, you knew? That feels incredibly bad, knowing no one cared about you but still having to deal with it and shut your mouth because you don’t have nowhere to go

Wait.. left us behind?

“Mom is gone, her illness won and I’m trapped here, maybe it’s better than being on a foster home or maybe the same”

Bruce Wayne… he is your biological dad?

That makes you angry, the only way he cared enough to be on your life was when your mother died

No, he didnt, he was forced to

— Motherfucker.. — a whisper left your mouth and you started to read the diary

All night.

When the sun comes up you realized how late you stayed up, and you don’t feel tired at all

Maybe is the feeling of angry, but you can’t even close your eyes and pretend to sleep

You hate this family, you hate them all, they’re pieces of shit who doesn’t care about you at all and you won’t accept them in your life

But it isn’t your life, it’s hers and she would love to be seen

Maybe you are here to get rid of the anomaly, but why not changing it a little? There is no canon to disturb, and Miguel isn’t here.

That’s the thing, you’re a performer, back in you universe you were a legendary actress shines every time she is performing, you aren’t anymore but the way you can make everyone look at you is still there.

You stayed up all night, your eyes moving up and down reading every word and taking it with your heart, stealing pages from the diary and writing things she could do

You took her way of talking.

Even you stayed up looking at old photos of her in galas, standing next to a man that isn’t looking at her at all

Videos where only her silhouette could be seen, it was enough because you only needed to count the steps she takes or the way her shoulders move when she’s breathing

You memorized it all

By the end of the night, when you had to blink to take the tiredness away you looked at those pages where the script was set

“(Reader) (Last name) Wayne is the first blood daughter of Bruce Wayne, the family doesn’t care about her at all and they ignore her til she died, the media doesn’t care about her either, she could be seen on the news but she wasn’t interesting enough to get her own article

She’s dead, she died by an anomaly before becoming Spider-Woman, but she had the lucky chance to get back to life

She’s a star, she takes all the attention”.

That leads us here, you walked to the living room where Dick, the acrobat brother who you read about on the diary was scrolling through his phone

— Dick! — You called him, making him look up a little

That look of not caring a little bit about you, waiting for this conversation to be over so he could get back to his business

You can guess he is looking for something to escape, you won’t let him

He’ll see her.

It happened too fast, you used your stickiness to stand in your hands and for a moment that grabbed his attention

— When did you learned to do that? You can’t even go a four without falling — he is seeing you!

For the first time, he left his phone behind looking at you with curiosity

He cares

— I learned by looking at you! — liar, he doesn’t need to know it’s a lie

And his eyes shined, for a second

— Ah! That’s all, I have to go now — you stood on your feet fixing your clothes and that made him jump out of the couch

— What if we go to grab something to eat I- —

— Sorry, I have plans — you left the room, you left him behind

And he couldn’t take his eyes out of your frame

A thing you discovered reading the diary, the you from this universe accepts when someone tells her to wait and that’s certainly the reason no one sees her

She doesn’t want to look like a brat desperate for attention, you don’t need their validation

And a thing that makes everyone on this family be appreciative it’s the way you can’t take the eyes out of them, Jason? Is too impulsive and his body is huge so you have to look at him

Tim? He was too smart, too smart to fool and you have to keep an eye to him

You can keep counting their abilities but that isn’t the point, the point is.. this version, she had things to make everyone look at her but she was too worried about being a good girl to force their eyes to look at her.

You don’t.

It wasn’t a surprise Dick started to be more in the manor, you ignored his presence

But you shined, reminding him of everytime he used to ignore your presence

The texts were there, he trying to get your attention and replying to the last invitation the you from this dimension gave him.

You are on the living room, your legs pressed into your chest while you write something on your notebook

The anomaly hasn’t triggered any device you placed to know their location, a long mission you’ll have to do if you want this universe to be safe

What a pain in the ass.

— Miss (Reader) — You looked up, the butler was standing there with a glass, chocolate milk

You know the version from this universe likes it, yet you don’t know why it isn’t on its usual box

— Is everything okay? — he sat down next to you, giving you the glass as you took a sip of it

It’s good, not good enough to take it everyday but it is

Ah, wait

Alfred, this butler used to put the milk for you when you felt sad, usually when one of your brothers rejected you again

Does he..? He knows, he knows you aren’t the same

— it is it’s just.. well, I’m thinking about leaving the manor — You whispered, his eyes opened in fear

Not fear, that wasn’t the word, pain?

This man, you’ll break his heart if you leave him behind and that’s what you wanted

— Father won’t look at me, so what’s the point on being here? Once I turn eighteen I’ll leave —

He looked at you, there’s no words for him to say because you know he’ll try to make you stay but at the same time he understands it

He saw you, I mean, she crying too much because of things this family did to her and if loosing you means you’ll be happy

He can take it

…

He can’t.

He leaves your side looking at the glass where you just drank what could be one of your last cups of chocolate milk, how his heart aches at the thought of not being able to wipe your tears when you feel down

He wouldn’t, but he needs to, even if it’s wrong.

So when the sun goes down and he’s trapped on the batcave by Bruce’s side he needs to say it

— One of the children is requesting a little more money to pay an apartment — he said with a straight voice, no hesitation even if it was a lie

— Tell Damian landlords won’t accept batcow — he kept typing without looking at him

An usual thing for him to do.

— Your third child, master Bruce — that got his attention, he looked at Alfred

— Tim is already out of here, he needs to move? — Bruce asked, like it was a thing he couldn’t believe

He doesn’t, actually but that doesn’t matter

— No, sir, miss (Reader) — and that send all memories about his little girl to him

And, for his concern, there wasn’t one he could recall

All of them where the ones he saw her eating dinner, no more, no chatting or something similar to it

He feels bad, he does why doesn’t he remember anything about his little girl?

— She wants to move? Why? She is just.. — Damn he doesn’t remember, that makes him even more guilty

He doesn’t know anything about her, yet he can’t do anything now that she’s about to leave

Only..

He thought, his head moving fast in a way he could think of an answer, he can make her want to stay

Yeah! That’s a good answer, he can do that

Taking a deep breath, he stood up walking to Alfred

— Is she here? — he asked, Alfred looked up to him and something shined on his eyes like it was enough for him to find something

— She left just an hour ago, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait ‘til she comes back — damn, good, he lost his opportunity to talk to you

God bless him, he suddenly feels like he needs to be by your side at every chance he gets

Why? Why on earth when he didn’t care about you before? He doesn’t know, there’s no answer and he doesn’t care to find it, it’s his baby! His only blood daughter.

The way Bruce moved to go upstairs made the butler smile, you wouldn’t leave if you father cares enough to take you back to his arms right?

And when everything was going according to his plan, the box of chocolate milk was about to expire.

Yes, another spider!reader, Can you blame me? This is too good to not do it

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

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kingdomvel · 2 days ago

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New season boring af pt2

Steddie | modern au | famous actor Steve Harrington | 4.9k | ao3

part one

“Are you talking with that guy again?” The sound of Robin’s voice startles Steve, who can only lock his phone and slip it into his pocket to hide it from her. He wasn’t even talking with Eddie, that’s the embarrassing part. He was looking at the pictures that he had shared with him over the months they have been talking.

“No,” Steve says, but he must not sound very convincing.

“Steve! I’ve told you he could be a weirdo, or a stalker!”

“And I’ve told you he is not a stalker, he was not that interested in me before we started texting. And he works in a record store all the way in Chicago. I’ve seen it.”

“Do you understand the concept of catfishes? He could still be a stalker.”

“Well that stalker has seen my dick, so” Steve shrugs.

“WHAT? You whore!” Robin shouts, Steve is very thankful that they are alone in the makeup trailer now. “When did this happen?”

Steve crosses his arms and grumbles, knowing what is coming. “A month ago?”

“A MONTH?”

“Yeah.” And what a fucking month it has been. Steve can still remember that first time in perfect detail. Steve had not expected Eddie’s picture. At all. He had been hoping for a reaction, that’s why he had chosen that movie, but Eddie had given him something much better. The sight of his tented pyjamas was only surpassed by the sight of his actual dick on the video call later.

Steve will admit – only to himself – that it was reckless and dangerous, but it was also the culmination of weeks of studying Eddie’s picture, of watching time and time again the little videos he posted in his close friends stories (the day Steve had been added to the list was another peak for him, as embarrassing as that is) playing guitar and dicking around with his friends (maybe he was the stalker of the two). It was Steve seeing how he affected the guy he had the hots for after months of being sexually frustrated with barely enough time to jack off between filming. Because of course Eddie wasn’t only funny and nice to talk to, he also had to be the hot friend of his group.

He had not been planning for that reaction, but he was not going to pass up that opportunity. Seeing the hand he had seen wrapped around guitar necks for so long wrapped around Eddie’s cock… Steve was never going to forget that sight.

“This is crazy, like, do you even know his name?” Robin interrupts his thoughts.

“Of course I do, he’s Eddie.” He’s always known his name, it’s in his profile.

“Surname?”

Steve pauses. “You don’t know the surname of all your friends.”

“I think in this case you should have asked, Steve.”

“Why can’t you trust me with this?”

“I just worry about you, and maybe I’m a bit sad that you didn’t tell me sooner.”

“I knew you would just nag me about it.”

“Hah! So you know what you did was wrong!”

“If you didn’t want this to happen then you shouldn’t have made me watch Notting Hill.”

“That’s different!”

“How.”

“Well, for one it’s a movie,” she says, putting up a finger. Steve rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips. That’s pretty obvious. “Two!” Robin puts up another finger. “They met in real life, not the internet.”

“It was the 90s, of course they met in person. Are you saying that it would be fine if I went to Chicago and met him casually in his record store?”

“No, maybe, don’t try to distract me.”

“Keep your points coming, come on.”

“Three!” Another finger comes up. “Hugh Grant is... hot?��

Steve snorts. “Eddie is hot too.” They wouldn’t be having this conversation if he wasn’t. “And anyways, you are a lesbian, you have no opinion on this.” He waves it off with a hand.

“I still have eyes, and that’s what everyone says.”

“Not valid. Your arguments are not accepted, I know you don’t think Hugh Grant is hot.”

“But that’s not the point! Ugh, okay.” Robin pauses for a few seconds, but Steve knows she’s not finished talking. “So, he saw your dick, did you see his? Wait, no, don’t tell me details. A month ago? I still can’t believe it. Have you done that again?”

And there she is. Steve laughs. “Yes, we’ve done it again.”

****

Steve.hrrgtn: hey, just a quick question

Steve.hrrgtn: what’s your surname?

Batking: why? trying to steal it for yourself?

Steve’s heart should not skip like that from that line.

Steve.hrrgtn: just so I know who I should address the restraining order to when you finally try to murder me

Batking: fuck youve been talking with robin again?

Batking: its munson

Batking: edward munson

Batking: you need anything else? my social security number or something? Ill send you a picture of my drivers license

Steve.hrrgtn: I think I only need that for now, thank you for your cooperation

Batking: you better not be lying about the reason

Batking: if I catch you writing one mr and mr munson in your diary you will need the restraining order for real

Steve’s heart should NOT skip like that from that line.

****

Steve takes a picture on the mirror of the dressing room, stylists still all around him. Nobody pays attention to him, they are all too busy for that, packing up and chatting. Steve should be taking the graduation gown off so it can be packed up with everything else, just so they can go home earlier, but he had to take the picture first. He had taken pictures with the rest of the cast, sure, but this is different.

He is smiling, cap held in his hand.

Steve.hrrgtn: *picture attached*

Steve.hrrgtn: just graduated

He sends the message and moves to take the costume off and his own clothes back on. When he takes his phone back, there is a message already waiting for him. A smile makes its way to his face in a second.

Batking: at the grown age of 25, took you even longer than me and I did my senior year three times

Batking: congratu fucking lations

Steve.hrrgtn: you are an asshole

Steve.hrrgtn: but do you know what this means??

Steve moves around the room, thanking everyone. It takes him a while, so he is confused when an answer is not waiting for him when he looks back at his phone.

Steve.hrrgtn: Eddie?

Batking: *Screenshot of the I’M FREEEE!!!!!! WORST EXPERIENCE OF MY FUCKING LIFE meme*

Batking: this?

Batking: sorry sweetheart I was looking for the meme

Steve.hrrgtn: EXACTLY THAT

Steve.hrrgtn: not like the WORST because I met Robin here and all but FUCK YEAH it’s over

Batking: these four months of waiting for the torture to finish must have felt so long

Steve smiles, typing as he walks outside. They are having a wrap party later, so he needs to find Robin so they can get ready together.

Steve.hrrgtn: hmm not really

Steve.hrrgtn: I had someone sending me memes to entertain me that made the time fly

Batking: must be one hell of a lucky guy

Steve.hrrgtn: assuming genders now?

Batking: oh sorry, are you cheating on me with another meme provider? Am I not enough for you now? You looked for someone else to keep you company?

Steve knows this is just teasing, that Eddie doesn’t believe that. Still.

Steve.hrrgtn: nah

Steve.hrrgtn: just you

****

Batking: okay were you going to tell me your mother is a fucking coppola

Steve.hrrgtn: she is a very respected lady

Steve.hrrgtn: also barely a coppola

Batking: still a coppola

Batking: you are a nepo baby

Steve.hrrgtn: every day it amazes me how little you know about me

Batking: I like keeping you humble

Batking: my brain doesn’t understand that the steve from my phone is really the Steve Harrington on tv sometimes

Batking: so I try not to see stuff about you on the internet

Batking: feels weird

Batking: MY ROOMMATE ON THE OTHER HAND

Batking: he was reading your wikipedia page and your mothers name was in blue so he started following the lead

Eddie had told him once that he hadn’t told his friends about what they had going on, that they just wouldn’t believe him. That must have changed. It makes Steve feel giddy.

Steve.hrrgtn: aw you finally told your friends about me?

Batking: they said they are happy to feed my delusions

Steve.hrrgtn: lmao

Batking: anyway that’s not the point here

Steve.hrrgtn: whats the point?

Steve.hrrgtn: you already knew I was rich and famous

Batking: yeah but this feels different

Batking: you are a nepo baby its like I should hate you

Batking: but you are such a good guy

Batking: from a rich family, hot, nice, funny…

Batking: you cant have everything its unfair

The rich family part doesn’t really do anything for Steve. It’s just a fact. But Eddie complimenting his personality and appearance? That always works on Steve.

Steve.hrrgtn: is this a way to get me to call you?

Steve.hrrgtn: because in the words of a metalhead I know

Steve.hrrgtn: flattery works on me

Batking: it wasnt at first

Batking: but I wont say no to a call with the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen

Steve lets out a huff. Eddie and him both know what he did there.

He taps the call icon.

****

Steve stands frozen in the middle of his living room, the smile that had been on his face now completely wiped off. For the first time since he started talking to Eddie, his heart has dropped to his gut at one of his messages.

He keeps his gaze on his phone, the screen staring back at him.

There is a screenshot of a picture of him and Nancy coming out of a restaurant at night. He has his arm wrapped around her shoulders. That was just last night, Nancy had been upset and he had been trying to shield her from the flashes. The picture is accompanied by the headline ‘Caught in the act! Steve Harrington back with ex?’. Eddie’s message is under it.

Batking: glad you are having fun now that filming has finished

It’s- not right. Steve knows Eddie’s snarky comments, knows the feel his teasing. This is not it.

Steve.hrrgtn: I thought you didn’t look for stuff about my private life on the internet?

It comes out as defensive, and Steve instantly regrets it, but it had been one of the things he liked about Eddie, how he learned about Steve from him and not from rumours and the internet.

Batking: turns out that talking to you makes it unavoidable

Of fucking course it does. Who was Steve kidding? He knew this was bound to happen, that the media was going to be a problem at some point. He tries not to blame it on Eddie.

Steve.hrrgtn: it’s not like that

Steve.hrrgtn: she’s just a friend

Steve.hrrgtn: she had a fight with her boyfriend and needed a bit of a pick me up

Batking: you don’t need to explain yourself to me

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? At the end of the day, they have not even met each other in person. That doesn’t make this feel right.

Steve tries to imagine how he would feel if he saw Eddie having dinner with an ex. He doesn’t like the feeling at all.

Steve.hrrgtn: I still want you to know

He needs him to know.

Batking: really steve it’s okay

Batking: I shouldnt have sent that

Batking: Im not sure why I did

Steve has an idea why he did, but he is not going to say it, too afraid of fucking everything up if he does.

Steve.hrrgtn: its okay

Steve.hrrgtn: you are giving me an excuse to bitch about the lack of privacy and how much I hate paps

Steve is sure Eddie is going to recognize it as what this is. A weak attempt at diffusing the tension. Steve hopes it works.

Batking: you know im always open to listen to you bitching about your lavish life

It’s still a bitchy comment, but Steve lets out a sigh of relief. He recognizes that heat.

****

Batking: holy shit steve

That’s the only message on Steve’s phone, it’s the only message from Eddie for a couple of hours. Steve very patiently (or not) waits for him to elaborate, growing more and more nervous when he doesn’t.

Steve.hrrgtn: Eddie? Did you get murdered?

Batking: sorry I texted you as soon as I got the call and then the guys came over and I got swept way

Steve.hrrgtn: that’s okay

Steve.hrrgtn: but what happened? Something good?

Steve really hopes it’s something good.

Batking: we got a gig

Batking: like an actual gig

Steve.hrrgtn: holy shit eddie!

Steve.hrrgtn: that’s amazing

Batking: can I call you?

He doesn’t need to ask, he knows that. They are way past the point of internet acquaintances or friends who sometimes jerk off together on the phone.

Steve hits the video call button, and Eddie answers almost immediately. He is walking away from the cacophony of his friends, a blush high on his cheeks and his hair a mess even as he tries to brush it down. He looks stupidly good.

“Jesus, you look great,” are the first words out of Eddie’s mouth.

Steve snorts, he had been lying on the couch thirty seconds ago. His hair is a mess, he hasn’t shaved in two days. He never lets anyone see him like this. Eddie is different.

“Shut up. You got a gig!”

“We got a gig!”

“How did it happen?”

“You know my friend Chrissy?” Eddie asks. He closes a door behind himself and the noise is now gone, they are alone. Steve nods. “She got a job at a venue that doubles as concert hall and club and they are doing a metal week or something like that. They are bringing some very cool groups from all around the country- I’m so excited to see some of them- but that’s not the point. They wanted to give an opportunity to a local band and that’s where we come in!”

“They gave it to you?”

“They said they really like our vibe.”

“Of course they do,” Steve says with a snort. If Steve didn’t know better, he would say that Eddie just came out of a movie set set in the 80s. Perfect vibe for a metal week.

“Don’t laugh!”

“I’m not laughing! You do have the vibe. Tell me more about it, when’s this happening?”

“It’s very short notice but-“

Steve listens as Eddie tells him all about it, with his excited gestures and the wide smile that splits his face. They talk until Eddie’s friends come to get him to go for celebratory drinks.

As soon as the call ends, Steve calls Robin.

“How do you feel about going to Chicago in two weeks?”

****

The venue is loud. It’s already full when Steve and Robin arrive, just a few minutes before the concert starts. It’s not big, Eddie had told Steve so, but it still has a proper stage, and actual, stablished groups have concerts here. It’s a big step from the bar where Eddie and his friends usually play to an audience more interested on their drinks and conversations than in listening to them. People had to pay for this, even if it was a ticket that included a drink or if it was included into the week pass.

Batking: we are about to come out and I’m nervous as fuck

Steve.hrrgtn: I thought everyone already knew you were gay?

Batking: shut up

Steve.hrrgtn: don’t be nervous

Steve.hrrgtn: I know you are going to be amazing

Batking: I wish you were here

Batking: its going to be the gig of the century

Okay so Steve has not told Eddie that he was coming to see him, so what? He really wanted to see him in his natural environment, just him, not influenced by the knowledge that Steve would be in the audience.

Steve.hrrgtn: I’m always with you

Batking: you know what I mean

Steve.hrrgtn: don’t worry about that

Steve.hrrgtn: you go give the best performance all these people have ever seen

They stay out of the dancefloor slash pit, up in the balcony next to the cloakroom. They have a great view of the stage and the only reason Steve can think for them being the only ones here is that it may not be allowed, but an employee starts walking towards them and just turns around when he takes a good look at them.

Batking: okay we are coming out now

Batking: ttyl <3

Steve.hrrgtn: <3

“It’s starting,” Steve tells Robin. Just a couple of seconds later the lights dim and four figures take up their positions at the stage.

When the music starts, it is loud.

Steve feels so fucking proud. He had seen videos of Eddie’s band performing at bars or jamming in the studio they rent, but they are not like this, they are nothing like this. It’s like they had been living in a cage and were now released in the wild. Steve was fully prepared to lie to Eddie about what he thought of the concert. He has seen a lot of groups more experienced than Eddie’s that were not as good, that didn’t know how to hype up the audience like them, that weren’t so natural with it. Now, seeing Eddie on stage, he knows that he won’t have to lie about them being incredible.

Steve’s eyes can’t stray from Eddie. It’s like a magnet. Better than any video, better than any call. He can see the whole him, the way he moves, the way he smiles and his hair flows. The way his fingers move on the guitar. He can’t wait to be closer to him.

“Try not to ruin your underwear before you even meet him,” Robin yells into his ear. Steve pushes her away from him, but they are both laughing.

Steve has been wondering for days about how will Eddie react when he sees him for the first time. If it will be after the concert, when Steve inevitably makes his way to the green room, or if Eddie will be able to spot him in the audience. If maybe Steve will miss the moment Eddie’s eyes land on him.

The moment ends up being impossible to miss.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says into the microphone.

His eyes are focused on Steve, his mouth gaping. Steve laughs and waves to him and Eddie gives him a small wave in answer from the stage before his eyes jump back down to the audience.

“Holy shit you guys are great,” he tries to brush it off. “Keep the energy up for the next song!”

The concert continues, but now Steve catches Eddie’s eyes every few minutes, a smile coming to both their faces every time.

It’s not long before Eddie is speaking again.

“It is with great sadness that I must inform you that the next song is our last. Yes, yes, I know, very sad,” he says in response to the oohs from the audience. “I just wanted to take a minute to thank the organization for putting their trust on us and giving us this opportunity. Also to all of you good humans that decided to use your money to come see us, I expect your follows by tomorrow.” He starts playing, the others matching the rhythm. A repeating single note. “To all the metalheads and non-metalheads here,” he adds, louder, his gaze fixing on Steve. “I’m taking groupie applications. The requisites are: One! Be a male, sorry ladies. Two! Be 25 years old. Three! Have great hair. And four, have at least one teen choice award for best shirtless scene.” There are confused sounds from the audience, but Eddie is grinning and Steve is laughing. “Very easy to meet, the backstage door is impossible to miss.” He flicks his gaze to the side, and Steve follows it to see a door at the side of the balcony. He sends him a thumbs up. “Okay, lets rock this shit!”

The concert ends with a bang, and Steve and Robin scurry off to the backstage door before people start coming up to go out for a smoke, because not many people seem to be going home yet, the venue staying open as a bar. They don’t run into any problem because again, an employee takes one good look at their face and opens the staff only door for them. Steve has to admit that sometimes being so famous has its perks.

The sound of the music gets muted the moment the door closes behind them. The corridor is long, but they only have to follow the shouts of exited boys.

Eddie is the first person Steve sees when they get to the green room. He is jumping up and down while hugging his friends and they all scream. Steve crosses his arms and leans on the doorframe with a grin, Robin next to him. Eddie must catch the movement with his side eye because he stops and turns to them with a grin.

“I told you you were going to do great,” Steve says as a greeting.

The other boys finally stop too, and Steve sees the confusion and disbelief down on their faces when they take them in.

“Eddie, tell me I’m not seeing your imaginary boyfriend,” one of them says.

“You are Gareth, aren’t you? The roommate,” Steve says, pointing at him while he walks over. “Eddie has told me about you.”

Gareth takes his hand with his mouth wide open and barely a coherent thought behind his eyes. Steve sees Eddie’s eyes land with a laser focus on their clasped hands.

“Can’t believe I owe Chrissy twenty,” another boy says with a groan. Jeff, Steve is pretty sure.

“You bet I was making it up?” Eddie asks, offended.

“I bet you were too deep into a parasocial relationship.”

“And I bet you were getting scammed by a catfish,” the other boy says.

Robin lets out a cackle.

“I told Steve the same thing!”

They start talking around them, but Steve doesn’t care. He is two steps away from Eddie, he can see the sweat from the concert glistening on his skin, the deep brown of his eyes staring into him. He needs to close that distance. Before he can take a step forward, Eddie speaks.

“Do you want to come out for some fresh air? There’s a fenced back area for deliveries, should be empty.”

Does Steve want to go with Eddie to a spot with just the two of them? Fuck yeah.

“Yes! The air is so stuffy here, I might die if I don’t come out for a few minutes,” Robin says.

Eddie moves his eyes from Steve to her, his smile turning awkward.

“Right, yeah. Guys, we are stepping out for a couple minutes, okay?” Eddie calls out, taking a leather jacket from the back of a chair. “Follow me.”

Steve’s gaze drops to Eddie’s ass when he walks past them and back into the corridor. Fuck. He needs to close that distance.

Eddie holds the door to the outside for them, gesturing for them to come out with his other hand. His fingers are twitching, his whole body is, for that matter. He’s nervous, Steve can tell.

The door closes with bang after them, and they stand in the dimly lit outside. Robin is talking, and Steve feels just a bit bad about how Eddie and him are very obviously not listening to her.

Eddie is fiddling with the zippers of his jacket, his eyes roaming Steve’s body and flicking to Robin for a second from time to time.

They stay like that for a couple of minutes before Eddie takes a pack of cigarettes from a pocket of his jacket.

“You smoke?” he asks Steve.

“I’m an actor,” Steve says as answer.

Eddie smiles and, before Steve can reach out to grab a cigarette, Eddie has grabbed two and put both in his mouth. He moves to put the pack back in his pocket before he seems to remember that they are not alone and offers it to Robin, but she declines and starts talking about how tobacco is bad for your lungs and teeth, actually.

Steve can only look as Eddie lights both of the cigarettes at the same time and offers one to him. He takes it, their fingers brushing and sending electricity all through Steve’s body, their eyes fixed on each other.

“Okay, this is too much, I’m going inside.” Robin says, both boys turn to her. There is a beat of silence, and Steve realises she was waiting for one of them to say something, but they are both too late. “Your friend Chrissy was at the bar, right? I’ll tell her to get me a drink, you boys just… do whatever, no rush. Just- be careful or whatever.”

They stare at the door until it closes, the bang the one thing that makes Steve snap back towards Eddie. The boy is taking a drag of his cigarette and Steve mirrors him.

“Sorry, I just-“ Eddie starts. He is flicking the barely there ash. Steve can guess he needed something to do with his hands more than a real smoke. “Part of my brain is still trying to keep up with the fact that you are actually here and real and not a creation of my imagination.”

“Why? You fantasize about me that much?”

“Oh, you have no idea sweetheart,” Eddie answers with a sly smile.

Fuck. Hearing that directly from Eddie, looking at his face while he says it with no phone screen separating them is making the metre between them feel unbearable.

“You know what they say, sometimes you need to touch to believe.”

Eddie chuckles. “I’m not sure that’s right.”

But he still takes a step forward and the next thing Steve knows is that Eddie has a hand cupping his face and their lips are squeezed together in a messy kiss. Steve barely has time to answer to the kiss, drop the cigarette and grab Eddie back before the guy is pushing away and putting a hand up between them.

“Sorry, I should have- very real by the way.” Eddie says, punctuating the last part with a wave of his hand. “Great advice there, I-“

He can’t say more, because now it’s Steve pulling him closer into a kiss. There is no interruption now so the kiss goes on, and on, and Steve makes Eddie open his mouth to kiss him deeper, pulls him closer to him. This is everything he had hoped for and more. Eddie matches him beat to beat.

They get lost into it, until some voices come from their side, and Eddie pushes him away against Steve’s protests. He doesn’t allow him to go too far, one of his hands holding Eddie’s face and the other his hip close to his.

“You want to wake up to some scandalous headlines?” Eddie asks with a smile.

“Maybe they will get the memo if they find me on my knees for a guy.”

“Getting ahead of ourselves here, Steve,” Eddie says, but Steve sees how his eyes darken.

“Sorry, did you have better plans for tonight?”

Eddie shakes his head, “nothing that could beat corrupting the golden boy.”

“You think our friends will forgive us if we just leave?”

“Jesus, I really hope they do, I’m not stepping back inside and getting distracted.”

Steve laughs and kisses Eddie again, just a short press of lips. “Lead the way then.”

****

Steve.hrrgtn

New instagram story

Image id: a group playing on a stage, the lights surround them, a sea of hands holding drinks and heads below. There is a caption on it

“The gig of the century”

@/corrodedcoffin

ClubHarrington: Steve Harrington just shared an Instagram story from a metal concert in Chicago.

MrsHarrington: since when does steve like metal??

Stevenation: omg!!! He’s in my city Whats he doing here!!!

Stebitch: guys a friend of mine went to the concert and told me that the guitarist said he was taking groupie applications and started describing Steve when he listed the requirements

+ What???? That’s just creepy, I hope Steve gets away from that fast

+ omg!! Did anyone record it?? I need the video! I need to see Steve’s reaction to that!!

Stebitch: they are a very small band so no one was recording but I swear he did

+ do you guys think they are…. You know….

- Your mind

****

Steve walks back into the room with two glasses of water and kicks the door closed behind him. Eddie is still naked on the bed -Steve hasn’t put any clothes back on himself- and he is lying on his side, snickering while he looks at his phone. Steve stops, takes a second to admire Eddie’s naked back.

Steve’s phone pings on the nightstand. There’s only one person he has his sound on for.

“Did you seriously just send a meme to me?”

Eddie turns his face to look at him, “sorry, force of habit.”

Steve lets out a sigh and puts the glasses down on the nightstand. He gets on the bed and hugs Eddie from behind, hooking his chin on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Come on, show me what’s so funny you had to send me now.”

Eddie scrolls back up.

tag list (sorry if I missed someone): @steddiefication @tailsfromthecrypt @orionchildofhades @coralineinwonderland @theohohmoment @what-if-a-dragon @juiceicicles @margaglitterdeath @sofadofax @estrellami-1 @dreamercec @bisexual-chaos-demon99 @queenie-ofthe-void @scoops-aboy86 @me-ig7 @efratfangirl @what-if-a-dragon @juiceicicles @margaglitterdeath @sofadofax @estrellami-1 @dreamercec @bisexual-chaos-demon99 @queenie-ofthe-void @scoops-aboy86 @me-ig7 @efratfangirl @live-laugh-love-dietrich @yesdangerpls @nerdyglassescheeseychick @agree2disagre-kicks @fuzzyduxk @saramelaniemoon @disrespectedgoatman @aol19 @yikes-a-bee @adealwithher @coralineinwonderland @sanctumdemunson @comedictragedy @marklee-blackmore @karakro @yusukesmomjeans @lumoschildextra @pondypip @xtraordinarally @bridget-malfoy-stilinski-hale @child-of-cthulhu @shrimply-a-menace @ravenfrog

#you just know Eddie is pissed Gareth got to touch Steve before him #Gareth will never let him forget it #I have to say i am overwhelmed by how many people liked the first part of this #damn #sorry i couldnt answer #hope you guys like this too #steddie #my steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic

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cressidagrey · 4 hours ago

Text

Love Letter

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Other people write love letters, Felicity Piastri reengineers tire degradation.

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who actually knows what she is talking about and is the genius behind the science. She said this science "was understandable and accurate enough for fic." (Also I am aware that this is not believable, but hey, let me have fun 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

By the time McLaren hit mid-season in 2024, Andrea Stella had become something of a veteran in the art of bracing for impact — the kind that came not from a crash, but from the Piastri household.

He had gotten used to it.

Oscar’s precision. His unnerving calm. The way he drove with the composure of a man triple his age and none of the ego.

Felicity, who wasn’t technically on the payroll, but might as well have had a desk in R&D. Who was so liked in the engineering department that Andrea had overheard an engineer asking Oscar like an overexcited puppy when his wife was going to come back and play with them.

Felicity was always lingering at the edge of a race day.

Always watching. Always noticing.

And then there was Bee — small, serious, and so wildly intelligent it made his engineers nervous. She had literally seen an issue with their suspension during her first trip to the garage. Now, she asked about downforce balance mid-lunch and then drew airflow diagrams on her juice box.

Andrea had learned to expect brilliance from them.

But what Felicity handed him that morning wasn’t brilliance.

It was revolution.

It came in the form of a single-page drawing.

A3 paper. Hand-sketched. Neat annotations in clean block lettering.

She passed it over casually, like it was a grocery list. “Was thinking about deg last night. Couldn’t sleep. Just a theory. Don’t know if it’s actually useful, sorry.”

Andrea glanced at it.

Then really looked.

And stopped breathing.

At first glance, it looked like a cooling solution — rim cooling, a variation on brake duct design. Not uncommon. Not radical.

But then he saw it.

Phase. Change. Materials.

His eyes darted to the margin where she’d written:

PCM core set to activate at 276°C. Peak drawdown window ~30 seconds, reset threshold <210°C. Tapered air channel design for directional retention. Modeled after CPU heat-sink transfer.

Andrea looked up.

Felicity just shrugged. “Everyone’s been trying to brute-force cooling through airflow. I figured… maybe it’s not about keeping it cool. Maybe it’s about controlling the peak.”

It wasn’t theoretical.

It was elegant.

Andrea’s brain kicked into high gear.

PCM — phase change materials — had been a whispered concept in F1 circles for years. The holy grail of thermal management.

The idea that you could insert a material that would melt in response to a precise temperature range, absorbing energy as it changed state — holding a system in a stable thermal window. It worked in CPUs. Data centers. Rocketry.

But no one had ever made it viable in an F1 brake drum environment.

Not until now.

Not until this.

Not until it came from Oscar Piastri’s wife, at 2 a.m., in the quiet space between insomnia and motherhood.

Andrea blinked hard. “You know we’ve had engineers — PhDs — trying to crack this for years?”

She just shrugged.

He had no words.

Just respect.

And the rising sense that something seismic had shifted.

He handed it straight to the sim team. They ran a closed simulation. Quietly. Then another. And another.

By the time they tested it under controlled parameters, the engineers were whispering about windowed degradation curves. About temperature floors. About thermal consistency that shouldn’t be possible.

Oscar was suddenly able to manage medium compounds like they were hard. The performance drop-off curve flattened — flattened. Andrea had never seen anything like it.

No magic bullet in F1 ever worked this fast.

But this?

This wasn’t a magic bullet.

It was physics. It was material science. It was control — without compromise.

They ran it again during a private test at Silverstone. And then — stealthily — implemented portions of the system into the race package.

By the time the 2025 season came around, Red Bull was accusing them of cheating. Mercedes was sulking. Ferrari was confused.

The paddock wanted to know what the hell McLaren had done.

The answer?

Felicity Piastri.

When Andrea called her into his office, holding the latest race run data in one hand and a calculator in the other, she sat across from him sipping tea out of a mug with Bee’s name on it.

“You realize you’ve just solved one of the biggest unsolved problems in modern F1?” he said.

Felicity blinked. “I was just tired of watching Oscar hemorrhage tire life while driving perfectly.”

Andrea stared at her.

She added, a little awkwardly, “I didn’t… mean to change the whole season. I just wanted him to stop overcompensating for a thermal flaw no one was fixing.”

Andrea leaned back in his chair and said — for the first time in his career — “I am both terrified of and completely in awe of your entire family.”

Felicity just smiled and said, “Would you mind printing a copy of the new tire envelope profiles? Bee wants to compare the heatmaps to the old ones.”

Andrea buried his face in his hands. “Tell her to go easy on us.”

“I’ll try. No promises.”

They were rocket ships now. Every track. Every compound. Consistent, controlled, deadly fast.

And somewhere, deep in the McLaren server, the drawing still existed. In a scanned file. Named Piastri_Insomnia_Fix_v1.pdf

Andrea renamed it later that week.

"Found the Window."

Because that’s what it was.

A window — held open by a woman who thought differently. Who didn’t need the spotlight. Who just loved someone enough to stay up all night figuring out how to protect him from heat, chaos, and failure.

And somehow, she’d done the same for all of them.

***

Mark Webber had seen a lot in his career.

Title deciders. Broken bones. Politics dressed up as progress. He’d seen technical miracles and driver meltdowns and the rare, perfect moment when both came together and worked.

But he had never seen a technical revolution arrive folded in half on a single piece of A3 paper, annotated in gel pen and handed in like someone had just scribbled down the grocery list.

And he certainly hadn’t expected it to come from Felicity Piastri. Maybe he should have.

He was standing trackside in China when Andrea Stella handed him the printout — not the PDF version with simulations, but the original. The drawing. The one that changed their 2025 season from promising to dominant.

“She gave me this on a Tuesday,” Andrea said, voice flat with disbelief. “Said it was just a thought. I’ve had people with entire departments fail to model this. She did it because she couldn’t sleep.”

Mark turned the page over once. Then again.

It was neat. Clean. Not showy.

Pressure curves, airflow vectors, the highlighted activation band of the phase change material she’d used to stabilize tire temp near the brake drum.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “She’s a genius.”

He knew that. He had been aware of it for years. But it was something else entirely to see it in action.

Andrea didn’t argue. “She just… wanted to help Oscar.”

Mark stared at the drawing again.

That’s when it hit him.

This wasn’t a flex.

This wasn’t about glory. Or proving herself. Or showing up a paddock full of men with degrees and dynos.

It was a love letter.

Written in airflow.

Signed in melting point theory.

Stamped in the stable temperature range of a tire that could now go ten laps longer without falling off.

Felicity hadn’t just solved degradation.

She had — quietly, brilliantly — rewritten the way Oscar raced.

Because he was hers.

And this was what loving him looked like.

Not flowers. Not poems. Just… making the world easier for him. A little softer. A little kinder. A little less brutal at 300km/h.

Mark let out a slow breath.

“Do you think she knows what she did?” he asked.

Andrea shrugged. “I think she knows why she did it. That’s probably enough.”

Mark folded the paper again — carefully, reverently — and tucked it back into the folder.

And in that moment, he didn’t see the terrifying engineering breakthrough.

He just saw a woman who loved her husband enough to change the laws of tire life —So he wouldn’t have to carry the weight alone.

***

Oscar had just come back from a long run on used mediums when Andrea called him into the office.

Nothing dramatic — just a quiet, “Got a sec?” as Oscar peeled off his gloves and handed his helmet to a mechanic. The kind of thing that sounded normal. Routine. Like maybe they were going to go over sector data or tire drop-off or which curb had tried to kill him today.

So when Andrea closed the office door behind them and reached into his drawer without saying a word, Oscar raised an eyebrow.

Then Andrea handed him a sheet of paper.

A3. Slightly folded. Faint graphite smudges along the margin.

The original one. Still folded along the crease Felicity had made when she handed it to Andrea like it wasn’t the single greatest thermal breakthrough in modern tire strategy.

Oscar took it automatically.

Looked down.

And stilled.

There were notes in clean block print. Equations. Angled airflow paths, subtle thermal gradients, annotations on phase change material melt points and rim temperature drawdown.

Oscar’s throat went dry. His eyes scanned the drawing again, heart starting to race—not from adrenaline, but from recognition.

He knew that handwriting.

It was so her. The tidy script. The neat arrows. The absence of drama.

Just a brilliant mind trying to fix something that made the person she loved suffer.

He’d seen it on post-it notes stuck to Bee’s whiteboard. On margin scribbles in books Felicity had left lying around. On every note she slipped into his suitcase before he went to a race….every note that he then slipped into his racing gloves.

Oscar looked up, voice quieter than it should’ve been. “This is Felicity’s.”

Andrea nodded once. “She gave it to me three months ago. Said it was probably nothing. Just an idea she had when she couldn’t sleep.”

Oscar sat down.

Because suddenly, his knees weren’t quite up to the task.

He stared at the drawing like it might vanish.

This was it.

The fix. The reason their tires held. The reason he didn’t fall off in stint two. The reason strategy meetings had shifted from damage control to aggression. The reason the car felt like it trusted him back for the first time in forever.

He felt it like a punch to the chest.

“She… she did this?”

“She did,” Andrea said. “And she didn’t want credit. Said she just wanted you to stop overcompensating for bad thermal management. That you were too good to keep bleeding lap time for other people’s mistakes.”

Oscar swallowed hard. His hands were shaking.

He looked back down at the paper.

At the numbers.

The calculations.

Oscar turned the page over.

A post-it was pressed to the back, Andrea’s handwriting.

“From Mark: ‘This isn’t just engineering. This is her love letter to Oscar — making the world around him easier.’”

Oscar’s heart stopped.

He stared at the sentence for a long, long time.

He read it again. And again.

The words didn’t feel like compliments.

They felt like someone had taken a flashlight and pointed it directly into his chest — illuminating something he hadn’t dared to articulate, even to himself.

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

The sketch. The concept. The whole damn thing.

Felicity hadn’t set out to change a season.

She’d just wanted him to stop hurting.

To stop watching his tires fall apart under perfect driving. To stop fighting physics he couldn’t control. To stop carrying all that frustration on his own.

She’d stayed up at 2 a.m. not because it was her job — but because it was his dream.

She had never once made him feel like he had to win for her.

But God, she made him believe he could.

He blinked hard.

Thought about the way she kissed his temple when he came home late. The way she labeled Bee’s lunchbox with thermal guidelines for optimum snack temperature. The way she never said I love you like a performance — only like a truth.

Then he looked up. “Mark… he really said that?”

Andrea’s voice gentled. “He did.”

Oscar stared at the page again.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah. That’s her.”

And in his chest, where the engine noise usually lived — Where the pressure, the expectations, the sheer weight of competition settled — He felt something loosen.

Because winning was nice. The championship would be incredible.

But this?

Being loved like this?

That was better than anything he’d ever drive for.

***

The house was dark when he got home.

Not silent — not entirely. There was the low whir of the dishwasher. The cluck of a chicken outside, ruffling in its sleep. The soft creak of floorboards as he kicked his shoes off at the door and padded down the hall in his socks.

It was late. He hadn’t texted. He hadn’t needed to.

The bedroom door was open.

Bee was curled up in the middle of the bed like a starfish in mismatched pajamas, one hand still clutching the tail of her stuffed frog. Felicity was beside her, lying on top of the duvet, eyes closed, one arm slung across Bee’s little body like she was anchoring her in a dream.

Oscar stood in the doorway for a long time.

Just… watched them.

His wife and his daughter. One terrifying genius and one tiny one-in-training. Both of them unknowable and brilliant and his.

He swallowed around the knot in his throat and moved quietly to the other side of the bed, careful not to wake Bee as he lay down beside them.

Felicity stirred almost immediately, her breath catching as her body registered the warmth beside her.

Her eyes opened — drowsy, soft.

“Oz?” she murmured, her voice rough with sleep. “You’re home late.”

Oscar didn’t answer at first. Just slid his hand beneath hers and laced their fingers together. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, slow and steady.

She didn’t push.

Didn’t sit up.

Didn’t ask.

Just waited.

And because she didn’t ask — because she already knew — he found his voice again.

“Mark saw the drawing,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “The one you gave Andrea.”

Felicity blinked slowly. “Oh.”

“He said it was a love letter. That you were making the world easier for me.”

She was still for a beat.

Then: “He’s not wrong.”

Oscar exhaled sharply. Pressed his forehead to her shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“I would’ve figured something out eventually.”

“I know.”

“But you did.”

She turned her head just enough to press a kiss to the crown of his hair.

Her voice was quieter than ever. “I’d do it again.”

Oscar’s breath hitched.

“I’d do it again tomorrow,” she said. “And the next day. And the day after that. If it meant you could breathe easier. If it meant you didn’t have to fight so hard just to keep pace with people who were working with better tools.”

He closed his eyes. Let the weight of her words settle over him like a blanket. Warm. Certain. Steady.

She ran her fingers through his curls once, twice.

And then she whispered: “You make the world easier for me, too. You just don’t notice it. You make it softer.”

Oscar kissed her shoulder. Didn’t move.

Didn’t need to.

Because she knew.

And he’d carry that with him — into every debrief, every qualifying lap, every moment on the podium.

This wasn’t just about racing.

This was home.

And it felt a hell of a lot like winning.

***

Lando found out in the most Lando way possible: completely by accident and one week too late.

He was in the simulator debrief when the topic of “thermal management integrity stability” came up — words that immediately made him want to die a little inside.

They were talking about their tire performance. Again.

Specifically, the fact that they could now absolutely cook it through mid-stint without falling off the cliff. And no one else could.

Lando was half paying attention — until one of the engineers muttered something about “F. Piastri’s material integration concept.”

Lando blinked.

“Sorry, whose what now?”

The room went quiet.

Andrea didn’t even look up from his screen. “Felicity. The drawing. You’ve seen it.”

“No, I have not seen it. Unless it was attached to a meme or came with a side of banana bread, I was not included.”

Will Joseph — Lando’s race engineer — slowly slid a printed diagram across the table.

Lando took one look.

Paused.

And said, “Wait. This is her?”

Andrea nodded without looking up. “Came up with it over insomnia. Gave it to me like it was a shopping list. It works.”

Lando stared at the airflow map, the PCM trigger temperatures, the annotated note that literally said ‘the goal is to stabilize the moment he usually starts slipping — give him room to breathe.’

He felt like someone had sucker-punched him with science and sentiment at the same time.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, sitting up straighter. “You’re telling me Felicity Piastri — as in, Oscar’s wife who wears motor oil like perfume and once fixed the coffee machine with a literal wrench — came up with the strategy that made our car an actual rocket ship?”

“Yes.”

“And it works.”

“Yes.”

“And she just gave it to you? No credit, no fuss, just… ‘here, I fixed the entire concept of high-deg tire strategy because I couldn’t sleep’?”

Andrea finally looked up. “Correct.”

Lando sat back, stunned.

He knew Felicity was scary smart. Knew she could rebuild a gearbox while calculating orbital velocity. Knew Oscar worshipped the ground she walked on and never made a big deal out of it because he didn’t need to.

But this?

This was something else.

“She didn’t do it for the team,” Lando said quietly, the realization hitting all at once. “She did it for him.”

Andrea didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

Lando looked back down at the page — the margins, the equations, the gentle note that said “he’s too good to be held back by bad thermal behavior.”

And he felt it in his chest — that familiar ache.

Because that wasn’t engineering.

That was love.

The quiet kind.

The kind that doesn’t shout or show off.

The kind that stays up at 2 a.m. fixing something no one else thought could be fixed — just so the person you love can breathe easier.

So he doesn’t have to carry it all alone.

So he can go faster, safer, freer.

It was a love letter.

Not in flowers or poems.

In airflow and melting points.

Lando leaned back in his chair and exhaled. “Jesus Christ. She built him a better world.”

Will snorted. “She rebuilt tire degradation, but sure, let’s make it poetic.”

Lando didn’t even blink. “It is poetic. He’s the quiet guy. And she’s the quieter genius who knows exactly where he hurts and rewrites the laws of physics to help him anyway.”

Andrea tilted his head. “You’re getting sentimental again.”

“I’m right,” Lando shot back, still staring at the page. “He’ll win the title because she didn’t want him to bleed for it.”

He tapped the margin with his knuckle. “This is the kind of love that never asks for a podium. Just builds the car to get him there.”

And for once — no one had a comeback.

Because they all knew it was true.

***

They were in the driver’s lounge two days later, when Lando struck.

He’d been waiting for the perfect moment.

And Oscar, blissfully unaware, had just taken a bite of his protein bar like he wasn’t about to get emotionally roasted.

Lando stretched out across the sofa like a cat in a sunbeam and said, far too casually, “So… what’s it like being loved so much your wife reinvented tire degradation for you?”

Oscar blinked mid-chew. “…Sorry?”

Lando grinned. “Just curious. I mean, some of us get love letters or handmade birthday cakes. You? You get full-phase material integration strategies and temperature-controlled brake ducting. Romantic stuff.”

Oscar groaned, immediately regretting not hiding in the sim room instead. “Lando.”

“I’m serious,” Lando said, sitting up now, fully energized. “Felicity took one look at your stint data and said, ‘this man needs help. Let me just rewrite thermodynamics real quick.’”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t—”

“No, no,” Lando cut in. “Don’t you dare downplay this. The rest of us? We have to manage deg. You? You have a thermodynamic guardian angel in your marriage bed.”

Oscar flushed, the tips of his ears visibly pink. “She had a theory. That’s all.”

“‘Just a theory,’” Lando mimicked, using air quotes. “‘Just a casual bedtime sketch that turned McLaren into the most stable tire platform on the grid.’ My God, Oscar. She loves you so much it’s physically measurable.”

Oscar sank lower in his seat, muttering, “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re married to the Nikola Tesla of tire temp control. I deserve to be insufferable.”

“Lando—”

“She built us a better car because she hated watching you suffer.” Lando flopped dramatically. “Imagine. Being loved with that level of efficiency. Can you even comprehend?”

Oscar sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “She’s just… always been smarter than all of us.”

Lando stopped mid-rant.

And smiled, softer this time. “Yeah. I know.”

There was a long pause.

Then Lando added, “Anyway. If she ever wants to fix my brakes, tell her I’m emotionally available.”

Oscar snorted. “Absolutely not.”

“What about Bee? Can she be bribed with juice boxes and data sets?”

Oscar shook his head, laughing now. “She’s already running her own simulations. She’s got standards.”

Lando grinned. “Just like her mum.”

Oscar looked down at the McLaren logo on his hoodie — the one Felicity stole all the time — and felt something warm settle in his chest.

He didn’t say anything else.

He didn’t need to.

But when he went home that night, he kissed Felicity extra softly — and whispered thank you against her temple like a promise.

And Felicity?

She just smiled, wiped her grease-smudged fingers on her jeans, and said, “Don’t thank me yet. Bee thinks we can improve the airflow angle by three degrees.”

Because love — in their house — was always a work in progress.

And always worth the effort.

***

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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yourtoradorasextendedwarranty · 3 days ago

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I have to agree with Otakuvampyre on this. Fact is I understand why the pictures had the effect they did. And I can explain in detail why. And it's not, "Men can't get women because they are terrible people with bad personalities", like suggested. It's because of the "Before and After" effect that a lot of people make the mistake of doing in pictures. Companies are especially guilty of this. Look the first picture look mellow and or sullen (this can also be accomplished with lighting failures)

So thoughts:

The first image has a large issue with it in general. The lighting on his face is actually brighter than that of the rest of his body, oddly making him look sickly.

The second image has a lot of "Other" types of issues. The lighting of this picture is well lit, but unbalanced. His hair looks more thin in this picture, and the outfit he chose to show off more of his gains, very much show off too much. Making the picture look awkward. This ignoring the MORE obvious bulge in this photo vs the first one.

Now. Let me explain this as I was raised by a family made of 80% women. And by no less than 3 generations of them. The first image is the "Teddy Bear" women like after they done fucking around and want a husband. Proof of this could be seen if you put both of the before and after into suits that fit them within reason. Version one looks like a youth pastor with love handles, version two looks like a lifer and an athlete. At least to people at face value. However, every single time I have watched a movie with women present, and a man takes off his shirt and is ripped, I've heard this inevitable, "Ugh he's so hot". Meanwhile in movies where some of these same men are less shredded, or alternatively one of the main characters is a parody of the "Hero" archetype, when he takes off his shirt, everyone laughs. No one serious, "Mhmm he's hot".

Men are pretty much trained to catch on to this stuff because every single time a shredded man comes on screen or a very LEAN character takes off their shirt, it's swoons across the board.

Long story short? The first picture is the type women "Settle for" the first is the type they fuck. Men see that. Men know that. And pretending it's not real because a few women are exceptions to this rule doesn't make it less true. Trends might well be changing, but if you were to ask most women (18-38) who is hotter between these guys, not much of a contest:

Just bodies alone, most women would simp over the first one. And let me make this very clear. The above ARE considered dad bods. What's more, actions and words speak drastically different.

Example: Woman and her husband, (my buddy) and me all go to the movies. I'm quite literally DRAGGED to this movie. This lad comes on the screen and like fucking clock work, from a lot of women in the theater I hear all the different sounds. Including from my buddies wife.

My buddy talked to me about it later and the one thing he said I remember well is that she always calls him handsome or cute, never hot. And it bothered him. Granted, I'll give a small pass to the post. Generally speaking, unless the face is very attractive, women don't prefer "SHREDDED" men. They prefer fit men. Similar to the look of soccer players:

I love hearing the whole, "Lived Experience" from people on this site who then pretend that men haven't lived their own lives and seen what women swoon over. I myself have only been called hot a handful of times by a handful of women. And those women very much did the same BS of, "Well I love you not them, I just think they are hot", To which my response is, "Ok, looks alone, what exactly is it that makes him hot that disallows me from being called such". A few of them were actually honest and said it was because I was less fit than the men on screen. Others just played if off like no big deal.

Men pay more attention than people think. And we see how rare it is in general for women to go for larger men, unless they are planning to settle. Which men take as, "You are attractive enough to be with, but not attractive enough to fuck for recreation". And realistically? That's not only how we take it. That's what it looks like to anyone not making excuses.

And for the record, before my own personal lunatics come post on this, I have for a long time had a similar body type to the last image I posted above. Prior to that I was muscularly skinny with not enough mass to show abs.

i think the reason a lot of men are screaming, puking, and crying about this is bc it forces them to acknowledge that the reason they can’t get women to like them is not actually bc of their physique but bc of their shitty personality

#Discourse

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bluebellles · 3 days ago

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“I’ve been looking at you so long, now I only see me”

little habits you and the LADS boys pick up from each other as a couple

genre: sfw, fluff

cw: rafmc emotionally abusing thomas, grandpa behavior from sylus, whatever tf caleb has going on (par for the course), zayne’s a mealprepper i think that’s canon, i wrote sylus’s first and it actually inspired the series but it ended up being shorter than the others, idk i was satisfied with it so i dont wanna add anything though, threw in a tiny bit of angst in caleb’s (tiny) what can i say i learned from infold

Gossip

You had turned your boyfriend into an absolute menace.

It wasn’t on purpose, really. It had started innocently enough when the two of you had gone out for your usual Thursday night hotpot (much different from your Saturday night hotpot and Tuesday night hotpot if anyone cared to ask).

The couple two tables down from you began arguing over the man’s Instagram likes and you had, like anyone in your situation would, instantly stopped speaking to overhear their conversation.

Xavier noticed your change in demeanor immediately, swallowing his bite of meat and leaning closer to you in concern.

“Why are you so quiet?” he frowned, glancing down at your bowl, “Are the mushrooms overcooked? I followed the instructions on the sheet…”

He had reluctantly stopped experimenting with the cooking times at your vehement, repeated request.

The silver haired man blinked in surprise when you simply pressed a finger to his lips but made no move to stop you. You tilted your head to the couple who was now scrolling through the man’s entire feed while he shook a ladle at her animatedly.

His eyes tracked your movement and landed on the couple in confusion. Why were you so concerned? Were they bothering you? Did you need him to get them to leave so you could go back to eating hotpot in peace?

As if sensing his intentions, you shook your head and pointed to your ear. He took the cue to listen in, growing more and more interested as the argument escalated. Why did he care? He wasn’t sure, but suddenly listening in on the man’s insistence that he was just supporting young women was even more interesting than his sliced pork.

The pair of you stayed quiet until the couple stormed out of the restaurant after slamming down a stack of bills on the table as if they were in a K-Drama.

“...She should dump him,” he speaks simply, picking his spoon back up without further ado.

“I’m saying,” you agreed, sipping your drink, “She is way too pretty for him anyways.”

You hadn’t thought much of the moment at the time, but apparently you had sparked a new interest for your normally docile boyfriend. Suddenly he was a man on a mission and he had become very dutiful in his reports to you during your evening debriefs (cuddling on the couch).

The woman who lived in the apartment below you was illegally subletting to her grandson, as witnessed during a trip to the P.O. boxes in the lobby.

That’s not really news. I hear him screaming at his PC at three a.m. every day.

The teenage boy who had sat next to him on the train was running an illegal essay-forgery ring and seemed to be making a decent profit, as overheard when he was pretending to be asleep.

In this economy? Good for him.

Tara and Jenna were holding hands under the table during the morning meeting.

This one actually made you gasp in excitement, and your boyfriend was smug with pride as you slapped your hands against his chest repeatedly and demanded more details.

For better or for worse, you had created a bit of a gossip monster out of your boyfriend. Thursday night hotpot (slightly less sacred than Saturday night hotpot and more populated than Tuesday night hotpot) was now dedicated to eavesdropping on the surrounding tables. You could only be grateful he was no longer focused on experimenting with the broth.

Vocal Stims

Your boyfriend lets out a deep sigh, lackadaisically kicking his feet up onto the coffee table in Thomas’s office as he mindlessly twirls a pen between his fingers. You sit beside him, steadfastly ignoring his antics as you focus on completing a report from your last mission. As usual, Rafayel had dragged you along to a meeting with his art manager to ‘protect him from potential threats’, the most prevalent of which was boredom.

You usually tried your best to be polite and well behaved to supplement your other half’s determination to make a general nuisance of himself in the unfounded hopes of getting Thomas to agree to meet less frequently.

“Is this guy seriously so inept that he needs someone to hold his hand through the process of buying an art piece?” Rafayel scoffed at his manager’s attempts to get him to meet with a potential client personally, “Either he likes the piece or he doesn’t. What’s so difficult to comprehend? Is he stupid? I don’t want stupid people buying my artwork Thomas.”

“He’s the sole founder of a multibillion dollar tech company,” Thomas lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Do they specialize in making technology for idiots?” He looks over at you expectantly. You solemnly shake your head. He’s in rare form today, crabby from his interrupted bathtub time (two hours instead of four). That wasn’t even worth a fake chuckle. He pouts, looking away from you again.

“Some clients just like to know what kind of artist they're supporting before giving them their money,” Thomas explained as if this was a new concept, “I mean, some people love the whole flighty, elusive artist thing you have going on but to be honest, Rafayel, you can be a tough nut to swallow.”

The room immediately falls into complete silence. You pause your rhythmic typing. The pen falls from Rafayel’s hand. Thomas’s face fills with dread.

Completely stone-faced, you and your boyfriend stare at each other before slowly turning your heads to face the panicking art manager. From his perspective you are no different from two sharks circling their prey.

“Thomas…,” Rafayel starts, with absolutely no emotion in his voice.

“...what?” you finish his sentence in the same tone.

“I meant- I got confused between ‘tough nut to crack’ and ‘bitter pill to swallow’,” he mumbles with no small amount of horror, “It was an honest mistake! Anyone could make it after talking in circles like this for hours!”

Your shoulders are now shaking as you fight to keep the sinister delight off your face.

“Please don’t,” Thomas turns to you in his desperation, already knowing his most problematic artist is a lost cause.

“Should I be worried, Thomas?” you offer him no reprieve.

Beside you, your boyfriend tilts his head back and cackles like some kind of ancient sea witch as his poor manager puts his head in his hands and groans.

After that day, you and Rafayel terrorize everyone you cross paths with for weeks with the phrase. Mainly Thomas, but also the poor old lady who runs your favorite fish market, the seagulls down by Rafayel’s preferred outcropping of rocks, whoever has the misfortune of sitting next to the two of you on the train into town. Nobody is safe from your tyranny.

Next month, it might be a random quote from a TikTok or a random tourist’s mispronunciation of the word ‘anemone’. Whatever the case may be, the world will always fall victim to your mutual vocal stims.

Trash TV Shows

“Two days off a week and you choose to spend one of them staring at a screen for hours on end,” your ever-logical boyfriend cannot resist making the comment as he sips from his mug superiorly.

“If you hate me and wish I was dead just say that,” you brush him off as you point the remote at his giant flat-screen and try to pick something to watch.

“Oh, is that what I said?” he hums noncommittally, reaching over to steady your bowl of popcorn as it teeters dangerously on the couch next to you.

“It basically is, in summation,” you insist, nodding your head emphatically, “God forbid women have hobbies! Why do you even have this giant TV if you never use it anyways?”

“Knitting is a hobby. Watching reality television is a surefire way to ensure early cognitive decline. And I use it to review past surgeries and study recordings of new techniques in the field.”

You groan dramatically, kicking a slipper-covered foot halfheartedly in his direction. He catches it with his usual barely-there grin that crinkles the corners of his hazel eyes softly.

“Fine then, I won’t watch reality TV,” you scroll to find Grey’s Anatomy and begin loading up your favorite episode, “This isn’t trash. This is art.”

“It’s medical malpractice and constant HIPAA violations, actually,” he counters, adjusting the cuff of your sweatpants from where they had rolled up on your right leg.

“Objectively that may be true but I don’t really want to hear about HIPAA violations from you.”

Zayne eventually relents with his teasing and leaves you to veg out after a grueling workweek. As much as he may pretend to protest, he would never genuinely diminish anything that helped you relax. Instead, he made himself busy meal-prepping his usual health-over-flavor lunches in the kitchen and contented himself to admire your blissed out form from the archway that separated him from the living room.

Against his will, however, his attention kept drifting to the dramatic antics taking place on the screen in front of you.

“That is an exorbitant dosage for the patient’s age and weight,” he couldn't help himself from interjecting with a displeased frown, “and why would so many doctors respond to the same distress call. Are they overstaffed?”

It’s his fourth comment this episode alone.

“Just come sit next to me if you’re already watching,” you giggle at his genuine offense over the inaccuracies.

“I’m not watching,” he insists, but abandons the rice cooker and sinks down next to you without taking his eyes off the screen.

You happily snuggle into his side, pleased to bask in the comfort of your boyfriend’s arms as they wrap around you with a gentle kiss placed to your forehead. The silence lasts for approximately three minutes and sixteen seconds.

“...Why would he sleep with her when he knows she is going through a hard time and then walk around like a kicked puppy? He should be more worried about his inadequate suturing technique, if anything.”

“Right???”

Selfies

You should never have taken a selfie with Sylus. And not just because he mogged you.

He had looked at you with his version of startled confusion (a slightly higher than usual raise of his right eyebrow) when you first brought out your phone and leaned in close with a cheesy smile on your face.

Even in the first few shots, where he looked stiff and awkward as he tried to deduce your intentions, he looked like a marble statue of an ancient god brought to life. Once he settled into himself and leaned a little closer into you with that barely-there smile and gentle eyes he only reserved for your moments together, it was completely over for you.

Which was fine. You could be humble enough to acknowledge that bad angles simply did not exist for Sylus. That and the pleased "send that to me" he had rumbled into your ear as you scrolled through the pictures for him made it worth it.

It wasn't until later you realized you had unleashed an absolute menace on the world. Not even in the usual hellfire and brimstone related way.

Pre night-out? Lean a little closer to the camera, sweetie. Post night-out? Smile first, then he'll pick you up and carry you home princess-style to protect your aching feet.

In the middle of scarfing down some pizza after a particularly grueling protocore hunt that left your hair in disarray and your eyeliner smudged almost completely off? Just look up for one second, kitten.

His camera roll had to be nearly completely full of the most random, innocuous moments of the two of you together. You once sarcastically commented that he'd have to get a new phone just for pictures soon. He genuinely considered it.

He could now often be found mid-illegal arms deal nonchalantly scrolling through his camera roll, letting out a small rich person chuckle at a photo of you yelling at him for whipping out his phone in the middle of a shoot-out while he made sure the camera got his good side.

It was a hoard he considered more precious than the stacks of gold bars overflowing from his cellar or the offshore bank accounts he kept his real estate funds in. For all the qualms he had about this new century, he could at least say he was grateful for this new way of collecting treasures.

Literally everything, if he had his way.

It wasn’t an anomalous occurrence for you and Caleb to subconsciously mimic each other’s habits. An entire lifetime together and your boyfriend’s inclination to fuse himself to you any time he has the opportunity practically ensured some overlap.

His high school basketball teammates thought he must be the only person in the world who used the term “hedgehogging” instead of “jogging” during practice before learning the story of how you misused the word when you were kids.

Your university roommate had a similar reaction to you referring to your mini fridge as “steelless stain” instead of “stainless steel”, an embarrassing blunder you had picked up from Caleb after he got his (first) concussion.

Perhaps the most humiliating had been when Caleb had been flipping through a manual in the pilot academy mess hall next to Gideon as his friend scarfed down a sandwich. He had made a noise of disgust after biting down on a wilted piece of lettuce and, without flinching or looking up, Caleb had stuck his hand underneath the other man’s chin as if to catch the food if he spit it out.

“...Force of habit,” he spoke gravely as he slowly pulled his hand away.

“Uh-huh.”

Over the years, much to his delight, it was often difficult for outside observers to discern where one of you ended and the other began. The problem only intensified when you actually started dating.

Shared inside jokes that no longer even required vocal cues for you both to start snickering in the middle of the grocery store when you see a ‘buy one get one free’ sign on the chicken wings. Your tendency to simply hold your arms above your head when you get sick of your sweater, knowing he’ll be there to tug it off for you. The automatic sorting of bags of candy into two piles: your favorite flavors and the flavors-you-don’t-like-as-much for your dedicated boyfriend.

Being around Caleb had always felt like creating your own unique language that only the two of you could comprehend.

You had never really known what being alone really meant until those long, grueling months when you were the only one left in the world who spoke it.

The thought settled uncomfortably in your chest, prompting you to stretch your hand out across the divider that separated you from your boyfriend who was currently driving you both to the pier for a casual Friday night date.

Without even looking, Caleb moved his free hand from your thigh to intertwine with your own. His thumb tapped a steady rhythm against you, spelling out the beat of your shared favorite song. It wasn’t even playing on the radio. Just another quiet little affirmation of the two of you.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #l&ds #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #lads fluff #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace sfw #lads sfw #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #sylus x reader #caleb x reader #belle's bakery

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snoopyracing · 2 days ago

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rivals — ln4 & op81 : part two

part one

pairing: lando norris x reader x oscar piastri

word count: 8.6k

warnings: cursing and descriptions of a crash (injury and thoughts of death)

summary: challengers!au.... when ferarri’s princess is forced to retire at the peak of her career she finds herself lost with no purpose. racing was all she had ever known and it was ripped right out from under her with no warning. feeling hopeless she pours her passion back into mentoring oscar piastri— mclaren’s reigning champion. old feelings emerge, rivalries reach their breaking point, and ex-teammates show up when oscar least expects it. yet all y/n wants to see is some good fucking racing.

a/n: drama and more drama in this chapter!! this took forever, but i hope the wait was worth it :)

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The vibrant colors and culture of the Mexican Grand Prix fill the paddock as you scan your pass and go through the turnstile. Photographers are lined up like it’s a red carpet event to get pictures of the world champion walking in and like always you flash them a smile while signing various items for the fans that flock towards you.

Media day isn’t your favorite, but is it really any driver’s favorite part of a race weekend? This Grand Prix you’d been graced with being a part of the press conference with a few of the other drivers first thing this morning. Your manager Mia was waiting for you as soon as you entered Ferrari’s motorhome and the two of you went over your schedule for the day as you made the trek to the press conference.

It’s interviews first thing this morning, then some social media content with Charles, a track walk with your inner team, and then meetings with the team as a whole to end your first day in Mexico City. It’s a booked and busy day– per usual.

You’re the last to enter the room for the press conference and you immediately spot the driver in the obnoxiously bright papaya team kit sitting on the white couch, who’s accompanied by Russell.

“Someone’s late.” An Australian accent fills your ears as you join your fellow colleagues on the couch.

“I’m actually right on time.” You state as you glance down at the luxurious watch on your wrist, then back towards the Australian with a knowing smirk on your face.

Oscar and you had grown close over the course of the season. He’d become a friend– which was something you’d never thought you’d hear yourself say about one of the other drivers, but it was true. It had helped that McLaren’s car had seemed to come alive this season, so you were actually able to get some racing in with him this season. He was good and you were starting to wonder if he might become an issue next season when it came to the championship.

The other McLaren driver or you guess you should say ex-McLaren driver whose seat is apparently being warmed by Pato O’Ward until he comes back next year has become more than a friend to you. It wasn’t a secret to the world that Lando and you were clearly together. Formula E’s schedule is basically half of what Formula 1’s is– so seeing each other hasn’t been a difficult process. You two would come and support each other when you could and spend time together when you could. It wasn’t super serious, but it wasn’t super casual at the same time, to you at least it was a good balance.

The press conference was underway not too long after you had gotten settled and of course it was the same questions as always that were asked towards you.

Do you think you can maintain this championship lead?

Do you think you'll get your second championship win this year?

The season is winding down and the points are close between Max and you? Who do you think will win?

Is Ferrari doing everything they can to help you win this championship?

The questions and their answers you think you could recite in your sleep by now and if it wasn’t for your publicity agent staring you down like a hawk from the corner of the room you’d be tempted to give a smartass response to the press, but instead you give them the same answer with nothing but professionalism and poise.

Thankfully the riveting questions were soon over and you could get on with your day. Maybe if they asked you interesting questions you wouldn’t dread it so much, but the majority of the reporters are men– the same men who ridiculed you when you got your seat, so you can’t expect much from such small brains.

As you’re getting up from the couch Oscar strides over towards you with his hands stuffed awkwardly in his pockets. “Hey, do you want to get lunch later?”

You glance over at Mia, fully expecting her to be chomping at the bit to get you onto your next task, but she’s too engrossed in her phone at the moment, which means you had some time to play with Oscar. “I don’t know Piastri. I’m pretty booked up for the rest of the day.”

“You’re too busy for me?” The words slip right past his tongue and he regrets saying them as soon as he hears himself say it. He watches as your eyebrows furrow and he knows you’ll reply in that laughing yet condescending tone that you always do when he gets too comfortable around you.

“What makes you think you’re that high up on my roster?”

Oscar internally cringes, just when he thinks he’s wormed his way closer to you, you go and show him just how much power you hold and just how much he’s not Lando.

You notice how Oscar switches his weight back and forth on his feet, he’s uncomfortable, and really you didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable. It’s just so much fun and easy to make him squirm and really you do like Oscar. You wouldn’t tease him like you do if you didn’t.

Oscar had amazing qualities, he was a hell of a driver and he was kind and gentle– obedient.

The opposite of Lando.

You offer him a genuine smile to try and bring him back from whatever mental hellscape he’d reverted into. “Listen, I’ve got social media content to film with Charles and then I’ll text you about lunch alright?”

His eyes light up and he stands tall and confident in front of you– his hands now at his sides instead of stuffed into his pockets. “Ok, I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yes, I’ll text you.” You reassure him before heading off towards Mia before she’s the one dragging you away.

When it came to filming content with Charles there was never a dull moment. The two of you were so competitive that if it was a challenge video you’d think it was life or death between you two. You actually don’t mind the content side of your job. It’s a hell of a lot easier than some of the stuff you have to do and sometimes it can be really fun. The food videos have to be your favorite– during the Dutch GP a stroopwafel hates to see you coming.

After spending almost two hours filming things individually and with Charles you find yourself sitting at an umbrella covered table with Oscar in the middle of the bustling paddock. A turkey club sits on the plate in front of you and you’re thankful you escaped having to eat whatever your trainer had planned for you for lunch today.

Oscar and you talk about this weekend and if you think he’ll be on the podium with you. He thinks there is a good chance– you don’t let him know that you think so too. As much as you love to tease Oscar and mess with him, you have grown fond of spending time with him. Besides Charles and maybe two other drivers, Oscar is the only one that you enjoy spending time with. You’ve found that he can make you laugh– like full belly laugh and it’s Oscar’s favorite thing, but he won’t tell you that.

There’s a beat of silence between you two as you continue to eat your lunch and your eyes can’t help but linger on him. His hair has gotten long– he’s been away from home too long to get it cut and it’s starting to fall into his eyes. The slight breeze that travels through the paddock has it billowing through the air. When he turns his head to look out at the paddock you try not to stare at the little curls that are starting to form at the nape of his neck and before your mind can start to wander you abruptly clear your throat and start a new conversation.

“Did Lando tell you he’s coming to Brazil?” You ask before stuffing another bite of the sandwich in your mouth.

Oscar’s heart skips a beat at the mention of Lando, but not in the way you’d think. “Yeah he told me.”

“We should all get dinner or something.” You offer.

He shrugs, pushing his salad around on his plate with his fork. “Yeah if you want.”

You eye Oscar as he continues to play with his food instead of eating it. He was nothing but bunny teeth smiles and laughter a moment ago and now you’d think he hated the world. You set your sandwich down on your plate, wiping your hands on your pants before you rest your elbows on the table, leaning in as you speak. “What’s up?”

His eyes flicker up from his plate towards you. “Nothing.”

“Oscar.” He just stares at you with that same bothered look on his face. “This whole thing you’re doing is stupid. You’re not good at it. If you have something you want to say then tell me. Don’t play this broody mysterious thing with me. It’s dumb.”

He sets his fork down and crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. “I’m not doing a thing. I’m just…” His words trail off and he knows he shouldn’t say it, but he wants to so badly.

“Well go on.” You pry, your body language mimicking his.

“I’m surprised you guys are still seeing each other.”

You both stare at each other for a moment, Oscar in disbelief that he finally worked up the courage to say what he’d been thinking and you in disbelief that he had the nerve to comment on your relationship like that and it made you wonder– what did he know?

“Okay.” You simply state, grabbing your food and getting up to leave. You weren’t going to have this conversation here or with Oscar.

“I’m sorry!” Oscar blurts out when he sees you leaving.

You stop and turn back to face him, your emotions starting to get the better of you. “Why did you want to have lunch with me today?”

“I told you I just wanted to hang out with you.”

“Don’t be such a fucking pussy. Is he seeing other girls while he’s away? Is that what this is?” Your anger is starting to boil over and you think if Oscar tells you that’s the case the remainder of this turkey club may be launched across the paddock.

Oscar on the other hand wants to punch himself for digging himself this hole and he knows it’s only going to get deeper, especially when he’s talking to you.

“No. I mean… I don’t know. That’s not what I’m trying to say.” He’s chewing on his words and it’s a sorry sight to witness.

“Then what are you trying to say, Oscar?” You wait for a response, anything to imply what he’s trying to say and when you’re met with silence you don’t think you’ve ever been more annoyed. A scoff and an eyeroll is all he gets from you before you’re turning back around to leave once again.

You’re not even a foot away from the table when he blurts out the last thing you expected.

“He’s not in love with you.”

You immediately spin on your heel and face the Australian driver once more, your anger had officially boiled over. “Who says I want somebody to be in love with me?” Love was a strange thing for you, you didn’t crave it. You wanted loyalty instead of love, you wanted someone who matched you, who challenged you. The word love was used so much in today’s society who even could actually say what love was? To you– it didn’t mean a thing. “When did I say I was in love with him?”

Oscar swallows hard– his Adam's apple bobbing. “You didn’t.”

“So why would I care whether or not he loved me?”

“I guess you wouldn’t.” Oscar says with a shrug.

“Cool.” You’d hoped this would be the last time a conversation like this happens with Oscar.

“Cool.” He replies back and you think this whole thing is over with, but then he goes and opens his mouth again. “Don’t you think you deserve it?”

You study his face and you see that look he’s giving you, it’s been the same look he’s given you since that night in Monza last year. The same look when you ultimately chose Lando over him. It made you sick to look at him, to see the longing in his face over you. “Jesus fucking christ.”

“I mean who wouldn’t be in love with you?” He challenges and you want to grab him by his stupid McLaren polo and knock some sense into him, but you just laugh at him and turn to leave for the final time. “Sorry.” Oscar says again and he knows he overstepped your boundaries, but god if it didn’t feel good to soil a little bit of what Lando and you had.

“You know I think you might be the worst friend in the world.” You tell him as you throw your lunch in the trash, your appetite long gone by now.

“Maybe.”

“Definitely. Thanks for lunch Oscar.”

He watches you leave until you disappear into the crowd of various team kits and prays that you don’t punt him into the wall on Sunday.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A week later Formula 1 is in São Paulo and Oscar and you have barely spoken. He’s been dreading this week ever since he found of Lando was coming, now add in your argument and he’s ready for the week break before Vegas to begin.

Oscar’s in McLaren’s hospitality early on race day chatting with a team member when he hears Lando before he sees him. The way people still flock to him and how he makes a big entrance even after leaving the team goes straight through Oscar. Lando could use a lesson in humility, but he wasn’t going to be the one to give it to him. He feels a heavy hand land on his shoulder and he knows exactly who it belongs to.

“Hi mate. Long time no see huh?” Lando says with a grin on his face.

Oscar nods his head at the Brit. “A couple months I think.”

“I think we need to catch up.”

Oscar watches as Lando strikes up a conversation with the worker at the snack bar and the way he tries to charm everyone he meets makes him sick. In all honesty Oscar did have some issues with Lando at the moment. He was grateful for having him as his teammate his rookie year and the bond they formed over the course of it, but times like this and ever since you came into their life– he’d found Lando harder to swallow.

When McLaren’s hospitality had started to serve churros from the snack bar Oscar wasn’t sure, but somehow Lando had appeared with two of them in his hand and Oscar took one of them with a tight lipped smile on his face.

“So, tell me about your season.” Oscar hopes that maybe if he starts off the conversation he can control it and this won’t last forever. Lando takes a bite of his churro and shrugs. “No fun stuff?” Oscar pries a little more.

“Like what?” Lando asks, fully knowing what Oscar is implying.

It’s Oscar’s turn to shrug at his ex teammate. “I don’t know…. are you seeing anybody?”

“What do you mean? I’m taken. What do you think I’m doing here?”

Lando’s got the sly smirk on his face that always made Oscar irate, but he knows Lando is someone who wants a reaction. He wants to provoke people to get a reaction. It doesn’t matter if it’s positive or negative and Oscar is always one to try and deny him of that.

“You’re not here to visit me?” Oscar half jokes.

Lando studies Oscar’s face and he notices how his expression darkens. He knows Oscar is thinking about you and then undoubtedly you and Lando together. Lando knows Oscar wants to say something, but he won’t until Lando opens the floor. “What?”

Oscar takes a bite of his churro, the gears in his mind turning as he chews. “Nothing, just– are you really committed to this thing?”

The thing about Oscar and Lando is that they’re always talking about you, even when they aren’t talking about you.

“To Y/N? Yeah. I mean we’re taking it slow, but you know, I like her. I think she’s making me an honest man.” Lando can see the unconvinced look on Oscar’s face and he scoffs at the sight of it. “What, you don’t believe me?”

Oscar shakes his head. “No I just– I’m not sure how she’s thinking about it. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Lando audibly laughs at the Australians choice of words. “You don’t want me to get hurt?” Oscar only nods and as Lando watches him he wonders if Oscar knows something he didn’t. “Did she say something to you?”

“No, I just got the impression that she’s not really thinking about this as a serious relationship.”

Lando quirks an eyebrow at Oscar. “You got that impression?”

“Yeah. From a conversation we had.”

There’s a beat of silence between the two former teammates before Lando’s got a shit eating grin on his face and he’s putting his arm around Oscar’s thick neck– pulling him in closer to him. “You fucking snake.” Lando’s voice is low enough for only Oscar to hear and from his facial expressions Lando can tell he’s confused or playing stupid. “Honestly, I’m proud of you. I’d be doing the same thing.”

“I’m not-”

“It’s fine. It’s exciting to see you this way.” Lando smiles at Oscar as he takes another bite from his churro. “It’s what’s been missing from your racing.”

“What?” Oscar scoffs.

“It’s nice to see you lit up about something, even if that something is my girlfriend.”

Oscar doesn’t think hearing Lando call you his girlfriend would affect him that much, but it does. He knows you two will never last and in the end it will be him that will have to pick up the pieces. “Is that what you guys are calling each other now?”

“You know this just makes it hotter for me, right? You sitting here, pining for her.”

“I would never–”

Lando rolls his eyes at Oscar. “I know. It’s not your style. You’re playing percentage racing– waiting for me to fuck up.”

The two drivers just stare at each other for a moment, it’s awkward and no one really knows what to say for a minute. There were so many unspoken words and words that were disguised as something else during their conversation. Oscar wanted to say so much more to Lando, but he’d save it for another day.

Lando’s the first to break the silence. “Come on. Walk me over there.” He gets up from his seat and shoves the remainder of his churro in Oscar’s face. Oscar looks at the sweet treat then up to Lando and then without breaking eye contact he bites the rest of the churro out of Lando’s hand. Lando laughs and pats Oscar on the back as they make their way out of McLaren’s hospitality.

On their short journey to Ferrari’s hospitality Lando spots a fan near the entrance, clearly waiting for you to come out, holding a sign that said something along the lines of Princess of Ferrari. He smiles at the fan and pretends he didn’t notice the other ten signs that he’d seen as he walked into the paddock this morning.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It’s less than an hour before the lights go out and where do you find yourself? Half naked on top of an also half naked Lando. It had been awhile since you two had seen each other and honestly you couldn’t hold yourself back when you saw him walk into hospitality. Your drivers room had seen some action over the course of the season to say the least and your poor physio table was on its last leg.

“I missed you.” Lando murmurs as his lips trail down your neck. “You have no idea how lonely it’s been this past month.”

“Is that why you haven’t won any races?”

Lando laughs half heartedly. “I just told you I missed you.”

You move your hips just the right way and he’s grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it off of you– tossing it with no direction.

“I watched your last race. You could have overtaken Nyck on the first corner if you’d gotten a better start off the line.” You state in between the kisses you litter across his chest.

Lando looks at you a little dumbfounded that this is your topic of conversation during this kind of activity. His hand reaches out towards you, yet at his touch you don’t look up at him. “Y/N, look at me.”

“What?” Your lips are swollen and your eyes wide.

He reaches for you, pulling you down towards him and his lips find that spot on your neck that drives you wild, makes you whimper with no shame, and it’s music to Lando’s ears.

“When were you going to tell me about Oscar?” He whispers as he continues his assault on your neck .

“I thought you knew.” You say breathless.

Lando detaches himself from you, his hand reaching up to brush your wild hair out of your face. “I mean, I feel bad because I know he’s in pain but…” He shrugs with a sly smirk on his face and you can’t help but stir the pot.

“You’re not threatened by him?”

“No.” Lando says plain as day.

The smirk that was once on Lando’s face has now traveled over to yours. “You should be.” You state as your hand travels slowly down his chest towards the waistband of his boxers. You snap the waistband on his skin, teasing him, and earning an audible hiss in the process before sliding your hand in. “He’s good looking, he’s smart, and he’s a really fucking good driver.” You state as you toy with Lando mentally and physically.

He’s panting heavily, eyes screwed shut as he tries to collect himself. “He’s always been… very good.”

“I’m serious. Oscar’s gotten a lot better this season.”

Lando’s eyes narrow at you for a moment, this was no longer you trying to just rile him up, you were actually just bragging on Oscar. “Are the two of us still racing for your number? Because I thought I won.”

You quickly retreat your hand from his boxers, your hands now on either side of his face as you lean down over him. “That’s your problem. You always think you’ve won before the race is over.”

“Are we talking about racing?” Lando asks.

“We’re always talking about racing.”

“Can we not?”

You look at the man below with disgust and irritation, if he didn’t want to talk about racing then why was he with you? “Sure.” You state, removing yourself from his lap and collecting your clothes that were scattered across your small driver’s room.

“What are you doing?” He asks, still perched on your physio table.

“I have to do my routine. I’ll see you after the race.” You’re not even looking at him as you speak, yet you can feel his eyes burning into you.

“Y/N.”

You finally turn to face him, a stone cold look adorns your face. “If you’re not interested in me fixing your racing for free then don’t worry about it.”

Lando’s off the table now, but he’s still leaning against it, his arms crossed across his toned chest. “Why do you care so much?”

“I’m dating you. It’s embarrassing for me if you suck.”

You can sense Lando’s anger starting to rise, yet it doesn’t bother you one bit, if he didn’t want the truth, then he shouldn’t have asked.

“I suck now?”

You shrug at him as you grab your fireproofs out of the small closet in the corner and put them on.

“It’s not all glamorous in other series like it is here in F1. We all can’t walk around being graced with the honor of being called the Princess of Ferrari.”

You look at him and you can’t help the baffled laugh that comes out of your mouth. His face and words showed nothing but jealousy. He was jealous of your success and your status. It was downright pitiful.

“Wow.”

“I’m happy that people adore you. I just don’t need you to be my coach.”

He’s being condescending and he doesn’t know just how low you can go in this argument.

“Well someone needs to be.”

Lando sighs, not wanting this to turn into a bigger mess than it already is, but it’s no use. “Can we just–”

“I mean, what do you need from me? Or what do you think you need? A cheerleader? A fuck buddy? A girlfriend?” You start doing some stretches, wishing your physiologist was in here right now instead of Lando. “There are a lot of girls who are dying to be your girlfriend. You’re Lando Norris– talented, charming, and you’ve got a big dick. Go be with one of them.”

“Is this like a new strategy you’re using to pump yourself up before the race? Have a little fight to get yourself going?” Lando knew you were short tempered, but this was ridiculous.

“I don’t need a fight to get myself going.”

“No. Just an hour of meditation.” He’s referring to your pre race routine, the one he was currently interrupting.

“How’s coasting by on talent working out for you?”

Lando scoffs and you know you’ve struck a nerve.

“Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to have you complain to me every week about all the ways you’re being screwed over? How can you possibly think that’s a good use of my time?”

“Excuse me for inconveniencing you.” Lando states in a sarcastic tone.

“You are.” You deadpan. “I need to be alone now. I’ll see you after the match.” You wave him off as you sit down on the floor to stretch out your legs.

Lando can feel his anger boiling over, you had just basically insulted him and complained about him to his face and then dismissed him like he was a dog. “No.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him as you look up at him. “What?”

He squats down to your level– getting right up in your face. “I’m not going to the race. Not if you think you can just dismiss me. I’m not some fucking lap dog who’s gonna sit around and let you punish me. I’m not Oscar.” You laugh in his face and Lando allows for it to fuel his rant. “I mean maybe you need someone like that. Someone who’s gonna hop on board with your life and be Mr. Y/N Y/L/N.”

“That’s what you think I want?” You ask as Lando stands over you now.

“Yeah, a member of your fan club.” Lando lets out a breathless laugh as he says it, like it’s something beneath him.

You rise from the ground, standing face to face with Lando, his eyes a hurricane of colors as they stare back at you. “You’re not a member of my fan club?”

“I’m your peer. I’m not your groupie. And I’m definitely not your student.”

You just stare at him, your expression cold and distant, there was nothing else to say at this point. You had a race to win shortly and it didn’t matter if Lando was in that crowd or not. He’d made his stance clear and you were not one to beg. “Okay.”

Lando grabs his shirt and jeans and quickly throws them on. This was not how he expected today to go at all, but there was no use in sticking around at this point. The damage had been done and Lando was never good at picking up the pieces.

“Good luck today champ.” He states before the door slams shut behind him.

You let out a deep sigh that you didn’t realize you’d been holding in the whole time. It was time to push all of this to the back of your mind and focus on the task at hand. So you zip up your race suit and put on your boots and once you exit the threshold of your driver’s room and into the hustle and bustle it’s like the fight with Lando hadn’t even happened.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Rain was nothing new during the Brazilian GP, in fact it was expected, but this year it seemed as though mother nature didn’t want this race to happen. It had been an issue all weekend, the rain being so heavy that qualifying almost got cancelled yesterday. Today was no different and with fifteen minutes before lights out they decide to postpone the race.

The rain pours down in bucketfuls as you stand at the edge of the garage and the pitlane. Puddles that have seemed to be there all weekend litter the ground and the softest rumble of thunder echoes off in the distance. As time progresses it seems more and more likely that this race won’t be happening, but you still prepare yourself in case the skies clear and the track dries.

Your race suit hangs loosely around your hips and bright red headphones sit snugly over your ears as you look over the data on the monitor in front of you. Your strategist rattles off possible scenarios and you listen as if there was no chance of cancellation. You had to be ready for anything and if that was racing in these unfavorable conditions– then so be it.

Meanwhile over in the McLaren garage Oscar is perplexed as to why Lando is there. Usually he’d come and visit, but he spent his time in the Ferrari garage with you on race weekends that he was here. He pretends to listen to what his engineer is telling him as he eyes Lando talking to Zak across the garage. When Zak walks away Oscar can’t resist the urge to go over and be nosey.

“Did you get banned from the Ferrari garage or something?” Oscar asks jokingly, but when Lando’s face turns sour Oscar knows something’s gone down.

Lando glances around the garage– everyone’s too busy at the moment trying to figure out what strategy to go with that they shouldn’t be listening in on his conversation, but he still lowers his voice. “We had a big fight. I was actually on the next flight out of here, but the weather delayed everything. So I guess I’m stuck here for a while now.”

Oscar’s eyes widen, yet he can’t deny that small part of him that is happy to hear that things are rocky between the two of you at the moment. “Damn. I’m sorry mate.” He clamps a hand down on Lando’s shoulder and from the look on Oscar’s face Lando knows he’s not really sorry. Why would he be? Lando had beat him in the competition for you– any sign of instability in your relationship was like a present on Christmas morning to him.

“It’s whatever. We’ll be back to normal by tonight.” Lando glances over at the MCL38 that’s sitting stationary in the garage. “Maybe you could use this upgraded machine to beat her.” Lando suggests.

Oscar quietly laughs– you could beat him in a Sauber. “Yeah maybe.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

By some miracle the rain clouds had cleared long enough for the FIA to declare that it was safe enough for the race to continue. Although the huge puddles that were still standing on the track and the dark clouds coming in from the west told you differently. Nonetheless you had a job to do and sometimes this job wasn’t all glitz and glamour. So you finalize your strategy tactic with your team and start to prepare yourself for probably the most challenging two hours of your career so far.

You can tell that everyone at Interlagos right now is a little on edge– team members, drivers, fans. There’s excitement in the air for the race to start, but the rain clouds in the distance foreshadow something much darker.

The first spot on the starting grid belongs to you today and as you sit in the cockpit of your beloved SF-24 you see the first drops of rain on your visor– then Alice’s voice in your ear.

One minute till formation. There is a small rain shower that should be done before the formation lap is over.

What about the black sky right in front of me?

We’re still watching it. There is a chance it goes around us. I’ll keep you updated.

The formation lap goes smoothly enough, the track is wet and there is spray of course, but for right now it just seems like a normal rain race. When you line back up on the grid you take in who’s around you– Max to the left, Oscar behind you, and Charles behind Max. It was going to be an interesting race, even without the rain.

You watch the five lights in front of you and with killer like precision you’re first off the line when they go out. Max is quick but not quick enough to hit the apex before you at turn one and you watch in your mirrors as Oscar overtakes him.

You’re at the top of your game during this race, pushing out the fastest laps consistently and building a gap between Oscar and you beautifully. The track had started to dry and a clear racing line had started to form as the laps went by, but the dark clouds still loomed in the distance. Even with the threat of rain some teams start to pit for slicks and soon enough you hear Alice in your ear.

How’s the tires?

I’m not pitting for slicks if that’s what you’re implying. These inters can last me for a couple more laps.

Copy that Y/N.

Weather update?

Looks like we won’t be as lucky as we hoped. It will be here in about five laps. Rain will be moderate.

Okay.

The rain arrives in two laps and it starts out slow– the cars that pitted for slicks start to struggle as the track becomes wet again. Then the first yellow flag of the session happens as Lawson spins out, thankfully he’s alright, but a VSC is deployed as they get the car off the track. Two more drivers spin out after Lawson and as teams start to pit for full wet tires the rain picks up expeditiously. It had went from a rain shower to torrential downpour in seconds, the visibility damn near at zero as you drive this race car around the circuit. Alice comes over the radio, her usual cool demeanor replaced with one of concern.

Y/N box on this lap.

Where the hell is the red flag? Someone is going to die, the visibility is horrible, the track is flooding. This is insane even for me.

I know. The win doesn’t even matter anymore, just make it back to the pits safely please.

You don’t make it back.

It all happened so fast, you could see a car behind you, but you weren’t sure who it was. The one thing you did know was that they were coming into this corner way too fast and when you tried to correct the car to get out of their way you hydroplaned. The flash of pink that you see let’s you know its an Alpine that you’re about ready to collide with. Then all at once you hear the crunch of carbon fiber and the car is flying into the wall. The force of the collison knocks you out and Alice’s constant radio messages are met with silence.

The crowd screams and gasps are heard throughout all the garages as the replay and aftermath of your wreck are shown on the screens. It’s one of the worst wrecks Formula 1 has seen in a good while and the fact that you’re not talking or moving has everyone fearing the worst. Your car is completely destroyed– the Alpine that belongs to Gasly is practically on top of yours and when you finally come to it feels like every bone in your body is broken.

You scream out in pain as you’re trapped in your car and as the medics and what seems like a million other people work to get you out the only thing you can think about, besides how much pain you’re in, is how this is the end of everything. Tears fill your helmet as they finally extract you from your car and strap you to the gurney,

The ambulance ride to the hospital is a blur of being poked and prodded while words in English and Portuguese are quickly spoken to you. You can’t see much from the tears in your eyes and the fact that your head is strapped down onto the gurney, the roof of the ambulance and the paramedics are all you can see. Which is a blessing in disguise because if you could see how mangled your leg and arm is you’d probably pass out again.

Your memory from when you exit the ambulance to when you wake up in recovery is almost nonexistent and all you can recall is flashes of moments. Doctors yelling, bright lights, machines beeping– it was almost like a scene from a medical drama.

You squint as you open your eyes, the room slowly coming into focus as you blink. You’re no longer in pain and you wonder if you’ve died, but then the sound of Alice’s voice fills your ears.

“Oh thank god you’re awake!” She exclaims. You turn your head to the right to see her standing at the edge of your bed, a relieved smile stretched across her face. Alice was more than just your race engineer– she was like family to you. She was a person you could trust with your life and for her to be the person who was here when you woke up meant the world to you.

“Am I alive? I can’t feel anything.” You ask hoarsely, your throat raw and dry.

She laughs as her hand reaches out towards you, brushing your hair out of your face. “Yes sweetie. They’ve just got you on some good drugs right now for the pain.”

You just nod at her, your energy already spent on speaking those few words. There’s a knock at the door and a lady, who you’re assuming is the doctor, walks in.

“Nice to see you awake Ms. Y/L/N. You had one nasty crash.” She pauses for a moment and looks over at Alice who nods back at her. “I’m not gonna sugar coat this, your injuries are extensive. Your right wrist was fractured and your right leg, particularly your tibia, was also fractured. You’ve got four broken ribs and a bruised sternum. Thankfully you only suffered a mild concussion– a wreck like this you’re lucky you didn’t suffer a worse fate with your head.” She looks down at her clipboard like she’s unsure if she should say this at the moment, but then she sighs and focuses her attention back on you. “I’m going to be honest, recovery is going to be a long and rough process, but if anyone can come back from this I know you can.”

She continues to talk, but you’ve zoned out already. Your concussion and the drugs in your system make taking this horrific news harder than it should be. You want to be in denial and think you’re just in here for a bump on the head and a few scrapes and bruises, but the reality is that you almost died today. This crash has altered your life forever and as you lay there in that hospital bed in Brazil you realize that you may be alive, but a part of you did die today.

The doctor leaves and Alice says something about going to call your parents and you just hum in response, the reality of your situation settling in. You close your eyes and try to go to sleep, praying that when you wake up this will all have been just one big nightmare. You hear the door open and you assume it’s just Alice coming back in so you don’t open your eyes, but the voice that softly whispers your name does not belong to Alice.

You slowly open your eyes and there stands Oscar at the foot of your bed. He’s looking at you like you’re some half dead animal that got hit on the side of the road and it makes you laugh, well as best you can.

“I’m done for Osc.” You state bleakly.

He shakes his head furiously as he moves to the side of your bed. “Don’t say that.”

“How am I meant to drive with a fucked wrist and leg?”

“Physical therapy and training. You’ll be back in that car come March I know it. You’re strong Y/N.” Oscar hopes his words instill you with some confidence.

He wasn’t going to tell you this, but he was behind Pierre on the track, he saw the whole crash happen right in front of him. It was horrible and it still made his stomach twist to think about it. He thought you were dead, the replays of them carrying your body out of the mangled car will haunt his dreams for some time. If it was up to him he would have been here as soon as he got out of the car, but you were in surgery and this wasn’t the movies, he had rules and obligations to follow, no matter the circumstances according to the team and the FIA.

“Who ended up winning?” You ask, wanting to stop talking about the impending end of your career.

“Verstappen.”

You scoff. “That fucker.”

You two talked for awhile, he was good at distracting you from your own thoughts, but there is someone that you figured would have shown up by now. Hours had passed– a statement had been released that you were awake and alright, Charles and Lewis had also stopped by to visit you, yet no Lando.

Yes you guys had a horrible fight earlier, but for fucks sake you’d almost died and he couldn’t be bothered to come and see if you were alright? The hospital was getting ready to stop their visiting hours when you see a curly brown mullet peak around the doorframe.

“I’m sorry, I–”

“Out.” You didn’t want to see him at this point, any excuse he was getting ready to give you meant absolutely nothing to you.

“Y/N.” He pleads.

“Out!” You raise your voice and you wince at the pain that radiates through your throat. The tube they’d shoved down it earlier had apparently done some damage.

“Listen–”

You want to jump out of this hospital bed and strangle him, but you don’t have the capability of doing that right now or even the capability of yelling at him. You look over at Oscar, hoping he gets the message that you’re pleading to him through your eyes.

Oscar’s mad for you, he’d noticed how everytime someone passed your room you glanced, hoping it was Lando, and then ultimately being disappointed when it wasn’t. He has no idea where the Brit had been this whole time, but he knows no matter what went down between the two of you earlier that Lando should have been here for you.

“Lando. Get the fuck out of here.”

Lando stands there dumbfounded, especially after Oscar had yelled at him. His eyes dart over to Oscar and then to you, who turns your head away from him. Lando shakes his head in disbelief before turning on his heel and leaving.

You break up with him the next week when he comes to see you when you’re back home in Monaco. He cries– you don’t.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The months following your accident are the hardest months of your life. Physical therapy is like pure torture, some days are worse than others, and majority of the time you want to give up, but you don’t. You tell yourself that this is just a small setback that the thoughts you had in the hospital and that you have late at night don’t mean anything. You tell yourself that you’ll be back in the car next season and after a while you start to believe it more than the dark thoughts that cloud your mind.

February rolls around and you start doing some light training with Oscar– it’s nothing crazy, just some weights. Your wrist had healed significantly faster than your leg and you figured you could do a little something extra than what you had been doing in physical therapy, but you were wrong. You’re doing some bench presses and Oscar’s hovering like this ten pound weight is going to kill you. You’d told him to put more on, but he insisted on starting out slow.

You put the barbell up and get up from the bench. “This is doing nothing. I need more weight on it Oscar.” He stands in front of the rack of weights like he’s guarding it with his life. “Stop going easy on me, put another ten on.”

“No. You’ll snap your wrist. I told you this wasn’t a good idea to begin with.”

You roll your eyes at the Australian. “I won’t snap my wrist. I know my limits.”

“Your actual trainer doesn’t even know we are doing this. It’s going to end badly.” Oscar knew this was way too soon for you to be back in the gym like this, but he also knew you were internally panicking. It was already February and you were nowhere near the peak physical performance that you needed to be at. Testing was at the end of this month and then the season started two weeks after that. In shorter terms– you were screwed.

“Don’t be a fucking pussy. Put more weight on.” You’re irritated with him and when he just stands there and stares at you it makes you even more irate. “Whatever. I’ll just come back later by myself.”

Oscar’s eyes widen at the thought of you being here by yourself and undoubtedly hurting yourself with no one around. “Fine. Only ten more.”

You lay back down on the bench and watch as Oscar puts the extra weight on the ends. You take a deep breath as you grip the bar and Oscar hovers over you, ready to catch the bar when it all goes to shit.

Which happens after two reps.

You feel a twinge of pain in your wrist after the first one, but when you go to raise the bar a second time a searing hot pain travels from your wrist up your arm and you scream out in pain. Oscar’s face is full of terror as he grabs the bar from you and easily puts it back up. You’re sat up by now, but doubled over as you hold your wrist. Oscar sits down next to you on the bench and he can see the tears streaming down your face.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Oscar questions, everything about you screams you're not fine at the moment.

“I’m good. I’m okay.” You take a beat and then. “I’m good.” You repeat yourself, hoping that the more you do the more it will become true and that the searing pain in your wrist will go away.

Oscar watches as you self soothe yourself and without thinking he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. He feels you stiffen at his touch before you allow yourself to melt into him. You allow him to comfort you and be there for you and in that moment it’s all you need.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Two weeks before the season starts the team wants to see how you do on the simulator. You told them you were ready, but your trainer and deep down yourself both knew you weren’t. Yet you’re so stubborn, so hard headed that you strap yourself in and power through the pain as the high tech machine replicates the Albert Park circuit.

Somehow the team clears you to race and you’re on cloud nine. The media and your fans can’t believe that you’ve made such a fast recovery.

The Princess of Ferrari is back!

Word Driver’s Champion Y/N Y/L/N ready to battle it out once again.

Forza Ferrari!! Y/N is back!

The Australian Grand Prix arrives before you know it and it’s amazing to be back. You’d missed the craziness and for a while you didn’t think you’d get to experience it again. You felt confident going into the weekend, but life was out to humble you, and oh boy did she.

You thought you were in pain on the simulator, but being back in the actual car, actually racing, amplified that pain about a hundred times. Your leg screams at you everytime you press on the pedal and your wrist feels like it’s going to snap every time you take a corner.

You end up placing P15.

You try to power through, telling yourself you just have to get used to racing again, or figure out a new racing technique. You see the way the reserve driver looks at you in the garage, like he’s just waiting for you to call it quits so he can take your seat and you try to use that as motivation, but it’s no use.

You last four races before you finally come to the depressing and heartbreaking realization that you’re done racing. The thing you’d dreamt about since you were a little girl was over. The thing you’d worked so hard for, sacrificed so much for, defied barriers for– it was over.

You were in your prime and if you hadn’t crashed back in Brazil who knows what you could have accomplished in your career. Your body had been telling you, screaming at you every race weekend to stop and you’d been ignoring it for as long as you could, but the lasting side effects are getting worse and if you want to be able to walk in thirty years you know you’ve got to stop.

So you don’t go out with a bang, it’s more of a whisper. Your performance the past four races had quietly let people know that this was probably the end. The news breaks on the following Tuesday after the Bahrain GP and as you scroll through the comments on the post from the F1 Instagram page you can’t stop the tears that fall.

This announcement should have happened when you were old and had multiple championships under your belt, not when you were young and at the top of your game, or you guess you should say were at the top of your game.

Such a shame, saw it coming after that P15 in Australia, but she was a hell of a driver.

Good on her for attempting to come back. I hope she still works with racing in the future.

Always our Princess of Ferrari ❤️

You lock your phone and toss it on the bed beside you– who will you be without racing?

tag list: @mywritersmind @lanf1an

#lando norris #oscar piastri #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #lando norris fanfic #oscar piastri fanfic #lando norris smut #lando norris imagine #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #mine #writing

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crushpunky · 2 days ago

Text

actress!reader gets asked about drew

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based on this ask. a sort of compilation of y/n telling cute stories <3

Y/n settled in the chair opposite the podcast’s host, Claire, adjusting the mic as the interview began.

“Hello and welcome to another episode of Chit-Chat with me, your host, Claire Hale!” Claire said cheerfully before turning to face y/n. “Today we are going to be talking with the wonderfully talented y/n y/ln. Welcome!”

“Hi, thank you so much for having me.” Y/n smiled, smoothing a hand along her pants as the two of them launched into casual conversation, ranging in topics from y/n’s childhood to her favorite movies and her morning routine.

“So, I think the people are dying to know, how is married life?” Claire said, dropping her jaw open exaggeratedly. Y/n laughed, absentmindedly fidgeting with the diamond ring adorning her finger.

“It is great.” Y/n smiled. “I didn’t think it was possible to be this happy, y’know? Like I thought that I was happy before we got engaged, but actually being married is a whole other level.”

“Ugh, that’s so cute.” Claire swooned, causing y/n’s cheeks to warm as she thought back to the memory of waking up this morning in Drew’s arms. It was something that happened nearly every morning, but each time it made her heart flutter and fall impossibly more in love with him.

“I’m not even trying to over exaggerate or put on an act, I am just genuinely so happy right now.” Y/n continued, folding her hands in her lap as she smiled to herself.

“I think we are all so happy to hear that.” Claire nodded. “You and Drew have been together for such a long time, it’s so nice to just see two people who truly love and care for their work and each other. Speaking of, how do you guys sort of find that balance between work life and personal life, with both of you spending so much time away acting or away on projects?”

“It’s taken a lot of practice,” y/n chuckled. “Lots of hours of late night FaceTime calls and missed dinners until we both kind of decided that we needed to set up some boundaries and some of what we call ‘no excusers’.”

“‘No excusers’?” Claire asked, leaning in intently with a quirk of her brow. Y/n nodded, thinking back to when Drew and her had originally come up with the term. It had been after Drew missed a dinner with y/n’s parents, a dinner he had promised to be at amidst his busy schedule, just a day after y/n had to cancel on one of their preplanned coffee dates.

“Yeah, Drew and I sort of set up this system where we have certain things that we call ‘no excusers’.” Y/n explained. “They are things that the other person has to be at, or at least help to reschedule to be at, no excuses.”

“Both of us have such busy schedules, so it can just be super easy to retreat into yourself and just say ‘oh I’m too busy’ or ‘I can’t’, but we both knew that we wanted to be there for the other person when they needed it most, even if it was hard.” Y/n continued. “So, with the ‘no excusers’ we are sort of making a promise to the other person that we can count on them to be there for us, no excuses.”

“Really making sure to set aside time for you guys and your relationship and what’s important to that relationship.” Claire clarified.

“Yes.” Y/n agreed. “Neither of us had really been in a relationship with another actor or person in the industry, so we knew we had to make time for each other in our busy schedules if we wanted to keep this relationship.”

“That’s really sweet.” Claire grinned. “So, speaking of busy schedules, how did you guys find time out of yours to get married? I mean both of you had such huge and busy years last year, so I think everyone was pretty shocked to hear that you guys got married.”

“I think we were pretty shocked that we found the time too.” Y/n joked, causing Claire to laugh. Y/n remembered back to all the hectic planning on sets and over FaceTimes, getting dresses tried on between meetings with producers, tasting different cakes from the comfort of their home, pajamas on.

“No, but in all seriousness, I think we were both just so excited to get married that we were going to find time for it no matter how busy our schedules were.” Y/n said. “Both of us could barely wait a minute longer, like I remember that we had a countdown on the whiteboard in our kitchen, ‘Days Until We’re Married’, and we just made a huge deal of it each day counting down. Music, dancing, cheering, the whole shabang.”

“Stop, that’s so funny.” Claire chuckled.

“Our neighbors probably hated us, but we didn’t care.” Y/n giggled. “Like, did you expect me to not be excited to marry the love of my life?”

“No, you’re right, I can only imagine how excited you guys were.” Claire nodded. “I mean, you’ve been together for so long, like, four years?”

“Publically, yes, but privately about five.” Y/n giggled as Claire’s eyes widened.

“How did you guys even manage that?” Claire asked incredulously. “I mean, Outer Banks, like, blew up during that time, you must’ve had so many eyes on you.”

“Ha ha, yeah, that was certainly a very interesting time.” Y/n chuckled, remembering how the two of them would try and sneak around downtown Charleston, ducking into darkened allies to kiss like teenagers.

“It was during COVID, so for a while we just stayed inside. There weren’t very many opportunities to catch us, aside from the occasional social media post or livestream, but I think that we kept it pretty lowkey. I mean we already lived together, so we weren’t going back and forth between each other's places or anything like that.” Y/n continued. “But when things kinda started going back to normal, and we were going out more and more eyes were on us, it certainly became a lot harder.”

Y/n thought about a particular time in which a fan had snuck a picture of the two of them sitting on a bench just off the beach. The two of them shared AirPods, chatting casually. They hadn’t even realized that y/n had ended up perched in Drew’s lap, his hands resting on her hips as their faces sat just inches away from each other. They were too caught up in the moment, and in each other, to realize they were in public until they saw the photos later that afternoon.

“There were… multiple times where people pointed out something or noticed something that we hadn’t even thought about and we thought like ‘oh shit, we’ve been caught’, but we always managed to sorta weasel our way out of it.” Y/n giggled, brushing a bit of hair away from her face. “It was hard, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

“Yeah,” Claire nodded. “That sort of situation definitely helps you guys to keep the relationship real, y’know? How did you guys decide to keep it private for so long? Was that a mutual decision?”

“Yes, yes it was definitely something we both agreed upon.” Y/n said. “I think we both wanted to make sure that our relationship was authentic and real, not just something shaped by other peoples’ perspectives or opinions. I really do think that that time where we kept things between ourselves helped to shape our relationship.”

“I know you said you kept it between yourselves, but other people definitely knew, right? They had to.” Claire asked.

“I honestly think that some of them knew before we knew ourselves.” Y/n laughed. There were so many moments and stares shared by the people around them who recognized the very obvious feelings between y/n and Drew. So many friends and family members would comment on the almost magnetic attraction the two exhibited, practically unable to go anywhere without the other.

“But in all seriousness, yes people knew.” Y/n continued. “We kept it just between us for like… a month, month and a half maybe? But then we shared it with our friends, the Outer Banks cast, but they kinda already knew since we were all living together. Then a little after that we told our parents on FaceTime— because of COVID— and they also kinda had their suspicions.”

“That’s so funny.” Claire grinned. “Well, y/n, I really appreciate you taking the time to Chit-Chat with us! It was so much fun!”

“Thank you so much!” Y/n grinned. “Thank you for having me, it was a lot of fun.”

“Once again, thank you for watching and thank you for Chit-Chatting with us!” Claire said, her and y/n waving goodbye to the video and listeners at home.

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x actress!reader #actress!reader #drew starkey social media au #drew starkey x actress!reader social media au

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sugar-gumdrop · 3 days ago

Note

Helloo, I saw your requests open and I just loved your work ♥️ I was wondering of I could ask an iwaizumi x reader, where iwaizumi has been crushing on the reader for forever but he always thought she liked oikawa, cuz the reader is always hanging out with him but gets all quiet and excuses herself when hes around

(its because the reader gets all shy and flustered around him, which is unusual for iwa because he sees the reader as a very extroverted, loud and fun person, similar to oikawa)

so one afternoon on valentines the reader goes to their classroom and asks for oikawa and iwa sees this and thinks that the reader would be confessing to oikawa, but in reality she just told oikawa to give iwa some valentine's stuff and a letter confessing her feelings and why she couldn't give it to him herself because she feels like shes gonna explode if she gets too close to his pretty face jsjdjwjc

Sorry for the long request, but yeah thank you ♥️

a/n: Hello! I'm hoping I lived up to your expectations! Little nervous because this is my first actual request since switching over to Tumblr.

Pairing: Hajime Iwaizumi x f! Reader

Word Count: 2.2k+

It wasn’t unusual for the third-year players on the volleyball team of Aoba Johsai to hang out together. It also wasn’t peculiar for their third-year manager, you, to be seen alongside them in and out of school.

After being seemingly glued to the hip with Oikawa for years, dating rumors of the perfect couple weren’t uncommon. You were never one to address said rumors, as Oikawa bribed you countless times to go along with it as a means of keeping his fangirls at a distance.

But that didn’t mean everyone saw your platonic relationship that way.

“Just because you have a knee injury doesn’t mean you can use it as an excuse for poor passes, Tooru!”

Iwaizumi watched from the far side of the gym as you scolded Oikawa one day.

“What are you gonna do, make me run laps? The doctor told me to take it easy.” The setter stuck his tongue out at you before walking away with a dramatic limp.

Iwaizumi noticed you sigh, most likely letting go of some frustration; however, you didn’t reprimand Oikawa for the attitude. Instead, you set your eyes searching elsewhere.

He quickly caught your gaze, but you only smiled slightly before glancing away.

The awkwardness between the two of you was also something seen as ordinary among the group. But it wasn’t always like that. Thinking back, Iwaizumi recalled the first day he met you.

~~~~

“Iwa-chan! I found someone else who can play volleyball with us!” The seven-year-old Oikawa was sprinting down the paved road without a care for tripping.

And trip he did.

“Watch where you’re going, dummy…” Young Iwaizumi offered his hand to the fallen boy. Oikawa took the help without complaint, his smile still beaming.

“Come on, Iwa-chan! She promised to wait at the court for us, so we need to hurry.”

Not having learned his lesson, he still ran down the street. Iwaizumi sighed, shaking his head before running after his best friend.

Rounding the final corner, the boy paused. A girl his age stood by the net, bouncing their worn-out volleyball against the dirt-packed ground.

Unlike Iwaizumi, Oikawa rushed forward.

Upon noticing their presence, you pulled the ball away from the over-demanding boy’s grasp, smiling in victory.

“You’re late, Tooru,” you state, nodding in acknowledgement to the new face across the court.

Both Iwaizumi and you started sizing each other up.

“Ah, I forgot!” Oikawa yelled. “Iwa-chan, this is my girlfriend, Y/n.” He was still trying to rip the ball away from you, though you remained defiant.

For an inexplicable reason, Iwaizumi found it hard to breathe.

“I barely consider us friends, let alone special friends,” you declared.

“At least try to back me up in front of Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whined, giving up on snatching his volleyball back. “Whatever, let’s just play.”

“Fine, crybaby,” you tease, drawing your attention away from him. The new boy ‘Iwa-chan’ remained stationary at the edge of the lot. “Iwa, come be on my team.”

Affected by your contagious demeanor, he smiled, stepping towards you.

“I’ll team up against him any day of the week.”

~~~~

“Don’t think I can’t see you slacking off either, Kunimi!” Your voice calling out the first-years brings Iwaizumi back to the present situation.

“I would never do that…” the first-year rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your sharp yet friendly gaze.

“Hasn’t your team captain already spoken to you about this? Just help out with some extra cleaning today, alright? Let’s finish up, everyone!” Clapping your hands together, the team splits up to clean the court for tomorrow.

With the coach not present, you had taken the role of concluding practice.

Iwaizumi approached you from across the gym while his teammates busied themselves cleaning to get home quicker.

“Anything you noticed for me that I could improve on, manager?” Iwaizumi joked with the title, though he frowned as you stiffened.

“Um, I mean you’re doing fine. As always, Iwaizumi.” Your hesitant smile appeared forced as you retreated from him. “I need to go help rally up the remaining balls.”

And just like that, you were racing towards the other end of the gym, scaring poor Kunimi as you nearly tackled him for the volleyball cradled in his arms.

What made the third-year feel dejected was the fact that you appeared standoffish with him was something you did around him and no one else. When conversing with anyone else at school, you were your flamboyant, bubbly self.

But when it came to Iwaizumi…it was only for a short time he experienced the same treatment before you became cold and distant.

~~~~

Flowing water from the creek muffled the sound of Iwaizumi’s footsteps along the bank.

You had gone on ahead on your own, determined to catch a frog.

After a couple of years together, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and you were known as the trio of the neighborhood. At this point, the three of you were inseparable, spending every waking hour outside of school exploring or playing volleyball.

When Iwaizumi finally caught up to you, one of his best friends and secret crush, he was expecting you to turn around and greet him cheerfully.

But you were too focused on the frog jumping away from you, further into the creek.

The boy observed as you step carefully onto a wet rock before fully sending it towards the current.

Under quick thinking, he hurled himself toward you, dragging you back toward the muddy bank.

You fell onto him as his back hit the ground, and pain shot through his skull. But he wasn’t concerned about the dizziness that clouded his vision.

“Are you okay? What were you thinking, trying to jump into the river like that?”

“I’m sorry!” you yelped, climbing off of him before helping him sit up. “I…I didn’t know you were here.”

“Did you at least catch the frog?” Iwaizumi joked. You remained silent. “Y/n?”

“I-I should go find Oikawa. Be right back!” You zoomed off, leaving him behind.

Iwaizumi tried to go after you, but the pounding in his head kept him dormant.

Little did he know that your entire demeanor towards him would shift from then on.

~~~~

Walking home after practice was no different than usual. Oikawa walked in the middle with you and Iwaizumi on opposite sides. Every time Iwaizumi attempted to start a conversation with you, you would deflect with simple answers before drifting off into silence.

“Welp, this is where we split,” Oikawa announced slowly, as if none of them knew where he lived. “So I guess I’ll be heading off then.”

“Yep, see you tomorrow,” you replied, waving him off.

“I can walk you the rest of the way, if you want,” Iwaizumi offered before you walked away.

“Um…” You glanced between him and Oikawa, shifting your footing. “That’s okay, thanks. Have a good night!” You bowed slightly to him before taking off down the street. Iwaizumi felt hurt when you hadn’t bothered to even make eye contact.

“Can’t do shit when you don’t listen to my advice as a wingman,” Oikawa muttered, catching Iwaizumi off guard.

“When did I ask you to be my wingman?”

“Huh?” Oikawa froze for a moment before shrugging it off. “Well, you make your feelings for her obvious, so I thought it’d be obvious to you I’d help.”

“You’re the one she likes,” Iwaizumi says, growing agitated. “You act as if the two of you haven’t been pretending to date for years! Do you have any idea how hurt she must feel when you get an actual girlfriend?”

“Well, I don’t imagine she’ll feel too betrayed,” the setter suggested, shrugging his shoulders.

“Don’t expect me to take your side when she grows resentful,” the boy warned, smacking his friend over the head with his school bag.

“Ow! Don’t be salty, Iwa-chan!”

“Then don’t be a damn idiot.”

A week goes by and suddenly the school is bursting with whispers and giggles. The amount of girls who surround Oikawa seem to grow by the masses, regardless of his attempts to politely shoo them away.

“I don’t even want to imagine what tomorrow will bring,” Hanamaki groaned. “Being single on Valentine’s Day is the worst.”

“I bet you food from the convenience store after practice that Oikawa receives at least twenty chocolates,” Matsukawa wagered.

“That was last year's count; you’re aiming way too low,” his friend argued. “Make it thirty-five and we have a deal.”

Iwaizumi listened to their conversation, half-dreading tomorrow’s school day. A part of him grew fearful of seeing you give Oikawa chocolate, perhaps finally confessing after years of friendship, which would suddenly turn him into a third wheel with unreciprocated feelings.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” Oikawa sat down at the desk in front of Iwaizumi, smiling. It almost felt like he was being mocked.

“Avoid you as much as possible. We don’t have a game, so there’s no need for me to pull you out of your conundrum.”

Oikawa pouted. “Sometimes I feel like you don’t even consider us friends.”

“Say that to the ones who’ve been betting on you.”

Iwaizumi zoned out once more as the bantering got directed elsewhere.

Before he knew it, tomorrow had arrived.

Despite the constant questioning and requests from girls regarding chocolate for Oikawa, Iwaizumi had made it to the final period. He wasn’t planning on prolonging his departure after the bell rings, so he assumed he would be in the clear.

That was, until he heard your voice at the door to the classroom. Turning quickly, he examined you, assessing quickly how uneasy you appeared. Sliding his chair back, he goes to stand before pausing.

“Oikawa! Someone is asking for you!”

His classmate who met you at the door asked for Oikawa directly.

Iwaizumi slid back down into his seat.

As his best friend walked out to the hallway, sliding the door shut behind him, Iwaizumi felt an immense dread course through his body.

You were here to confess to Oikawa, which would inevitably put the setter in a bad spot since he knows Iwaizumi has had a long-time crush on you since childhood.

As expected, Oikawa walked in with a new addition of chocolate and a love letter.

Yet something else to add to his already enormous pile of goodies. Several of his classmates flinched as Iwaizumi slammed his head against the desk.

“That’s gonna leave a bruise…” Oikawa’s voice filtered through the chatter in the classroom.

Iwaizumi didn’t feel like responding, only shifting his head to look the other way.

“I think you’ll want to take a look at this. She put a lot of effort into it, even if this isn’t how we discussed this should happen…” The boy felt Oikawa shove something into his crossed arms.

“Discussed? What are you talking about-”

A little box of homemade chocolates and a letter with his name on the envelope greeted him.

It was your handwriting.

When he looked over, Oikawa appeared disinterested as he stared out the window.

Switching his attention right back to his unexpected gift, Iwaizumi slowly placed the items on his desk.

With shaky fingers, he unwrapped the letter and began to read.

Dear Hajime, I’m sorry I’m too embarrassed to say this in person. Oikawa will also probably be upset when he realizes I chickened out once again when I hand him this letter to give to you. But I can’t help it because every time your pretty face gets too close to mine I feel like my heart might actually explode. I’ve liked you for years and I still can’t regulate my emotions well enough to act normal around you. By now I’m sure you figured it out. I like you, Hajime. Be my valentine?

The moment the bell rang, Iwaizumi was the first one out the door. Perhaps his teacher yelled at him to walk, but he wasn’t sure.

He went straight for the lockers, knowing you’d most likely be there, changing into your shoes to head home.

“Y/n!” Iwaizumi called out to you. You had been exactly where he thought you’d be.

Panicking, you slipped on your own shoes. Taking a deep breath, knowing there would be no way out, you turned to face him.

Seeing as how you weren’t going to make a run for it, Iwaizumi slowed his approach. With your eyes looking up at him, he saw for the first time why you had turned away all those times. Your cheeks were flushed, and you seemed to have a hard time preventing yourself from fleeing.

“I liked the chocolates.”

“Thanks…What’d you do, scarf them down?” Your laugh sounded awkward. “Anywho, I need to leave for a doctor’s appointment.” You pull your shoe on before shuffling away.

You hear him take a step closer.

“I like you too.”

You were expecting him to maybe spare your feelings, not return them.

“And being each other’s valentines for a day already almost over seems like a waste. How about being my girlfriend instead?”

At this point, you were both nervous.

“That…that would be nice,” you mumbled, still not looking back at him. You yelped as he hugged you from behind. “Iwaizumi, don’t scare me like that!”

“What, is my pretty face gonna give you a heart attack?”

Maybe some details were better left unsaid, knowing now the teasing that would come.

#fanfic #fanfiction #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq #haikyuu x you #hq x reader #hq x y/n #hq x you #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru #hq oikawa #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x you

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loverboysturn · 1 day ago

Text

— sheriffsdaughter!reader gets a warning to stay away from the new boy in town.

au masterlist ꒰ here ꒱ | taglist ꒰ here ꒱ | main masterlist ꒰ here ꒱

you’re not really eating the dinner in front of you, just pushing the food around on your plate, your fork scraping softly against the dish as your mind drifts somewhere else.

you can’t stop thinking about the boy from the station. the way he looked at you, the way his eyes locked on yours, steady and unmoving, the way it felt like time had slowed down completely for the two of you. that feeling, whatever that feeling was, hadn’t left you, even though days have passed since.

“everything okay, kiddo?”

your dad’s voice snaps you back to the room, quickly bringing you back to reality.

you blink, surprised at how zoned out you had been. “yep, all good.” you mumble, not meeting his eyes as you go back to moving the food around the plate. then casually, maybe a little too casually, you add, “dad, what actually happened at the bar the other night? i mean.. the whole town is talking about it.”

he sets his fork down, and lets out a long sigh, the kind of sigh that means he knows exactly what you’re doing. “just some boys your age being too rowdy, that’s all,” he says. “that doe boy at the center of it all, as usual.”

“who started it?” you ask, trying to keep your voice casual, but your voice gives you away.

he stops in his tracks, giving you a look. “some kid i’ve never seen before, he came into the bar alone, twenty one year old with no records on him, no address on file.”

you raise an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. “oh really? what’s his name? i might know him if he’s around my age.”

“his name is matt,” your dad says, his tone of voice a little more serious, “and i don’t want you anywhere near him, trouble follows boys like him.”

you nod slowly, forcing a false smile. you let out a quiet laugh, pretending like this all means nothing to you, like you’re only asking so you can keep up with your small town gossip that your friends keep messaging about in the group chat.

but that’s not the case, not even close.

you want to know more about this mysterious new boy, matt, because something about him has gotten under your skin. the way he looked at you felt like the very beginning of something, even if you don’t know what that something is yet. every detail your dad shares feels like a puzzle piece of information, and you’re unsure why you care so much but all you know is that you’re interested.

your mom glances between the two of you at the table, sensing the complete shift in your conversation before she smiles softly at you, her voice gentle. “sometimes it’s the ones who seem like trouble that might just need a little saving.”

your dad shoots her a look, clearly unimpressed at her comment, but she just shrugs him off and lifts her wine glass to her lips.

“what?” she says to him, with a small smirk. “my parents said the same thing about you when we were younger.”

—

#꒰ newboy!matt ꒱#꒰ sheriffsdaughter!reader ꒱#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo x reader

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mashtatosworld · 2 days ago

Text

eyes on me (5)

summary: a break away from reality is healing - for all of you. but when you return to Seoul, the storm waiting for you is far from over.

You were tired of feeling hunted.

Every person who walked up to the counter at work, every too-long stare, every offhand comment - it left a coil of anxiety in your chest.

But when your coworker popped her head around the corner and sung with a smirk, “Lover boy’s here,” your body finally exhaled.

Daesung was standing by the door of the café, hands in the pockets of his jacket, smile soft. Even just his presence steadied you.

You took your break early.

Outside, under the cool air of the afternoon, he slid a small box across the table. AirPods.

“You said you were anxious on the phone the other day,” he said, shrugging like it was nothing. “And music always helps me.”

You stared at them, touched. “Dae...”

“I also made you a playlist,” he added, almost sheepish. “You might hate it. It’s a mix of stuff I like... there's one in there that made me think of you, actually.”

You laughed softly. “You’re too nice to me.”

“I’m not. You deserve nice.”

You hadn't told him about the case. Not yet.

Not about the file you’d been shown. How your safety was now a question mark, how the little life you’d been building was beginning to feel like a tower of cards in the wind.

But in this moment - with his leg resting against yours under the table, the rhythmic bounce of his foot keeping your spiralling thoughts tethered - was peace.

Fragile peace you didn't dare taint.

“So,” he said, stirring his drink, “I’m going to Japan for a few days.”

Your heart dipped, just a little. “Oh.”

“You should come,” he said quickly. “With me.”

You paused. “What?”

“Yeah. You’ve been working nonstop. You need a break. We can eat everything, shop, walk around all day. I’ll take care of the planning.”

“I don't know if I can get the time off yet,” you said, hesitating. “And... would it be a group thing?”

You were familiar with them. You'd been on your fare share over the years, with the boys always travelling for shows. And you presumed this was no exception.

Daesung winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Kind of. But Jiyong’s not coming if that's what you're worried about,” he added quickly. “He’s staying here. Said he has to sort some stuff out.”

That gave you pause.

It shouldn’t have mattered, and yet it did.

You looked down at your lap, contemplating before you felt a small smile tug at your lips. It would be nice to have a break. With him. “I’ll ask my manager.”

He grinned in relief. “That’s all I ask.”

You checked the time and sighed. “My break ended ten minutes ago.”

“Well don’t work too hard,” Daesung said, standing up and leaning over you, delicately dropping his lips to your head. "I'll speak to you later, yeah?"

You smiled up at him, watching as his figure slowly walk off. He waited at the end of the street, waving to you, then soon disappearing around the corner.

You stayed put, letting the street noise fill in the silence.

For a moment, it was just the sound of car engines, the murmur of conversation, a child crying somewhere in the distance.

You stared out at the busy street.

Someone was standing across the road, looking down at their phone.

You couldn’t make out their face. They could’ve been anyone. They could’ve been no one.

And yet.

The chill in your spine returned.

The peace was gone again

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You were drying mugs when your colleague came up behind you, voice low but annoyed on your behalf.

“I still can’t believe she said no,” she muttered. “If she knew who BigBang were, she’d realise what a crime she’s committing.”

You laughed a little under your breath.

It helped - her dramatic outrage.

She’d fawned over Daesung every single time he’d dropped by the café to visit.

Of course, she didn’t know the truth.

She thought he was just a flirty friend you were blessed enough to stumble across. You hadn’t told her you had dated one of Daesung’s bandmates - one of the biggest names in K-pop.

And you never would.

It had been private. Carefully curated. With only your old media name tied to him.

Jiyong had of course posted photos of you together over the years - just glimpses, but it wasn't enough to draw connections. Besides, he was frequently linked to someone new, a model or some actress. It was easy to conceal your identity.

You’d always asked him to keep you out of the spotlight, and now you were grateful.

Your colleague moved away to serve someone whilst you stayed beside her, focusing on the porcelain in your hands.

Until the customer didn’t leave.

She hovered at the counter, staring.

You glanced up, uncomfortable. She was young. Pretty. Dressed like she’d stepped off a fashion blog.

And her eyes were locked on you.

“…Can I help you?” you asked cautiously.

Her voice was sharp. “You’re her, aren’t you?”

You blinked. “Who?”

“You’re the one who leaked the footage of GDragon. You’re that shitty ex.”

The words hit like a slap. You froze. Your colleague did a double take, glancing between you and the girl.

“What the hell?” she said, trying to intervene. “She’s Daesung’s girlfriend actually - ”

Even though you weren't.

The girl didn’t care. She was seething now, hand tightening around her plastic cup.

“I'd recognise you anywhere. I've seen that tattoo before."

Oh god. So she was an obsessed fan, one of the many trying to witch hunt you.

"You tried to ruin him,” she spat. “You fucking snake.”

You barely had time to move.

The iced coffee hit your chest, shattering against your apron, soaking through your shirt. You gasped at the cold. Ice cubes skittered across the floor. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

But you did respond.

Physically.

Your hand grabbed the nearest thing - a fistful of sugar sachets - and launched them at her face. Hard.

She yelped, stumbling back.

Your manager shot up from her seat near the window, abandoning her laptop. “Out. Now.”

You turned and walked to the back room, heart thundering, coffee dripping down your front. You didn’t cry. Not yet. You just wiped your face and tried to breathe.

The door opened.

Your manager stood there, arms crossed, lips pressed tight. "Now I know the customer started it. But - "

“I get it,” you said flatly. “I’m fired.”

She didn’t argue.

You ripped off your apron, tossed it aside, and left without another word.

Outside, you shoved in your AirPods. Music roared in your ears.

You were halfway down the block when you collided with someone. You stumbled back, muttering a distracted “sorry.”

They kept walking.

You didn’t even look up.

Back at your apartment, you slammed the door shut, threw your keys blindly toward the counter - and knocked over the vase of tulips you had bought days ago. Water spilled across the table and ran off the edge. The flowers drooped against the marble.

You didn’t bother to fix them.

You just moved to stare out the window.

The street below was empty.

But your mind continued to tell you that something was there, even if you couldn't seem anything.

Coffee was soaking into the rug beneath your shoes, and you didn’t even care.

Your fingers found your phone.

And you called him.

“Is your offer still available?” you asked, voice hollow.

Daesung sounded surprised. “Wait - I thought you didn’t get the time off?”

“My manager changed her mind.”

There was a pause. “Well,” he said brightly, trying to lift the mood, “good thing I didn’t cancel anything yet. You’re gonna love Japan - the neon lights, the markets, the food - ”

You barely listened.

You stood there, phone to your ear, as his voice babbled on.

And continued to stare down at the desolate street below. It felt like you were waiting for a shadow to appear. The same one that was casting a dark spell over your sanity.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The airport was brimming with life - even at the ungodly hour. Families reuniting, wheels clacking against the polished floor, announcements echoing overhead.

You and Daesung were moving through it all, heads down, casual but efficient.

He was practically glowing beside you, clutching your luggage with one hand and swinging his other arm as he walked. There was a bounce in his step.

“I booked a spa place for us - one with warm stone rooms,” Daesung beamed. “And there’s this tiny local spot that does handmade soba. I thought we could go there tomorrow night.”

You nodded, warmed by his thoughtfulness, until you both slowed at the sight of the chaos ahead. A wall of fans and cameras gathered by one of the VIP exits.

Security blocked the crowd, holding firm lines.

You nudged Daesung with your elbow. “I almost forgot about this part.”

He craned his neck. “Well... at least we're prepared.”

A sigh escaped you as you pulled your hood up and tugged your face mask into place. Daesung did the same, and together, you slipped around the edge of the chaos and into the quieter corridor leading to the VIP lounge.

But then you heard it. The shift in crowd noise. The camera shutters picking up speed.

You turned your head over your shoulder.

A trolley stacked with Rimowa suitcases was heading straight towards you.

And they were still covered in those ridiculous stickers. The ones you’d plastered all over them. Memories from each city you had visited together.

Jiyong was here.

He was striding forward with his security parting the crowd. A pair of black-framed glasses perched on his nose, cap low, but unmistakably him.

You grabbed Daesung’s arm, voice low. “I thought you said he wasn’t coming.”

Daesung blinked at you, surprised. “He said he wasn’t.”

You didn’t have time to process it. Jiyong spotted you through the glass of the lounge and made a beeline for the door.

He entered with a sigh, tugging his hat off, raking his fingers through his hair like he’d been running the whole way.

“You’re early,” he said with a soft smile, stopping a few feet away. “I thought you’d be.”

You glared at him, eyes narrowed to bitter resentment.

Daesung broke the silence, trying to keep things light. “What happened to taking care of things in Seoul?”

Jiyong didn’t take his eyes off you. “My responsibilities are here now.”

You rolled your eyes and Daesung felt it. He gave a half-laugh, feeling awkward. “Right. I’m, uh, gonna grab some food.” He glanced at you. “Coming?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, stepping to follow.

“What are we eating?” Jiyong asked, stepping after you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You turned sharply, hand up. “No.” The word was firm. A single finger raised in warning. “No.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but you didn’t give him the chance. You pulled your carry-on from Daesung and shoved it into Jiyong’s chest, causing him to stumble slightly as he caught it.

“I need you to stay here and look after this for me.”

He blinked, expression flickering. “I want to come with you.”

“No,” you said again, turning on your heel. “You’ll be fine. Stay.”

You walked away with Daesung, not looking back. You almost felt bad speaking to him that way, until you remembered why you were mad at him.

Daesung kept pace beside you, frowning.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. "I swear, he said - "

You shook your head before he could say anymore. “It’s fine."

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “I can’t avoid him forever. And maybe it’s good for him to see me. Like this. Moving on.”

Daesung hesitated. But he didn’t argue.

He simply placed a steady hand on your back and guided you toward one of the food stalls.

Far behind you now, Jiyong stood in the lounge, your carry-on in hand, staring after you with something unreadable in his eyes.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You had thought things would be awkward at first, since Hyo Rin and Youngbae sided with Jiyong during the fallout.

But they surprised you.

They apologised, and it was sincere.

They even shared their snacks with you on the flight like nothing had happened. And Seunghyun wasn't in attendance - he was off preparing for enlistment.

It was surprisingly easy to slip back into the rhythm of the group.

And when the private car finally pulled up to the hotel, you all went your separate ways.

Same floor, different rooms.

Your room was cozy, exactly what you needed after the long flight. You started unpacking, trying to shake off the tension still clinging to you, but when you went to grab your AirPods, you noticed one was missing.

You sighed.

You had a bad habit of losing things, but this one?

This one was especially annoying.

You plopped down on the bed and glanced around the room, half-expecting the missing AirPod to magically appear before you.

It didn’t.

Your mind drifted, as it often did, back to a memory with Jiyong.

It was your first anniversary, and you were standing in front of the mirror, fidgeting with the diamond earrings Jiyong had gotten you.

He was standing behind you, his arms casually slung around your waist, watching you with that soft, affectionate smile that only he could pull off.

“You almost ready?” he asked, his voice low and warm.

You nodded, glancing at the clock. “Just about. I’ll be done in a second.”

He didn’t respond, just stood there, swaying slightly, his hands brushing over your dress - not to help, but to distract. He tugged at the little zipper.

“Jiyong,” you laughed, “come on, I’m trying to get ready here. You know I like to be early.”

"You look so beautiful.”

His hands traced the line of your dress, pushing the strap off your shoulder just enough so he could kiss the exposed skin.

“You’re making this hard,” you muttered, but it was difficult to stay serious when he was being like this.

His lips brushed your neck, then your earlobe, before he playfully bit down. "You're making me hard,"

“Oh my god,” You breathed out, a laugh escaping as he pulled you backwards, towards the bed.

You never made it to the dinner.

But that hadn't been what the evening was supposed to be about anyway.

It was about you and him.

A day remembering the beginning of your relationship, which had bloomed from something so unexpected.

And as long as you were with him, you didn't care how you celebrated it.

Although, breathlessly tangled in bedsheets with Jiyong was a rather faultless way of honouring your love.

Your eyes felt heavy as you lay there, lying against his bare chest and staring at the TV on the wall - playing a show neither of you were really watching.

Meanwhile, Jiyong was tugging at your earlobe absentmindedly, his hair slightly damp and askew after you had spent hours tugging on it.

“You know, I think you lost one of your earrings,” he said, his voice thick with amusement.

You tensed, your hand flying up to check your ear. “What?” You felt around the bed, panic rising as you realised it was true. “No, no, I can’t find it!”

“Don’t worry,” he teased, his voice low, amused. “It’s probably just fallen somewhere. I can't believe you’ve lost it already, Jagi.”

You scrambled to search the floor, uncaring for your naked state, desperately looking for the missing earring. “What do you mean I’ve lost it?!”

He chuckled, stretching across the bed as you yanked the covers from his bare body, tossing them across the room to double-check the mattress. Jiyong lay there, smiling, thumb pulling at his lip as he watched you.

“I’ll buy you another pair,” he said, sounding too relaxed about it. “Maybe a few more, so I can keep biting your ears and make sure you keep losing them.”

You glared at him, even though it had no malice behind it. “You're right. This is your fault.”

He laughed, his hand reaching out to tug you closer until you were standing against the edge of the bed.

He stared up at you, eyes warm and full of admiration. “I won’t stop,” he promised, his hands brushing against the curve of your backside. “When it comes to you, I have no control.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, even as you rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, though you loved him for it.

And when he went to bite the curve of your thigh, you shrieked with laughter, the sound filling the room, the moment a perfect bubble of happiness.

He tugged you hard, your body collapsing onto his - onto the bed, the world outside slipping away.

The knock at your hotel door pulled you sharply back to the present. Your heart raced as you stared at the door for a moment, your hand still clutching the missing AirPod.

The memory of Jiyong, of how things used to be, clung to you like a scent that couldn't be washed away.

You let out a shaky breath and wiped your hands on your pants. The knock came again, louder this time.

With one last glance at the missing AirPod, you forced yourself to stand. You walked toward the door and reached for the handle.

Daesung was standing there, grinning with that familiar warmth.

“You ready for an adventure?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.

Before you could even respond, he grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the room and into the elevator.

Next thing you knew, you were being whisked away to the Mario Kart go-kart experience in the streets of Tokyo.

It was absolutely ridiculous, and that was what made it so perfect.

You both suited up in bright, oversized outfits, giggling at each other from your respective go-karts, racing through the bustling streets of the city.

The rush of speed, the adrenaline coursing through you as you zipped past buildings and tourists, was invigorating.

You found yourself laughing uncontrollably as Daesung swerved a pothole and nearly crashed into a traffic cone. He stayed just slightly behind you, letting you take the glory, and preventing the people from behind from overtaking you.

It was liberating. To forget.

You didn’t even think about the mess you’d left behind.

The whispers. The stalker. Your job. Jiyong.

But eventually, the karts came to a stop, and you were back in the quiet of the Tokyo streets, the air cool against your skin.

You both strolled around, taking in the sights together. He was leading you towards a restaurant, talking animatedly about the noodles you just had try.

You hadn't even noticed you were holding hands until he tugged you back from stepping onto the crossing as a cyclist whizzed past. You smiled at him in gratitude.

Your adrenaline was still pumping from the racing. Your head rushed. It was addicting.

And then, of course, Daesung had to ruin it by bringing up Jiyong.

“So… I’ve been meaning to ask,” Daesung began, his voice casual but tinged with something softer. “How are you really doing with everything? With him.”

You sighed, removing your linked hands to rake it through your hair.

Of course, it had to come up. It always did.

It felt like no matter where you went, or what you tried to do to move forward, the past kept following you like an inevitable shadow.

“I don’t know, Dae,” you admitted, “I just… I don’t want to keep thinking about it. I don’t want to keep going back to that. I just want to move forward, you know? We’re in Tokyo. I want to enjoy the trip. I want to enjoy this.”

Daesung didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you, his expression serious. After a beat, he sighed.

“You can’t move forward until you make peace with the past, though,” he said quietly, his words hitting harder than you expected.

You stopped walking, the weight of his words sinking in.

“I’m not clueless, Y/n,” he continued, his tone a little more pointed. “I know why Jiyong’s here. He’s here because you’re here. And he’s probably wondering where you are right now. Why you’re with me.”

You felt your chest tighten. His words landed like a punch, but there was no anger in them, only truth.

You looked away, avoiding his gaze as the words he spoke lingered in the air.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you muttered, but your voice sounded small, even to you.

Daesung’s voice softened. “Sorry, I just feel...”

You nodded slowly, your fingers brushing the cool surface of a nearby shop window as you gathered your thoughts. You knew what he was going to say.

Guilty.

You hadn't felt that way at first. Maybe only a fleeting pinch. But leaving things unresolved with Jiyong meant your time with Daesung felt... borrowed.

Like you weren't allowed to progress until you had closed that chapter for good.

“I know,” you whispered. “I’ve been avoiding him. But I can't stomach the thought of a conversation with him. He really hurt me."

Your words didn't even begin to cover the damage Jiyong had inflicted. Even if it had been from misplaced anger and judgement.

Daesung nodded, his hand falling gently on your shoulder, a reassuring weight. “I understand. I'd never push you into something you're not ready for."

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and he smiled, a soft, understanding smile.

It almost felt like his words had another meaning to them - like you weren't just ready for a conversation with Jiyong, but ready to move on.

Sometimes you wondered that if you sealed things off from Jiyong, then maybe your path with Daesung would suddenly appear.

Right now, it felt blurred and unsure.

It also felt exciting and hopeful.

You sighed deeply, feeling the weight of his words.

“Fine I promise that I'll be better,” you said softly, “I'll... try to keep the peace. But - he has to respect my boundaries too. I'm tired of people pushing me to my limits."

"I'll speak to him." He assured you with a nod. Then Daesung smiled again, his face lighting up. “I want you to have a good time. And we’ll be here, together. No more worries.”

You both stood there for a moment, the city moving around you, the night air cool against your skin. You stared up at him and then reached on your tip-toes, holding his broad shoulders for support as you pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek.

Daesung squeezed your waist as your feet flattened again, then he took your hand - fingers interlocked, continuing your journey through the city together.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The spa was meant to be a reprieve. A calming pause before the boy's performance later that night.

You and Daesung were wrapped in white robes, wandering through the corridors of still water and soft music. It was almost easy to pretend everything was simple again.

Almost.

Your eyes burned into the ink scrawled across his back.

Jiyong walked a few paces ahead, shuffling towards the indoor pool.

He had invited himself along, and Daesung had only offered an apologetic shrug when you looked at him with thinly veiled irritation.

You hadn’t said anything. There was no point.

You paused your steps, letting Jiyong go his own way. You just needed to keep your distance, stay in control.

But control slipped a little the moment Daesung loosened the tie on his robe.

He shrugged it off with the ease of someone used to being shirtless around others, and your gaze, unprepared, was caught.

The cut of his muscles. The curve of his biceps. The way his shorts hung low on his hips.

His body was all hard lines and effortless strength, and you knew he worked out, but you hadn’t seen it like this. Not so close. Not so bare.

You blinked and turned your head quickly, heart fluttering in your chest. The thought of sitting beside him in the sauna - watching sweat trace down the thick column of his neck, pooling in the crevice of his chest - was suddenly too much.

“I think I’ll go for the steam room,” you said lightly, masking the heat rising in your cheeks.

He looked over at you and smiled, towel in hand. “Alright. Let’s do that instead.”

The steam curled thick around you both as you stepped into the room. It was quiet, private, the hiss of heat enveloping your skin in seconds.

You sat side by side on the tiled bench, your knees almost brushing.

The air was hot and wet, making the silence between words stretch longer than it should have - but Daesung, ever gentle, filled it with low laughter and small stories. Something about the last time they were in Japan. A fan encounter. A near-disastrous ramen challenge.

You laughed softly, grateful for the lightness.

But after a while, he leaned back against the wall, blinking slowly.

"I might have to step out for a bit,” he murmured. “I'm getting a little lightheaded in here.”

You shifted upright. “I’ll come with - ”

“No, no. Stay,” he said quickly, hand brushing yours to stop you. “Enjoy yourself. I’ll come back for you.”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

The door hissed shut behind him, leaving you alone in the thick fog. You exhaled and let your head fall back, trying to melt into the heat.

That’s when the door opened again.

You didn’t look. “That was quick - ”

“Y/n.”

You sat up fast.

Jiyong stood there, steam already beginning to curl around his body, his dark hair damp from the humidity. He wore nothing but tight black trunks, clinging to his thighs.

You stiffend, instantly on guard.

“No,” you snapped. “Get out.”

He stepped in anyway, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

“No,” he said evenly. “I’m going to stay here and talk to you. Even if I have to beg.”

You stared at him, unmoving.

He took a step forward. “Is that what you want? For me to beg?”

You stayed silent.

Tension hung between you, thick as the steam in the air. Old feelings clawing their way back to the surface. You hated how he could still pull them from you so easily.

He looked at you for a beat, eyes unwavering. “Well?” he prompted. “Do you?”

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the wall. “Go on then. Beg.”

You didn’t expect him to actually do it.

But then - he dropped. Right onto the steaming tile floor, knees hitting hard, ignoring the sharp heat searing against his skin. His hands came together in front of him, eyes locked on yours.

“Please,” he said, words low and sincere. “Please forgive me. I’m so sorry. I was stupid. I hurt you. I’ve spent every day since trying to be better. Trying to prove it. And I’ll keep doing it, Y/n. I’ll keep proving it. Just… please.”

The steam blurred the edges of him, but the emotion in his voice cut through like glass.

“One more chance,” he said, voice thick now. Raw.

He didn’t look away. And despite everything, it was hard to keep your heart guarded when he looked at you like that.

You exhaled slowly, heart tight in your chest.

“I'm tired, Jiyong,” you said finally. “I don’t want to fight anymore. It’s not fair to the others. I want this trip to be good. For all of us.”

His head dropped for a moment, as if something in him had finally unclenched.

You let out a breath. “You can get up now. Before someone thinks we’re doing something else in here.”

That familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he slowly rose. “Wouldn’t be the first time we did, huh?”

You rolled your eyes.

He sat beside you, trunks sitting low on his waist, traces of his thigh tattoos peaking out. You stared ahead, trying not to glance at him, at the water glistening on his chest, the way his hair curled slightly with the heat.

The air was thick now, not just with steam but something unspoken.

History. Hunger. Longing.

Even just his presence beside you made your skin feel too tight. He wasn’t touching you, but you could feel him, the weight of what you used to be, of what you almost still were.

“Are you coming to the show later?” he asked, voice softer now.

You nodded, eyes still fixed ahead.

He smiled, small and genuine. “Good.”

And in that small pocket of heat and silence, the ache between you stirred again - unresolved, undeniable.

But for now, you leaned back, closed your eyes, and tried to let the steam carry it all away.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You and Hyorin had screamed yourselves hoarse from the barricade, limbs tangled in the wild energy of the fans.

It was impossible not to get swept up in it. Even if you hadn’t planned to cheer. Even if you told yourself you’d stay cool. Composed.

That hadn't been possible when Youngbae had stripped his shirt off and thrown it at the crowd - Hyorin fighting with a screaming girl to claim it. Or when Daesung poured his bottled water over his body, flicking the rest in your direction with a wink.

And especially not when Jiyong had collapsed to his knees in the middle of his performance of 'If You'. His eyes never leaving yours.

Unrelenting. Pleading.

Now, long after the final encore, the energy hadn’t quite faded.

You were all crammed into a hole-in-the-wall takeout spot, the kind of place that smelled like grease and burning. Noodles and soju littered the table, laughter spilling from every corner.

Youngbae had long since surrendered holding his head up, resting it flat on the tabletop, dead to the world.

Hyorin giggled uncontrollably as she slowly, dramatically piled noodles on top of his bleached hair, strand by strand.

“You’re going to give him a noodle crown,” you wheezed, covering your mouth with your hand.

She shushed you with mock seriousness. “Don’t wake him up!”

Even Jiyong had his head tipped back in laughter, cheeks pink from soju and residual adrenaline.

It felt like before. Before the fights. Before the silence. Before everything cracked.

Eventually, the energy began to fade, and someone mumbled something about sleep. Everyone agreed in a chorus of groans.

You stood, wincing immediately as the ache in your feet made itself known.

“God, I shouldn't have worn these shoes,” you muttered.

“Come on,” Daesung said, crouching down before you. “Hop on.”

“What? No, you just danced for like three hours, you must be - ”

He turned his head and gave you a look. “I said, hop on.”

You hesitated, then gave in with a laugh, throwing your arms around his shoulders and jumping onto his back. He hoisted you easily, gripping your thighs with a tight squeeze.

“Dae!” you squealed when he immediately took off into a sprint, making your stomach lurch with each bounce.

“You said your feet hurt!” he called back, breathless and grinning.

Behind you, you could hear Hyorin’s laughter, and Jiyong’s complaining as they were left to drag Youngbae’s half-sleeping form toward the hotel.

By the time you got back to the room, your whole body ached with exhaustion. You fell onto the bed face first with a groan.

“Dead,” you mumbled into the pillow.

Daesung leaned down, gently slipping your shoes off. “Still very beautiful though,”

“Mm,” you grunted, eyes fluttering closed as you rolled onto your side.

He tucked the blanket around you carefully, and you felt the dip of the mattress as he leaned in. Your breath caught. For a second, you thought - maybe -

But his lips just brushed the corner of your mouth. A near-kiss. Warm and fleeting.

“Goodnight,” he whispered.

And then he was gone.

You were drifting when your phone vibrated on the nightstand. You groaned and reached for it blindly.

“What,” you muttered, not even checking the screen.

“Hi.”

You frowned. That voice. Low and hesitant.

Jiyong.

“What do you want now?” you asked, more tired than annoyed.

“Did you get back okay?” His voice was quiet. Softer than usual.

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “Daesung walked me to my room.”

You didn’t tell him about the blanket. Or the almost kiss.

“Good,” Jiyong said. “I feel better knowing you’re safe.”

You said nothing, eyes closing again.

“You two have gotten close.”

“Mhm.”

There was a pause. “I’m glad Daesung was there when I wasn’t. He’s a good friend. For looking after you… for me.”

You didn’t respond.

He sighed, but continued despite your silence. “I’m glad I can talk to you again,” he said. “We used to call after my shows, remember? When you couldn’t come, I’d call you the second I got offstage. Couldn’t sleep without hearing your voice.”

You nodded, but your mind was too foggy with sleep to respond.

“I haven’t really slept since we ended,” he added. “Not properly.”

You breathed out, slow and heavy. Already gone from the moment.

“I love you.”

But you didn’t hear him.

The phone slipped from your hand as you fell into sleep, the line still open.

When your alarm blared early the next morning, you jolted upright, groggy and sore. You reached for your phone to silence it - and that’s when you saw it.

The call was still ongoing.

You hesitantly brought the phone to your ear and waited. You could hear soft breathing. The gentle rhythm of Jiyong’s sleep, steady and low.

He hadn’t hung up.

You stared at the call log.

He’d stayed on the phone all night.

Your finger hovered above the red button. Just for a second.

Then you sighed and ended the call.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Even though the trip had ended on a high, normality was calling you to return.

But that didn't mean Japan hadn't left its mark.

You'd have to find a new job once you returned. And the break from Seoul had sown a seed of hope.

Maybe you could return to your passion of producing again. Maybe it was time to move forward, instead of letting the world moving around you.

You stepped into your apartment, the door clicking shut softly behind you. The familiar scent of your linen spray still lingered faintly in the air, a gentle, deceptive kind of welcome.

Home.

But something felt off.

And then you saw them.

The tulips.

They sat back in their vase on the counter. The very same vase you’d left knocked over. The flowers had begun to wilt, petals sagging from their stems. You had left them lying on the marble.

You knew you had.

The bag in your hands fell to the floor, your grip weak.

A wave of dread slammed into you. It was too much. After everything - your job, your breakup, the long, slow crawl of putting yourself back together - this, this, was the thing that made the cracks split open.

You cried.

Loud, ugly sobs that ripped through your chest.

Someone had been here.

Someone had invaded your only safe space.

The police came quickly. Professional, composed, too calm for the way your voice shook as you explained everything.

They swept the apartment, asked questions, took photos.

They didn’t find anyone.

But they did find what you feared most.

Your bedroom window - shattered from the outside.

Glass on the floor.

And clear signs that someone had entered.

One of the officers pulled his notebook out and gave you a grave look. “It’s clear someone broke in through the window. We’re escalating the case from a report of harassment to a formal investigation for unlawful entry. You did the right thing calling it in.”

You were shaking.

Your fingers trembled, clenched around the sleeves of your hoodie like you were trying to ground yourself. Willing your body to stay standing. And you wouldn't have been able to -

Had it not been for Jiyong’s arm wrapped firmly around your shoulders. Pressing you against his familiar embrace.

The officer glanced between the two of you. “Do you have somewhere safe you can stay?”

Jiyong didn’t hesitate. “With me.” he held you closer. "She's coming home with me."

You didn’t fight him. You couldn’t. You leaned into him, letting the warmth of his body soak into your bones.

Home wasn’t a place anymore.

But maybe it could be a person.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

dae: i'll speak to him about boundaries

cut to jiyong the next day on his knees, in a steam room, begging you for attention

this damn drama queen

a/n: my big bang girls gave me keywords for this fic: sauna, begging, pathetic man, and dog collar - i hope i lived up to most of them

sorry if this wasn't my best work - i'm still grinding at uni butttt only 2 assignments left 🥳🥳🥳🥳 yipeeee

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife , @sylviavf , @ldydeath , @wonyluvi , @deliciousmagazinequeen , @heartubeatusalon , @imminsugasgf , @steponupbabe

#mashtatosworld #bigbang #kpop #gdragon #kwon jiyong #kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon x reader #daesung x reader #daesung

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rosy-crow · 1 day ago

Text

Miniroth in Dragon Quest (Rough Recap)

Alright, I’m off work and I gathered as many of my translations as possible. A lot of these were just put through screenshot/google translate, so they aren’t perfect, but to avoid blatant misinformation, I double-checked with some of my Japanese mutuals on Twitter to see if my guesses were right and they helped out 🙏

Young Sephiroth arrives in the world of Orchestrra, which is full of monsters. Here was the basic summary translated.

Long story short, the other humans the second group of monsters and the human player (Master) eventually meet are Cloud and Co, who have their own quest to escape.

But Miniroth becomes the center of the story and I recapped the highlights of his bond with Monan, the cute pink monster, in these posts specifically.

As they gathered info, Monan told Sephiroth about her world and he listened eagerly, but he had some points where he was too mission-focused and poor with his communication. He apologized for this immensely after an incident where a monster caught him off guard and Monan rushed to protect him the attack and she got hurt.

It was after this point (shown above), that Sephiroth started to actually befriend Monan. Then he opened up and they had this cute moment where Monan called him a friend and Sephiroth just about melted.

This bonding subplot apparently developed more today and we got this scene where Monan calls Sephiroth kind/compassionate and he is moved by it 🥲

And Monan was just starting to want to ask Sephiroth more about his life after he told her about Team Glenn too!

So yeah, they became buddies over the course of a few days, but then the drama that I was last freaking out about came down to ruin it all.

Shown above, Sephiroth briefly teamed up with Cloud and co, which went well. But then Seph started getting weird premonitions and psychological attacks, which led to an extreme breakdown in the middle of a big battle. The screen turned purple and Miniroth started yelling in pain before vanishing into a portal that zapped him away.

Aaaaaand out came Dragon Quest’s adult Sephiroth!

Now we know where the purple came from :(

I loved the design though! It’s very OG/old Crisis Core!

But yeah, he burnt down the monster village. Can he stop doing this sjfjdjd 💀

Monan essentially just refused to believe it was the same Sephiroth and immediately helped Cloud and the others beat him.

That was the main event, and there were some other battles/conclusions that I couldn’t get all the translations for, but in a nutshell, everyone worked together to save the day. Cloud and co were fine and went home, but this is where the ending really upset me because. MINIROTH. DID. NOT. COME. BACK.

The last time we saw him, he got pulled away in the middle of his agony (which was caused by his older self…which is so fucked up because he basically ruined his own happiness 💀) and Monan worried about him!!!

THEY CLOSED THE WHOLE DAMN EVENT WITH MONAN BEING SAD AND MISSING SMOL SEPH AND THE LAST TIME SHE SAW HIM, HE WAS LITERALLY SCREAMING IN AGONY??? WHICH IS SO UNFAIR?? THEY ALSO DIDN’T GET TO SAY GOODBYE!!

And the screen faded to black with this FUCKING GUT PUNCH AJDHSJSJD

This lovely Japanese player translated it in detail for me. Monan and the others promised to explore more so that they could share interesting stories with Sephiroth if they ever saw him again — the stories that he seemed so delighted to hear. They hoped it would help him forget “painful moments.”

And they also said they’d never forget his awkward but joyful smile when Monan called him a friend, which was this scene 💔

WHY. WHY THE FUCK.

#FUCK YOU DRAGON QUEST #IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FREE MINIROTH THERAPY #WHERE HE MADE A CUTE PINK FRIEND #AND YET SOMEHOW HE WAS STILL SCREWED OVER AND LOST ANOTHER FRIEND 💀#*dies*#i’ve been upset all day lol #ff7 #dragon quest #sephiroth #miniroth #monan #final fantasy vii #au #sephposting

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mintyys-blog · 2 days ago

Note

my fave thragg writer 🩵

this might be a bit long im sorry 😭 but I had this idea and thought you could do it justice queen…please can i request thragg with marks twin sister reader?

like imagine she’s especially vulnerable after her dad’s betrayal, mark has eve even her mother has paul but you are just…alone.

thragg picks up on this as because he agrees your father was weak he lowkey manipulates you at your time of weakness and promises you the world (he kinda has been eyeing you a long time anyway because 1 duh youre a cutie patootie 2 you are a twin, rare and powerful in viltrumite history)

so he seduces you and then mark comes to find you thinking you got kidnapped but finds you playing happy families with thragg bonus points if you’re like 2 months pregnant and he’s just totally horrified that thragg made you his brood mare, maybe your dads reaction as well?

maybe thragg actually loves her but regardless his methods of manipulation and praying on her issues was dark lmaooo

THANK YOU 🩵

TRICKED | thragg x grayson! reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: implied sex, pregnancy, manipulation.

There are some sounds you never forget—like the crunch of ribs collapsing under your father’s fists, the wet gurgle of Mark choking on his own blood, or your mother’s scream when she watched her husband fly away without looking back. Those sounds have carved themselves into your bones. They echo in your ears when you’re brushing your teeth, when you’re doing dishes, when you try to sleep. You don’t sleep much anymore.

You try to keep busy. Laundry. Grocery runs. Fixing up the house like it’s not built on top of something dead and rotting. You help your mom because you think you’re supposed to. Because Mark can barely look at her without guilt flickering across his face, and someone has to carry the weight of pretending everything is okay. You patch up broken drywall that Nolan smashed once in a temper tantrum you now understand too well. You clean out his closet and pretend you’re not looking for a note, a reason, something that would explain how he went from being your father to being a stranger. You go on patrols Mark’s too tired to take. You smile at civilians, sign autographs for kids who still think you’re a hero. Then you come home and sit in your room until the walls feel like they’re pressing in.

Mark is healing. Slowly. You sit beside him in the hospital when he’s unconscious and keep pretending he might hear you. When he wakes, Eve is there. She reads to him. Brushes the hair off his forehead. He smiles for her. You’re happy for them, or at least that’s what you tell yourself. But there’s a part of you that feels like the third wheel in your own life. A shadow. Something leftover. Mark has Eve. Your mom has Paul. Everyone found someone to hold them through the wreckage. You’re just… floating.

You’re not jealous. You’d never take anything from Mark. But it’s getting harder to remember the last time someone held you. Not with pity. Not out of obligation. Just because they wanted to.

You try to help your mom more. She doesn’t ask, but you see the way she looks at Nolan’s old coffee mug and then quickly shoves it to the back of the cabinet. You pretend not to notice her crying over the sink. You dry the dishes next to her in silence, like it’s normal, like you’re both not waiting to fall apart the second the other one isn’t looking. When she thanks you and kisses your forehead, it stings. Not because you don’t want it—but because it feels like a goodbye.

Paul’s nice. He tries. He talks to you like you’re a person, not a ticking time bomb. He makes soft, awkward jokes. Checks in. But it’s surface-level care. He’s not your father. He’s not trying to be. And you’re not trying to replace him. You’re just tired of feeling like the only person who remembers what your family used to be.

Sometimes, you fly so high the atmosphere stings your skin. The silence up there is better than the quiet down here. At least above the clouds, your thoughts don’t echo as loudly. You push your body to its limit, hoping exhaustion might feel like clarity. But when you finally land, nothing is fixed. You’re still alone. You’re still pretending.

You see Mark laughing again. He’s slowly becoming himself. Stronger. Whole. You know he deserves it. You want it for him. But sometimes you look at him and feel like you’re on the other side of a glass wall, smiling, waving, dying just a little more each time he forgets to look back. You want to be angry. At him. At Nolan. At the whole damn universe. But you’re too tired to hold onto anger anymore. All you have left is this numbness. This ache.

You keep dreaming about your father. Not the monster. Not the man who destroyed Chicago and called humanity beneath him. The one who used to swing you and Mark around like airplanes. Who kissed your bruises and whispered that you were strong, even when you cried. You wake up sweating, tears clinging to your lashes, and you hate yourself for missing him. But you do. God, you do. And that might be the worst part—still loving someone who would’ve let you die if it served a bigger purpose.

You’re not okay. You know that. But if you admit it, everything might fall apart. So you keep your mouth shut. You nod when people ask if you’re fine. You smile when Mark talks about healing. You tell your mom you’re just tired. You lie every time. You lie so well, it’s starting to feel like the truth.

But when you’re alone—really alone, in the dark, under blankets that don’t feel warm anymore—you wonder how much longer you can keep doing this. You wonder how long until something inside you breaks. You wonder if anyone will notice.

You wonder if anyone will care.

It starts with a small thing.

You forget to pick up dinner.

Your mom doesn’t yell. She just sighs—quiet, disappointed—and grabs her keys. “It’s fine,” she says, already halfway out the door. “I’ll handle it.”

You stare at the spot she left behind like it personally slapped you. You meant to get it. You even made a list. But somewhere between cleaning up after Mark’s mess in the living room and fixing that crack in the hallway ceiling, you just… forgot.

And now you’re standing alone in the kitchen, hands clenched at your sides, hating how useless you feel.

You tell yourself it’s not a big deal. People forget things all the time.

But this isn’t about dinner.

It’s about everything.

It’s about carrying the weight no one asked you to hold. About being the quiet, dependable one. The one who never made it about her. The one who picked up the slack, swept the broken pieces into her pockets, and smiled like her world wasn’t caving in.

It’s about how no one ever asked how you were doing—because they just assumed you’d manage.

Because you’re strong. A Viltrumite. A Grayson.

You’re fine, right?

You don’t even notice the tears until they’re sliding down your face. Hot. Silent. Shameful.

You try to wipe them away quickly, like someone might walk in and catch you being weak. But no one comes. The house is empty again. Or maybe it’s always felt empty.

You sink to the kitchen floor. Cold tile against your knees. Chest tight. Throat burning. You don’t sob—your body doesn’t even have the strength for that. It’s quieter than that. Just a slow collapse. A silent kind of breaking.

You pull your knees to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself like maybe, just maybe, if you hold on tight enough, something will hold you back.

But nothing does.

You stay like that for almost an hour.

By the time your mom comes home, you’ve pulled yourself back together. Slapped your mask back on. You joke about how she forgot the chocolate ice cream. She laughs. You pretend to eat dinner.

Later, Mark texts you a picture of him and Eve at some café. His smile is wide. Hers is brighter. He adds a dumb pun and a heart emoji. You respond with a thumbs up.

Then you put your phone down and stare at the wall for fifteen minutes straight.

You don’t cry again.

You don’t feel anything anymore.

The next day, you fly. Higher than usual. Longer. You don’t have a destination. You just want to escape.

You want to disappear. And that’s when he notices you. The sky is too quiet.

You’re miles above Earth, flying through thinning clouds, high enough that the air starts to bite at your cheeks. The sun’s warm, but the cold cuts through you anyway. You like it that way. It numbs everything. Lets your brain go still for a few seconds at a time. Below, everything is small. Manageable. Distant.

You close your eyes mid-flight and let yourself coast for a moment, arms loose at your sides, hair whipping in the wind. You try to pretend it’s peace. That if you fly far enough, fast enough, high enough—something might feel right again.

But something shifts. A ripple in the air pressure. A subtle shadow where there shouldn’t be one. Your body reacts before your mind catches up. You snap your eyes open—and nearly slam to a stop midair. He’s there. Right beside you. Floating effortlessly. Poised. Calm. Huge.

Your heart leaps into your throat as your eyes lock with his. Tall. Powerful. Familiar in the worst possible way. The red and white uniform. The eyes like sharpened steel. A living warning bell.

You jolt backward midair, almost losing your balance. The fear kicks in before the logic.

“You—” Your voice trembles before you force it steady. “Are you… are you a Viltrumite?”

He nods, slow and deliberate, crossing his arms like he’s not in any rush. Like he’s been waiting for this moment.

“I am,” he says. His voice is deep, smooth—almost gentle. Almost. “But I will not hurt you.”

Your fists curl instinctively. Your chest tightens. Your feet don’t even have anything to plant on, but your instincts scream defend, run, scream—because this man feels like gravity. Too heavy. Too much.

You shake your head, backing away a few more feet, heart hammering against your ribs. “What do you want?”

“I want to talk,” he says simply.

No sudden movements. No threats. No raised fists. Just patience.

And that might be the most terrifying thing of all.

You hover there, breathing hard, wind whipping around you both like the atmosphere itself doesn’t know how to feel.

You can’t read him. There’s no malice on his face—but there’s no warmth, either. Just focus. Just control.

“You were following me,” you say quietly.

Another nod. “For some time.”

Your spine stiffens. “Why?”

His gaze narrows—not in threat, but in… interest. He studies you like a scientist examining something rare.

“Because I’ve been waiting for the moment you would see me. Truly,” he replies. “Not as an enemy. Not as a threat. Just as someone who understands what you’ve lost.”

That strikes a chord you didn’t expect. You blink, caught between instinct and confusion. “I don’t need your understanding,” you snap, though it sounds more fragile than fierce.

“No,” he says. “But I think you might want it.”

The words hit like pressure on a fracture. You hate him already. For being right. For knowing. For seeing too much. You shouldn’t listen. But something in your chest aches louder than your fear.

You stay in the air, a few feet back, arms still half-raised, unsure if you should fly or fight.

Thragg doesn’t move. He doesn’t need to. His stillness is its own kind of power.

“You’re afraid,” he says—not like an accusation, more like an observation. “But not of me. Not really.”

You hate how your stomach twists at his words. How part of you wonders if he’s right. You are afraid. But not just of him. Not just because he’s stronger than you. Not because he looks like the man who ruined your family.

You’re afraid because it’s been so long since anyone actually looked at you like this.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you say quietly, bitter.

“I know your father left you,” he replies, voice low and even. “I know your brother almost died. I know your people abandoned you, and your planet praises you, but none of them see you.”

Your fingers curl tighter.

“I know what it’s like to carry the burden of someone else’s weakness,” he continues. “To be punished for someone else’s failure.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You feel winded. Like he punched the air out of your lungs with words alone.

“I’m not weak,” you say, because you have to. Even if it doesn’t sound convincing. “I’m not like him.”

“No,” Thragg agrees. “You’re not.”

And there’s something in the way he says it—something almost reverent. Admiration laced with something darker. Like he’s impressed. Like he’s pleased.

“Then what do you want?” Your voice comes out thinner than you mean it to. “If not a fight?”

His arms uncross, slowly. Deliberately. He hovers a little closer, but not enough to alarm you. Just enough that his presence starts to feel real. Inescapable.

“I want to offer you something,” he says. “A choice.”

You laugh, once. It’s hollow. “Is this the part where you offer me power and tell me to betray my planet?”

His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. But close.

“No. That comes later.”

That should make you fly away. It should. But he’s already moving again—circling, slowly, like a predator with infinite patience.

“What I want,” he says, “is to show you what your father should have. What it means to be valued. Protected. Feared, yes—but never ignored. Never abandoned.”

You flinch. Just barely. But he sees it.

“I know what you are,” he continues, voice now smooth, almost gentle. “I’ve known for some time. You and your brother—you are rare. Twins are almost unheard of among our kind. And yet Nolan left you here like you were nothing.”

You swallow hard. “Don’t talk about him like you know him.”

“I know what he is,” Thragg replies. “And I know what you could be, if you stopped trying to make yourself smaller just to fit in with a world that doesn’t deserve you.”

You stare at him, heart pounding in your ears.

He doesn’t break eye contact.

“I will not harm you,” he says again. “You have my word.”

“And that means something?” you whisper. “From you?”

There’s a pause.

Then: “Yes. It does.”

For a long time, neither of you moves.

Then, Thragg dips his head in what almost feels like a bow.

“When you’re ready to stop pretending Earth has anything left to give you,” he says, “find me.”

He doesn’t tell you where. He doesn’t have to. And just like that—he vanishes. One sonic boom. A ripple in the clouds. And he’s gone.

You remain suspended there, breathing hard, staring at the empty space where he stood. The cold air feels sharper now. The silence heavier. You should feel terrified. Violated. Angry. Instead, all you feel is the echo of his voice in your head. “I want to offer you something.” And the worst part? You want to hear more.

The first time you met him again, you told yourself it was for answers.

The second time, it was because you had more questions.

By the third, you stopped pretending.

You don’t know when it started feeling natural. The silence between you. The way he spoke in low tones like he was always restraining something just beneath the surface. A quiet power. You weren’t afraid of it anymore.

You weren’t afraid of him.

You met him where no one would look—on mountain peaks and in hollowed-out ruins, in long-forgotten corners of the world that felt like nowhere. He never demanded anything. Never touched you. Not unless you moved first.

He’d listen.

Really listen.

You spoke about Nolan. About Mark. About how sometimes you looked in the mirror and didn’t know who you were trying to be anymore. You told him you were tired of pretending Earth was home when it only made you feel alien.

Thragg never pitied you.

He didn’t scold or offer meaningless comforts.

He simply looked at you and said, “You were never meant to be small.”

And for once, someone meant it.

He didn’t see your grief as a burden. He saw it as a scar earned. A sign that you were surviving. Evolving.

You wanted to hate him for being the enemy, but over time, it got harder to remember why. Because in all those hours spent with him, laughing quietly, debating fiercely, laying side by side on cold stone under a starlit sky… he never treated you like a child. Or a soldier. Or a symbol.

He treated you like you.

And tonight, the world finally feels like it’s tipped too far to come back from.

It’s raining. Not hard. Just steady. A misty kind of rain that blurs the edges of your vision. You’re soaked when you find him—waiting in the shell of an old house, roof mostly gone, walls eaten by time and ivy. He doesn’t ask why you’re crying.

He doesn’t need to.

You don’t say much. Just walk up to him and let your forehead rest against his chest, rain dripping from your lashes, your fists pressed into his shirt like you’re still holding something in.

His arms go around you. Carefully. Like he knows exactly how fragile you are beneath the skin. You don’t remember how the two of you ended up on the bed. A mattress left behind by whoever used to live here. Torn. Springs poking at odd angles. But it’s big enough.

He lies back, arms behind his head, his massive frame sprawled as comfortably as he can manage. His legs dangle off the edge, and he doesn’t seem to care. You curl up beside him.

Not just beside him—into him. Head on his chest. Hand resting over his ribs. His warmth seeps into you slow, steady, constant. His breathing is calm. He doesn’t speak. He just lets you stay.

You don’t know if you’re imagining the way his fingers curl lightly around your shoulder, or how his body shifts just enough to pull you closer. You don’t care. You don’t want to question it tonight. This isn’t about love. Not yet. It’s about gravity. About finally letting yourself fall. You drift to sleep to the sound of his heartbeat. Heavy. Solid. Like it was always there, waiting.

You don’t know what time it is, but the world outside the cracked windows glows faint blue—too early for sunrise, too late for sleep. You’ve been lying there for hours, half-awake, heart beating too loud in the quiet. Thragg hasn’t moved. He breathes steadily beneath you, warm and unmoving, like the world could fall apart and he’d still hold his place in it. You sit up slowly, careful not to disturb him. But he opens his eyes the moment you move. He always does.

Your legs are tucked beneath you. You look down at him—this towering force of nature curled in the ruins of a broken house, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing in his universe right now. You open your mouth before you can stop yourself. “I… Thragg, I think I love you.” The silence stretches. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t mock. He watches you with that same unreadable intensity you’ve come to know. And then— “Good,” he says.

And before your heart can decide whether to break or beat harder, he sits up, one massive hand cupping your jaw, and pulls you into him. He kisses you. Not with desperation. Not like it’s some forbidden sin. He kisses you like it’s inevitable. Like he knew you would say it. Like he’s been waiting for it.

His lips are firm, warm, and certain. His other hand settles against the small of your back, anchoring you in place. Your breath catches. You melt into him without thinking, hands gripping his shoulders like you’re scared you’ll float away otherwise.

When he pulls back, you don’t let go. You stay close, forehead against his, breathing heavy, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “I’ve never felt this with anyone,” you whisper. “I know,” he replies. “That’s why I waited.” There’s no smugness in his voice. No gloating. Just certainty. Possession, maybe. But not the cruel kind. The kind that claims.

He brushes your hair from your face, gaze sharp but soft at the edges. “You were never meant to be alone.” And somehow, hearing it from him—from Thragg of all people—it feels like truth. A dangerous truth. But truth all the same.

The room is dim, shadows stretching across the cracked walls, but you barely notice. All you feel is the weight of Thragg’s gaze—dark, steady, like he’s reading every secret you’ve tried to hide. His fingers brush a stray lock of hair from your face, gentle but possessive, tracing your cheek with a careful tenderness that makes your breath hitch.

He moves closer, the heat of his body grounding you, anchoring you in the present. Your heart pounds in your chest—an erratic rhythm that somehow feels right. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you down into a kiss that’s slow at first, like an exploration, a question. His lips are firm, demanding, but patient, letting you set the pace.

You respond, hands curling into the fabric of his shirt, fingertips trembling as you discover how carefully he balances power and care. Every brush of his touch sends a spark rippling through your skin, lighting fires you thought had long since died out.

When his mouth moves to your jaw, then your neck, you shiver, arching toward him, needing more but afraid to ask. His hands roam—strong and sure—mapping the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip, drawing you closer still. You press into him, a silent plea for connection.

He’s immense beneath you—larger than life—but when he cradles you, it’s like you’re the only thing that matters. The world narrows until it’s just you, him, the quiet sound of your breaths mingling in the dim light.

You lose track of time in the warmth of his arms, the softness in his eyes when he looks at you. Here, with him, the weight of everything else fades. There’s no betrayal, no pain—just this moment suspended between heartbeats, full of promises you’re only just beginning to understand.

And when he finally pulls you close, a whisper against your lips, it’s not just desire you feel—it’s something deeper, something dangerous and undeniable

The morning light filters through the worn curtains, casting soft patterns across the small kitchen. Your mother, Debbie, sits at the table, eyes tired but hopeful, stirring a cup of coffee that’s long gone cold.

You pack the last of your things in silence. Clothes folded neatly, a few keepsakes wrapped carefully. You’re not sure how to say what you feel, or if you even want to say it. She looks up just as you sling your bag over your shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Her voice is steady but tinged with something fragile—fear, maybe. You hesitate. Then shake your head. “I found someone,” you say simply. “Someone who means a lot to me.”

Debbie blinks, swallowing whatever she was about to say.

You don’t tell her about the months of secret meetings, the way Thragg’s arms have become your shelter. You don’t tell her about the tiny life growing inside you, tucked away beneath your ribs like a fragile flame.

You don’t have to.

Your heart pounds as you step out the door, the weight of the secret heavier than the bag on your shoulder. You don’t look back. Because this time, you’re not running. You’re choosing.

You stand in the clearing, the sun dappled through the leaves above, your heart pounding louder than the quiet hum of the world around you.

Mark’s voice breaks the silence. “Why did you leave without telling me? Without telling Mom?”

You swallow hard, keeping your gaze steady. “I needed to. For me.”

His eyes narrow, then flicker to the figure silently stepping out from behind you.

Thragg.

The man who’s been your secret, your refuge.

Mark jolts back, surprise clear in his stance. “Who is he?”

You straighten, your hand lightly resting on Thragg’s arm. “This… is my husband. And the father of my child. Thragg. He’s a Viltrumite, but not with the empire anymore.”

Mark blinks, struggling to absorb the words. “Husband? Father of your child? You’re pregnant? He’s a Viltrumite?”

You nod, feeling the warmth of Thragg’s hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Stress isn’t good for you,” Thragg says quietly.

You manage a small smile, resting your head gently against his shoulder.

“Viltrumites don’t betray the empire! You know that!” Mark’s voice rises, frustration and fear mixed.

You meet his gaze firmly. “Dad did.”

Mark takes a breath, his expression darkening. “Dad is a different story. Hell—he almost killed me.”

You take a shaky breath. “I know. But Mark… Thragg isn’t like Dad.”

“You don’t even know him!” Mark snaps.

“Yes, I do!” you say, voice steady, feeling a new strength rise inside you. “He understands me better than anyone has.”

Turning away, you say firmly, “I think you should leave. Now.”

Thragg’s gaze sharpens, a warning beneath the calm. Mark hesitates, tension crackling in the air, before finally turning on his heel and walking away.

You watch him go, your breath catching, but the weight in your chest feels lighter somehow. Thragg pulls you close, his presence a steady anchor as you face the unknown together.

The sky darkens suddenly, a vast shadow cutting through the afternoon light. You look up, heart lurching as a massive ship descends, its sleek silhouette blotting out the sun. The air hums with low, powerful energy that sets your skin on edge.

“What… what are they doing here?” you whisper, eyes wide with shock and a flicker of fear.

A familiar presence shifts behind you. Thragg steps forward, calm and unshaken, his expression unreadable.

“They are here for me,” he says quietly.

You turn to face him, confusion and disbelief twisting inside you. “What?”

His gaze locks with yours, unwavering and solemn.

“I am the leader of the Viltrumites,” he admits, voice heavy with the weight of the revelation. “I’m sorry for having purposely misled you. But I assure you, life will be better. We can be a happy family. The family you’ve always dreamed about.”

Your breath catches.

The ground feels unsteady beneath your feet.

The man you thought you knew — the man who’d been your sanctuary — just changed everything.

#thragg x reader #thragg #invincible thragg #grand regent thragg #thragg x you

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selfloverrrrrr · 1 day ago

Note

Hiii can i please req yandere megumi corrupting innocent reader?😫😫 like reader is so helpless against gumi who’s like 2x bigger than her

Stealing?

Warnings : smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, Noncon, Kidnapping, physically and emotional abuse, biting, size difference, Yandere Megumi, protective, jealous, obsessive, manipulative....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

Y/N’s POV

College is… chaotic. The kind of chaos where I am constantly juggling assignments, and trying not to lose your mind from the pressure. I loved my friend circles as well. Nobara, the girl who always helps me out with my overthinkings. She's the best girl's girl I've ever know. Then yuji. She's such a sweet gut. Funny, sweet. He's too.... Well let's not talk about that now... Then Megumi. He’s always been there. Quiet, composed, eyes that say too much but lips that stay sealed. I always felt safe around him. He walks me to classes, waits when it’s dark, and steps in when some creepy guy tries to hit on me in the library.

“Hey, Y/N,” Nobara waved as she jogged over. “You coming to training?” she asked. “Yeah. I wanna catch up with Yuji and Megumi too.” I replied. Then after the training is done. We were walking towards our Campus again when we heard a whistle. Looked at the direction. Saw a guy of our campus looking at me *creepy*. He disgustingly signed for a blow job pointing towards his dick. And after that yuji was about to launch but Megumi was faster.

He grabbed that guy's neck with one hand and pushed him to the wall. We all gasped. "Look at her again you'll know what the hell looks like in seconds" Megumi muttered. The guy was struggling to breathe. One of that guy's friends came to save. But when he tried to reach megumi grabbed his hand with his other hand and twisted it. He screamed in pain. "Megumi let him go... He'll die" I said. "Yes that's enough don't be too rough... If does this again we'll see... Let him go now" Yuji said and Nobara nodded.

Megumi finally let them go and they ran gasping for air. "I didn't know Megumi's like that.... I mean he seems like a silent guy" I whispered to Nobara. "He is like this actually... He used to beat up guys in high school who used to bother him. The whole school used to fear him" Nobara whispered back. I gave her a shocked look. "Yes... This emo isn't that emo you think he is" She whispered and laughed.

Megumi’s POV. Few days later.

It was too early for training today. Yuji was half-asleep, drooling on my shoulder. I didn’t have the heart to push him off—not that he’d wake up anyway. We were waiting for the others to show up for technique sparring, but my mind was far from training. Y/N walked by. Her hair tied in a loose ponytail. Hoodie too big. Laughing softly at something Nobara said. She didn’t even notice what she does to me.

She never notices how I follow her when she’s walking alone at night to make sure she’s safe. How I memorize every outfit she wears, every guy she speaks to, every look she gives. She’s mine. She just doesn’t know it yet. "You're drooling, idiot," I muttered to Yuji, but he didn’t even twitch. Suddenly, I felt it—a shift in energy. The lazy weight on my shoulder grew tense. A low chuckle slithered into my ear like venom.

"I know... She's hot." I snapped my head. Yuji was no longer Yuji. Sukuna. He was smirking. "Get the fuck out," I hissed. “Relax, kid. I just wanted to say… you’ve got taste. That girl—Y/N, right? Delicious little thing” Sukuna teased, eyes flicking to Y/N. "You do like her, don’t you? Don’t lie. I'm not an idiot like the rest of these dumbasses." He said. I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. He laughed again, voice low and dangerous. "You’re so quiet about it. Lurking like a shadow. But you haven’t done anything, have you? Haven’t even kissed her. Tch... pathetic."

"She’s my..........we're just friend." I said. "You sure Yuji sees her that way as well?" Sukuna leaned in. "You don’t know about their late-night chats? Every night, Megumi. While you're asleep like a good little guard dog, your best friend is texting your girl." He said. My heart dropped. "You're lying." I said. "Am I?" Sukuna grinned, devilish. "I'm stuck with this brat 24/7. I see everything. The way he blushes when she texts back. The way he types and deletes messages like a nervous virgin. And trust me, you really don’t wanna know what kind of things they talk about sometimes."

I clenched my jaw. Hard. "You're trying to get in my head." I replied. "Am I?" Sukuna echoed. "You think he’s innocent? He’s a teenage boy with zero filter and a pretty girl giving him attention. Do you think he’s just talking about school and cursed techniques?" I hated how my stomach turned. How something cold twisted in my chest.

"You’re pathetic, Megumi," Sukuna whispered like poison. "You sit and watch. Let him flirt. Let her laugh at his jokes. You protect her, worship her from afar… while someone else is inching into her bed....You’re weak, Fushiguro. You could have had her years ago. But now, you’re watching her slip through your fingers like a coward. What are you waiting for? For Yuji to stick his cock in her first?” he said.

“Shut up.” I almost screamed. My heart arched. “Take her. Mark her. Chain her to your fucking bed if you have to. She’s yours. Not his.” he said. “You’re insane.” I said but my heart didn't agree with my words. “No. I’m just honest. You think love is gentle? It’s possession. It’s war. She needs to learn that.” sukuna said. “You’re wasting time protecting her like she’s some princess,” Sukuna sneered. “She doesn’t need a knight. She needs a master. Someone who’ll show her who she belongs to. Who’ll make her kneel and learn.”

“That’s not—” “What’s stopping you?” Sukuna cut me off. “Your morals? Your cowardice? You think that’ll keep her from spreading her legs for someone else?” he asked. My heart pounded. “Face it,” Sukuna continued, voice slithering through my ear like poison. “You’re not gonna win her by being soft. You’re going to lose her. Unless you make her yours. Break her if you have to. Love like yours doesn’t need permission. It needs control.”

“You think she’ll hate you for it? Who cares? Let her hate you. Fear makes people loyal. Fear makes them yours" he said. And just then Yuji groaned and slowly opened his eyes, stretching like he hadn’t just been possessed by a monster. I didn’t say anything. My head was burning. I needed proof.

Later that afternoon, Nobara invited us to sit together outside the cafeteria. I pretended to scroll my phone, watching Y/N and Yuji across the table. Laughing. So close their knees touched. He leaned in to whisper something in her ear, and she giggled. I waited for her to leave her phone on the table when she went to grab a drink. Yuji had gone with her. The moment they were gone, I reached for her phone. Opened the chat. Scanned. My blood ran cold.

Yuji: “That little skirt you wore yesterday? You really trying to kill me?”

Y/N: “Haha stopppp.”

Yuji: “Not joking. If you wore that in my room, I don’t think I’d let you leave.”

Y/N: “You're bad.”

Yuji: “Wanna be worse?”

There was a photo. Yuji. Lying back in his dorm bed. Shirtless. Sweatpants low on his hips. His hand was clearly inside the waistband. I scrolled.

Yuji: “You thinking about me now?”

Y/N: “Maybe.”

Yuji: “What would you do if I pulled you into my lap right now?”

Y/N: “Depends. Would you let me go?”

Yuji: “Not a fucking chance.”

My grip tightened around her phone. My knuckles went white. Another photo. A mirror selfie this time—sweatpants again. No shirt. The message below it:

Yuji: “Imagine me behind you like this. My hand under that cute little shirt you wear to bed.”

And she replied?!

Y/N: “Flirt much,huh? 🤭”

Yuji: “it's you after all.”

I know they hadn’t done anything yet. But it was close. It was dangerous. He was pushing it, and she was letting him. She trusted me. She talked to me about books. Walked beside me in silence. Called me “calm in the chaos.” And all this time she was letting Yuji talk to her like this? “Make her yours… Fuck her before this brat puts his dick inside her…” Sukuna’s words echoed again, like a goddamn curse, coiling around my brain. I looked up. They were still at the vending machine. Laughing. His hand brushed her back like it was nothing. Like he owned her. But he didn’t. He never would.

As the cafeteria crowd thinned, I stood up. "Hey, Y/N," I said casually, stepping behind her chair. "Can I talk to you?" She turned to me, all innocent eyes and soft curiosity. "Yeah, of course. What’s up?" “Privately.” I said. She blinked, then nodded, grabbing her drink. “Sure.” she replied. "Can you please come to my droom.... I really need to tell you something" I said. "It's okay..... We can go now. I was about to go to my droom anyways" She replied. Good.

Y/n's pov

We walked to his droom room. He opened the door. "You first" He said. I went inside the he. He locked the door. "Yk your droom always smells good and-" I was saying and suddenly he grabbed my face and kissed me. Roughly. Too roughly that I almost couldn't breathe. My bag fell on the floor. He tried to push his tongue in my mouth but I kept it close. I pushed him away. "What are you doing?!?!" I said loudly.

He just looked at me. I can't even get outside he's standing in front of the door. He threw his bag on the floor. Still staring at me. I walked back. He's walking towards me. "Megumi stop!" I said panicking. "Now you're scared of me? After all these days I've protected you from everyone?" He asked. "Megumi what's wrong with you?!" I said. I didn't realize and my back the door behind me. I was trapped. "Everything is wrong with me" He said. Then he opened the door and pushed me inside.

"Wait... Megumi stop please!" I said. He didn't replied. He closed the door and threw me on the bed. "Take off your clothes" He said. A shiver runs through my spine. "........what?" I asked. "You want me to rip that off?" He asked. "Megumi I-" He cut me off again. "I see what it is" He said and went up the bed. I was scared and tried to back off but Megumi grabbed my top and pulled it over my head and threw it on the floor. "Megumi stop!" I screamed and tried to cover myself. "Should have think about it before flirting with Yuji" He said leaning close.

"M-Megumi stop this please!" I said. "You weren't saying this when yuji was flirting with you" He said leaning close and pressing his lips on mine. I tried to push him away but he was pulling me closer. His hand slid to my chest and squeezed it. My body jerked off. I turned my head to the left to prevent his kiss. But he started kissing and licking my neck and jaw.

I grabbed his hand to stop him but he squeezed harder. I screamed. "Megumi stop this!" I said. "You thought I won't know?" He asked. He licked downwards and captured a nipple in his mouth, sucking on it. I was trying to push him away. "Megumi stop!!!!" Screamed. He looked up. And pulled down my pants with panties using one hand while looking at me. "I had planned everything how you gonna be mine how everything's gonna work out until you decided to go to the wrong person" He said.

I was breathing heavily. "Please I won't do anything again please-" He cuts off "you think I'm dumb like Yuji?" He asked and took off his sweatpants. He wasn't wearing anything underneath. He was pinning me under him. I looked away. He grabbed my chin and made me look at him again. "Don't look away.... I've waited for this for days...." He said a smirk appeared on his face.

He lined himself with me. "Megumi please please don't do this... Please! I'm begging you! I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry please!" I begged. Tears appear in my eyes. But he didn't. He pushed inside. I threw my head back. My back arched. I can't.... I can't. It's too big. It's thick. It hurts. He jerked forward and he was fully inside. I screamed.

It's too much. I've never done this before! I don't want it. I didn't realize when I started crying. He started thrusting. "Fuck.... Mmmhhhh..... Ahhh.... Fuckkkk.... Feels good.... Too good.... Ughhhhhh" He said between groans and moans. He looked down and me smirking. "Don't worry you'll get used to it" He said. He kept thrusting.I scremed. He didn't even give me time to adjust his size and started thursting in and out roughly. I was throwing my legs from pain and begging him to stop. And he was liking it so much. His thrust became harder and harder. I clenched around him tightly and he moaned loudly " ughhhhhh....ahhh s-so...ahhhh....so f-fucking tight " he started rubbing my clit with his thumb.

I bite his shoulder scratched his back to control myself. With a few more thurst I came. He was still thrusting roughly. I felt his cock pulsing inside me. I tried to push him away with all of my strength." Ughh...no no no no...ahhhhhh...no please no....ahhhhhh..... n-not ahhhh.....not inside... please please.... please Megumi I'm begging you....you're not even using protection" I told him between hiccups. He grabbed my throat and chocked me down to the bed.

"Isn't that more fun?" He said calmly with a smirk. I couldn't even believe what was happening to me. How could Megumi do this to me. Weren't we good friends??? The boy always kept silent, so the innocent is doing the most devilish thing to me??!! Within a minute he came inside me I could feel his seed inside me. He pulled out.

"You are mine... You always have been! No one will take you away from me! I'll keep breaking you until you understand that I am the one for you" He said biting my lip.

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