#that freaking genuine shadow smile

[chaoflaka]

[lokissweater]

sunday's 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

{yuta okkotsu x popular f!reader}

summary: yuta okkotsu has been in love with you since he started college— living in the shadows of your popularity as he watched from afar how your bouncy and genuine kind soul prospered and shined everywhere you went. but during one of his shifts at the 50s diner down the street from his campus, you walk in with you friends one sunday night and immediately bond over your shared love for elvis presley’s music, yuta stammering and fidgety at how pretty you are up close, and you falling fast for his pinky cheeks, sweet little words, and how he takes care of you every single day.

warnings: college!au, FLUUUFFF omg so cute, lovesick yuta he thinks you’re so prettyyy, no smut in this one!, popular reader, cursing, afab!reader, lots of mentions of elvis presley LOL, little bit of angst, clueless yuta, strangers to friends to lovers.

word count: 9.6k

authors note: THIS ONE HITS HOMEEE FOR MEEE AAAHHHH CAN YOU TELL I LOVE ELVIS PRESLEY? i live and breathe that man and oldies in general, so this is a love letter to him! :] this fic is all of my favorite things combined and it is SO FREAKING CUUTEEEE UGH i hope you all love it seriously <3333 MWAAHHH I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU—

yuta okkotsu had never seen a girl so beautiful.

you were breathtaking, watching from afar, it was truly as if the world revolved around you in the most positive way yuta could think of.

you were popular— a beam of gorgeous light following you everywhere you went as you were always just enveloped by people and strangers and friends, them wanting to talk to you, wanting to get to know you, wanting you to better their lives because that’s what you selflessly liked to do for everyone without knowing.

and every time he’d walk in between lectures and spot you— feeling in the dumps if on certain days he’d miss your presence entirely, he’d just stare. stare with pink cheeks and softened eyes as you laughed and messed around with your friends or did extracurricular activities around campus, always giving a helping hand to those who needed it no matter the status.

that’s what yuta admired the most about you. you didn’t treat anybody differently just because they didn’t stand in the same level as you. you didn’t care about things like that, and you spoke to people with such fucking class and poise, that he always dozed off picturing how it would be like if he ever had the privilege of actually speaking with you.

that’s how most of his work shifts went at the diner after his classes.

he would wait tables or be in the kitchen, wipe down the windows or run the hostess stand… and you’d be on his mind— permanently there to torment him in the loveliest way he knew how.

and on one sunday night, you were unexpectedly there right in front of him at his job.

“hello?”

you waved a gentle hand over his face, and he snapped out of it immediately, cheeks pinky and bright, your friends snickering.

“yes! s—sorry.” he reached behind the hostess stand. “how many are with you?”

“four!” you responded sweetly, yuta having to swallow the huge lump in his throat as he officially saw your smile up close for the first time in his life— a gorgeous contrast to what it looked like from far away.

yuta quickly grabbed the corresponding menus and stepped to the side of the hostess stand, leading you and your friends through the empty restaurant and to a big booth— placing two menus down on each side of the table.

a series of elvis presley oldies (a personal pick from yuta) played through the jukebox in the middle of the diner while you and your friends scanned the menu, yuta fidgeting and anxious with his pen and notepad, waiting for you to order.

“do you have a favorite milkshake from here?” your kind voice spoke, looking up at him.

“uh— milkshake?”

your friends snickered again, but this time, you turned to them and shot them all a menacing glare.

“hey!— stop that you guys…” you shook your head at them and turned back to a red faced yuta, smiling apologetically. “i’m sorry! i’m really sorry.”

your friends only looked annoyed as they buried their faces in their menus or looked away entirely— yuta shaking his head softly.

“n—no it’s alright. um— i usually prefer this one-”

he timidly pointed his pen downward, the words ‘elvis shake’ reading from it.

“it has uh— vanilla ice cream with peanut butter and bananas.” he pursed his lips. “if… if you like that?”

“oh i’m a whore for anything with peanut butter in it!…” your hands spread flat across the menu as you leaned closer, yuta shyly laughing a little at your wording.

you looked up then, your eyes bright and excited and yuta doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at him the way you were at that moment.

“is that why you like it? because of the peanut butter?”

“yeah! yeah definitely... m— mainly because of the name though.”

you stopped and your eyebrows furrowed. “elvis? do you listen to him?”

his cheeks buzzed. “do you?”

“y/n!” one of your friends harshly whispered to you from across the table. “are we here to chit chat or are we here to eat?”

“fuck okay! jesus—”

you and the rest of your group ordered, yuta nervously scribbling down the names of various platters and drinks before silently excusing himself to send the note off to the kitchen staff.

and when it came around to serving your food, placing each individual dish down for each person— yuta gently settled the elvis shake you got in front of you, adorned with baby pink sprinkles over a mountain of whipped cream with a cherry on top, something that yuta did extra for you out of the goodness of his infatuated heart, since it didn’t come with the drink in the first place.

he didn’t know why, but he could tell that the energy was different between you and your friends the second time he came around, and after hiding in the kitchen for the entirety of the time you were there instead of outside waiting tables like he was supposed to, by the third time he came back around— you were fighting with them.

he quickly retreated behind the bar and made himself look busy, guiltily eavesdropping as he picked up a random salt shaker and falsely examined it.

“i don’t understand why you guys can’t just be nice!” you pushed. “is having a normal conversation with somebody that funny? every time?”

“y/n you always talk to a bunch of rando’s of course it’s funny.”

“what the hell does that even mean?”

“it means it looks odd and you’re embarrassing yourself every time you skip around not being mindful of who you’re having conversations with!” one of them seethed, their tone judgemental and rude and one yuta didn’t like at all.

“like— like the server today! i’m pretty sure i’ve seen him around campus, he’s odd. why were you asking him about— about— who the fuck were you asking him about?“

“elvis.” you spat. “i was asking him about elvis."

“that guy! who cares? he works here why do you have to always talk to people like that—”

“like what?!” you threw your arms up. “like a normal decent human being would? i can see why you’d lack that.”

“excuse me?”

“yeah. and it sucks for you.”

“sucks for?— okay. i think we’re done here.”

“way fucking done.”

as each of them scooched out of the booth, yuta watched with wide panicked eyes while you stayed seated and silent, arms crossed over your chest and lips tight as you glared.

“i don’t know why everyone loves you so much…” one of them muttered. “there isn’t anything to you.”

and they all walked out, the bell above the door chiming as they did.

yuta’s eyes darted from you to the exit and to them through the window outside in the parking lot, watching fucking gobsmacked as they all got in one singular car and sped off, leaving you there by yourself and with the responsibility of the bill.

soft sniffles reached him, and he turned then, your body hunched over on the table as you cried with your head down, yuta’s heart aching for you.

he put down the random salt shaker he was holding and walked around the bar, slowly making his way towards your table.

“you don’t—”

you shot up startled.

“sorry! sorry—” he awkwardly scratched his pinky cheek. “i was just— gonna say you don’t have to pay the bill… i— i can—”

“oh! no you don’t have to do that.” you wiped your cheeks. “it’s okay i can pay it.”

“but they left you the entire bill.” he said softly.

“i know… it’s okay! really.” you smiled a little through your tears, the sight making his shoulders slump.

how you could possibly smile at a time like this was beyond him.

yuta started clearing the empty plates from your table when you spoke up again.

“i’m sorry you had to deal with their attitude...” you mumbled. “and my ugly crying.”

he smiled softly and shook his head. “no it’s okay. you shouldn’t apologize for them.”

“i should though…” you whined a little. “they were being mean the moment we got here and were just straight disrespectful.”

you leaned back against the plush of the booth and crossed your arms, muttering. “it’s not like they were my friends either..”

yuta quirked a confused brow, setting the last of the plates away in the kitchen before coming back around. “they weren’t?”

“nuh uh.” you shook your head. “i had just met them today actually, from a sorority event. i thought they were nice at first but i started noticing they were a little bitchy.”

“bitchy?” he laughed a little, his heart leaping like a little leap frog at the realization that it was just you and him at the diner alone, the cooks having already gone home seeing as it was past closing time for the diner.

“yeah…” you sighed deeply through your nose. “they weren’t being very nice to the other girls there either… and— and when they asked me if i wanted to come eat here with them i didn’t really want to go but—” you pursed your lips, a sheepish look on your face. “i have a hard time saying no to people so…”

yuta’s eyes softened, leaning back against the edge of the long bar table as he eyed how resilient you tried to come across but damn well knowing you were hurting inside by their actions, your cheeks still wet and your bottom lip in a slight pout.

“what they said to you wasn’t very nice…” he murmured. “i’m sorry they did that.”

you smiled warmly. “it’s okay. i get it here and there.”

his eyebrows furrowed. “here and there? what do you mean?”

“from other people that i meet.” you perked up slightly then. “do you wanna sit?” you signaled to the seat across from you in the booth and he stiffened, eyes wide and cheeks pink as he reluctantly scooched his legs over and sat across from you.

“they just get a little mad when i don’t do what they want me to do.”

“like be mean? like them?”

you shrugged a little, but the way your gorgeous eyes peered up at him indicated that he was right. “i suppose.”

“are all of your friends like that?”

“oh no! thankfully not…” you fiddled with your fingers on the table. “a lot of them are really sweet.”

yuta never thought about how something like this could be a possibility, as all he saw was how much you were loved and idolized and sought after by literally anyone who knew your name— but he missed the mark on the logistics of it. he should’ve known certain girls wouldn’t be in favor of you and desired what you didn’t have to work very hard for to get.

he saw how you wiped the remnants of your wet cheeks and sniffed, looking like you had at least recovered from crying but still a little dejected as you slouched over the table, eyes down.

“do you want… another elvis shake?”

you looked up. “what?”

“a—another shake. do you want one?” he stood slowly from the booth. “or i could get you ice cream? we just have vanilla and chocolate but—”

“oh no! it’s okay really i don’t want to freeload over what you have—”

he giggled a little. “you’re not freeloading. i’m offering.”

and before you could reject him again, he was already making his way to the kitchen— hands skillfully prepping his favorite milkshake like he’d done so many times before since the age of sixteen, and now skillfully and lovingly preparing it for you, the girl he’s adored since the moment he started college.

you stood and timidly followed after him, but instead of fully going into the kitchen, you stopped in front of the vintage burgundy jukebox and scanned the selection of songs.

“you won’t get in trouble?” you worriedly called over your shoulder. “i don’t want you to run into issues with your job…”

“no it’s okay!” you heard from the kitchen, glasses and silverware clinking together. “i’ve been working here since high school and my manager doesn’t mind. i usually um— close on sunday’s on my own too.”

the blender went off as you spotted your favorite elvis presley song on the list of selections, perking up and quickly digging into your purse for any stray quarters you magically hoped would appear inside.

yuta switched the blender off and unhooked it from the base, pouring out the frothy liquid into a fountain glass cup.

“you close on your own on sunday’s?” your head turned to where he was, catching little glimpses of him from the doorway as he moved to and fro. “the entire restaurant?”

“yeah…” he laughed awkwardly. “well— all of the time.”

“all of the time?!” you gawked, popping your head into the kitchen and accidentally scaring him.

“oh shit!—”

“sorry!” you giggled cutely. “i’m sorry…”

he laughed with you and waved you off. “it’s okay.”

yuta looked down and proceeded topping your milkshake with baby pink sprinkles again. “and yeah we’re kind of… understaffed right now. it’s just me and another kid.”

you hummed understandingly, watching the way he finished off your shake with two cherries on top instead of one like last time, making you softly smile in response.

he plopped a straw in. “here you go.”

“thank you!” you bounced excitedly on your little toes and he grinned, handing the glass over to you gently.

“i hope you feel better…”

your milkshake filled cheeks made him laugh as you paused and swallowed, the sweetest expression ever on your face as your eyes flickered to his name tag and back to him.

“i do yuta… thank you!”

the way his name rang off your tongue, something he never ever would’ve thought to hear come out of your mouth, to come out from you, sent him feeling lightheaded as fuck as he dropped his head down to hide his rosy cheeks, walking out of the kitchen as you followed after him.

you paused in front of the jukebox again.

“oh! i didn’t get to hear your answer from earlier.”

he picked his head up. “from earlier?”

“if— if you listen to elvis?”

“oh—” his gaze drifted to where you had your focus on the elvis presley selection panel on the machine. “i do! i love his music.”

you beamed, eyes lighting up so excitedly as you looked at him.

“oh my god i love him too! so much!”

“really?” he smiled. “do you— do you have a favorite song?”

“yeah! i have a lot...” you giggled shyly. “but i mainly like ‘always on my mind.’”

“that one’s a good one!” his smile grew. “i love that one too.”

“right?!” you stepped closer to him, and his face flushed. “and you? what about you?”

“i uh— i like ‘moody blue’…”

you gushed. “i like that one too!”

you loved the way his pinky cheeks bloomed and how kind he was— the way he tried his best to make you, a stranger, feel better with a cute little milkshake, his stuttering and fidgeting something that you found yourself adoring and only made your heart mushy with the weird need to pinch his rosy cheeks.

and he loved elvis.

“i’m glad you like him.” you hummed, running the pad of your index finger mindlessly over the smooth glittery surface of the jukebox. “people don’t really listen to him or oldies in general now.”

you gently set your nearly finished milkshake on the bar table as he nodded his head in agreement, thinking he couldn’t fall more in love with you over the fact that you actually liked one of his favorite artists. “i didn’t—expect you to either…”

you tilted your head. “really? why?”

“because—” he stammered, eyes darting around your breathtaking face. “well you’re popular. and pretty. and in a sorority. and i just—”

“oh— i see!” you smiled with blushing cheeks at his quick compliment, but it didn’t really reach your eyes. “i understand.”

“no but!—” your eyes stayed glued to the jukebox, and he worried that he might’ve accidentally offended you as he frantically tried to get his words together.

“i know it’s all stereotypes and assumptions so i’m— i’m sorry.”

“it’s alright!” you giggled softly. “i just don’t want you or anyone to get the wrong impression of me because of those things is all…”

your eyebrows pinched in thought, and he quickly shook his head.

“i’ve never!” he reached and placed a hand on your shoulder, your cheeks growing hot as he did so. “i’ve never gotten the wrong impression of you…”

“no?”

“no.”

you peered up at him. “what do you think of me then?”

“what do i—” he gulped. “what do i think?”

“yeah!”

“i think uh… you’re really nice.” he mumbled. “really nice. to everyone.. to me. doesn’t matter who honestly. and… you’re not afraid to say something if someone is being rude.”

yuta shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he avoided your gaze. “and you’re helpful… you put a lot of care into the things that you do, which are always never for your own benefit but for the benefit of others.”

he froze. “i— i see you around campus! a lot— so…”

your doe eyes were soft and filled with affection and warmth, the weight of his words settling into your mind as if they’ve always belonged there. as if he’s always belonged there.

you wrung your fingers behind your back then and leaned up on your tippy toes.

“you think i’m pretty?”

beautiful.

yuta hadn’t even realized that he had called you that until the moment you mentioned it again, his eyes widening as his wobbly lips tried to form coherent sentences for you.

“well— well who doesn’t...” he squeaked.

“but do you?” you leaned even closer, your cute smile nearly making him want to blurt out that he’s in love with you and that he’s maybe thought about you being the mother of his children from time to time.

“i— i do.” his eyes flickered back to yours. “i do.”

you bit your bottom lip and gleamed, giving into your impulses and reaching up to gently squeeze his flushed cheek.

“you’re so cute yuta…” you murmured, arm falling back to your side and eyes casting over the jukebox again.

and he nearly just about died.

“do you want a little donut?” he asked. “i— i can get it from the back—”

you and yuta spent literally the rest of the night until two in the morning chit chatting, playing various oldies tunes on the jukebox that conspired of mainly elvis presley, and yuta literally feeding you and giving you anything he possibly could just so he could watch the way you beamed at him every time he did— even when at one point you literally begged him that it was okay, your tummy absolutely filled with sugary sweets and drinks.

you even helped yuta close— disinfecting and wiping down all of the tables, sweeping the floors, triple shining the little elvis mural the diner had by the hostess stand, and organizing the menu’s for tomorrow’s shift.

in the midst of you wiping down the last of the big glass windows by the entrance with him, you thought of something.

“oh my god yuta—” your head snapped in his direction, his eyes widening at your sudden outburst.

“what if i work here?”

he stopped.

“work here?”

“yeah!” you nodded vigorously. “with you!”

he bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from screaming. “with me?”

“uh huh!” you chirped sweetly. “i would love to wipe down tables and listen to music with you everyday..”

yuta’s ears went red as he heard your soft voice say something so cute, wanting to literally run into the kitchen to the sink and dunk his face in sink water to cool off his boiling face.

“if that’s okay!” you sputtered. “am i being weird? am i freaking you out—”

“no! no not at all!” the corners of his lips curled, and he smiled, genuinely smiled. a big loving one that made his cheeks hurt with how hard he was doing it, and one that made your heart lightly flutter inside your chest at the way he was looking at you.

“i can talk to my manager.” he spoke gently. “i’m pretty sure he’ll take you.”

you bounced excitedly on your tippy toes, unexpectedly throwing your arms around him and landing a big fat kiss to his cheek.

“thank you thank you!”

yuta kept true to his word and talked to his manager the following day, who barely even had to think about it since he trusted yuta more than his own damn kids, waving him off and giving him the all clear to have you start the coming week.

“look look! do you likkeeyyy?”

you twirled around in your waitress uniform, the frilly pink fabric moving and swaying with every spin you made as he casually tried to bite down on his thumb in stupid restraint.

“it’s great!” he muttered, teeth locked around his thumb still. “you look great y/n.”

“thanks thanks!”

and you hopped over, giving him another quick kiss on the cheek before skipping away to the kitchen, him ecstatic as he’d been wanting another one so fucking badly again since the first time you did it— him biting down even harder on his thumb when you disappeared from view.

“why do you look like you’re about to shit yourself?”

yuta whipped around and saw his other coworker, yuji, the kid who shares shifts with him sometimes and spills everything and anything that comes out of his mouth without thinking twice about it, standing next to him with a clueless face.

yuji then wiggled his eyebrows teasingly. “is it the girl? the pretty one? the one with the big ass—”

“knock it off—” yuta shoved him away lightly and walked off, crouching down behind the bar counter and sorting through piles of rolled up silverware and buffet napkins.

“do you like her? yes or no?” yuji leaned against the edge of the bar.

his cheeks went pink.

“because if not i’m gonna go try y’know—”

yuta scoffed. “yuji you’re a freshman in high school and we’re in college. she’s in college—”

“okay maybe she likes them young? cougar moment?”

yuta looked at him absolutely horrified and bewildered. “you’re fucking insane—”

his reaction and response only made yuji double over in a fit of laughter, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath as yuta looked at him with an unamused face.

“i’m kidding! i’m just kidding i know you like her you’ve been red in the face the minute she clocked in—”

“what’s so funny?”

you popped your head in from the kitchen, making yuta jump again and yuji double over laughing like before, you giving yuta an apologetic look.

“i wanna laugh!” you pouted. “what happened? what’s funny?”

“yuta didn’t like the joke i made.” yuji quipped.

“well what was it? maybe i will!” you smiled sweetly.

“i said—”

“don’t say it!”

yuji ducked as yuta threw a kids menu at him.

“yuta has a cru—”

“shut the fuck up!—”

you covered your mouth with your hands in a little fit of giggles, the sound halting yuta mid throw to look at you with wide dreamy eyes— not wanting to miss the way you laughed and the way your nose crinkled with every hiccup.

yuji snickered and he shot him a glare before standing and walking over to where you stood.

“you don’t wanna hear it…” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with a buffet napkin. “it was freaking weird.”

you settled your giggles down and breathed, nodding cutely. “i’ll take your word for it, yu.”

yu.

“eeehh?! look y/n! look at his face!—”

“shut up!”

for the rest of the days and shifts that you spent together, yuta made it his mission to do things for you to hopefully earn him a sweet cheek kiss in return like last time, all while desperately trying to avoid yuji and his big ginormous annoying mouth actively corrupting some of his attempts on purpose.

yuta would try and bring you any kind of pastry he could give away to you without his manager knowing, or make you milkshakes randomly throughout your shifts or small BLT’s during lunch time to feed you, all for the purpose of watching the way you’d smile and hug him gratefully each time, and if he got lucky, a sweet kiss on the cheek.

“i don’t get it.” yuji shook his head during one of your shifts, him shuffling through a movie magazine on his break. “why don’t you just ask her for a kiss on the cheek? hm? i’d bet she’d do it! ooo better yet—” he looked at him with sarcastic laced excitement. “ask her out you little loser.”

yuta’s cheeks were hot as he listened, watching you from the kitchen take orders and scribble them down on a notepad.

“it’s been months yuta. months. i am in agony every day watching you follow her around like a lost puppy even though it’s the funniest thing i’ve ever seen.”

yuta rolled his eyes, but sent him a small sad smile. “can’t do it.”

“why not?” he whined. “she likes you too!”

“because she’s out of my league.” yuta pursed his lips. “and no i don’t think she likes me.”

“oh man—” yuji hunched over the sink, tossing his magazine to the side and gripping the rim in exhaustion. “she kisses your cheeks and hugs you and literally took this job because of you! what more proof do you want?!” he grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “a straight up confession?! a straight up kiss?!”

yuta’s heart accelerated at the thought as he pictured yuji’s words clear in his mind.

would you ever kiss him?… would you ever like him back?

“m—maybe?”

“what about school! do you guys not hang out or talk at school?”

“we do!” yuta perked up, but his shoulders quickly slumped. “we’re in different circles though so it’s always just for a little bit or casually.”

yuji groaned loudly and smacked a hand over his forehead. “it’s useless. you’re on your own man i tried i tried so hard i can’t help you—”

he continued to mutter under his breath as he picked up his backpack and walked out of the kitchen and out of the restaurant, the end of his shift drawing near as yuta laughed to himself over his words.

he appreciated how much yuji cared and how badly he wanted him to succeed, but even though his unrealistic expectations and hopes annoyed him most of the time as he blabbed on to him about them, yuta knew he was just a kid. so he valued it anyways.

“yu!” you spoke from behind the bar, him quickly rubbing his sweaty palms over his pants as he walked out of the kitchen to you.

“i’m so excited for tonight!” you smiled, your giddy little self practically bouncing off the walls in anticipation.

he laughed. “you’re excited to clean?”

“yup yup! i’m excited to clean with you.”

with him.

yuta adored sunday’s because that’s when you were both scheduled to close together on your own— just like the first time you did months ago, back when you weren’t working there yet.

there were no cooks, no yuji, no manager, and no customers. just you and him as you blasted elvis singles on the jukebox and got a sugar high from the ice cream machine as you wiped down tables and dusted off shelves— one time you literally slipping on the checkered tile by the entrance because you forgot you had just mopped the floor, yuta practically jumping over the bar counter to see if you were okay and him absolutely sick and worried over nothing as he showered you with more pastries and sweets to help you feel better.

that sunday night he got a kiss on the cheek.

so as you both bid the last customers a good night and got right to work, yuta considered yuji’s dumb words.

maybe he should just ask?

“if elvis was still alive i would probably sell myself to go see him.”

he let out a shocked laugh. “sell yourself? like prostitution?”

“mhm!” you hummed, wiping down the bar counter. “think about it— his tickets would probably cost like three thousand dollars. where the hell am i gonna get three thousand dollars? i’m broke and in college.”

yuta shook his head, his lips in an amused grin. “anything for elvis.”

“exactly!” you leaned over the counter excitedly, yuta on the other side with pink cheeks and a fuzzy feeling in his heart. “you get it. only you understand me.”

he laughed.

“i think it’d be cool if they brought him back as a hologram and did concerts that way.” yuta suggested.

you gasped incredulously as a hand flew to slap over your mouth. “yu! you little genius! oh my god i have to start pimping myself out now—”

yuta laughed again and shook his head. “don’t do that. we’ll find a way to get in.”

“we?!” you propped yourself up on the counter with your elbows and cupped his hands in yours, him stiffening with wide eyes and wobbly nervous lips. “you wanna go with me?”

“y—yeah.” he stammered. “of— of course…”

you squealed and nodded quickly, seemingly accepting the hypothetical proposal.

but then you settled down a little. your eyelashes slowly fluttering as you stared at him— a slow 50s love song statically murmuring through the jukebox adding to the atmosphere as you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

but this time it was different.

it wasn’t quick and cutesy and one that yuta barely had time to bask over before you pranced away. it was slow, tender, and yuta could feel the way your soft lips touched his skin and left behind a burn as he let his eyes close at the blissful gentle feeling, him finally able to relish in the rarity of it before you slightly began pulling away, eyes twinkling.

“…do you still think i’m pretty?” you whispered.

he swallowed thickly, your face so close he could feel your breath fanning across his lips.

“i do.” he whispered back, eyes locked on yours. “very much so.”

you bit your bottom lip as you smiled, ever so slightly leaning closer and closer to him as your lips nearly brushed against—

riinnggg!

you quickly pulled away and ran to the back to answer the phone, leaving yuta sitting there swooning and nearly collapsing on the table, his hands cold from not being encased in your own soft hands anymore.

but most of all… leaving him confused. he didn’t know why you were leaning in like that.

“i’m sorry we’re closed for the day!… uh huh… we open at eight am tomorrow if—”

yuta could still feel the blaze your lips left behind on his cheek as you spoke on the phone, his hands coming up to rub his eyes as he tried to get his head back down from the clouds and simmer down the beating of his heart.

“someone wanted to come in right now!” you exclaimed, coming back over to your previous spot.

he furrowed his eyebrows. “right now? are you serious? it’s—” he spun around on the barstool and turned his head to the coca cola themed vintage clock on the wall. “it’s nearly twelve am?”

“i know!” you breathed out. “we closed four hours ago.”

“four?!—”

it dawned on the both of you how long you had been inside the diner, fully convinced it would’ve been longer if you hadn’t noticed.

so as the two of you mutually agreed to finish up and gather your things— the jukebox switched to an iconic elvis presley slow love song as you were just about halfway through the entrance double doors, eyes snapping to each other’s.

“aw i love this one…” you spoke softly, a little whine seeping through.

a small close lipped smile spread across his face. “i love this one too.”

“do you wanna—” you stopped.

his eyebrows pinched. “do i wanna what?”

“do you wanna… dance with meee?” you dragged out cutely, slightly bouncing on your toes.

“dance?” his eyes widened. “i— i don’t know how—”

“s’okay! i’ll teach you!”

you quickly pulled his hand and dragged him out, opening one door and jamming a door stopper underneath it so the music of the jukebox leaked out of the diner and through the empty street.

the pavement was a little wet from the morning rain as you took his hand again and pulled him to the middle of the dead empty street, the bottom of your shoes tapping and splashing a little with each tiny puddle you stepped in.

elvis presley’s voice softly hummed through the air, but it was loud and clear to the both of you as you gently took yuta’s hands and set them around your waist, his heart fucking palpitating and feeling like he was about to have a stroke when you wrung your arms over his neck and showed him that pretty smile he loved so much.

you both slowly stepped side to side, the air crispy and cold as your breath’s blew out foggy misty clouds due to the condensation, both of your noses and cheeks flushing red and buzzing warmly as you continued to slow dance— yuta’s grip slowly tightening until he was practically hugging you flush against his body.

out of anything that could possibly happen to yuta in his life, he wanted to remember this moment specifically— with you, dancing in the middle of the street listening to the man that essentially brought you both together in the first place, your beautiful beautiful face looking at him like he was the most important thing in your life… yuta wanting so badly for that to come true as he basked in this little made up scenario in his head that you were already his.

“yu…” you murmured.

he didn’t trust his voice.

“hm?”

“why haven’t you kissed me yet.”

what?

“kissed… you?”

“yeah..” you whispered, your bodies swaying. “don’t you like me?”

yuta let out a shaky breath. “i— i mean yeah… who doesn’t?”

your smile faltered. “i’m talking about you though…”

“oh. well you know i do. i’m sure a lot of other guys would want to kiss you.”

the song drawled to a gradual close and the jukebox reset, you both no longer swaying but still holding on to each other.

your eyes drifted to the side. “other guys?”

he pursed his lips, not really liking the thought of you kissing guys, but answering your question anyways. “yeah… other guys.”

his emphasis on other guys and not on himself left a bad taste in your mouth.

your eyes narrowed in confusion as you looked up at him, yuta a little shocked at your sad expression.

did he say something wrong?

“i thought—” you shook your head softly. “i thought you…?”

“…thought me what?” he cocked his head to the side, his genuine confusion solidifying his rejection in your eyes.

“i— i thought—”

your hands slipped from his shoulders and you stepped back, yuta sadly complying and letting his arms open and fall beside him as you rapidly blinked back tears, his eyes slowly widening once he caught it.

“hey— are you okay? what’s wrong?”

yuta went and reached for you, you backing away in response as you shook your head and gave him a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes at all.

“why are you crying? did i say something mean? i’m sorry—”

“no no i’m fine.” your voice was quiet and sad. “i think we should go home now.”

his shoulders deflated.

“are you sure? we— we usually hang out until at least one in the morning on sunday’s…”

you walked past him and towards the double doors of the diner, letting your tears slip in secret as you picked up your school bag and swung it over your shoulder, quickly wiping your cheeks before picking up his bag and giving it to him.

yuta thanked you and hoisted his backpack up on himself, ushering you gently to step to the side as he pulled the door stopper from beneath and placed it in its corresponding place by the entrance, letting the door close on its own before pulling out the keys from the pocket of his jacket and locking the diner up.

he did all of this— completely unaware to the way you were trying to quiet down your sniffles behind him.

you were so sure he liked you back… now you just felt a little stupid.

of course— the one genuine guy you came across that you actually liked out of all the others that you’ve met, one that wasn’t like the rest and was sweet and funny and caring and so so attentive of you… didn’t like you back.

the one thing you truly truly wanted, you simply couldn’t have— you walking ahead of yuta in silence through the parking lot with your arms crossed as you wondered if the way he treated you was literally just because that’s how he was as a person.

a good person at that. way too good for this world, and way too good for you.

yuta didn’t know why you were so quiet, his chest a bit achy at the absence of your usual cheerful voice.

when you reached your cars, you barely even bid him a proper goodbye like you always did before you got in your car and sped away, leaving a perplexed yuta standing alone in the parking lot— eyebrows pinched together in clueless concern.

you were acting so weird, and you unfortunately continued to do so for the following week.

the next time you came into the diner (which was literally the next day), yuta was taken aback by how bloodshot and sunken your eyes were when you came in for your shift, not saying a single peep to yuji and him when you walked through the kitchen or through the bar counter like you usually did… and it was weird.

through the bustling of the busy restaurant, it was oddly quiet to the two boys, simply because you weren’t your usual boastful self.

and you were hardly talking to yuta either… which pained him the most. you kept it strictly casual— as if you weren’t completely tied together every fucking day for almost a year now, you just completely casual about your day and about the things you had to do whenever he asked you, your one word dry responses sending him through the worst confusing and sadistic loop of his life.

but it wasn’t casual at all. nothing about you was casual. so why were you acting like this? did you finally maybe open your eyes and realize yuta was a big fat nobody who didn’t belong with a girl like you?

yuta nearly cried at the thought. perhaps you had finally realized that.

but how fucking cruel was it that he lived a year of love and beauty and everything that was just you, getting a taste of what it would be like to live a life where you thought of him as something really special and a life where you wanted to basically do everything with him— only to be ripped away from him overnight? with no explanation?

by wednesday, yuta was dead inside.

you didn’t seem to want to do anything with him anymore like before. you didn’t excitedly jump and squeal and bounce on your little toes when it was time for the both of you to clean during your shift or restock the ice cream machine. you didn’t talk to him about elvis anymore or about another ludicrous idea on how to resurrect him from the dead— you didn’t smile like you used to whenever he tried to give you a small pastry, actually rejecting it instead, and you didn’t kiss his cheeks anymore.

by friday, yuji was fed the fuck up.

“what the fuck did you do?!” he whispered harshly at him from the bar, you somewhere in the diner taking orders. “that woman is like a walking zombie. her eyes have been red like red since monday, and she’s not yapping about elvis anymore.”

yuta leaned against the counter with a flat palm to his forehead in worry, feeling like he was gonna be fucking sick over you.

“i— i don’t know.” he stuttered. “i truly don’t know i don’t know what i said that’s making her act like that.”

“okay run it back for me run it back.” he placed both hands on his shoulders and roughly pulled yuta to face him. “explain to me again what happened on sunday.”

“we were closing…”

“uh huh?”

“she wanted to slow dance in the street so we did…”

“okay cute i love that part okay keep going..?”

“and then she asked why haven’t i kissed her—“

“she what?!” yuji choked, “you didn’t tell me this part! you fucking jumped to the parking lot!”

“my bad…” yuta muttered.

“shit— whatever keep going.”

“she also said that she thought i liked her and i said who doesn’t… and then i told her i was sure other guys would want to kiss her.”

“you said other guys?”

yuta’s eyebrows pinched. “yeah?”

“you. said…” yuji repeatedly slowly. “other. guys.”

“yes i did—”

“oh you’re done.” he rapidly shook his head. “i can’t help you i’ve done all i can you’re my buddy and i love you but i cannot take this anymore—”

“woah woah slow the fuck down—” he narrowed his eyes. “what’s so bad about what i said?”

“you rejected her.”

“what? no i didn’t—”

“yes!” yuji nodded frantically. “yes you did you freaking dingus! yuta she wanted a kiss from you a kiss! she literally said ‘when are you going to kiss me!’”

“i thought she was joking about that?” he answered softly.

“i might die early if you don’t figure this out right now.” yuji spat. “when you said other guys, she took it as you saying you’re sure other guys would want to kiss her and not you! do you understand what i’m trying to say?!”

yuta stayed silent.

“you said ‘i’m sure other guys would wanna kiss you,’ which is you indirectly saying ‘i’m sure other guys would wanna kiss you but not me.’ emphasis on others—”

“holy fucking shit.”

why was yuji kind of smart?

“oh thank god!” yuji breathed out, throwing his hands up in the air before clasping them together and looking up at the ceiling, his eyes screwed shut as he shook his interlocked hands and prayed.

“thank you! thank you elvis presley for finally making him see what a dumbass he’s been this entire year especially this moment your music has never been better—”

yuta shoved his fingers through his hair, his eyes bulging open. “holy fucking shit what the fuck did i do?!”

you walked past the bar just then and they both shot their arms down and tried to appear as nonchalant as humanly possible, you not even sparing them a glance as you walked over to the kitchen and disappeared from view.

“oh you have got to fix this.”

yuta spent the rest of the week trying to devise a plan to ease into the situation and have a conversation with you about it, but doing it fucking poorly as he miserably couldn’t come up with anything and yuji having even worse ideas— going as far as to suggesting he kidnaps you and takes you to elvis presley’s home in graceland and apologize there, yuji calling it a ‘grand gesture.’

by sunday, yuta was grasping at straws.

you slowly looked up from the bar as you saw a little sprinkled donut pastry slide across from the other side, your stinging eyes locking with yuta’s and feeling an immediate colossal pang through your chest when you saw him.

“you um—” yuta sighed softly through his nose. “you haven’t had a donut from here in a while…”

“oh.” your eyes stayed glued to the pastry. “thank you but i’m alright. i’m not that hungry right now.”

yuta bit his tongue. “please.”

he wasn’t pleading for you to eat the damn donut, but he pathetically couldn’t get the words out properly either.

“i don’t want it i’m okay.”

“why not?” he pushed. “you love donuts. you haven’t accepted my milkshakes either and you love those too.”

“i got sick of them.”

yuta froze.

you sounded like a completely different person at the moment, and yuta knew that your words held an entirely different meaning to them— his heart literally throwing up all over his insides in distress.

it was near closing time, the last pair of customers just about finishing up their meal as you both stared solemnly at the uneaten donut.

“are you—” yuta cleared his throat. “are you mad at me?”

the customers called you over then, and you quickly pushed yourself off from the edge and walked over as yuta heard your kind customer service voice from somewhere in the diner finalizing the bill for them, the bell above the door chiming as they left— you coming back around to stand back on the other side of the bar.

“sorry what did—”

“are you mad at me.”

you shook your head, eyebrows pinched. “no. why would i be mad?”

“are you upset with me?”

you hummed a no.

yuta wanted to rip his hair out at the fact that he couldn’t fucking think of what to say to you— not wanting to accidentally say something that could offend you like last time without him even knowing, as he didn’t trust his mouth for shit.

“you haven’t looked okay since last sunday.” he murmured. “you don’t look happy around me anymore.”

you pulled your lips into a thin line and pressed hard, already feeling tears threatening to spill.

“it’s just school. it’s tough at the moment.” you mumbled.

“you’re lying.”

you slightly snorted. “okay thanks.”

“no— fuck i did it again.” he screwed his eyes shut. “i know you’re upset with me and i know you’re mad at me. you don’t talk to me as much, you don’t— you don’t take any of the sweets and drinks i give you when you always do, and you refuse to talk to me about elvis.”

“it’s school yuta i don’t know what else to tell you.”

he groaned and pushed himself off the bar, swiftly making his way around the counter to stand right in front of you as your pretty red eyes widened, your body immediately fidgeting.

“please… i miss you.” he mumbled, and your bottom lip started to wobble. “i miss when you wanted me around.”

“i— i do want you around.” you said, so so softly he could barely hear you.

“then please tell me what you’re feeling.”

you brought your hands up and pressed your fingers into your eyes, trying your absolute hardest to keep the tears inside as your body trembled.

“it’s all me it’s not you so— so please don’t worry about it it’s school and— and—”

“i love you.”

you paused.

yuta shakily pried your fingers away from your eyes, holding them in his hands as silent tears escaped down your cheeks.

you shook your head. “no you don’t. you’re just saying that—”

“i love you.”

“stop it you’re being mean i don’t need you to tell me you love me because you feel bad for me—”

you tried to tear your hands away but his grip only tightened as he shook his head and wrung you in, pressing your hands flat over his heart and holding them there as he leaned and pushed his lips to yours, the taste and feeling of you complete fucking paradise as he hoped that the weight of his lips were conveying how much he truly fucking loved you, how much he truly needed you in his life and how much he wanted you to treat him like he was something to you again.

he was tired of you carrying around the missing half of him, but not because he wanted you to give it back.

he wanted you to keep it. he wanted you to keep it forever and ever and not let it dangle over ineptly like you’d done for the past week. he wanted you to kiss it and shove it next to your heart and keep it there snug where it belonged until the day that he died.

the jukebox murmured another soft 50s tune, you slowly but surely letting your tense shoulders relax as you allowed your lips to move against his, your heart screaming and zooming through your bones at the fact that this man was kissing you like you’d wanted and dreamed for him to do so badly for the past year.

you both slowly pulled away with your lips quietly smacking apart, your stunning face finally looking at him the way you always did, the way you used to, even if it was a little timid still.

“are you lying?” you murmured.

his eyes softened as he gently shook his head.

“absolutely not.”

“but you rejected me.”

he sighed through his nose, his hands still pressing yours over his heart as you felt it beat rapidly under your palms.

“i— i didn’t mean to. i swear to god i didn’t mean to.” he gently dropped his forehead against yours as he closed his eyes. “i was being stupid and worded everything wrong. but— but i’m telling you now that i wanted to kiss you… so fucking bad. you’re too pretty for me so i honestly thought i just didn’t stand a chance…”

you couldn’t believe it.

“i don’t want other guys to kiss you.” he continued. “not at all… just me.”

“just you?” you murmured, and he nodded against your forehead.

“just me.” he propped his chin on the top of your head. “i’m sorry i hurt you and made you cry.”

“no yu…” you spoke gently. “i’m sorry too. and i’m sorry i said i was sick of the sweets you give me… i was lying i love them.”

he chuckled softly.

“it’s okay… i know.” yuta gently caressed your fingers with his thumbs. “but i love you pretty.”

“i love you.” you whispered, and you slid your hands up his chest and around his neck, pulling him down in a warm embrace as he copied and pulled your body to his so so tightly, your hearts beating in time with one another as he felt his fingertips go numb at your confession, kissing your soft little cheeks over and over and over again until he got giggles out of you.

yuta loved sunday’s… and so did you.

and when he asked you to be his girlfriend that same night while standing over the jukebox, staring at the elvis presley song selection like you’d done many times together before in the past, yuta for the first time realized that he hadn’t felt alone since the moment you came into the diner with your mean friends— finding himself actually thanking them in his head for that, realizing that if they hadn’t then you probably would’ve left with them and he would’ve never gotten the chance to speak to you that night.

the next time you both came into work, you back to your usual jumpy self as you took every pastry that yuta gave you again and babbled about elvis and how you were gonna spend your hypothetical prostitution money on a flight to memphis to see his grave and pay your respects, yuji was elated.

“what happened?! you have to tell me what happened come on you can’t keep it from me i’m just a boy—”

you skipped into the kitchen then and smoothly walked in between them, pressing a gentle cute peck to yuta’s lips before grabbing what you needed from the back and walking back out, yuji’s mouth flinging open and his jaw hitting the fucking floor.

“how— what— when— where—”

you stepped back in after a second and bounded over next to yuta, his eyes soft as he watched you lean your head on his shoulder.

“what?” you asked. “what’s wrong yuji?”

“oh god no!” he wailed, dramatically throwing an arm over his eyes in agony. “i thought this is what i wanted but it’s not! i want a kiss like that man!”

he flew to his knees in front of you and took your hand in his. “y/n why can’t you just wait for me please?! wait five years you’re so pretty i won’t confuse you like this dingbat and i’ll give you better sweets and milkshakes than him please!—”

yuta took your hand and slapped yuji’s away. “you freak stand up man the floor is dirty—”

“i need a popular gorgeous girlfriend like you yuta! how could you do this?! i thought we were brothers?! what spell did you cast?! have you ever learned jujutsu?! what have i done!—”

your manager popped his head into the kitchen and you all stiffened.

“yuji why are you crying? everyone outside can hear you, kid.”

yuji flew to his feet and shook his head. “m’not crying sir. everything is fine just fine and dandy sir.”

“okay… well can you check on your tables? leave yuta and y/n to work.”

“yes sir i’ll check on them sir.”

your manager nodded, muttering something about today’s generation as he left and went back inside his office, yuji walking out of the kitchen shortly after with his head down as you both tried your hardest to keep your laughter in, hands tightly clasped over your mouths and silently snickering to keep yuji from hearing it on the other side.

“p—poor him.” you heaved, a hand over your chest. “i hope— i hope he finds his ‘popular girlfriend’ when he’s older.”

“i wish her luck.” he muttered, and your hand slapped back over your mouth again as you burst into another fit of giggles alongside him.

yuta sheepishly outstretched his arms for you once you both settled down, you perking up excitedly with a cutesy little grin as you skipped into them, your arms wrapping snug around his torso as he brought his around your shoulders and squeezed, earning a tiny squeak from you that made him laugh.

he hoped to god he wasn’t dreaming.

yuta started shifting his weight from one to the other, gently moving and swaying you side to side in the kitchen as you giggled and let him lead you like that.

“you slow dancing yu?” you murmured softly, head coming up to give him a kiss on the cheek as he blushed.

“yeah..” he hummed. “i like it when we do.”

“i do too yu… it’s like our little thing! we’re so vintage.”

he snorted, and a charming beautiful smile spread across your face— one that made him wonder how he ever managed to land you when all he did was wait tables and stutter foolishly and wasn’t anyone particularly special like you were.

but you. you were everything. everything and way fucking more as you looked at him like he built the diner himself brick by brick for reasons he still couldn’t understand why.

yuta spoke after a moment.

“…what do you think of me?” he murmured suddenly, cheek mushing up against the side of your head as your brows furrowed.

“what do i think of you?” you asked, your perplexed face slowly shifting to one of realization as it dawned on you how yuta was reiterating your words to him from when you first met.

he grinned. “yeah.”

you pulled back to face him.

“i think you’re kind… you always have been even when i didn’t deserve it.”

his jaw dropped. “what? didn’t deserve it?—”

“i’m not finished!” you pouted, and he playfully rolled his eyes as he shut his lips.

“you’re too good to me yu…” you sighed a little. “you’re so helpful and selfless, and even when things piss you off you still take the time to appreciate them… like yuji.”

you both snickered then, and yuta brought his head down and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

“i love the way you love, yuta. i love the way you love me and take care of me and always feed me…” you giggled. “without me ever having to ask.”

you felt his arms tighten around you.

“don’t ever think that you aren’t special to me or anyone or i’ll kill you and go to graceland without you.”

he laughed loudly in your neck and pulled back, half lidded ditzy loving eyes staring back as he leaned in and kissed you— gentle and delicate, his hands coming up to cup your warm cheeks.

“jesus man table nine would not stop asking me for— oh god no!”

you and yuta jumped apart, yuji immediately wailing and crying again as he flung himself to the floor on his knees.

“really?! in my kitchen?! in front of my face?! how cruel can you be yuta?! y/n can you maybe give me a ki—”

yuta leaned down and smacked him upside the head.

“owwwuhh! what’s wrong with just one little kiss man?!—”

“cut. it. out!—”

and just like always, the week came and went, sunday fast approaching as the day eventually came to close the diner together like lovely clockwork— wiping down tables and sweeping the floors, organizing the menu’s and restocking the crayons for the little kids, gulping down milkshakes with yuta like water as you worked…

but most importantly— sharing long kisses in between each sweeping rotation, kissing and pinching his cheeks repeatedly whenever he asked or did literally anything, and slow dancing to the same 50s love song that played when you first tried to kiss him at the bar that one night, swaying together in a silly way and giggling whenever you’d both nearly topple over to the floor— yuta beaming and lovesick as he looked down at your gorgeous smile and your gorgeous face… it gleaming with so much purpose, so much pure love and importance and value for him as you danced—

that yuta decided he wanted you to keep the other remaining half of him too.

forever.

this! is the song that was playing when reader was about to give yuta a kissy kissy on the bar counter, and again at the end if you’re curious :3 it was playing when i wrote it and it literally fit so well and lifted my entire body and spirit and i felt like i was THERE MAN! <333

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

@cupcaketeddybehr @soobiary @roachfun @waterfal-ling @saebaey @reneinii @luvvmae @cake-with-the-cream @pixie-dix @2ukika @cramelmacchiao @hy3phiren @fushigurioo @wil10wthetree @jameinfrau @pancakeszs

(HATE when tumblr doesn’t let me tag some of yall i don’t know why it does that!!)

[satori-runa]

—Ghost Trap

Summary: Daisuke gets scared after you tease him with a ghost story, and now he seeks protection from you.

Words: 1,2k

Tags: Fluff, OOC

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Daisuke and you sat in the utility room. He was perched comfortably on Swansea’s desk, reading a thick manual about the safety foam and its “unique properties,” while you sat cross-legged on the floor, screwdriver in hand, prying screws from a broken toaster.

“I don’t think I can memorize all this.” Daisuke mumbled, pouting as he tapped his head with a pencil.

“You have to.” You hummed, tugging out another screw. “Swansea will have your head if you don’t get it right. And if it’s not Swansea who gets you… then it’ll be the ghosts.”

Daisuke froze, glancing up with wide, doe-like eyes, his mouth falling open in shock. “G-Ghosts?”

“You didn’t know?” You asked, stifling a laugh and leaning in to make your voice as eerie as possible. “Late at night, there are… strange sounds. Eerie laughter. And if you’re alone, sometimes you can feel a cold chill crawling up your back. That’s the ship’s ghost.” You said it with a dramatic flair, knowing he’d fall for it—he was just so trusting and genuine.

Daisuke’s eyes grew wide as he clutched the manual like it could save him from the paranormal. “W-Wait, are you serious? But I—I don’t even know how to deal with ghosts! They didn’t cover that in Safety Foam 101!”

You stifled another laugh, watching him inch closer to the edge of Swansea’s desk, still keeping a wide-eyed lookout as if expecting a ghost to swoop in at any moment. “Well, lucky for you, I happen to be a certified ghost deterrent.” You whispered, putting the screwdriver down with a conspiratorial grin. “If you hear any spooky sounds, just call for me.”

Daisuke’s face lit up, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “R-Really? I’ll… I’ll definitely call you then! I’d feel way safer.”

“Good.” You chuckled, adding with a wink, “But just so you know, I don’t work for free. My ghost-busting fee is one chocolate bar per ghost scare.”

Daisuke let out a soft laugh, nodding earnestly as if you’d just made an official deal. “Deal! I’ll keep my stash ready!” He paused, glancing nervously around. “So… um, about the noises… have you… have you heard them a lot?”

“Oh, definitely.” You nodded, trying to keep a straight face. “Last week, I even saw a shadow in the break room! Right near the snack machine.”

Daisuke gasped, then shivered a little, almost instinctively scooting closer to you. “You’re… really brave, you know that?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, nudging his arm. “What can I say? Just another day on the spaceship for me. Besides, if any ghosts show up, I’ll protect you.”

Daisuke looked down, his blush deepening. “Thanks… you’re, um, kinda the coolest person on this ship.” He looked away quickly, scratching his head with the pencil, pretending to focus on the manual as if he hadn’t just made his crush on you totally obvious.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It was late, the spaceship quiet except for the soft hum of the engines. You were half-asleep when you heard a timid knock on your cabin door. Groggily, you shuffled out of bed and opened it to find Daisuke standing there, clutching his pillow with wide, nervous eyes.

“Hey… uh… sorry, were you asleep?” he asked, glancing down, clearly embarrassed.

“A little.” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes with a sleepy smile. “What’s up?”

Daisuke shifted on his feet, looking down the darkened hallway. “I, uh… kept thinking about… you know, the ghost. Every little sound is freaking me out, and I… I was wondering if I could, maybe… sleep here? Just for tonight?” His cheeks were tinged pink, his voice a nervous whisper.

You stifled a laugh, stepping aside to let him in. “Come on, ghost hunter. You’re safe here.”

He visibly relaxed as he stepped in, setting his pillow down next to yours on the bed. You both settled in under the blankets, Daisuke glancing nervously around as he tried to focus on anything but ghostly thoughts.

“Thanks.” He murmured, voice soft in the darkness. “I know it’s silly, but it’s like… every time I close my eyes, I imagine some spooky shadow hovering over me.”

“It’s not silly.” You replied with a grin. “I get it. Plus, I did kinda scare you earlier.”

Daisuke gave a small laugh, looking over at you. “I believed you way too easily, huh?”

You smiled. “Just a little.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence, exchanging soft, sleepy comments, his laugh warming the quiet room. But then, suddenly, a loud metallic clank echoed from somewhere in the ship. Daisuke froze, eyes wide, before he immediately scooted over and clung onto your arm, his grip tight.

“W-What was that?” He whispered, his face practically buried in your shoulder.

You stifled a laugh, feeling his warm breath against your shoulder. “Probably just Jimmy knocking over a toolbox again.”

He relaxed a little but still held on, cheeks flushed. “O-Oh… right.” He hesitated, but his grip didn’t loosen. “I’ll… just stay close in case there is a ghost, you know?”

“Good idea.” You replied, chuckling as you wrapped an arm around him. “Ghost or no ghost, I’ve got you covered.” It was too dark, else he could see the faint blush on your cheeks as you felt his body against yours.

Daisuke snuggled closer, mumbling a quiet, “Thanks… you’re the best,” before his breathing evened out, and he fell asleep with his head resting on your shoulder. You smiled, feeling warm and content as you drifted off too, Daisuke still nestled at your side.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Morning light from the big screen filtered softly through the small cabin, and Daisuke stirred, slowly waking up. He blinked, his mind foggy with sleep, and then suddenly became aware of a gentle weight against him. Glancing down, he realized he was completely tangled in your arms, his face inches from yours.

His heart leapt into his throat as his cheeks flushed a deep red. Oh no, oh no, he thought, trying to process the situation. You looked so peaceful, completely at ease, while he was doing his best not to panic. One of his arms was wrapped around your back, his fingers resting against your shoulder, while his other arm was awkwardly pinned beneath you.

How did this even happen?! He tried to pull away slightly, but that only made him feel the warmth of your arm around his waist, pulling him closer in your sleep. For a second, he considered slipping out of your hold, but the thought made him hesitate. Gradually, his heart started to calm down as he watched you, realizing that he didn’t mind this as much as he thought he would.

This… actually feels nice, he admitted to himself, a soft, shy smile forming on his face. His initial embarrassment gave way to a warm, quiet happiness.

Taking a deep breath, Daisuke let himself settle back into the pillows, pulling you a little closer with a gentle, tentative movement. He rested his forehead lightly against yours, his heart fluttering as he closed his eyes and relaxed into the embrace, savoring the quiet moment with you by his side.

For now, he was content just to stay like this, tangled up together, as he waited for you to wake up.

[dante-mightdie]

Became insane at work with your Rancher!John, I present to you my delusions:

As she settled into her routine, she was torn between gratitude and guilt. John had taken care of her animals and the land, working quietly as if her distress had become his own burden. While she struggled to dress, still deep in thought, he was out there feeding, grooming, and caring for the creatures that depended on her. Seeing him—strong and capable—her heart ached again, not only for her loss but for the strange, unspoken bond that was forming between them, which somehow felt as strange as it did comforting.

This bond, fragile yet profound, felt both foreign and reassuring. Each shared glance, each moment of unspoken communication, seemed to stitch together the raw edges of her grief. John was not just a caretaker; he had become a confidant, a silent witness to her suffering, and in turn, he offered her a sense of solace she had not anticipated. The way he moved among her fields—with quiet assurance and genuine tenderness—made her realize that perhaps he understood more about her heart than she was ready to admit.

She approached John, who paused to acknowledge her presence with a warm smile that seemed to bridge the chasm of her solitude. In that moment, she felt the duality of her feelings intensifying. The gratitude she felt for his support was interwoven with the guilt of relying on him in her time of need. Yet, there was something undeniably comforting in their shared silence, a cocoon.

“There’s breakfast at home,” she said. Not my house—home, both hers and his.

“Coming, honey.”

oh this is beautiful thank you for this

it’s simple the way his hand slots itself into the small of your back, herding you up the porch and back into the house. subtle signs of his existence living fill the once vacant rooms

his winter jacket, lining reinforced with plush wool he sheered from your sheep, waiting to be stitched up by you. his riding boots, freshly brushed and polished, waiting by the front door for him. and his thumb will slip under the knot tying your apron together, soothing other your skin with gratitude

the aging floorboards creek under his heavy weight, for which he can thank your cooking. he’ll replace those before winter comes, just let him finish up the barn roof first

he lets you serve his food, your eyes purposely avoiding his hungry gaze prowling the length of your body. not because you don’t enjoy it, but because you know you won’t be prepared for whatever brazen move he makes on you, not able to match his freak as one might say

he washes his food down with two fingers of neat rye whiskey, the liquor burns nowhere near enough as his eyes glaring into your figure, busy washing the leftover dishes

you don’t stop nor turn when you hear his chair scrape against the floor boards. his heavy footsteps and that damn creaking floor are nothing new. but the dishes slip from your hands and clatter in the sink when you feel his fingers tugging on the strings of your apron, tightening the knot and you backwards so you can feel the slight graze of his zipper on the fabric of your skirt

“need to put a man’s name on this land, sugar. bank might take it away from ya’.”

his footsteps retreat, as does his looming shadow. and when you turn, he’s gone…

[hachiane]

ranking the LADS boys on who takes the best Instagram photos for you

a/n — just my headcanons!! may be OOC, majorly she/her reader pronouns

count : 950 words

#1 Rafayel Qi

— takes one look at your inspo photos and scoffs, “puh-leaase, i can do better than that.”. under his calm exterior, his painter's eye is roaring to life, the gears in his brain immediately turning when your phone is passed into his hands.

Rafayel matches your freak instantly and pretends he is like every photograph boyfriend every it-girl online seems to have; he's guiding you to pose, where to place your hands, tilt your face so he captures all your best angles, even the ones you didn't think you had. your personal hypeman as he snaps away, "yesss, cutie! you look so good!' "kill me with those sexy eyes of yours!" "makeup on point! show off your pretty lashes!"

it doesn't end there. Rafayel is also looking over your shoulder helping you choose the best shots, giving his small comments and suggestions as you edit them in your phone, things like "up the contrast, the shadows are dark in this one" or "why are you cropping like that? this makes you look taller".

after your impromptu photoshoot, he sings praises about you being the most beautiful muse, the cutest bodyguard. and of course, you have to take some couple selfies with him too as reward for his hard work.

Rafayel is your first like, first comment when you post, bombarding your notifications with comments. “that’s my bodyguard right there 😍” “you’re sooooooo hot 🔥🔥” “slay queen 💅🏼✨”

he'll do everything again, no doubt about it.

#2 Xavier Shen

— when you asked him the first time, he was hesitant. he says he read a book about it but never put it to practice, warning you that you might be disappointed. you shove your phone into his hands and that you're fine with whatever he gets in the end. (unintentionally that awakens his inner prince, determined to ensure his princess look her best in every frame)

the entire time, Xavier says nothing. you hear him snap away and hum to himself, but he's not saying anything to you; doesn't tell you how to pose, where to place your hands or if you should be looking at him. so most of the time, you’re by yourself testing out the poses you saw online and placing your blind, full-hearted trust that he gets the picture you imagined. 

the thing is, while poses look good on you, Xavier behind the camera much prefers your candid moments, because these says much more about you than poses other people have thought of. you in your natural state is the most beautiful to him, and he says so, “i only take pictures of pretty things and you like this is the most pretty to me”.

later, being the old soul he is, he purchases a polaroid printer to get physical copies of your photos and stashes them away in a journal or box, for these memories of you deserve to last lifetimes.

#3 Sylus Qin

— his pictures of you are decent enough. when you asked him the first time, he says he’ll get you a personal photographer if you so desire good photos, but your cutesy pleading and debating your point about the sentimental value of photos taken by him makes him give in. he follows your inspo photos to the T, but because of his height, you notice the angles are slightly higher than what they should be. like Xavier, he doesn't tell you how to pose; he just taps away on the shutter button as he moves around you here and there, occasionally hunching down for a low angle shot, with his other hand in his pocket, nonchalant as Sylus usually is.

accidentally left the live photo feature on for most of your photos, and while perturbed at first, those become his favourites; he gets to see a glimpse of your genuine smile at his ministrations before your expressions snap into a smouldering, radiant look that he would fall to his knees for time and time again. he sends the photos to himself afterwards without asking, shrugging when you question him about it when he was being so indifferent at first, “sentimental value, kitten”.

#4 Zayne Li

— unfortunately, Zayne takes photos like an aged father with two daughters; straight on, no angles, no direction, not much effort given the first few times. but after seeing your slightly disappointed look as you review the photos, even when you reassure him you're okay with them, he knows he’d done you wrong.

the next day, Zayne promptly asks his female colleagues and acquaintances with a photography hobby at the hospital for some tips and crash courses. of course they oblige him (because who could say no to the Dr Zayne when he asks for a favour?) with simple go-tos and the tricks. and Zayne being Zayne, he notes them all down in his personal notebook, studies it in his downtime, brings it home to read and practice on some "subjects" lying around the house: your collectible figures, the fresh bouquet for the living room, and so forth.

the next time the opportunity comes up, he breaks it to you he's been studying for this exact moment and asks if you would give him another attempt. although the photos end up not what you expected when he said he's been "learning", it's miles better than the first few times. Zayne would look at you expectantly for your reaction, and he heaves a sigh of assured relief when you compliment his improvement. when you post the recent photo he took of you, he cracks the widest smile he's had all week, liking and saving the photo to make it his phone background (though you've probably already sent it to him).

[moonstruckme]

Perhaps ¹³⁾ skinned knees and/or ¹⁵⁾ frozen peas pressed against a fresh bruise with Spencer, Steve, or Peter? 🙏💛

Thanks for requesting!

cw: recounted violence, hints at our poor Peter's trauma </3

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 773 words

Peter’s quiet the whole way back to your apartment. You try to be quiet too, though you can’t help a small gasp when he swings onto the side of your apartment building and every instinct in your body is telling you you’re going to hit the bricks. 

“It’s okay,” he says, opening your window with one hand. “I’ve got you.” 

You crawl inside clumsily, envious of the way Peter hops over you with practiced effortlessness. He closes the window and heads for the kitchen without a word. You’re caught between feeling guilty and wanting to repair things, but ultimately you follow him. 

He’s closing the freezer when you enter, mask on the kitchen counter, a bag of peas in his hand. “C’mere,” he says, flicking on the stove light. “Let me see.” 

You go, letting him take your face in hand to tilt your right eye towards the light. Peter inspects you carefully. His eyes are dark in the low light, disconcertingly serious. After a few seconds he sets the peas to your cheek. 

“It’s gonna bruise pretty bad,” he says. 

“It doesn’t even really hurt,” you try, throbbing. 

Peter looks tired. Hardly mad, more exhausted than anything. “Why would you do that?” he asks, his tone genuine. “I had it handled.” 

It was a freak thing, you stumbling upon Peter on your way home. You’ve seen him as Spider-Man before of course, a few times before you knew it was him and plenty more after, but you’ve never seen him get hurt. It was him versus six guys, the late hour casting shadows but Peter’s suit bright as a beacon. Nowhere near a fair fight. Peter had two of them webbed to a dumpster within five seconds of you spotting them, but another landed a blow to his stomach with a tire iron that had him doubling over. You saw one of the guys coming up from behind him and moved without thinking. 

You didn’t even really get into the thick of it. A thrown elbow caught you in the face, half a second of startling pain in your cheek and the corner of your eye, and then Peter had the rest incapacitated before you could get your bearings to punch back. He took you straight home. 

“I’m sorry.” You set your hand over the bag of peas, meaning to take it from him, but Peter doesn’t let go. “I got scared. It looked like you were losing.” 

“I wasn’t losing. I had it handled, I just—” He pushes out a breath. “You can’t freak out like that.” 

“I saw you get hit.” 

“It was just one hit! I get hit sometimes, that’s the job, but it’s not your job.” Peter’s voice turns raw. “You can’t do that. Okay? You can’t. I have powers and you don’t, I’ll be fine, but you can’t put yourself in danger like that, okay?” He looks at you, expression taut with worry. “Say okay.” 

“Okay,” you say.

He breathes out. Leans his forehead against yours. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“No, I’m sorry.” Peter kisses the bridge of your nose, his tone softening. “I can’t believe you got hurt.” 

“It was my fault,” you murmur. “And it’s just a bruise. You got hit with a weapon.” 

Peter makes a breathy, amused noise. “Weapon is a stretch. It was a tire iron.” 

“Are you okay? Did they break anything?”

“No, no. I’m fine.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He backs up a little so you can see his face. Both of your hands are still on the peas. “I’m fine, baby. I’m good. Don’t worry.” 

You know Peter doesn’t lie to you—not anymore, not since he told you about what he does—but you’re still not entirely comforted. “I want to see.” 

“Later,” he promises. “How does your face feel, really?” 

“Fine, really,” you say. “It hurt the most when it happened.” 

Peter nods, brows sewing together as he lifts your makeshift ice pack to see underneath it. You can’t imagine the appearance of your bruise might have changed much since he last saw it, but you don’t object. 

“Do I look pretty?” you tease. 

His smile is soft as he puts the peas back in place. “Beautiful,” he says genuinely. 

You bite your lip to suppress your own smile. “I can hold this here on my own, you know.” 

“I know,” says Peter. His finger strokes gently up yours, the material of his suit glove smooth. “Just let me for a while, okay?”

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Heat Exhaustion

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

Trigger Warning - Panic Attack

It was late, far too late to be awake when I had a flight to catch soon, but my mind wouldn’t quiet down. I was lying on my bed, my phone resting on my chest as I stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. The past week had been a whirlwind—another podium, more speculation about Max and me, the journalist still lurking in the shadows, and now… Max knowing the truth.

I should have felt relieved that he was on my side, that he wasn’t going to expose me, but instead, I felt like the walls were still closing in. Every day was a balancing act, a game of deception that I had to play to protect what I loved. And even though I trusted the few people who knew, the fact remained that they had all found out by accident.

I never got to choose who knew the truth about me.

Until now.

My fingers twitched as I lifted my phone, unlocking it and opening the group chat with Kimi and Ollie. They had been checking in on me more than usual, sending casual texts but always slipping in a "How are you feeling?" or "You sure you're good?" I appreciated it, but I also knew they were picking up on things I wasn’t saying.

I hesitated before finally typing.

Me: Hey, are you guys up?

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

Ollie: Yeah, what’s up? Kimi: Everything okay?

I chewed on my bottom lip, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. This wasn’t something I could just say easily. But I needed to get it out.

Me: I’ve just been thinking a lot about last weekend. It was… a lot to handle.

A pause, then—

Ollie: Yeah, we figured. You’ve been kinda off. Kimi: Not talking as much. That’s not like you.

I let out a soft breath, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the heaviness in my chest. They noticed.

Me: Yeah… it’s just hard to explain sometimes.

Kimi: You don’t have to if you’re not ready. But if you ever want to, we’re here.

That was the thing—I did want to.

I had spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, maintaining the act, making sure no one ever saw too much. I had gotten used to it. But Kimi and Ollie were two of the people I had grown to genuinely care about on the grid. And I wanted them to know me the way that Franco, Lando, Oscar, and now Max did.

I wanted to choose them.

I gripped my phone tighter before finally typing out the words.

Me: Actually… I think I want to tell you guys something. Something big.

The typing bubbles popped up immediately.

Ollie: Okay…? Kimi: Now I’m curious.

I exhaled slowly, staring at the screen, willing myself to go through with it.

Me: Every person who knows this about me found out by accident. I never really got to choose who I told.

A pause. Then—

Ollie: What do you mean? Kimi: Are you saying… you want to tell us?

My heart was pounding. This was it.

Me: Yeah. I do. I trust you both, and I want you to actually know me.

There was a longer silence this time. For a moment, I wondered if they were freaking out, if they were regretting saying they’d always be here.

Then—

Kimi: Wow… okay. When? Ollie: Yeah, whenever you’re ready, we’re here.

I let out a shaky breath, a warmth spreading through my chest.

Me: How about after media duties on Thursday in Qatar? Just us, maybe in my hotel room. I want to finally show you who I am.

It felt strange to say it like that—show them who I was. But that was the reality. No one besides Franco, Lando, Oscar, and now Max had seen me without the baggy clothes, the helmet, the entire disguise I had carefully built. Kimi and Ollie had only ever known Ghost. Now, they would finally meet me.

The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again, as if they were thinking hard about their response. Then, finally—

Ollie: We’ll be there. Kimi: Of course. We wouldn’t miss it.

I exhaled deeply, my shoulders slumping with relief as I locked my phone and pressed it against my chest.

For the first time, I was choosing who to trust. I was deciding who got to know the real me. That made all the difference as my mind began to relax, I was able to fit in a nice nap before my alarm woke me to leave for the airport. 

—

The seconds dragged, stretching unbearably as I sat on the edge of my hotel bed, my hands clenched into fists so tight that my nails dug into my palms. My helmet was still on, the visor down, the only thing keeping me hidden for just a little while longer. My hoodie felt suffocating, but I didn’t push it back. Not yet.

I had been so sure when I texted them.

I had spent the whole week telling myself this was the right thing to do, that this was the moment I would finally get to take control over something that had been out of my hands for far too long. Every other person who had found out had done so by accident—Franco, Lando, Oscar, even Max. Each time, it had happened without me choosing it, without me deciding I was ready.

This time, I had made the choice. I had typed the words out myself, I had asked Kimi and Ollie if they would come.

So why did I feel like my heart was about to beat out of my chest?

I exhaled sharply, my knee bouncing as I tried to shake the feeling off. This is nothing. This is just another reveal.

But it wasn’t, not really.

Because they weren’t just my teammates or my rivals. They were my friends. And they had become my friends without knowing who I really was.

What if this did change things?

What if they looked at me differently? What if they started treating me like I was fragile? What if—

Knock knock knock.

I jolted upright, breath catching in my throat.

The moment was here.

For a fleeting second, I considered staying put, pretending I wasn’t in, sending them a last-minute excuse that something had come up. But deep down, I knew I couldn’t do that. I had come this far, had spent years hiding, and I was so tired of it.

Swallowing down my nerves, I forced myself up, my feet feeling heavier than usual as I crossed the room.

Another knock, gentler this time.

They were waiting.

I reached for the handle, hesitating just long enough to take a steadying breath before pulling the door open.

Kimi and Ollie stood there, both looking equally nervous.

Their eyes flicked immediately to my helmet, to the way my hoodie draped over me, and I saw the realization hit them—that I was shaking.

“You don’t have to do this,” Ollie said immediately, stepping forward slightly. “If you don’t feel ready, we won’t be upset.”

“Seriously,” Kimi added, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. “We don’t want you to feel like you have to do this. It’s okay if you change your mind.”

Their kindness nearly broke me.

I clenched my jaw, gripping the edge of my hoodie sleeves, trying to hold myself together. They were giving me an out—offering me an escape with no strings attached. And for a second, a small part of me wanted to take it.

But I had spent so long not having a choice.

I wanted this.

“No,” I said, shaking my head slightly. “I want to do this. I need to.”

They studied me for a long moment, like they were trying to make sure I really meant it.

Then, finally, Ollie gave me a small smile, one that told me he understood just how much this moment meant to me. Kimi nodded in agreement.

“Okay,” Kimi said simply.

I stepped back, letting them inside. The door clicked shut behind them, and suddenly, the room felt so much smaller.

The weight of what I was about to do pressed down on my shoulders.

I turned to face them, my hands still trembling slightly, but I clenched them into fists again, trying to ground myself.

“One rule,” I said, my voice quieter than usual. “No matter who is under this helmet… you can’t tell anyone.”

Ollie’s expression softened further, his brows pulling together like he could see just how much this meant to me. “Of course. We’d never do that.”

Kimi nodded firmly. “We promise. We wouldn’t risk losing you. We have come to care for you as more than just a competitor.”

The words hit harder than I expected, my chest tightening at the sheer sincerity in their voices.

They didn’t care about the mystery, about the reveal itself.

They just cared about me.

I inhaled sharply, feeling a lump form in my throat as I lifted my hands to my helmet.

This was it.

The final moment before the truth came out.

I hesitated, my fingers gripping the edges. My mind screamed at me to stall, to wait just another second, just another minute, but I forced myself to push through the fear.

They’re your friends. They won’t leave. They won’t treat you differently.

Slowly, I lifted the helmet off.

The cool air hit my face first, followed by the flop of my hair from within the casing.

For a second, neither of them moved as an eerie silence filled the room.

Then, Ollie’s eyes widened, his mouth parting slightly as he blinked in pure shock. Kimi’s reaction was quieter, but his expression shifted instantly, his brows raising in understanding.

The weight of the moment pressed down on me, my heartbeat hammering so loudly in my ears that I swore they could hear it.

Seconds stretched unbearably, and then—

Ollie let out a quiet, breathless laugh, his lips twitching up into a grin. “No way.”

Kimi exhaled, shaking his head with something that looked like disbelief before his lips curled into a soft smile. “That’s why you were so nervous, huh?”

I nodded slowly, unable to find my voice.

Ollie let out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair. “Mate, you’ve been fooling the entire world.”

Something about his tone—light, teasing, not at all distant or different—made the tension in my shoulders loosen slightly.

Kimi tilted his head, studying me for a moment before nodding. “This… actually makes a lot of sense now.”

I blinked. “It does?”

Kimi hummed in amusement, tilting his head as he studied me. “Yeah… the way you’ve been moving, the way you’ve been hiding. It wasn’t just about keeping your identity a secret, was it?” His voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “It was about making sure people saw you as a driver first. Not just a name… and not just because you’re a girl.”

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. They got it. They really, truly got it.

Ollie’s gaze lingered on my face for a moment longer before something seemed to click. His eyes widened slightly. “Wait a second…” He squinted, like he was trying to place a distant memory. Then, his jaw dropped. “No way.”

Kimi’s brows furrowed before realization dawned over him too. His expression softened in understanding. “Holy shit. You’re—” He hesitated, almost like he didn’t want to say it out loud. “You’re Jack’s little sister, aren’t you?”

A sharp breath left me at the sound of my brother’s name.

I nodded slowly.

Ollie let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair as the memories seemed to come rushing back to him. “I knew you looked familiar! You were at a race a few years back, weren’t you? I remember Jack talking about his sister being in the paddock for a weekend, but you were—” He gestured vaguely. “You looked different then. You weren’t…”

“Disguised?” I offered with a small, wry smile.

He let out a chuckle. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Kimi exhaled, shaking his head as a small, amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “This explains so much.”

Ollie looked at me, his expression shifting from disbelief to something softer. “Why didn’t you just race under your real name?”

I hesitated, my fingers curling into my hoodie sleeves. “Besides the problems with my parents, I didn’t want to be just ‘Jack’s little sister.’ I wanted to make it here on my own. No expectations, no assumptions—just me, proving that I deserved to be here.”

Kimi nodded in understanding, his eyes holding something that looked like respect. “And you did.”

Ollie grinned, nudging me lightly. “Yeah, you really did. And honestly? This makes you even more of a legend.”

That hit deep. I let out a slow breath, my nerves still there but quieter now, replaced by something warmer.

Kimi’s smile softened. “We’ve got your back, okay? No one’s finding out from us.”

Ollie nodded. “Yeah. No matter what, we’ve got you.”

Relief crashed over me in waves, so intense I almost felt dizzy from it. For the first time in a long time, I chose to tell someone my truth. And I had chosen right.

—

The weekend’s sessions had been utterly brutal. The relentless Qatar heat wasn’t just uncomfortable—it was suffocating. It clung to my suit, turned every breath inside my helmet thick and stifling, made every movement feel sluggish. Sweat dripped down my back, pooling beneath layers of fireproofs, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn't peel the suit away between runs like the others did. I couldn’t press an ice pack to my neck, couldn’t dump water over my head to cool down.

I couldn’t even drink properly.

Every other driver could remove their helmets, take a quick sip from their bottles between debriefs, but I had to wait until I was alone in my driver’s room. The few stolen moments between sessions were the only times I could rip off my helmet, gulp down as much water as I could manage, and try to regulate my breathing before I had to suit back up again.

And qualifying was proving just how much that was wearing me down.

I gritted my teeth, forcing my trembling hands to stay steady on the wheel as I threw the car into the next corner. My arms ached from the relentless force pressing against them, my gloves were damp from sweat, and the heat inside my helmet made my head pound.

But I didn’t lift.

I couldn’t.

This was my last chance. One more lap to break into Q3. One more lap to prove I could push through.

I kept my foot down, forcing the car to its limits, wringing every ounce of performance I could from the tires. But as I rounded the final turn, the rear snapped—just a fraction, but enough to jolt my exhausted system.

I corrected it instantly, instinct taking over before my brain even had time to register the mistake. But the damage was done.

A few milliseconds lost.

Milliseconds that could mean the difference between moving forward or falling short.

I held my breath as I crossed the line, waiting—praying.

Then the radio crackled to life.

“Good job, Ghost.” Diego’s voice was steady, but I could hear the tightness behind it. “You just made it into Q3. Sitting P10 right now.”

Relief crashed into me, but it was quickly smothered by exhaustion.

“You’re not alone up there,” Diego continued. “Franco’s through too—P8. We’re happy with this, but let’s see if we can get something better out of you.”

I swallowed, my throat dry as sandpaper.

They wanted more from me.

They always wanted more.

And normally, I would have fought for it. Normally, I would have dug deeper, found something extra to give.

But right now?

Right now, I wasn’t sure if I had anything left.

My fingers twitched against the wheel, muscles trembling from heat exhaustion. I could feel the sweat pooling beneath my suit, soaking into the balaclava under my helmet. Every breath inside the confined space of my visor felt too warm, too thick, like I was breathing in steam.

I needed water. I needed air. I needed to be out of this damn suit for more than just a few stolen minutes between sessions.

But there was no time for that.

Not yet.

I forced myself to key the radio, my voice rougher than usual. “Understood.” My throat burned from dehydration, but I ignored it. “Let’s go again.”

There was a pause. A small one.

Then Diego’s voice returned, softer this time.

“Copy that. You got this, Ghost.”

I exhaled sharply, rolling out of the pit lane for the next run.

I had to.

—

By the time I pulled into the pit box, my body was on the verge of betraying me completely. The heat had wrung every ounce of strength from my limbs, leaving me trapped in my own skin, suffocating inside my race suit. The weight of exhaustion pressed down like a physical force, making my grip on the wheel feel distant, almost nonexistent. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, even as I tried to flex my fingers in my lap. My chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, the stale, burning air inside my helmet making it impossible to get enough oxygen.

As the pit crew jacked up my car and rolled me back into my side of the garage, I let my head fall back against the seat for just a moment, forcing myself to blink away the dizziness creeping in around the edges of my vision. The helmet felt like a furnace, trapping the heat against my skin, suffocating me with my own exhaustion.

I turned my head slightly, vision swimming, and caught sight of Franco already out of his car. His face was drenched in sweat, but he still had that easy, confident smile as he laughed with his engineers. How? He had been in the same conditions, pushing just as hard, and yet he looked… fine.

Then his eyes landed on me.

His grin widened as he raised a hand in a wave, but the second I lifted mine in return, his smile disappeared. His brows drew together, the concern sharp and immediate.

I knew exactly what he had seen.

The way my hand trembled violently, the sluggishness of my movements, the way my shoulders sagged like the weight of my own body was too much to carry.

Before I even attempted to move, Franco was already striding toward me, his playful demeanor completely gone. He reached the side of my car in seconds, one hand braced against the halo as he leaned in slightly, scanning my posture beneath the helmet.

"Hey," he said, voice quieter, serious in a way that sent a fresh wave of panic rolling through me. "You good?"

I forced myself to nod, even as my head swam. Say something. Don’t look weak.

But the moment I shifted, trying to push myself up, my body collapsed against the seat, arms going weak and useless.

"Shit—"

I barely had time to register Franco moving before his hands were on me, steadying me before I could even attempt another escape. His grip was firm but careful, as if he knew how close I was to completely shutting down.

"Oi, Nico!" Franco called over his shoulder, urgency lacing his voice. "Need a hand here!"

Footsteps rushed closer, and then Nico’s familiar presence was beside us, his voice calm but sharp. “What happened?”

“She’s overheating,” Franco answered before I could.

I wanted to protest, to tell them both to back off, but I didn’t have the energy.

“Come on,” Nico said, his arm sliding under mine as he and Franco braced me between them. “We need to get her cooled off before she passes out.”

Their help was the only thing keeping me on my feet as they guided me toward the drivers' room, my legs barely responding beneath me. Every step felt sluggish, like walking through molasses.

Inside, the temperature difference was immediate, the air conditioning hitting my suit like a wave of relief, but it wasn’t enough. I was still burning up, my skin damp with sweat beneath the layers of fireproof gear.

"Helmet," Franco said, tapping the sides. "You need to get it off."

I lifted shaky hands, fumbling with the latch, but my fingers wouldn’t cooperate. Before I could even try again, Franco was already reaching for it, carefully undoing it for me.

As soon as the helmet came off, cooler air rushed against my flushed skin, and I gasped like I had been drowning.

“Here.” Nico pressed a cold water bottle into my hands, his expression unreadable but firm. “Drink. But go slow.”

I brought the bottle to my lips, the plastic slick in my shaking grasp, and took a sip. It felt like heaven against my parched throat, but even with the relief, my voice still came out hoarse.

"Thanks."

Franco crouched in front of me, his green-brown eyes searching my face for something, his usual teasing smirk nowhere to be found. "You shouldn’t have pushed that hard."

I shot him a weak glare. "Like you didn’t?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly not amused.

Before he could fire back, a knock sounded from the door followed by the nervous voice of some team staff.

“They need you both for post-qualifying media duties.”

Franco turned so fast I thought he might break something. “Are you kidding me? We just got out of the cars, and it’s boiling out there. We are barely upright right now.”

The team member sighed. “I know. I tried to push it back, but the media’s already set up. It’s non-negotiable.”

I closed my eyes for a brief second, letting out a slow breath. I wanted to be angry, to fight back, but I knew it wouldn’t change anything.

“It’s fine,” I muttered, pushing myself upright again. My legs wobbled dangerously, but I locked them in place. “Let’s just get it over with.”

Franco muttered something in Spanish under his breath, the irritation rolling off of him in waves.

Nico moved fast, reaching into a cooler before handing me something. “Here. Wear this over your suit.”

I glanced down at the ice vest in my hands, then back up at him, gratitude flashing through my exhaustion.

"Thanks," I murmured, slipping it on. The moment the cold pressed against my back and chest, my whole body sagged in relief. Even though the sweaty suit felt disgusting, the cold seeping in from this vest made it so much more worth it. Finally I pulled my helmet back on and followed Franco out the door. 

Franco was still grumbling under his breath as we made our way toward the press area, but as I adjusted my helmet again, I could feel his gaze burning into me. I knew I must still look exhausted and he had every right to be worried for me, but right now we had our media duties and neither of us got paid enough to take the fine that would come with even one of us skipping them. 

The moment I stepped into the media pen, the lights, cameras, and voices crashed over me like a tidal wave. My head throbbed from the heat and exhaustion, my limbs screaming for rest, but I forced my body to move forward, to stand tall, to act like I wasn’t breaking apart from the inside out.

The ice vest on my race suit helped, but only just. The cold was already fading, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the heat pressing down on all of us. My hands still shook at my sides, fingers twitching involuntarily, and I could feel the weakness in my legs with every step I took. But I had to push through. No cracks. No hesitation. No weakness.

The media swarmed the second they saw me. Microphones were shoved toward my helmet, journalists calling out my name—well, my alias.

"Ghost, a tough session today—"

"How was the car handling in these conditions?"

"With such brutal temperatures, how are you holding up physically?"

I kept my shoulders squared, forcing my voice to stay even. "It was tough out there, but the team did a great job preparing the car. The conditions were brutal for everyone, but we managed to get through."

I hated how flat my voice sounded. The voice changer masked everything—my exhaustion, my struggle, my pain—but my body couldn’t lie. My stance wasn’t as steady as it should have been. My weight shifted slightly, trying to counteract the wobble in my knees. I flexed my fingers at my sides, willing the tremors away.

The next journalist didn’t even bother with a question about my performance. Instead, their voice came with a sharper edge. "Ghost, we’ve noticed you’re looking a little unsteady—"

"I'm fine," I cut in, too quickly, too defensive.

A scoff came from beside me, and I didn’t need to turn my head to know who it was.

"Fine?" Max’s voice carried over the media, sharp and laced with irritation. "They can barely stand, and you all are still shoving microphones in their face. Maybe wait until they’ve had a chance to recover before making them answer pointless questions."

I swallowed, the warmth in my chest battling the exhaustion. Max was blunt as ever, but I appreciated him for it.

The journalists, of course, didn't back down. "Max, the FIA mandates post-qualifying media duties���"

"Yeah?" Charles cut in now, his voice tight with frustration. "Maybe the FIA should use their eyes and see that some of us can barely speak, let alone stand, before throwing us in front of cameras. Look at him. This isn’t normal."

I gritted my teeth, willing my body to stay still, to not give anything away. I had survived worse. I could do this.

A hand brushed against my arm—subtle but intentional. Lewis.

He didn’t say anything to the media, but his voice was low enough for only me to hear. "You don’t have to prove anything to them. Just get through it. We’ve got you."

The kindness in his tone almost shattered the wall I was desperately holding up.

But the media wasn't done.

"Ghost, how do you respond to Max and Charles’ concerns? Are you struggling more than you’re letting on?"

I inhaled slowly, steadying myself before answering. "It’s a tough race weekend for everyone. The conditions are harsh, but that’s part of the sport."

Another journalist jumped in. "There were moments on track where you seemed to be fighting the car more than usual. Was that just the heat, or were there issues with the setup?"

I exhaled slowly. "The setup is strong. The conditions make everything harder to manage, but we’re still in a good place for the race."

The questions kept coming, and I kept answering, pushing through the nausea creeping at the edges of my mind. My hands were clenched into fists now, not out of anger but in a desperate attempt to stop the shaking. My legs felt like they could give out at any second, but I locked my knees, refusing to let them see me stumble.

"Ghost, you’re one of the only drivers still giving full interviews right now, while others have already left due to the heat. Do you feel obligated to stay?"

That one made my breath hitch.

Before I could even formulate an answer, Franco’s voice cut in from a few feet away, his tone dripping with frustration. "Maybe instead of asking him that, you should be asking why the hell he is still expected to be standing here answering your questions when he clearly needs a break."

I heard Lando mutter something under his breath before stepping in too. "We all get that media duties are part of the job, but seriously, look at him. We’re dropping like flies out here, and Ghost can barely stand. Let him go."

For a moment, the journalists hesitated. Maybe they had finally realized how bad I must have looked. Maybe they saw the way I kept shifting my weight, the way my breaths were coming just a little too shallow, the way my hands wouldn’t stay still.

The team member who had escorted me here finally stepped in, clearing his throat. "That’s all for Ghost today. He needs to recover before tomorrow."

I didn’t wait for the journalists to argue. I gave a short nod, mumbled a quick, "Thank you," and turned to leave, moving slower than I wanted to, but fast enough that no one could stop me.

As soon as I stepped away from the cameras, away from the eyes burning into me, my entire body slumped. The adrenaline that had been keeping me upright drained in an instant.

Franco was there in seconds, steadying me with a firm hand on my back. "That was fucking ridiculous."

I couldn’t even respond. My head was pounding too much, my muscles aching too deeply.

Lando and Oscar caught up to us, both looking equally pissed.

"You should’ve just walked away the second you got out there," Oscar muttered, shaking his head. "They would’ve figured it out eventually."

I let out a weak laugh. "Would they, though?"

Lando huffed. "Next time, we’re dragging you out before they even get the chance."

I was too tired to argue.

Lewis appeared beside me, pressing another ice pack into my hands. "Here. This’ll help."

I took it without question, pressing it against my neck. The relief was instant but not nearly enough. Lewis smiled at me with a nod before quietly walking away. 

Max crossed his arms, still glaring toward the media pen. "If the FIA doesn’t do something about this, I will."

I shook my head slightly. "You can’t—"

"Watch me."

I sighed, but deep down, I was grateful.

—

The cold water from earlier had long since lost its effect, leaving only a dull, lingering coolness that did nothing to combat the growing weight pressing down on me.

I sat on the edge of my bed in my drivers’ room, fully suited up, my helmet resting beside me as I finished the last bottle of water I could stomach. Every sip felt like a lifeline, a desperate attempt to build a reserve before the inevitable heat drained it all away. Today was hotter than any session before, and I knew—we all knew—this race would be a battle of survival just as much as it would be a battle for position.

I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders back, trying to focus my mind. You’ve done this before. You can do it again. You just have to push through.

My fingers curled into fists against my thighs before I finally grabbed my helmet, slipping it on and locking myself in. This was it. No turning back now.

I pushed open the door and stepped out into the chaos of the garage.

—

The first laps of the race were smooth. I focused on keeping the tires in check, my pace steady, not taking unnecessary risks. The heat was already settling in, pressing against me like a second race suit, but I’d prepared for this.

Then, somewhere around the middle of the race, I hit the water button for the fifth time.

The familiar small tube inside my helmet released a shot of liquid into my mouth. The moment it touched my tongue, I gagged. It wasn’t cool anymore. It wasn’t even lukewarm. It was hot.

I spat it out instinctively, the taste bitter and almost nauseating.

"Water’s boiling," I muttered into the radio, shifting my focus back to the track.

Diego’s voice came through, calm but firm. "Copy, Ghost. Just do what you can. We’ll monitor your vitals."

I clenched my jaw. I already knew what that meant. They were watching my performance, my inputs, my pace. They’d pull me if they thought I was fading.

I wasn’t going to let that happen.

Laps blurred together. My mouth was dry, my throat raw from the heat. My hands were slippery inside my gloves, and every breath felt heavier than the last. I had stopped sweating at some point—not because the heat had lessened, but because my body had nothing left to give.

"Ghost, you need to think about retiring," Diego’s voice came through again, a little more insistent now. "We can see the drop-off. It’s okay."

I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me. "No. I can finish."

Even if I had to drag myself to the checkered flag.

"Ghost—"

"Who’s out?" I cut him off, forcing the words out through gritted teeth.

There was a pause before he answered. "Doohan, Lawson, and Stroll. They’ve all retired due to the heat."

I exhaled sharply. That could’ve been me. It still could be me.

But I wasn’t done. I wasn’t finished.

I tightened my grip on the wheel, ignoring the way my vision was beginning to blur at the edges.

"Not yet," I murmured.

Then I pressed forward.

—

The moment I stopped, my body betrayed me.

I had done it—I finished the race in P6. Franco had taken P5. But there was no relief, no triumph. Only the crushing weight of exhaustion bearing down on me like a collapsing ceiling.

As I pulled into Parc Fermé, the heat that had been suffocating me all race now pressed into my skull like a vice. My vision blurred as I tried to breathe through the nausea clawing at my throat. My arms felt detached, as if they were no longer mine to command. The entire world had narrowed down to a pounding in my head and the tremors that I could no longer ignore.

This is bad. This is really bad.

I fumbled with the steering wheel, fingers trembling too hard to properly unclip it. I finally managed to yank it off, dropping it onto the nose as I reached for the halo, trying to pull myself up. My muscles screamed, burning with a fire that wasn’t just exertion—this was something worse.

My foot barely found purchase as I tried to climb out, and the second I attempted to push myself up, my strength gave out. My body slumped forward, upper torso flopping limply over the halo, my arms barely holding me up as my head hung between them. My breath came in sharp, rapid bursts, my lungs fighting against the stifling heat trapped inside my race suit.

I wasn’t just exhausted. I was failing.

Panic twisted deep in my chest, feeding into the violent shudders racking my body. My helmet felt suffocating, my suit like a second layer of burning skin. I was shaking uncontrollably, my fingers barely gripping onto the car to keep me from collapsing completely. My heart slammed against my ribs, too fast, too much—

"Breathe—breathe—" I gasped to myself, but I couldn’t.

I barely registered the footsteps rushing toward me until two familiar voices called out—

"Whoa, whoa, hey—"

"Shit—Ghost! Are you okay?!"

Ollie and Kimi.

I felt hands on me—strong, steady hands. One of them gripped my waist while the other reached for my arms, carefully but urgently trying to pull me the rest of the way out of the car. My legs buckled the second my weight shifted, but they caught me before I could hit the ground.

"She’s burning up," Ollie cursed, adjusting his hold as he and Kimi fully hoisted me up between them.

The movement made the nausea spike—the world tilted violently, a wave of dizziness crashing into me like a tidal force. I groaned softly, my head rolling against Kimi’s shoulder. The tremors in my body worsened. My knees refused to hold me, leaving all of my weight pressed into them.

"We need to get him out of here—now," Kimi said, voice tight with concern.

"Franco—" Ollie called over his shoulder, but Franco was already moving.

I barely tracked his blurred figure before he turned and sprinted towards the garage. I heard his frantic voice shouting something about Nico, ice, water, bath—but it all faded into static.

Another set of hands found me—Oscar.

"Come on, let’s get him back—" he said, already helping them move.

I didn’t have the strength to respond, to fight back against the way my vision kept fading in and out.

The three of them half-carried, half-dragged me up the pit lane. My body swayed uselessly, my legs numb beneath me, my head lolling forward and back.

I barely registered Lando’s voice until I heard his sharp inhale—

"What the hell—? Hey—what’s wrong with him?"

The shuffle of hurried steps.

Max’s voice.

"Move—what happened? What’s going on?!"

Their voices were frantic, but I couldn’t focus.

The only thing I could do was press my head against Kimi’s shoulder, my body burning and trembling and fading, fading—

The last thing I felt before my mind slipped further into the haze was the grip of their hands tightening around me.

Holding me up. Keeping me safe.

—

The cold hit me like a freight train.

A sharp, biting shock that sent a jolt through my entire body, dragging me out of the suffocating haze of unconsciousness. My skin burned from the contrast—heat still radiating off me, clashing violently against the icy water.

I groaned, head lolling to the side as I tried to blink my vision clear.

"Hey—hey, she’s waking up."

The voice was Franco’s, tight with concern.

My sluggish mind took a moment to catch up—to register that I wasn’t in the car anymore, that my helmet was gone, my race suit stripped away. I was submerged up to my chest in ice water, wearing only the thin layer of fireproofs that clung uncomfortably to my damp skin.

A firm but careful grip pressed against my shoulders—Nico.

"Easy," he murmured, steady and grounding. "Just breathe, y/n. You need to stay in the bath a little longer."

Everything still felt wrong.

My limbs were too heavy, my lungs too tight, the room too cold yet my skin too hot. My body couldn’t decide whether it was freezing or burning, and the overwhelming confusion of it all sent my mind spiraling.

"W-What—" My voice cracked—raw, hoarse.

I winced at the sound, my throat aching like I had swallowed sandpaper.

"You overheated, bad," Kimi said, leaning closer. His face was creased with worry. "We had to get you in here fast. You passed out completely."

"You scared the hell out of us," Ollie added, his usual teasing lilt nowhere in his voice.

I swallowed thickly, eyes darting around the dimly lit drivers’ room, heart rate already climbing from the weight of their words.

I had pushed too far.

I had scared them.

I had failed.

The thought hit me like a slap to the face, and suddenly, the tightness in my chest worsened.

The trembling in my hands turned into violent shakes, my breath shuddering as something clawed its way up my throat—not nausea this time, but panic. Full-blown panic.

I felt trapped in my own body.

"No—no, no, no—" I barely gasped out, my breathing spiraling into sharp, erratic bursts.

The ice bath felt too deep.

The cold was too much.

The room was spinning—

"Shit, she’s panicking," Franco cursed, immediately shifting closer. "Hey—hey, look at me."

I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I was shaking too much, heart slamming against my ribs, my vision swimming as every exhausted nerve in my body screamed at once.

Nico held me firm.

His grip on my shoulders tightened just enough to keep me grounded, his voice level as he spoke—"Breathe, kid. Don’t fight it. Just let it pass."

"You’re safe, y/n," Ollie’s voice cut through the haze, softer now. "We’re right here. You’re okay."

"You’re not alone," Kimi added, his usual stoicism cracking just enough for me to hear the genuine concern beneath it.

I squeezed my eyes shut, struggling to pull myself out of the panic’s grip.

Just breathe.

I sucked in a shaky breath. Then another. And another.

Slowly, painfully, the tightness in my chest loosened, the suffocating weight on my ribs easing—not gone, but manageable.

When I finally blinked my eyes open again, tears had slipped down my flushed cheeks, mixing with the cold water clinging to my skin.

I sniffled, embarrassed, trying to shake it off—

But Ollie just huffed a quiet laugh and reached out, gently brushing the pads of his fingers beneath my eyes to wipe them away.

"You look awful," he teased lightly, though the relief in his voice was obvious. "But at least you’re back with us."

I let out a weak breath—something close to a laugh, but more of a tired exhale.

"Thanks, Ollie."

"Anytime, y/n."

There was a beat of silence before Franco sighed, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

"We gotta go, though. Cooldown debriefs and all."

I nodded, though I still felt too weak to fully sit up on my own.

Kimi, Ollie, and Franco hesitated before leaving, their gazes lingering on me, as if making sure I wouldn’t crumble the second they walked out the door.

"Go," I rasped, offering a small nod. "I’ll be fine."

It took another beat, but eventually, they filed out, leaving only Nico behind.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat on the stool beside the tub, watching me carefully as I tried to even out my breath.

Then—quietly—he handed me a bottle of water.

"Drink, kid."

I did.

—

The walk to media duties felt longer than usual.

My body was still aching, my skin still hot despite the ice bath, but at least I could move without my legs threatening to give out beneath me. The hoodie and sweats Nico had given me felt heavy, but they helped me still hide my feminine figure without having to put my race suit back on.

Helmet back on. Voice changer activated. Persona intact.

I was Ghost again.

Not the girl who had almost collapsed from heat exhaustion. Not the one who had panicked in the ice bath.

Just Ghost.

I had just rounded the corner when I nearly crashed into someone.

"Whoa—"

I barely had time to process before I felt a firm hand grip my shoulder, steadying me.

"Are you even okay to be walking around?"

Oscar.

I lifted my head slightly, immediately greeted by the sight of Oscar, Max, and Lando, all three of them looking me over like I might drop at any second.

Oscar’s expression was tight with concern, his eyes scanning me as if searching for any sign of weakness beneath the hoodie and sweats.

Max and Lando, on the other hand—they just looked pissed.

"Ghost, what the hell were you thinking?" Lando’s voice was sharper than usual, his usual playfulness nowhere to be found.

"You could have passed out behind the wheel!" Max snapped, arms crossing over his chest.

"You’re lucky you even made it to the end without crashing," Lando added, eyes narrowing.

I sighed, already feeling the exhaustion creep back in. "Guys, I finished the race. I’m fine."

"Fine?" Max echoed, his voice dripping with disbelief. "You couldn’t even get out of your damn car! You had to be carried to your garage!"

"We saw you, mate," Lando said, shaking his head. "You scared the shit out of us."

Oscar, who had been quiet up until now, finally spoke—his voice softer, but no less firm.

"You should’ve retired, Ghost."

I clenched my jaw beneath my helmet, fingers curling into fists at my sides.

They didn’t get it.

I had something to prove.

After everything—after spending the entire season fighting for my place, for my right to be here, for my strength—I couldn’t just quit.

Not when I was still standing.

"I couldn’t," I muttered, my voice low.

Max let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "You’re a damn idiot."

Lando scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, no kidding. You think you’re proving a point by pushing through this kind of shit? You’re just proving you have no self-preservation instincts."

"Lando—" Oscar started, but the Brit just kept going.

"Seriously, mate, what’s the point of all this secrecy, the helmet, the voice changer, if you’re just gonna race yourself into the damn grave?"

My chest tightened.

They didn’t understand.

"I finished the race," I said again, my voice stronger this time.

Max let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, and nearly fucking died doing it."

There was a beat of silence.

I didn’t know what to say.

Because deep down, I knew they were right.

I had been stupid. I had risked everything.

But at the same time—I couldn’t regret it.

"I had to," I finally whispered.

Oscar sighed, rubbing his temples. "You didn’t have to. You just thought you did."

Max took a step closer, his voice lower now. "Don’t do that again."

"Max—"

"I mean it, Ghost." His eyes burned into mine through the visor of my helmet. "Don’t pull that shit again."

Lando exhaled, shaking his head. "If you ever scare us like that again, I swear to god—"

"What? You'll do what?" I challenged, tilting my head.

"We’ll fucking drag you out of the car ourselves next time," Lando shot back, dead serious.

I stared at them for a long moment before exhaling quietly.

"Noted."

Oscar sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just… promise you’ll take it easy for the rest of the day."

I hesitated—then gave a small nod.

"Fine."

Max and Lando exchanged a look, clearly not satisfied, but knowing they wouldn’t get much more out of me.

"Good," Max muttered. "Now go do those stupid media duties before we get in trouble for holding you up."

I let out a breath, turning toward the media pen.

I could still feel their eyes on me as I walked away.

—

The questions had been relentless since the moment I stepped into the media pen.

I had answered what felt like a hundred different versions of "How are you feeling?" and "Was the heat the toughest challenge today?" while keeping my voice steady, my responses measured.

I could still feel the weight of Max, Lando, and Oscar’s words from earlier pressing against my chest.

"You think you’re proving a point by pushing through this kind of shit?"

"You just thought you had to."

"Don’t pull that shit again."

I had brushed them off, insisted I was fine, but deep down, the doubt had already started to sink in.

And then—I heard Jack’s name.

"Jack, do you think Ghost finishing the race today proves that you gave up too soon?"

My stomach twisted.

I turned my head slightly, listening as Jack’s tone sharpened in response.

"You think I wanted to retire?" His voice was laced with frustration, the exhaustion from the race still evident. "I had no choice. I was on the verge of passing out in the car—what the hell was I supposed to do? Just push through it like an idiot?"

The reporters kept pushing, eager to stoke the flames.

"Well, Ghost did."

That set him off.

"Yeah, and look at them! Couldn’t even get out of the car! You think that’s smart? You think that’s proving a point? That’s just reckless."

My chest tightened.

They had gotten to him.

I knew what they were doing—trying to manufacture a rivalry, to paint one of us as weaker, the other as stronger, to get some headline-worthy soundbite out of him.

And Jack—he was giving them exactly what they wanted.

"Do you regret your decision now that you see what Ghost was capable of?"

Jack let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Capable of? They nearly collapsed. That’s not capability—that’s stupidity. If anything, I feel bad for them."

I didn’t have time to process the sting in his words before I was being called up for my own interview.

The second I stepped forward, I could already see the smirks on the reporters’ faces.

They were waiting. Waiting for me to bite.

"Ghost, we just spoke with Jack, and he had some strong words about your decision to finish the race today—"

"Jack said you were reckless—"

"He implied he felt bad for you—"

"Do you have anything to say in response?"

I could feel the heat behind my visor—not from the temperature, but from the frustration simmering in my chest.

I could shut Jack down. I could bite back.

But that’s what they wanted.

Instead, I exhaled slowly, forcing my voice to stay calm as I answered.

"I don’t blame Jack for anything he said," I started, my tone even. "But I think the real problem is how often these kinds of comparisons are made in the first place."

The interviewer blinked, caught off guard.

I continued.

"Jack did the right thing today. He recognized his limits. He chose to put his health first. That takes strength. That takes intelligence. He made the smart call—something I wasn’t able to do."

A few reporters shifted uncomfortably at my words.

"I let my ego get in the way," I admitted, my fingers curling into the sleeves of my hoodie. "I finished the race, sure. But at what cost? I put myself at risk. I let myself believe that stopping would be a weakness, not to myself, but to the public, to you. But looking back… I think Jack was stronger than me today."

A beat of silence.

The interviewers weren’t expecting this.

They wanted drama. Fuel for a rivalry.

Instead, I had taken the wind out of their sails.

"So no, I don’t have anything to say against Jack. What I do have a problem with is the way we push drivers to view each other as competition in moments like this—when really, we should be focusing on the bigger picture. None of us should have been racing in these conditions. And Jack made the right call."

The interviewers exchanged glances, realizing they weren’t going to get what they wanted out of me.

I just stood there, breathing steadily, finally understanding what Max, Lando, and Oscar had been so pissed about earlier.

I had been an idiot. And for the first time, I was willing to admit it.

Masterlist

Taglist: @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp @thatsnotaddy @freyathehuntress @angelluv16

[voonroo]

how about a triple s with a fem bayonetta human reader? Like how would they react? And would they be simp for her?😂😁 thanks and I hope you have a wonderful day/night😁 love your work by the way.

Human Bayonetta Reader

⌐‣ Sonic, Shadow, & Silver x Reader REQ.

Want more? Check out the masterlist↩︎

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am so sorry its so short I genuinely had no idea what to write and all of my information about Bayonetta was from the wiki and a few tiktok edits😭💔

Sonic, Shadow, & Silver x Reader SEP.

SONIC

Matches your freak.

Oh? You wanna throw banter back and forth? He’s built for this.

You think you can beat him in a race? Oh wait you actually gave him a run for his money using your witch time.

He invites you on runs since you’re able to keep up with him.

But deep down he actually admires you.

Bro if you flirt with him he’s going to do it back but ten times worse.

I’m talking the dumbest, most stupid pick up line will leave his mouth and he says it with full confidence too.

SHADOW

Probably would respect you, seeing you similar to Rouge.

He mostly ignores whatever witty comments come out of your mouth.

He loves your heels though. Probably off-handily complimented you once and then ever again.

He commends your fighter spirit.

It seems like no matter what gets thrown at you, you manage to preserve, and he respects that.

If you try to flirt with him he will give you NO reaction.

Even if his stomach is doing flips he will be stone faced and give you the side eye.

SILVER

Upon first meeting Silver genuinely tweaked out.

Little bro doesn’t know how to react.

He is lowkey intimidated by you, won’t say it but his body language gives him away.

He treats you with respect nonetheless and tries to not offend you.

If you throw a flirty comment his way he will get a bit awkward.

He avoids eye contact and gets a little red, a bit quieter too.

He bounces back pretty quickly though and will compliment you back with a small smile.

Word Count: 271

[mediumgayitalian]

He hears him four cabins away. At minimum.

The thing about Will is that he is not a sneaky person. He tries to be — gods does he ever try — but it is so antithetical to who he is as a person that it never works out. He breaks out into hives if he lies, for Hades’ sake. Sometimes even when he withholds the truth. It’s hilarious.

Anyways, he wakes Nico up.

He hears the cream of the opening window and shoved his face into a pillow. There’s a way to open them without so much as a peep — Piper knows how, and Percy, and probably ninety-two percent of the rest of camp — but Will, in all honesty, probably can’t even hear it, as high-pitched as it is. The scuffle of his shoes on the smooth obsidian walls are equally as loud, somehow, and the oof he lets out as he lands on the marble floors face-first echo all the way to the lake.

It’s a wonder the harpies haven’t come squawking, honestly. Or maybe good karma.

“Psst,” Will actually, genuinely hisses. “Psst, Nico. You up?”

“No,” Nico lies. “I am sleeping ever so peacefully and ignoring the obnoxious intruder of my space.”

“Well, get up.” His feet have started to tap. Nico smothers his stupid widening grin into his hand — it’s not cute, it’s not. It’s dumb and embarrassing and ridiculous. Gods. What a freaking theatre kid.

Nico peeks one eye open, and Will is standing, shirt on backwards, scratching his calf, staring at the faintly-glowing altar in the back corner. His pupils are dilated.

“I want ice cream.”

Nico does not, technically, have much to do tomorrow.

There’s training. But there’s always training, really, and also he went to Tartarus, so how much worse can it get, really? What else is he training for? Tartarus Two: The Torture Trudges On? And there’s of course his afternoon class, but he can definitely sleep-walk his way through that one. He’ll wear sunglasses and tell the kids he’s evaluating them based on the level of maliciousness he feels in their energy. It has worked for him before.

He can go out for three in the morning ice cream.

But the principle of the thing.

“It’s witching hour, William.”

“You like witching hour.” 

Fair. 

“Plus! Ice cream.” He turns to face Nico, and he still can’t see, that at least Nico knows for sure, but he tilts his head and cocks his hip like he can. “Ice cream, Death Boy. Three a.m. bad decisions. Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not frothing at the mouth.”

Nico makes a show of patting down his dry face, just to bother him, except he realises he was in fact drooling in his sleep and has to then resist the urge to throw himself off a building. Gods. Will is lucky it's blacker than actual night in here or Nico would genuinely have to kill him and then himself. 

"Fine," he says hastily, rolling off his bed and slamming onto the floor. "Begone. I will meet you outside."

“You have two minutes,” Will warns, tapping at his watch. He turns resolutely around. He pauses. He turns again, sighs, then turns, or at least tries to, back to Nico’s general direction, but where he is actually staring, hands on his hips, is the wall, this time Nico does not even bother to hide his smile in his hands. “Could you maybe point me in the direction of the door, Mr. Vampire Freak?”

Nico puts gentle hands on Will’s shoulders, guiding him towards the ornate doorway. He offers absolutely no resistance, leaning into the pressure of Nico’s palms as he stumbles forward.

“Calling me a freak is going to restart my trauma,” Nico says loftily.

“Shut up.” A beat. “Sorry.”

“I’m teasing, you doofus.”

“Still. That was uncalled for.” He nearly brains himself on the doorway trying to turn around to face him. Nico darts out and tucks a protective hand over his forehead, just in time. Will butts his head into the hold affectionately. “You are not a freak.”

Something gross and gooey and soft melts in Nico’s sternum, and his lips twitch, and his chest warms, and fondness bleeds from him, from his pores, wrapping Will’s shoulders like shadow and blinking like gentle flame.

“I know that,” Nico says, shaking his head. “You are so strange. Get out of here. I need to put pants on.”

Will blinks. Nico counts four seconds. Will glances down, and his face heats something awful.

“You!!!” he whisper-shouts, over Nico’s snickering. “I’m going to!!!” He waves a hand. He waves again, ending in somewhat of an accusing point. “Ah!!!”

He rushes out the barely-open door, tripping over the front step and sprawling on his ass on the porch. Nico leans against the doorway, grin widening, arms crossed over his chest. Will stays curled on the floor, face in his hands, muttering to himself. It is so loud it — echoes. Right across the common. Two separate lights turn on.

He does not notice.

Nico loves him so much he envisions grabbing his pillow and beating him to a coma with the force of it. Instead, he rushes inside and pulls on the first pair of jeans he sees.

“Okay,” he yawns, nudging Will’s prone form with the toe of his shoe. “Let’s go.”

“Finally,” Will mumbles. He stays in his ball of misery for five seconds. He gets up. He pauses, breathing in, breathing out. He, realisinf Nico has left him behind, scrambles to catch up, tripping over a rock and very nearly pitching right down Half-Blood Hill. “I want — soft serve.”

“No,” Nico says easily.

“It’s better! It’s — smooth!”

They reach the road. Nico raises a hand as if summoning a taxi, barely managing to grab Will’s collar and yank him back from the road before a shiny, shadow-black SUV melts into existence at the speed of Fast and kills him dead.

“It’s a disgrace, William. It is an abomination of modern hubris.”

“You’re — you’re just like your father, you know that, you —”

Nico’s jaw drops.

“That’s is an evil fucking thing to say to me —”

Will is so loud, he can’t help it, everywhere he goes, he stumbles through doorways and trips over air and whistles as he walks and tap tap taps his ever-moving fingers. Will is loud, he is lively, Will is life, personified, every inch of him glows golden.

The issue is that Nico is loud when he’s around him, too. Like he forgets to keep quiet.

“—that’s that, Solace.” He yanks the sliding door open, hovering in the frame. “Hard ice cream or no ice cream for you. That’s that.”

Will huffs. It’s just barely bright enough outside — there’s moonlight — for him to be facing the right direction, this time, back to Thalia’s tree, as he crosses his arms and taps his foot and pouts like that will get him anywhere.

Nico stares right back, back to the SUV, ignoring Jules-Albert’s grumbling.

He will not give in this time. 

He will not.

“I really just think soft ice cream will help the homesick,” Will mumbles. He kicks at the too-long grass. “It’s — tour season. Mama and I always went to DQ during tour season.”

“Oh —Jesus fucking Christ.”

Will has won and he knows he has, because he can muffle a smile but he’s never been able to fight back that victorious little giggle, because he is loud, and Nico hates him.

Toujours il te déjoue, et toujours, tu lui permets.

Nico scowls.

“Your job is to drive, Jules-Albert; if I wanted a critic I would have summered Ebert.”

Jules-Albert smiles at him. Due to the rotting flesh and tooth decay, it is horrifying, but unfortunately not horrifying enough to distract him from Will’s smug lean, his bright smile.

“If you don’t stop humming We Are The Champions I’m going to fucking gut you,” Nico threatens.

“Mhm. Perhaps. But then you would have no one to bully you, and you will be miserable.”

Jules-Albert barks a laugh, and offers Will a high-five.

“I will crack a chasm open onto this road! I swear to the gods! I will blow up this car!”

———

It takes twenty-two minutes to get to the nearest Dairy Queen.

Nico practically flees out of the car.

“I thought you were too tired for ice cream,” Will teases, jogging after him.

Nico scowls at him. “I am never doing anything with you ever again as long we both shall live.”

“Sure thing,” says Will absentmindedly. He links their arms together, humming at the menu. Nico’s lungs shrivel up and retire. “I’m only friends with you for the infinite credit card, anyway.”

“Oh, shut up.”

The Dairy Queen is silent at nearly four in the morning. Even the machines hold their breath, sole employee communicating entirely in nods and slow blinks.

Will’s laugh is like rolling summer thunder.

Nico feels like he is suffocating, like the humidity of the air churns solid in his chest.

———

In the cold of the late-night DQ air, table sticking to his elbows, a flip-flopped foot kicks his ankle.

“Hey.”

“What,” Nico grumps, shoving a spoonful of Oreo Blizzard Extreme into his mouth. It is mediocre.

There is a dot of ice cream on Will’s nose. Unrelated, there has been an endless loop of anguished screaming yearning in the back of Nico’s mind for the past seven minutes.

“Thank you.”

“Hmph.”

Will smiles. His nose scrunches with it, and the ice cream smears across his freckles. Nico’s heart explodes, just like that. Probably due to the ice cream. Sugar clogs arteries, or something like that.

“I mean it. Thank you.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you need a ride home. And because I paid, you broke pain in the ass.”

He smiles wider. His blue eyes shine darker than midnight, darker than Oreos, and for a desperate breathless moment Nico drowns in his pupils.

“True. But also.”

He kicks Nico’s ankles again.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

The half-frozen brownie lodges in his throat, and Nico swallows, and swallows, and swallows. Will’s eyes ger brighter, and brighter, and brighter.

“Yeah,” he says, reedy. He swallows. Will ducks his head. “Anytime.”

[extinctlesspains]

could we have a part 3 of the yandere wolf? your way of writing feels like it genuinely could happen, cause he is a little freak 🫢! thank you

A/n: Hii!! It seems like A LOT of ppl wanted a part 3 to sensei wolf because he's DEF a yandere. I don't think he's lovey dovey, he's fr a yandere. Okay, enough talking enjoy♡ also, I will be addressing wolf as Xiao now since that's his legal name and well you'll see ♡♡

𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠 [𝐹. 𝑋𝑖𝑎𝑜]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ, ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ, ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ! sᴇɴsᴇɪ ᴡᴏʟғ/ғᴇɴɢ xɪᴀᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ᴅᴀʀᴋ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴛʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴡᴏʟғ's ʙᴀsᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇsɪsᴛ ʜɪs ᴏʙsᴇssɪᴠᴇ ᴅᴇᴠᴏᴛɪᴏɴ, ʀᴇғᴜsɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ɪɴ ᴅᴇsᴘɪᴛᴇ ʜɪs ᴘᴀᴛɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴsᴇᴛᴛʟɪɴɢ ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇʀɴᴇss. ʙᴜᴛ ᴀs ʜᴇ sʟᴏᴡʟʏ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋs ᴅᴏᴡɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴇғᴇɴsᴇs, ʜᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇs ᴏɴᴇ ᴄʜɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪsᴇ—ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʜɪᴍ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴊᴜsᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴀʏ.

⚠ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴs ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇs sᴜᴄʜ ᴀs ᴏʙsᴇssɪᴏɴ, ᴋɪᴅɴᴀᴘᴘɪɴɢ, ғᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ᴇᴛᴄ. ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴀʟsᴏ ɴᴏᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴏʟғ ɢᴏᴇs ʙʏ ғᴇɴɢ xɪᴀᴏ. ⚠

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

Time lost meaning in the dark.

You didn’t know how long you’d been in this room—days, maybe even weeks. There was no window, no clock, nothing to track the hours. The only light came from the dim lamp in the corner, casting long shadows that seemed to creep closer every night.

And then there was him.

Feng Xiao.

He had finally told you his name, and he expected you to use it.

Not "Sensei Wolf." Not "psycho." Just Feng Xiao. Because to him, he wasn’t your captor, your tormentor. He was something else. Something more.

He was your lover.

But to you, he was still a monster.

The door creaked open.

You were curled up on the bed, stiffening at the sound. You didn’t look up—not until you felt him near.

“I brought you something to eat.” His voice was calm, patient. His accent slicing the air.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze. He stood beside the bed, holding a tray with neatly arranged food—rice, vegetables, meat, all still steaming. It looked normal. Too normal.

You didn’t move.

Feng sighed, setting the tray on the nightstand. “Still not eating properly?”

You stayed silent.

He knelt beside the bed, resting his arms on the mattress, watching you with dark, calculating eyes. You hated how close he was, how he made the room feel even smaller.

“You’ll make yourself sick,” he murmured. “And I don’t want that.”

You scoffed, voice hoarse from disuse. “You don’t get to care about me.”

His lips twitched into something like amusement. “You say that like I have a choice.”

Your stomach twisted. That was the worst part—he actually believed he loved you.

You turned away, staring at the wall. “Why me?”

There was a pause, then the bed dipped as he sat beside you. You flinched but didn’t move away fast enough.

Feng ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “You’re the only one who understands.”

Your jaw clenched. “Understands what?”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck. “What it means to fight. To lead. To carry the weight of others.”

You gritted your teeth. “That’s not love.”

His fingers brushed your wrist, featherlight, almost reverent. “No. It’s fate.”

You yanked away, heart pounding. “This isn’t fate, it’s insanity. You don’t own me.”

Feng chuckled, low and indulgent. “Not yet.”

You wanted to scream.

The days bled together, filled with his voice, his touch, his relentless presence.

He never hurt you, not physically. But he was everywhere.

Brushing your hair out of your face when you slept. Tracing patterns on your wrist when you refused to speak. Whispering your name like it was something sacred.

And the worst part? He was patient.

He didn’t demand affection. He didn’t rush you. He simply waited.

Like he knew, eventually, you would break.

One night, you finally snapped.

He had been sitting by your bed, watching you read one of the books he’d given you—like this was normal, like this was some kind of domestic life and not a nightmare.

You slammed the book shut. “You want me to call you Feng Xiao?”

He smiled, pleased. “Yes.”

You glared at him, fists clenched. “Fine. Feng Xiao.” You spat his name like a curse. “Tell me something.”

He tilted his head. “Anything.”

You leaned forward, voice low and shaking. “What’s the point of all this? You’re waiting for something, aren’t you? For me to just—give in?”

His smile didn’t waver. “I’m waiting for you to see.”

“See what?” you snapped.

His fingers brushed against yours, a ghost of a touch. “That you belong to me.”

A shiver ran down your spine. “I never will.”

Feng’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t look angry. If anything, he looked…excited.

“You’re still fighting.” His voice was almost affectionate. “Good. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Your breath hitched. “You’re insane.”

He smiled, tracing his fingers up your arm. “And you’re mine.”

You slapped his hand away. “I’ll never love you.”

For the first time, his expression flickered. He exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off an unwanted thought.

Then, he leaned in, so close you could see the faint scars on his jaw, the hunger in his eyes.

“I don’t need you to love me,” he murmured. “I just need you to stay.”

Your throat tightened.

Because deep down, you knew the truth.

No matter how much you fought, how much you resisted—he wasn’t going to let you go. His words were a curse.

[yurlittleangle]

Yan!Male Stalker x Fem!Influencer Reader

Ask: Yandere male stalker X influencer Fem reader. He's in a parasocial relationship with her and she's a twitch streamer, (THIS IS OPTIONAL YOU CAN DO WHAT YOU WANT.) maybe something a long the lines where he comes to give her a Valentine's Day gift, but he creeps her out or sent and freaks out

The neon glow of your gaming setup lit up the room as the chat flowed rapidly across your screen. Hearts and emotes of all kinds flooded your monitor as your voice, light and playful, danced through your headset. The Valentine’s Day stream was in full swing, and your audience—affectionately dubbed your “Valentine Squad”—was eating it up.

“Thank you, guys! This support means everything to me,” you said, flashing your signature smile. Your voice was genuine, but there was a tinge of exhaustion. Streaming for hours straight, constantly reading comments, and trying to stay energetic was draining. Still, it was worth it.

Among the sea of usernames, one stood out: AlwaysWatching92.

They were one of your most consistent viewers, always in your streams, always donating just enough to stay noticed, but not so much as to come off as too obsessive. Or at least, that’s what they thought. You had already begun to notice the patterns: the long, heartfelt messages; the way they seemed to know personal details you had never shared online; the slightly unhinged tone in their comments when you didn’t acknowledge them fast enough.

“Alright, guys, let’s take a quick break,” you said, hitting your BRB screen. Your voice softened, the artificial cheer dropping for a moment.

As you stepped away from your desk, a sudden knock at your apartment door startled you. It was late. Too late for anyone to visit.

Your heart skipped as you approached cautiously, peering through the peephole. What you saw made your stomach sink.

A man stood there, clutching a bouquet of roses and a small, heart-shaped box. He felt disturbingly familiar—too familiar. His mask matched the profile picture of AlwaysWatching92.

You hesitated, unsure if you should even open the door, but he noticed the shadow of your figure through the peephole.

“I-I’m sorry to come unannounced,” he stammered, his voice muffled through the door. “I just… I wanted to give you something special for Valentine’s Day. You deserve it.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He shouldn’t know where you lived.

“How… How did you find me?” you asked, your voice trembling despite yourself.

There was a long pause. “It—it wasn’t hard. You mentioned your favorite coffee shop once, and I—I just followed a few clues… I wanted to surprise you.”

Your chest tightened. “Look, this isn’t okay. You need to leave.”

“But I—I thought we had something special,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’ve been there for you every stream, every moment. I’ve supported you when no one else did!”

“You don’t even know me!” you snapped, anger flaring past your fear.

The silence that followed was deafening. Then, his voice dropped to something darker, more desperate.

“I know you better than anyone else. Your favorite color, your laugh, the way you look when you’re tired… I’ve spent hours with you. Days. Months. You can’t just push me away!”

Your hands shook as you fumbled for your phone. You started dialing emergency services when he suddenly shouted, “No! Don’t do that! Please! I—I’ll leave, okay? I just wanted you to know how much I care about you!”

You stayed silent, your phone trembling in your grip.

Finally, you heard his footsteps retreating. You waited several minutes before looking through the peephole again. He was gone, but the flowers and box of chocolates remained on your doormat, a sinister reminder of his presence.

You locked the door and called the police, your voice shaking as you explained the situation.

As you returned to your desk, the glowing monitor and cheerful chat felt alien, like a relic from a life you no longer inhabited. You forced yourself to smile and address your audience, pretending nothing had happened.

But in the corner of your room, your phone buzzed.

A new message:

Unknown Number: I’m sorry if I scared you. I’ll be better. Just don’t forget about me.

[rafeysbangs]

lachesism , rafe cameron ( series ) 04

pairing ; brother's!bsf!rafe x kook!female!reader

content ; mdni !! outerbanks au, eventual smut, angst, violence, underage drinking, family issues, substance abuse, s/a.

summary ; rafe cameron is everything you can’t stand; reckless, infuriating, and too self-assured for his own good. as your brother’s best friend, he’s always been a constant presence, one you’ve done your best to ignore. but the tension between you has always simmered just beneath the surface, sharp and impossible to ignore. you’ve spent years resisting his pull, refusing to give him the satisfaction. but in a world where lines blur and control slips away, you’re forced to face the truth: rafe cameron isn’t so easy to hate after all.

status ; ongoing .ᐟ

✺ navigation ; 003. 004. 005.

FOUR, what lingers here.

BY THE TIME FRIDAY ROLLED AROUND,

the house was a hive of activity. carter and rafe had spent the better part of the afternoon moving furniture, setting up the backyard, and debating the playlist. you kept yourself busy, cleaning up the house and locking doors as well as laying snacks and shitty punch out in every corner you could think of.

just before sunset, topper and kelce arrived, arms loaded with cases of beer and a surprisingly professional-looking dj deck. kelce, grinning like he'd just pulled off the heist of the century, explained that djing was his "side gig." you rolled your eyes, but secretly, you were impressed, glad that you'd have good music.

"this party's gonna be legendary," topper declared as he dumped the booze on the kitchen counter.

shortly after, cora showed up, practically bouncing through the door. the moment she spotted you, she let out a loud squeal and threw her arms around you.

"we're gonna have the best time." cora exclaimed, her excitement contagious.

you couldn't help but smile. "let's just hope the house doesn't end all project X."

cora laughed mischievously. "what's the fun in that?"

while cora wandered off to investigate the snack table, you stepped outside to double-check everything. the sun was dipping low, casting a warm orange glow over the yard. the pool sparkled, chairs were arranged haphazardly, and the snack table looked... decent. you added one more bowl of chips, then turned when you heard footsteps behind you.

"you're really overthinking this," rafe said, leaning against the doorframe. his tone wasn't mocking, just matter-of-fact.

"someone has to," you replied, crossing your arms.

he stepped closer, hands in his pockets. "it's gonna be fine. nothing's gonna get destroyed. i'll make sure of it."

you raised an eyebrow, surprised by how genuine he sounded. "really?..."

he shrugged, his gaze steady but not challenging. "guess i don't want you freaking out all night."

you blinked, caught off guard. "uh.. thanks."

"don't get used to it," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest hint of a smirk before he turned and headed back inside.

you stood there for a moment, processing. maybe rafe cameron wasn't entirely insufferable. maybe.

upstairs, you and cora got ready together. cora's suitcase of makeup and accessories was spread across the bed, and she was already swiping eyeshadow onto her eyelids.

"so, what are you wearing?" cora asked, rummaging through a pile of tiny tops and skirts.

you held up a mini skirt and deep red top. "this, i guess."

cora faked a dramatic gasp with a smile, "you're gonna look amazing. i mean, you could wear a potato sack and still look hot, but this? chef's kiss."

you laughed, shaking your head. "calm down. it's just a party."

"it's the first huge party of the summer." cora corrected, pointing a brush at her. "and we're gonna own it."

you and cora clattered down the stairs together, the music vibrating through your ribs. the living room had transformed into a makeshift dance floor, the furniture pushed against the walls, lights dimmed, and a kaleidoscope of shadows flickering across the walls. kelce had the dj deck set up in the corner, bobbing his head like he was headlining a festival. someone was attempting a keg stand in the backyard while a handful of people splashed in the pool, their laughter cutting through the house music.

you paused at the sliding door, taking it all in. the golden light of the setting sun bathed the scene in a surreal glow, and for the first time, you felt the nerves ebbing away, replaced by a flicker of excitement.

cora nudged her with an elbow. "see? it's gonna be perfect."

you nodded, a small smile forming as you stepped into the chaos. maybe cora was right. maybe tonight really would be one to remember.

you felt the pulse of excitement, a slight nervous energy running under your skin. you hadn't been to a party in a hot minute. you let yourself take it in, cora's excitement spilling over, the freedom of your parents being gone, the way the sunset streaked through the house in warm, hazy tones.

cora spotted a guy near the back door and practically squealed. "oh my god, he's here. be right back!" she gave you a quick hug before darting off, her skirt swishing behind her. you stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do next, until carter appeared with rafe in tow.

"beer pong timeee," carter sang, already holding red cups in one hand and a ping-pong ball in the other. his grin was wide and reckless, his movements just a little too loose. "you and rafe against me and jenna." he nodded toward the girl standing nearby, a tall red head with a confident smile.

you hesitated, glancing at rafe. he shrugged, his usual smirk a little lopsided as he looked you up and down. "let's see if you're any good," he teased. you rolled your eyes with a grin following them in suit. 

they set up at the dining table, pushing everything else aside. jenna stood next to carter, tossing her hair over her shoulder, while you and rafe took the other side. the game started with easy banter, rafe taking the first shot and landing it effortlessly. you followed, missing by a mile, and he raised an eyebrow at you. "seriously?"

"shut up," you muttered, but there wasn't any bite to it. as the game went on, their team started winning. rafe sank shot after shot, and you got a few in too. by the end, carter and jenna were groaning while rafe and you high-fived in triumph.

the moment lingered just a beat too long, both your hands pressed against his, both of them grinning before reality set in. you pulled your hands back, suddenly aware of how strange it was to celebrate anything with him. rafe seemed to realise it too, cooly shoving his hands into his pockets and pretending as if nothing had happened.

carter and rafe then walked off to go see who could drink more beers in 5 minutes, you rolled her eyes at them and made your way over to cora who was dancing with a few girls she knew. you joined them with a grin, swaying along to the music but still keeping your composure. you weren't drunk enough to dance like the other girls just yet.

"you're all stiff del." cora pointed out, her eyebrow raised with her hands on her hips as she steadied. "you need a drink or two in you before i'm caught dancing with you again, cmon." cora grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you over to one of the tables where a few spirits and unopened beers sat in a cooler. 

you fiddled with your fingers as your best friend surveyed the options, "cora i really dont need any more to drink-"

"no... no. you're not being uptight tonight. come on, let loose. nothing bad's gonna happen del. i promise. plus your brother's here." cora said, matter of factly. delilah took a deep breath, flashing the brunette with a nervous smile before nodding. 

"okay. okay, give me that vodka and the cranberry juice back there." you grinned. cora squealed a little before passing her both drinks with a smile. you carefully poured two shots worth and topped the rest off with the cranberry juice into a red cup before swishing it around. 

"chug.. chug chug," cora started chanting with a mischevious grin, you shook her head with a smile, flashing her an 'i'm going to kill you later' look. eventually a few people around them joined in on the chant, the chorus of voices grabbed even rafe and carter's attentions and you rolled her eyes with a shrug before downing the entire drink you had just made. 

you held the cup upside down in the air a little triumphantly with a smile. few people cheered around you and cora leaned onto you in a drunken hug, "there we gooooo" 

cora then dragged you right back onto the dance floor, the spirits in your bloodstream taking almost immediate effect as you finally started dancing. not even bothering to notice a set of eyes still lingering on your figure as she moved. 

later, you found yourself outside by the pool, the cool night air a welcome relief from the heat inside. the party was still raging, voices overlapping with the music. you sat on one of the loungers, watching the reflections of string lights ripple on the water, letting yourself unwind.

"figured you'd be here," rafe's voice cut through the noise. he stumbled slightly as he approached, holding a mostly-empty beer.

"stalker?" you shot back with your brow slightly furrowed, but your tone was light.

he grinned, plopping down in the chair next to hers. "just surprised. you're usually so... uptight. but tonight? you're fun again. it's a good look."

you rolled your eyes, with a scoff and a grin. "don't get used to it."

they sat there for a moment, the space between them filled with the hum of the party. rafe didn't say much else, but something about his presence felt less grating than usual. maybe it was the beer talking. maybe it was just the night... probably the cheap beer. 

he just flashed you his usual mischievous smirk before shrugging and walking away, back up toward the music. 

eventually, the party wound down. people trickled out in pairs or small groups, the house gradually quieting. cora found you by the front door, her hand laced with the guy she'd been talking to all night. "this was great," cora gushed, leaning in to hug you. "call me tomorrow, okay?" she gave you a grin before heading out, her laughter trailing behind her.

when you returned to the living room, carter and rafe were sprawled on the couch, both looking more tired than drunk now. she collapsed between them with a sigh. "we killed it."

carter grinned lazily. "totally worth the cleanup tomorrow."

"but first," you said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "you guys wanna smoke?"

you all gathered in your bedroom, the smell of lavender lingering faintly from an old candle you'd burned earlier in the week. your bong sat in on the bed like a centrepiece, its pink tinted glass catching the soft glow of your bedside lamp. carter was already raiding the bag of snacks you had dumped on the bed, while rafe leaned against the headboard, watching you with an expression that was equal parts tired and amused.

"this thing is fancy," rafe said, picking up the bong and turning it in his hands. "like, unnecessarily fancy."

"well, excuse me for having taste," you shot back, taking it from him and carefully packing the bowl. "you'd probably use a crushed soda can or something."

"hey, don't knock it till you try it," rafe said, smirking. "the engineering behind a soda can bong is next level."

carter laughed through a mouthful of chips. "man, i bet he's right. rafe could turn a toaster into a bong if he wanted to."

"don't tempt me," rafe said, leaning back. "but seriously, this thing—" he gestured toward the glass piece in your hands, "-looks like it belongs in an art gallery."

"okay, are we smoking or are you just gonna critique my bong choice all night?" you said, flicking a lighter. the small flame illuminated your face for a moment as you lit the bowl, inhaling deeply before handing it off to carter.

"you know, i always thought you were boring," rafe said, watching you exhale a cloud of smoke.

"woww thanks asshole" you muttered, rolling your eyes. "you're such a charmer."

"no, seriously," he continued, leaning forward a little. "like, you've got this whole 'follow the rules' thing going on, but then i find out you've got a freaking bong collection and can actually win a beer pong game. it's throwing me off."

"you're so dramatic," you said, laughing despite yourself. "i'm not that mysterious."

"you kinda are," carter chimed in, taking his hit and coughing a little. "like, you keep all your cool stuff hidden away until nights like this."

you snorted. "it's not hidden. you just don't pay attention."

rafe reached for the bong, shaking his head. "nah, he's right. you've got layers, y/l/n. it's weird, but like... good weird."

you handed him the lighter, your eyes narrowing. "are you high already? or is this some kind of backhanded compliment?"

"it's an observation," rafe said, smirking as he lit the bowl. he took a long drag before exhaling smoothly, the smoke curling up toward the ceiling. "but yeah, maybe i'm a little high."

"great," you said, plucking a bag of gummy bears from the pile of snacks. "high rafe is just what this night needed."

you passed the bong around a few more times, the tension between everyone softening with each turn. carter told a story about the time he accidentally set a grill on fire at a friend's barbecue, complete with exaggerated hand gestures that made both rafe and you laugh so hard you almost cried. rafe followed it up with a wild tale about sneaking into a country club pool after hours, his words slightly slurred but still animated. you watched him closely as he spoke.

"and then, right as the security guard showed up, topper panicked and dove into the pool, fully clothed," rafe said, grinning. "like, as if swimming away was gonna help."

"classic topper," carter said, shaking his head. "that guy's an idiot."

"you're all idiots," you said, leaning back against your pillows. "but, like, entertaining ones."

"oh, so now we're entertaining?" rafe asked, raising an eyebrow. "thought we were just the worst."

"you are the worst," you said, tossing a gummy bear at him. "but, you're becoming tolerable."

rafe caught the gummy bear mid-air, popping it into his mouth with a smirk. "i'll take it."

by the time the snacks were half gone and the room was filled with a hazy calm, you were all lying down, your laughter fading into quiet murmurs. carter was the first to pass out, his head resting on a pile of spare blankets on the floor.

you glanced over at rafe, who was lying next to you, his eyes half-closed but still awake. "thanks for not letting the house burn down tonight," you said softly, surprising even yourself with the sincerity in your voice.

he opened one eye, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "don't get used to it."

you rolled her eyes, but your lips twitched into a small smile. soon enough, the quiet and the haze took over, and you both drifted off, the space between you smaller than it had been in a long time.

notes ; i have zero patience so here's the next parttt, thank you for all the love !!

series taglist ; @rafegetinmybed @sqfewrd @dreamyy-cloud @vampteeth @wtfisastiles @flvredcas @plaidcowboy @sematarygirls @slut4you @kravitzwhore @daryldixon83 @lexavanhuelee @dorcas4meadowes @foolishangelic @i2rapunzel @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafestoothbrush @drewizz @6r4cie @akobx @seehowitshines @rafeswhoooreee @vbstrewbieri @waywarddiplomatfarmmonger-blog @ariivv01 @k4yr14 @ehhhitsaj @luvrcndy ( lachesism taglist )

[shewroteaworld]

The Aftermath

Premise: You're nearly killed on the job. Aaron is there to help you through the aftermath.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

TW: descriptions of canon-typical violence, brief mention of ableism, survivor's guilt

Word count: approx. 1,000

The fraying threads of his throw blanket are the only things keeping you from crying. You pick at the red tassels, rolling them between your fingers over and over again. It’s a desperate Hail Mary. You’ve officially come unglued. You’re too shaken to do anything productive, like baking or taking a drive, without snapping into reality and breaking down. But the silence of nothingness is also too painfully loud. So you’re frozen, like an invalid, rhythmically stroking this fucking blanket because if you don’t, you’ll be there. 

You’ll see the gun perfectly pointed at the inches between your eyebrows. You’ll see his smirk, the way he smiled, as his partner tightened the binds around your wrists, the warmth of your own blood dripping down your fingertips as the gun inched closer and closer and closer. You’ll watch as he and his smirk take over your field of vision as the carbon steel of the gun barrel brushes your forehead. He moves into kiss you– the fucking freak– before a shot rings out, and for a moment, you’re certain you’ve heard your own death– as if your spirit you weren’t sure you believed in left your body and you’re observing your last moments in an astral projection. 

But you were listening to his death. The barrel of the gun fell away 100 times faster than it came as the unsub succumbed to the bullet through his temple. You screamed as you thrashed against the wooden pole, like a child screaming for a lifeguard. More shots rang out and you heard from roughly two yards behind you the crack of his accomplice's body smacking against the concrete. 

It was over. 

“Are you okay?” You flinch and whip around to the source of the hand that had the audacity to touch you. It was Aaron. You snap back into the present, and the coil in you relaxes. You force it back into its spiral before you come undone.

You allow yourself a moment to take in his face: the shadow of the deep set of his eyes and his signature tense brow. Your eyes disobediently drift to his torso and your breath hitches. You recall collapsing against it. You recall how the air in you and the room disappeared as you sobbed. You recall how he gently cupped your shoulder blade as you fell to pieces on his shoulder.

You recall how something in you froze when the paramedic touched your shoulder. How the fear choked you. 

You can’t breathe.

Aaron’s suddenly kneeling before you. “Are you okay?”

You scratch your head. Your eyes burn. “I’m…” You rub the tassels between your fingers. “I’m losing it.” You whisper. 

“You’re not losing it.” 

“How would you know?” You ask genuinely.

“I know you.” He says gently. He pauses. “What you’re feeling is normal and right. It would be worrying if you weren’t affected by what happened.”

“Of course I’m affected by what happened.” It spills out of you before you can block it along with a few rogue tears.

He reaches for the coffee table and grabs a tissue. He offers it to you. You smear your cheeks dry.

“We can talk about it." He says. "I’m here to listen or talk with you if it will help.”

You were silent when the medics checked you over. You were silent on the jet ride. Aaron let you exist in your silence even when you both knew you would have to puke up the intimate details for an incidence report for the FBI that would be scrutinized by higher-ups and mental health officials. The most violating moments of your career, from start to finish, would be under the detective lights of anyone with the authority. It would be immortalized in some database. The most terrifying experience of your life couldn’t even just be yours.

You both knew that, even if he couldn’t know how much it terrified you to your bones– how violated you felt– to have your life like that on display to whomever it may concern. But he allowed you to cling to your safety blanket all the same.

But now you were off the jet and not in prying eyes. And though, over the course of your blissful yet short love affair, you knew he would not go away quite as easily. You suspected he wouldn’t pry; it wasn’t in his nature. But he would make it clear how open he was. And knowing you, and feeling the emotions bubbling against the lid of the pot you’d trapped them in, you felt like you had two options. And you didn’t like either.

“I don’t…” You swallow. “I’m upset.”

He gently grabs your hand like he’s cupping a fragile thing. When you don’t jerk, he squeezes it. The knot begins to unfurl and before you can register it, more tears stream down.

“I feel like I should’ve been ready for this, but I’m not.” You admit.

“Being held hostage?” He asks gently.

You sniffle. “It’s my job.”

“It’s not your job. Your job is to solve crimes. That was not another job responsibility. That was a traumatic experience.”

You sob. He cups your wet cheeks. 

“I’m here.” He says. “I’m right here.”

“How can I go back to work after this?”

“You don’t have to bounce back.” He assures.

“I feel…I feel…I can’t put it into words.” You wipe your face in frustration.

“Is trying to explain it helping or hurting?”

You sniffle, mucus uncomfortably coating your throat. “I think it will help if I…stop being so hard on myself.” You confess. “It’s just…I feel so frozen. I still feel frozen.”

“It’s normal to feel that way directly following something like this." He says gently.

You shake your head. “No, I’m not talking about the aftermath. I’m talking about during. When I was tied there.” You swallow thickly. “When he had me.”

“I couldn’t breathe.” You continue, grateful he gave you a moment of silence to pull your thoughts together. “I was…helpless. At their mercy and I…I...”

You squeeze the blanket in a white knuckle grip. “How could they do that to me? How could that happen to me? How can…how can I feel this way?” 

His eyebrow furrows. “What do you mean?” You know he can feel the guilt radiating off of you.

“He killed those other young women. Mutilated them. Violated them. I was the lucky one, wasn’t I?” your voice cracks.

“No. No one is lucky in a situation like this. Your pain is valid and doesn’t take anything away from his other victims.”

“I feel helpless.”

“It’s okay to feel helpless.” 

Something in you jumps at his response. “What do you mean?” You sniffle.

He bites his tongue. You see that furrow in his expression– like he’s weighing his approach. “Your life was in grave danger. The pain won’t go away; your mind and body need time to heal. And I swear I will take care of you as long as you need. You have all the time in the world to recuperate.”

“What about–”

“You don’t need to worry about work right now. All I want you to do is worry about you.”

Your lip can’t help but quirk upwards. “Pot meet kettle.”

He smiles. “Pot meet kettle.” He kisses the tip of your nose. “I love you. I’m here for you.”

“I love you too.”

He hugs you, his arms warming you through the cover of the throw blanket. You’re can't comprehend how you will heal from this. But in his arms, you know you won't be walking alone.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Grateful for you <3

[vveirdvvitch]

Look! I wrote a dirty little piece of fanfiction featuring Edward Nashton!

Edward Nashton X Fem!Reader

Warnings: fem!reader, no use of y/n, smut, fluff, porn with very little plot

Summary: Eddie does you a favor

Heaven Tonight

Edward trudges up the stairs to his apartment. It had been another torturous day at the office and he was looking forward to getting back to his real work. Cleansing the city would finally give him the satisfaction he had been seeking. Nothing would keep him from obtaining his goal to purge the rotten decay at the heart of Gotham.

He rounded the landing and began the climb up the last flight when a curious sight made him forget briefly about his plans for the evening. There you sat on the filthy hallway flooring in front of your apartment door which was across the hall from his own. He pauses at his door and watches as you tap away on your phone.

And then it happens. It had happened before and each time was a special gift Edward treasured. You lift your head up and smile at him.

The first time had been approximately 8 and a half months ago when you first moved in. He had been coming home from work and nearly ran into you when you headed down for more boxes.

“Whoops! Hey sorry neighbor!”, and that 1000 watt smile had him forgiving you instantly.

He didn’t mind accidentally receiving your mail. Now he knew your name. Now you would greet him with a warm smile and say, “Thanks Ed! I don’t know why the dang mailman keeps doing this.”

“Hey Edward!” Why you were always so friendly was beyond him. He turned it over and over in his mind. Was it a trick? Were you stupid? Were you perhaps the only genuinely kind person in all of Gotham?

Ed gave you a timid tight-lipped smile, “hey, what are you doing down there?”

“Oh you know, trying to get a hold of my sister who is far too busy with her new girlfriend to care about what I’m doing, as well as our good for nothing landlord.” You paused and gave him a quizzical look, “Well, I don’t know our landlord's dating status just that he can’t be bothered to answer.”

It was Edward’s turn now to look puzzled. You pointed behind yourself towards the door, “Key broke off. I can’t get in.”

He nodded and gently huffed, “Ah!”

“So I’m down here until someone either responds or I get desperate enough to call some weirdo who decided to become a locksmith.”

The wheels of his mind clicked into motion. He could probably solve this for you with his pliers and his lock picks, but he couldn’t be sure if you would react negatively or positively. Who has a set of lock picks at the ready? Definitely a creep.

He didn’t want to freak you out and he couldn’t let you sit here in the hallway by yourself. There was no telling what kind of degenerates occupied this building. He looked to his door, key in hand.

“Um,” Edward swallowed thickly, “you could wait inside with me.”

The lock clicked and the knob turned. The wheels spun up again. Dread fell upon his shoulders like a sodden cloak. He couldn’t let you inside! One step and you would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was, in fact, a creep. A psycho. Ed-weird. His heart pounded in his chest. Sweat threatened to cover his whole body in a clammy sheen as every conceivable bad ending raced through his mind. You screaming in horror as you ran from him; You slapping him hard across the face in revulsion; You shrieking at him with unbridled rage, “let me out of here you psychopath!”

No, surely you would politely decline with another of your sweet candy smiles. Then he could suggest waiting at the diner on the corner while he took the time to vet locksmiths.

Just as he was pulling the door back towards himself you were up on your feet and pushing past him with a cheerful grin.

“Thanks Ed! I think my butt was falling…” you trail off as you truly begin to take in your surroundings. Newspaper clippings covered in large, red letters and threatening phrases paper most of the walls. Piles of ledgers, various tools, and unrecognizable contraptions litter every available surface. It all feels so surreal as you turn slowly looking for anything to give you an answer. This must be a dream. And if it is a dream, then you can do whatever you want to do.

Your gaze lands back on Edward. Still standing in the doorway looking like he might vomit or pass out. From his sudden pallor you guessed both. Your eyes make contact with each other. His big, murky green eyes full of panic pull at your heartstrings. A dream you tell yourself again.

Without too much thought, you let the words tumble out of your mouth. “Can you do me a favor Eddie?”

His eyebrows knit together in confusion but he nods.

“If you’re gonna kill me, could you at least fuck me first?”

Panic bubbles in his chest as he chokes out a strangled, “What?”

“Well,” you glance about the room again, “this is kind of a textbook serial killer apartment,” your eyes connect once again with his, “And I am the kind of dumb girl who will follow a cute guy anywhere.”

Edward’s heart stops. The wheels of his mind screech to a halt. Cute. You think he’s cute. This was not a scenario he had considered.

His face softens as he finally closes the door behind him. You find the both of you slowly crossing the room towards each other. As if your feet have no intention. They follow some magnetic drum. Prisoners of their destination.

Until the two of you stand mere inches apart. Head tilted back to look him in the eye. Heart pounding your gaze darts between his eyes and lips. The pink tip of his tongue protrudes ever so slightly to wet those lips. Before you can think too much about it you push yourself up on your toes and smash your mouth inelegantly against his. The force pushes a small squeak from your throat.

The sound snaps Edward from his tether. His arms crush you to his chest, hands pawing at your back. His form is soft yet solid against you and his fervor elicits a soft moan from your now parted lips. He takes this as your sign to deepen the kiss and his tongue begins a passionate exploration of your mouth. His hunger and inexperience make his kisses feral.

Teeth click together. Tongues clash and lick. Saliva runs freely. Drool accumulates at the corners of your mouths. Edward walks forward pushing you back towards the bedroom without breaking the kiss. His apartment is small like yours and it isn’t long before you feel the mattress hit the backs of your calves. You fall backwards onto the mattress and stare up at him.

Edward allows himself a moment to take it all in. He feels compelled to burn the image into his memory. You splayed on his bed, eyes glassy, lips parted and panting. The spitting image of delicious prey.

Carefully, as though he is trying not to spook you, he climbs onto the bed and crawls up your body. His breath is warm on your face as he leans down once again to capture your lips with his own; However the new angle causes his glasses to slide down his nose and hit you in the face.

Any tension you may have had dissolves at his soft giggles. “Sorry,” He says as he folds his glasses carefully and places them on the nightstand.

His reach pulls up the fabric of his shirt just enough to reveal the smallest sliver of his tummy. You take the opportunity to snake your hand through the gap to feel the softness for yourself.

Edward tenses, almost pulling away. Your free hand goes to the back of his head. Threading your fingers through his soft downy hair, you guide him back down for another kiss. This time his lips are hesitant. The hand still under his shirt glides over his side to his back. You dance your fingertips over the smooth skin and knobs of his spine.

His eyes flutter closed. A slow whine pushes out of his nose as his body and lips melt back against yours. It isn’t long before you feel his fingers pull at the hem of your top, so you adjust yourself enough to pull the garment up and over your head, tossed to the side. Goosebumps form on your arms and chest as Edward gapes open-mouthed at you in your modest cotton bra.

“Your turn,” you almost whisper.

Edward takes a deep breath, steeling himself against his self-consciousness. He unbuttons his shirt just enough that he can pull it and the t-shirt underneath up and over his head. While he is distracted with his task you reach behind yourself, easily unclasping your undergarment. You add it to the growing heap of discarded clothes at the same time as Edward’s shirts. A sound like the combination of a groan and a whine squeezes from his throat. The cool air causes your sensitive peaks to tighten.

The sight sends Edward into a ravenous frenzy once again. His nose crashes into the flat of your sternum and his hands crawl up to the fleshy mounds now on either side of his head. His hands knead the soft tissue and fingertips dance around your ever hardening nipples as his tongue slides across your skin.

Wanton moans pour out of your mouth at the sudden cascade of attention to your breasts. More fuel for Edward’s fire. You writhe and sigh when his wet persistent tongue travels up the side of your breast and he takes the nipple into his mouth.

Equally perverse sounds bubble their way out of Edward, his mind peacefully blank as he suckles. Your legs are tangled together and he absent mindedly humps your thigh. His hardness easily felt through the thin fabric of his cheap slacks.

Your right hand returns to his dark blonde locks, fingers tightening and pulling him off of you with a soft pop when your nipple is pulled free of his lips. You gaze on his love drunk face with its wet puppy eyes and slackened jaw. Gently you guide him to the other breast. Edward resumes his devotions to your pleasure while you reach your free hand down towards his pants.

Your fingers pull clumsily at the latch on his belt. A frustrated grunt at your failure breaks Edward from his ministrations. He looks down to where your fingertips struggle and notices the small wet dot on the crotch of his pants. You’re going to think he’s a pervert. Panic grips him yet again, until he hears your voice husky with arousal.

“Take them off.” You lick your lips before adding, “please?”

His heart leaps into his throat and he finds himself wrenching his belt loose and scrambling out of his khakis faster than he thought possible. There is a moment's hesitation before he pulls down his boxer briefs. But then he sees you are squirming out of your own pants and panties all at once. And so his underwear joins its brethren on the floor.

Edward doesn’t have time to worry about the size of his cock or what it looks like bobbing up and down, leaking precum. He would worry but the distance between your knees keeps increasing. He feels like he is watching a time-lapse of an orchid blooming, the petals unfolding to reveal the true beauty within.

As you lean back on your elbows, legs bent at the knee and falling to either side, Edward stares hungrily; a starving man crawling across the desert on hands and knees. Your sweet cunt an overly ripe peach on the verge of decay, splitting at the seams with musky juices. The promise of satiety.

Edward has never committed this particular act before but the sirens’ song of your wet, pink pussy is simply too much to resist. His arms crawl beneath your legs and wrap around your thighs. Fingers gripping lest you change your mind, close your legs, and deny him what he now considers his singular goal.

You would never, of course. In this moment, your only desire is to give in to him. You’ll do anything if it means he will continue. You’ve never felt desired like this before. Like you are a benevolent goddess offering sustenance to your most loyal servant.

His gaze flits up to yours. With a small smile and nod you award him approval. Tentatively he presses his lips to your right thigh. First a chaste kiss. Then a light flick of tongue. A gentle nibble. Briefly his breath hits your sensitive throbbing sex but your torture is prolonged when you realize he is simply moving to do the same to your other thigh.

Desire coils within your pelvis. The ache overwhelms you, your need too great.

Your whines and moans fill Edward with a confidence he was unaware he could achieve without his mask. His breath is cool and sharp on your wetness as he comes to feast on you at last.

First, a chaste kiss. You throw your head back and shudder, amazed at how such a simple action could feel so electric. Then a light flick of tongue. Your elbows give way, landing you flat on the mattress. A gentle nibble. Your thighs clamp together to hold him hostage against you at the same time your hand flies to the back of his head.

“Ahhhhh! Eddie!!! Ahhhh!” You moan his name.

A beautiful woman is moaning his name.

The wheels in Edward’s mind begin to turn yet again. He cannot lose this. He needs to know how to recreate this result. He will master this puzzle. Unleashing his tongue to explore your folds, he begins to catalog every twitch and sound you make.

The flat of his tongue licking you like an ice cream cone draws a low moan. The pointed tip drawing circles around your clit cause you to buck and hiss. He kisses, sucks, and licks. You pant, shake, and writhe. He pulls your labia into his mouth. You growl and arch your back off the bed. He pushes his slick muscle into your aching hole. Your eyes go crossed as you whine and shiver.

It is impossible to tell how much time has passed. Every touch from Edward is electric pleasure. What started as sloppy-yet-eager has become a determined assault on your pulsing cunt. Your head lolls to the side and you can see him buried between your thighs, nose pressed to your clit. Sensation and image combine to launch you into ecstasy.

Your hips buck. Moans blur into growls blur into a purr. You feel your insides tighten and relax. Tighten and relax. A gush of fluid rushes into Edward’s mouth which he drinks gratefully.

Panting, he pulls back to look back up at you. His eyes glassy with lust and triumph. Face glistening with your release. Never have you seen something so erotic.

Your hands dart out and clutch his shoulders, “Eddie please, I need you. I need you in me.”

Edward pushes a sharp breath out of his nose. This is it. Jaw clenched, he reaches for his bedside table and pulls a condom from the top drawer. Not that he had many lovers, just that sometimes economy of cleanup during certain solo activities was tantamount.

With shaking fingers he rips the package open and tosses the wrapper away. He tries to steady his breathing and roll the condom on his turgid member. Lips pursed in concentration, eyes closed, Edward takes a deep grounding breath.

His absence is too much. You wiggle yourself closer to him and whisper seductively, “Please Edward.”

His eyes snap back open. His face set in determination he leans himself towards you. Propping himself on up his elbows over you. You simply can’t take it any longer. Before he can make another move you snake your hand between your legs and grasp him firmly eliciting a growling moan from the usually stoic man.

He is thick and firm in your palm. Twitching with excitement. You guide him towards your entrance, rolling your hips up to take in the tip. Seemingly of their own volition, Edward’s hips come crashing into yours, sheathing himself in one fluid motion. If you weren’t so aroused it may have been painful but all you can feel is a delicious fullness. Sparks ignite behind your wide eyes.

Edward takes a deep shuddering breath and pulls back slowly, looking down to see where you connect. He nearly pulls all the way out before sliding back in. The pace he sets is tortuously slow. Dragging his full length in and out. Your eyes roll back in your head, legs shaking. Edward has the sudden desire to never cum. To simply slide in and out for eternity. Perhaps that would be heaven.

Warmth and desire pools in your belly. Your legs come up to wrap around his hips. Your arms wrap around his torso. Still he continues to go much slower and gentler than what you crave.

“Please Eddie faster, please” you sob into his shoulder.

Unable to do anything but give in to your request, his pace quickens. He screws his eyes shut tight and wills himself to hold out. To remain here inside of you for as long as possible.

Edward nearly loses his control when your nails dig into his back and you wail, “Harder!”

A high pitched whine builds deep within him as he pistons himself into you. This is what you had been craving. Him rutting like a crazed buck in heat.

You pitch your hips up in time with his. Wet slapping sounds echo around the room peppered with guttural moans and hisses of pleasure.

Jaw clenched, Edward uses every ounce of willpower he has to maintain his pace, holding back just enough to avoid falling over the edge. No small feat as you thrash beneath him. Gasping. Clawing at his back. Digging your heels into his ass.

“Ohmygod, Eddie! Mm gonna cum!” Your body engulfs in fire, every nerve alight with ecstasy. You become weightless, out of time and space as your orgasm crashes through you.

Edward feels the rush of warm liquid. Your soft, slick walls clamp down on him like a vice. The muscles contract in waves to produce a milking sensation. He does not slow, fucking you through your orgasm and quickly catching up to his own.

A sweet languid smile graces your flushed face as you come back down from your peak. You are so beautiful, so angelic in his eyes.

A dark possessiveness overcomes him. His thrusts come even faster. More wild than before. He buries his face into your neck and growls, “Mine.”

The word unlocks something within you. Your arms and legs curl around him tighter as you gasp your reply, “Yours.”

His teeth sink into your neck. You feel his growls reverberate in your whole body as he repeats it over and over. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

The tension in his abdomen becomes too much to bear. He feels his scrotum tighten in anticipation of release. Edward seats himself inside your warmth as deeply as he possibly can. A strangled cry rips from his lungs as he cums inside of you.

As the spots fade from his vision and his ragged breath evens out, the full realization of what has transpired comes over Edward. The pretty girl from next door was beneath him. Naked. The woman he had pined over since the very first time she had smiled at him was flushed and breathing unsteadily.

Cold spiney fingers of panic start clawing at his chest. The questions don’t just run at lightning speed through his mind, they tumble speedily from his lips.

“Um A-are you okay? Uh did you uh c-cum? Was was I good?”

Edward’s face burns with embarrassment at his clumsy pillow talk.

Until your face once again brightens with a smile, “Yes, oh yes and oh my god yes!!”

You punctuate each affirmation with a kiss, gazing back at him adoringly.

His heart swells beating back the icy grip of panic. He lets out a breath he did not know he was holding and gently untangles himself from you.

Edward carefully slides the condom off his now softened member and ties off the end. He places it gently on the nightstand. Cringing at the sickening squish sound it makes.

He picks up his glasses, places them on his face, and turns back to you. “Um do you need anything? What should I do now?”

Your face splits into a warm smile, “Just cuddle me, silly.”

You open your arms up to him and he slides down to lay beside you. Arms wrap around each other and legs entangle together. Edward grabs the blanket and pulls it over you both at an awkward angle. You idly play with his hair and a contented sigh escapes you.

“Hmm I guess this means you’re not gonna kill me huh? “ you say with a tired laugh.

“No,” you can feel his lips curl into a smile against your neck, “but I might chain you to the radiator.” A high pitched almost manic giggle bursts from him.

You join him with your own laughter crazed from the whirlwind of emotion. You didn’t know if he was kidding or not. Or if you even cared.

End

[haikyu-mp4]

Monster

word count; 979 – gn!reader who is shorter than Tendo

I had the idea to write two different reactions depending on the reader being either more extroverted or more introverted, feel free to read both or either option:)

It was raining outside, which made your little stroll to the vending machine all the more pleasurable. The sound of the little raindrops falling on the buildings, lawn and concrete was quite therapeutic. All because you were under a roof, of course, you were not as excited to cross the lawn in a minute to meet your boyfriend after his volleyball practice in this weather. Typical of you to never bring an umbrella.

You put in some coins, clicked the button and crouched down to pick up your strawberry milk before straightening up again and turning back around. Annoyingly enough, you were met with a startling wall. Two guys were standing a bit too close to just be in line for the machine, and the looks in their eyes were mischievous in a bad way. It’s the kind of eyes people say Tendo has even though all you ever see in them is endearment.

“You’re the one dating that monster, aren’t you?” one of the guys said while the other one huffed as if it was funny.

Tough extroverted reader

“Can I help you?” you asked back with a confused expression, not seeing any reason why you’d discuss your dating life with these guys. You opened the milk and took a sip before tilting your head to await their answer.

“We should be asking you that. Someone so pretty stuck with such a freak. What’s he threatening you with?” The guy kept talking, truly stepping on thin ice. You scrunched your nose and took another sip, not exactly comfortable with the situation but not wanting to leave without defending your boyfriend either.

“You jealous or something? I’ll let you know I’m perfectly happy with my dating life.” You take a step closer to the guy who apparently did all the barking. “And his name is Tendo Satori,” you said in a clear voice as if trying to burn the name into their brains. If they were going to call him a monster, it better be because of how he rules the volleyball court. You had half a mind to tell them that as well, but the moment was interrupted.

Their eyes were slowly cast in a shadow before they could respond. If only you could see the reflection in their eyes of your boyfriend’s smirk behind you. “That was pretty hot.” Tendo finally says after letting you answer them yourself. It startled you a little, before relaxing into his touch stroking down your arm. You leaned your shoulders back on his chest, a cocky smile on your face from watching the other guys lose their confidence. Tendo leaned down and obnoxiously kissed your cheek to make a point before lifting a hand towards the boys and shooing them away. “You heard them.”

“Whatever, weirdos.” They put on some tough faces that weren’t very believable, and you turned around to Satori while they scurried away. Being weirdos together definitely wasn’t that bad.

“Satorii,” you purred, happy to see him.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that. Again.” He said, obviously trying to be aloof about it, but you could see through it.

“I’m sorry too,” you said with a soft smile, knowing he knew what you meant, before grabbing his hand and tip-toeing to peck his cheek. “I thought I was meeting you?”

“I know you didn’t bring an umbrella,” he answered, finally showing a genuine smile. “My dorm? I’ll make you something sweet.”

“Yes, my prince.”

Soft introverted reader

You felt your pulse quicken with angst, eyes not meeting theirs but rather desperately hoping someone you know would pass by. “Can I help you?” you asked carefully, wishing that if they had to talk about your boyfriend behind his back, they would do it behind yours too. A blind person could see you were not the confronting type.

“We should be asking you! What kind of freak are you to be dating that?” he said, a cruel comment that didn’t make the situation any more comfortable.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” you mumbled, avoidant as ever. Why would they care about your dating life anyway?

“Won’t you at least look at us with those pretty eyes, monster-lover?” the other one said, taking an unwelcomed step closer.

“He's not a monster,” you said, making an attempt at defending your boyfriend but still feeling tears brim your eyes from the confrontation.

Finally, you saw your salvation, like a stream of light finally peering through the clouds and hitting your face. The two boys were about to turn around when they saw your eyes lock on something between them, but were stopped as Tendo grabbed each of their shoulders and pulled them back, giving you space to breathe. “But I can be... if you ever make them cry,” he said in a goofy albeit frightening voice. His eyes crept from one boy to the other as if making sure the threat sank in before passing them and taking your hand to lead you away. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles while you walked before letting your hand go so he could open his umbrella and hold it above you. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” he said softly, trying to seem like he didn’t care about himself, just that you had to hear it.

“It’s okay. They were being shitheads anyways,” you huffed, anger seeping in now that you didn’t have to face them anymore.

“Ooh, language, baby.” Tendo laughed and looked down at you with adoration flowering in his eyes.

“Shut up,” you giggled, pushing your shoulder into his before tucking your arm around his closest arm so you could walk together even if he held the umbrella. Safe to say that anger dissipated quickly.

“I’ll treat you to some A-class cuddles for standing up for me like that. My dorm?”

“Yes, my love.”

masterlist

[acoraxia]

How did your qpr Sonadow end up so obsessed with eachother?

Was there even a reason or were they freaks about eachother from the get go?

Canon wise comes from Shadow’s continuous deaths (the Ark exploding, Black Doom. Several other events) at which Sonic was front line and center to. It’s often a theme that one would get desensitized to someone dying over and over — they can just come back right? no biggie! — but it’s a lot different when you know for a fact this guy wants to live not only to honor Maria’s memory but to become someone he loves. Doesn’t help that Sonic genuinely admires Shadow and looks up to him and holy shit stop exploding please.

Then there’s their rivalry.

Can we take a moment to appreciate the fact that Shadow's a rather polite dude who genuinely admires Sonic's strength, recklessness and duality when it comes to their fighting? That that's why Shadow enjoys going toe-to-toe with Sonic more than anyone else? Versatile and skillful hell yeah compatibility—that and they just click better than they do with other people. Sonic has a habit of getting along with other people really well (see: IDW comics, Chip in Unleashed. uh. Surge ig) but he's got this type of relationship with Shadow... where he's kind of a dick! And Shadow's kind of into it!

Sonic: [punches Shadow] Sonic: Did that jog your memory, Shadow? Shadow: I want your head on a stick.

That is, of course, from the games but Sonic also has his moments where he respects Shadow. A lot. Sonic X's rendition of their dynamic makes me giggle because Sonic is doing his own thing, so is Shadow, but Sonic wants Shadow to do his own thing with him, while Shadow says no, and Sonic's annoyed by it, and Shadow knows he's annoyed, and Sonic knows he knows, and Shadow's smug about it, and—yeah

The obsession part comes from trauma bonding!

Kind of hard not to be obsessed with the only other person that can ever match you in every way possible and who is also haunted by the memories of the past, the horrible present and the impending future. Kind of hard to ignore how much more at ease you feel when he eats up your Chaos Energy and now you can actually breathe and he's holding you like he's going to discard you but also good gaia thank you and now you both kind of have a knife stabbed at each other's sides and neither of you dare to move because it might kill the other so now all you can do is smile and banter—

I also just really like the idea that Chaos and Black Arms are both very possessive so their influence on the hedgehog is just that. Oh you like your friend? Never let go. Yours forever. And they're kind of just like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ why not

i just think they're neat