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h5eavenly · 10 months ago

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Fallen Star┃Jake Sim

Twenty - you're pretty when you're mine. warnings: smut and angst yipeee

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“What do you think?” you ask, foolish perturbation coloring the cadences of your voice. Your teeth sinking into your bottom lip with vigor the longer Jake’s silence stretches, the slower his teeth chew on the piece of dessert you had given to him with a glimmer in your eyes, a plead for his opinion.

“It’s good.” He answers shortly.

You release your lip into a pout, shoulders slumping down with disillusionment at the lack of buoyancy in his voice, yet the bags that seem almost permeant under his eyes, evidence of his everlasting fatigue that is pasted onto his features renders you mute. Aware that your pining for his approval is merely a desire to feed your hungry heart, woven with longing.

Jake’s eyes flit to your face then, taking note of the adorable disappointment awfully out of place on your face, it has his own heart softening, his fingers brushing across the skin of your arm with susurrates of your attention.

“I mean it. It’s really good bunny.” He reassures, attempting to demolish through your sulking. And you, with a heart as fragile as glass, one that is easy to peek through just as fast it trembles, only shake your head at him.

“You don’t look like you enjoyed it though.” You mumble, your pout enriching with the sway of your feet like a kid complaining how they didn’t get a taste of their favorite candy.

Jake’s smile disperses across his lips with fondness you don’t notice, his expression melting into endearment at the way you can never keep your words lodged into your heart for too long, your thoughts lingering at the tip of your tongue, yet he always manages to prompt them to spill.

“Have I ever lied to you?” he urges with a hum, titling his head at you in strives to catch your eyes and it works right away.

“No.” you shake your head.

“Then believe me this time too.” As if to make a point he takes another bite of the red velvet cupcake and this time it’s you who breaks into a smile tinged with fondness, like glass refracting light into a rainbow.

It’s directed at his kindness, at his attentive comfort towards you despite the heavy burden of simply existing weighing him down. You don’t get enough time for gratitude to unravel through your words because in a moment of your eyes falling into each other, a brush of his fingers in between the slots of yours, Sunghoon is standing between you two, a look of horrified disgust dancing between you two.

“Can you two not in flirt in the middle of work?” he comments with a roll of his eyes, one that has the tips of your ears tinting pink.

“We’re not flirting.” You defend weakly, your own words holding little to no conviction even to your own ears as you bunglingly retract your hand.

“Alright,” Sunghoon raises his eyebrow at you, tone dripping with irony “Can you shoo? I still need to dress Jake for his photoshoot.” He trails off, your eyes fliting to the couple pieces of garment he’s holding in his arms “Some of us need to actually work you know.”

“Hey!” you deliver a light slap to his shoulder “I work really hard! Tell him Jake” you turn your head to Jake with a pout of offense clambering over your face.

“I don’t know to me it looks like you’re slacking off right now.” Jake says, a sly grin is thrown at you and your mouth falls open with an overemphasized shock.

“Wow you’re really gonna betray me like that?”

“mhm. Are you gonna cry about it, little bunny?”

“As if! Give me back my cupcake” you attempt to snatch the half-eaten cupcake out of his grasp, leaning your body over the chair he’s sitting down in and yet it’s all deemed a failure when Jake stretches his arm out and away from you, a teasing smirk dispersing across his lips, eyes gleaming with mischief as your chest brushes against his shoulders.

“Jake!” you whine with facetious annoyance “Give it back! You’re not worth my treats”

“I don’t think so.” He mocks, watching with satisfaction etched onto his face at your futile tries.

You don’t get to register his other arm sneaking around your waist with a firm grip, ensuring you don’t end up stumbling onto your feet and falling over with the way you’re leaning over him. It’s such a saccharine gesture, one that comes as silently as a fluttering breeze sighing through petals of cherry blossom. A tincture of warmth spreads across your chest and you only feel it when Sunghoon has separated you two with an annoyed groan, reiterating his need to dress Jake.

“Shoo! Now!” He chastised and you had walked away with an overly dramatic pout drawn on your lips, throwing puppy like looks over your shoulder at them.

It only earned you a middle finger from Sunghoon and a snort from Jake.

You only think about his touch protracted moments later, when you still feel the heat of his body radiating off your waist, as if his touch has seared itself upon your skin. A coat of infatuation you can’t seem to take off. It’s the sole reason your heartbeat is abidingly fast even when his touch is long gone, even when his eyes are no longer on you but instead focused on Sunghoon’s face as they discuss his look. You remain a constant in a field of overgrown affection, your fingers itch – tinged with compulsion to pluck them out, you don’t have the energy nor the time to water them and yet, you don’t. your gaze glistening with heedless wishes.

Just a little longer.

You had yearned.

Even as the day unfolds like it always does, congested with Jake’s busy photoshoots and you running around in hope of making anything flow a little smoother for him. It’s only at the very ending hours of your schedule, the night sky had settled with a frigid air circling through the streets. As you sit in the backseat of the van with Jake’s head on your shoulder, exhaling tired puffs of air, and eyes closed.

Somewhere along the ride and in between seemingly unmoving traffic, he had rested his head on your shoulder, with mumbles about how tired he is. Albeit the days that have passed by with you snuggled between his covers or him falling asleep in your bed as if it’s his own, your body still can’t grow accustomed to having him so close.

Yet you still linger in your silence, putting on a show of having it all together as you scroll through your emails, mindlessly while Jay sits opposite from you, scrolling through his own end of work.

“Do you wanna go back to my place?” He whispers right into the skin of your neck, it has your fingers pausing across the screen of your iPad with bated breath, a shiver of something akin to excitement trialing down the length of your spine with fervor.

It isn’t an aberrant question, it’s one that you have heard for more days than not, one that you memorized the action that follows right after, the taste of his lips upon yours and the cruelty of his hands across your body. Yet how come they feel so welcoming? When did his light no longer blinded you but rather pulled you in?

“Sure.” You reply after a few silent beats, clearing your throat and adjusting yourself on your seat.

Jake only hums, and you smile to yourself as the amiability of his proximity filtrates through your essence. You smile, unaware of the heedless wishes driving you into the deepest end of the ground with promise of suffocation, unaware of the way Jay eyes you two.

Your night unfurls like it always does whenever you’re close to him, although with a few different elements it all ends in the same way. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself as you’re standing in the middle of his kitchen and amidst attempts to make a warm cup of tea that Jake didn’t even ask for. You grew a proclivity to try adding any weights of comfort to him, whether that was between the walls of his own home or dreadful hours of photoshoots and interviews.

And you enjoy it really, within your days you have accepted the fact that caring for Jake comes to you with no duress, in fact it is him that had always pushed you away from doing unnecessary things for him you’re not sure if he wasn’t used to the way you looked at him with genial amiability rather than reproach.

You enjoy it until you’re forced to be faced with the reality that none of this means anything cavernous than two lonely souls stumbling upon tender succour in blurry lines and scraps of affection.

You enjoy it until nights like these have your insecurity bubbling to the surface, protruding every sense of certitude he had whispered in your ears even when he didn’t have to. It all crumbles with vast impetus only because you saw a framed picture of Soojin on one of the tables in the living room.

You’re not sure how you never noticed it before, maybe because you and Jake never really spend much time outside his bedroom walls.

but you wish you didn’t. you wish you had gone blind for a moment or rather you wish you didn’t care as much as you did, there’s so much you wish for and yet none of them can be breathed into life in the same semblance you have to tie yourself back from tripping on questions you want to ask.

Is what between you and I merely a comfortable lie?

But none of it mattered, not when your chest had tightened with prodding thoughts, like knives stabbing at your heart with reminders that you will never be good enough.

Because you were feeling so good until moments ago, floating atop the clouds as Jake had muttered to you about how he needs to shower first, you took it upon yourself to ruminate through his displayed pieces, fingers grazing the soft petals of forget me not and eyes lingering on the singular painting he had hung up on one of the walls. You had paused with a dilated gaze, stupefied by the way fate seemed to work because you didn’t need to look at the signature to know who it belonged to you.

The art style was one that you couldn’t mistake for anything else, yet your smile had fallen from your face with enormous force as you took notice of the pictures of Soojin. You had to reason with your brain that they are close, even if you hate it but perhaps it was the fact that she holds space you never will, perhaps it was that you’re not even anything remotely close to what she is to him. You will never leave evidence of your existence behind.

Perhaps it was the fact that you and Jake do not mean anything outside the walls of his bedroom.

“Bunny?” you swivel your head around with surprise on your face as if forgotten where you were “What are you doing?” Jake asks– now freshly showered- leaning on the doorframe of his kitchen, his eyes darting over your figure rapidly.

“Making you tea.” You blink yourself out of your thoughts.

“Why? You don’t have to.”

“I know,” your smile tilts up your lips with ease, warmth that’s only ever entailed with whispers of his name “I wanted to.”

It’s only moments later when the both of you are on the couch of his living room, the entire space enveloped with darkness if not the moonlight seeping in through his open window.

“You’re awfully clingy today.” You comment as his arms tighten around your waist with dripping affection, pulling you against his chest impossibly closer and rests his chin on your shoulder. You don’t give room for yourself to waver even when he buries his face in the crook of your neck. Vanilla and cinnamon engulf his being with you.

“’m not clingy.” He mumbles, halfheartedly and with no intent for them to hold any meaning over your ears, so you don’t let them, only humming as your fingers graze the length of his arm, tracing over his veins, your fingertips leaving a trail of blossoming life behind “I’m just tired.” He adds after a while, as if his exhaustion is not a see-through flimsy excuse to have you closer, his chest pressing into your back.

“Do you wanna go to bed maybe?” you ask, concern inscribed into every stroke of your voice, as warm as the tea you had just made him and it has him smiling against your neck, evoking your smile to raise melting into a giggle “What?” you ask and when he huffs out a chuckle, yours sync with his colored pink like the flush upon your cheeks.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, hugging you tighter “I just wanna stay like this for a bit.” Your heart trashes around your chest, and you fail not to waver akin to spring air wisping through your hair in the daytime.

“We can stay like this for as long as you want.” You whisper and he hums in agreement.

As a tranquil silence settles upon the two of you, his humming continues, turning into a sweet melody that you don’t recognize evoking your curiosity from Paris to rise to the surface once again. Although it isn’t coherent singing it’s enough for your soul to perchinto a similar placid feeling akin to floating atop waters warmed by the unforgiving sun or maybe it’s simply the warmth that comes from falling in love.

“What’s that song?” you whisper, afraid to break through his tonality of serene.

“It doesn’t have a name.” he answers after a few beats of silence.

You contemplate on the urges arising to ask for more information. Your fingers itching with heedless wishes yet again, so foolishly selfish like unraveling parts of him, a heedless wish like diving into him, looking through every nook and cranny of his being, even the darkest place he wishes light never touches. You don’t really linger on why, on where this urge exactly comes from and instead your nerves take over, worried you might catch yourself too far in, so you hold your tongue instead.

Your eyes dart across the living room in rapid search for something else to talk about, as they land on the piece of art hung upon his sage colored walls and your eyes light up, reminder of the piece you share.

“That painting.” you start, and he peeks at it, looking where your eyes are glued.

“What about it?”

“It’s really pretty.” You reply, feigning ignorance as your eyes trail over the name signed on the corner.

“I bought it at one of those college expos. I don’t really care about art, but I liked this one I guess.” He explains and your lips curl up into a grin as your fingers smooth over the length of his arm.

“Why this one?”

“I guess I could see what the artist was feeling.” His voice is soft, almost getting lost in the folds of silence if not caught by your heart “and I felt the same at the time.” He continues, tone sliding even softer, abrading across the surface of your chest with warmth the same way your nails to his skin.

“What do you think the artist was feeling?” Your smile slowly melts off your face, your essence overtaken by curiosity.

The painting was darkened by colors of gray and black, leaning towards petrifying it was a figure with their head in their hands as if in the middle of an agonizing scream, a couple of hundred nails stabbed into the skin.

“Guilt.” He replies “I felt like the artist was really struggling to overcome his guilt. As if it’s a part of you that you can’t seem to shake off. A shadow that constantly follows.” He continues, tone vulnerable as if the same liability still bears his soul, as if that shadow still loiters behind him.

His answer has your chest tightening compulsorily, as your eyes flit across the splashes of paint once again the meaning comes to you the same. Unfurling from the depths of darkness you can’t help the pain of realization that settles, it floods your being with a similar laminate of guilt.

“Niki painted this.” You say, letting out a breath and Jake stills, leaning his head back to steal a look at your expression.

“Your brother did?”

“Yeah,” you answer keeping your eyes fixated on the painting, darting over every swivel of color “I never really looked at his paintings this deeply before to understand.” you let out a chuckle that lacks humor and Jake doesn’t answer but you feel his gaze on you, fits his fingers in the empty spaces between yours with a squeeze.

“He’s really talented.” He says after a few minutes with sincerity.

“He is. He’s always been amazing at everything he does.” Your gaze falls to your interlocked hands, the sight of his fingers in between yours stirs something cloyingly tender within you “I wish he didn’t have to feel that way.” You continue with a soft voice, as if unwittingly revealing the concerns haunting your mind.

“It’s not your fault. It’s not something you can take away.” Jake whispers back, his thumb brushing over your hand.

“I know.” You smile, turning your head to catch his eyes with yours and the benignity woven in them almost has you melting, the skin of your fingers craves to mesh with his.

I wish you didn’t have to feel this way.

You almost want to whisper to him, right in whatever blurry space has been built between you two.

“You’re doing everything that you could, and it's amazing.” His eyes are penetrating, filled with seas of truth that you plunge yourself into with no second’s thoughts, your heart trembles with each word, your eyes softening so marginally.

Will you

“Thank you.” your chuckle escapes you gravelly, tinting your cheeks with a blush along the way “in the past none of my partners liked how much I cared about Niki- i-it feels like no one understood” Jake listens intently, a smile twinged with incitement for your emotions to unwind, spilling with a hue of rare amenability “So thank you for saying that.”

Allow me

“I think you dated a bunch of idiots if they weren’t able to envelope your heart with the same kindness it radiates.”

A silly urge to cry takes over your being albeit no tears fill your eyes, and your lips slightly twitch upwards in a grin twined with nothing but warmth that comes from the glimmer present in his tired eyes or perhaps it’s the heat emitting from his body pressing against yours, maybe it’s in the sincerity that laces his voice so effortlessly as if peering through your veils comes as easy as breathing to him. Whatever it is, it is in this fleeting moment that you feel no need to hide but rather strangely feeling safe enough to spill whatever substance have plagued your soul for years.

To stay

“Do you mean that?”

“That you dated a bunch of idiots? I thought that was common sense?” you roll your eyes with a chuckle, his own smile rising as you deliver a slight jab to his stomach with your elbow.

“Jerk.” His own laughter erupts with ease, stealing your heartbeat as you attempt to free yourself from his embrace, his arms tighten around you. denying you.

“Have I ever lied to you?” he whispers against the shell of your ear, and you squirm with a shake of your head “Then believe my truth this time as well.” He continues plaiting his words with a hum, a squeeze of his arms around your middle as if he’s not the reason breathing grows harder and harder to catch. An endless chase.

By your side?

“Sometimes I feel like I barely have anything to offer maybe that’s why I end up with a bunch of idiots.” You admit after a while, hushed as if shameful of the insecurity coating your flesh “Yeonjun – my ex that cheated on me at work remember? Yeah-“you chuckle nervously, a bitter edge to your laughter as if the memory is still fresh in your mind “used to say that all the time- that there’s nothing particularly special about me.”

You’re silent for a few tantalizing minutes, your gaze turning hazy as if recollections of every painful word Yeonjun has ever muttered still surrounded you, they twirl around your mind with the same affliction.

“I wonder why do I crave to be something-“you pause with darting glances as if trying to find meaning in the gaping holes of your being until they catch his “special so bad?”

Jake’s have always known his incarnation to turn coarse, his propensity for honesty remains abiding and he never knew to sugarcoat his words, they come out harsh, sharpened like an edge of a blade. You are a paradox to his own existence, the complete opposite of him, a gentle soul with words coated in candied affection.

It’s baffling to him, how someone as extraordinary as you could feel this way.

So, he shouldn’t be surprised at the words of raising at the tip of his tongue, almost choking him with its sweetness merely because it is directed at you.

“Isn’t giving your heart away the most precious thing you could ever offer?”

“What if my heart isn’t good enough either?”

“How could it ever not be good enough when it’s yours?”

As your eyes dance around each other, his reveal nothing but pure, crude veracity. It dawns on your being so intensely you’re not sure you have even a mere moment to question the fastening beats of your heart. You’re not sure when was it exactly that your world has shrank to nothing but him. When was it exactly that chasing fleeing gazes and waiting for touches of lust upon your skin have turned into this?

“How could it not be special when every particle of your essence is you?”

You never knew comfort that comes so simple yet so vigorous with its weight, how could such a minuscule word have such a big impact on your glass heart, on your staggered breath and how could it water your hope so effortlessly?

Another seed of heedless wishes grows, venturous with desire like asking him if I gave it to you would you still think the same?

“I don’t know how you make words sound like that.”

“Like what?” he asks, even in the middle of his living room his eyes sparkle as if they hold specks of stardust, his lips twitch upwards in a smile like the glimmering moon.

You feel foolish with the transparent reverence flowing through every part of you, in the tips of your fingers and in the delicate sentiment of you. You grow sorry for the rest of the world for stealing the scintillates of the night sky, you’re in his arms and you’re awfully sorry because there’s no way for you to share.

“I don’t know how you make everything sound so magical.”

“I think you’re just soft for me bunny.”

“You wish.” You snort, your words lack meaning and more than anything power.

“Do you ever miss Yeonjun?” he murmurs after a few moments of quietness, and your surprise takes you like a storm passing by with vehemence, it has your eyebrow twitching with semblance of annoyance that you’re not sure why it filtrates through your thoughts.

You don’t expect it, maybe not when you’re on his lap and in between touches of tender affection.

“Do you miss yours?” you retort back, harsher than intended and bittered by his nonchalance.

“Sometimes.” He answers and your nails dig into his flesh lightly, not sharp enough to evoke his notice “But we ended on good terms and we’re still friendly.”

You poke your tongue in your cheek as your eyes trail over that picture of Soojin once again, you’re somewhat thankful he can’t feel the heat of your furious gaze as you glare at the unmoving picture, and yet you’re somewhat annoyed he seems unaware of your frustration the way it imbues your senses has you faltering with hesitation at an answer to give back, so you don’t. Instead, you dwindle into silence intoxicated by your rapid heartbeat and the feeling of his breath on your cheek.

It's only when your own chest starts heaving as his lips ever so slowly, softly pressing into your neck with a phantom of a kiss, almost imperceptibly. His fingers trailing under your blouse with purpose, his touch scalding hot as his fingers graze over your hipbone and your lips separate with an audible gasp.

“What?” he breathes out an amused chuckle at your response.

“I just wasn’t expecting that.”

“What were you expecting?” He whispers, his voice tinted with allure the same way his other hand travels up your jaw, denting them with his fingers as he turns your face to him, you grow breathless, stolen by how enchanting his existence remains to be.

“I-I don’t know.” You breathe out, your eyes unfocused on anything other than the soft looking skin of his lips, even when it tilts upwards in an all-familiar teasing smirk that manages to irk you each time.

The space between you grows smaller and smaller as he invariably inches forward, his exhales mingling with yours and your mouth falls open with a silent moan, his fingers – with desire emanating from them slip past the confine of your pants. Your body burns with the heat of his touch, longing colors your gaze the longer he doesn’t kiss you and his glisten with mirth as he keeps his lips atop yours, almost touching yet not close enough.

never close enough.

“For someone who pretends to be unexpectant you sure are wet.” Your face burns with a blush so deep you could only hope the dark aids in concealing it, even when Jake’s thumb is pressing onto your clothed clit and your throat bubbles with the threat of a whine.

His scorching gaze scouring over passing expression lingering on your face for not long enough, yet amply enough for his own breathing to rattle, for his own sanity to abscond, overtaken by an utter ache to have you, ache to have you falling apart it has his fingers moving on their own, with a losing battle trailing behind as he buries them in your underwear, your arousal coats his hand as it slips inside of you.

“Jake.” you fall apart as easy as the whine escaping your mouth, as easy as the groan he lets out when he slots his mouth against yours with a bruising kiss, his other hand trails down from your jaw to your throat and your heart reels.

“mhm? What is it baby?”

“I-I thought you were tired.” You mutter weakly throwing your head back on his shoulder as he works his fingers deeper into you.

“Never too tired to fuck you.” he replies, eyes glued to the way your mouth falls open, your eyebrows scrunching up in pleasure.

Jake’s cravings seem to turn decadent whenever you’re in the picture.

It’s the same way he learns to press his cravings into your back that night, with touches and kisses that abide closer to tender love than the way he looks at you, the way you moan his name, his thumb trails over your spine with fervor, his lips press into your neck with purpose to imprint himself onto your skin, a desire for you to give him something diverting to wear beneath his blood.

“Fuck! Right there!” you moan loudly, your fingers gripping the sheets below you tightly.

“Yeah? feels good baby?” he still asks with a whisper drilling into the same spot as if you’re not falling apart with drool staining his sheets, you still nod with a whine.

“So- so good oh my god- I’m close, don’t stop!” your words are barely coherent, getting cut off by your whimpers.

“Me too baby- fuck you’re so good-“ you keen at the fallen praises from between his lips, the knot in your stomach growing impossibly tighter with the same way his grip tightens around your hips, his thrusts growing harsher, the slap of the skin sounds sinful, reverberating through the walls. A pleasurable groan escapes him at way the you squeeze around him after a particularly hard thrust.

“fuck-!" he growls fucking into you deeper, harder, faster anything to have you crying out "You’re so pretty when you’re mine.”

You’re not sure if you hear him correctly, if your mind had conjured up a couple of words to feed your delusions, convocation that they’re closer to reality than none yet your orgasm feels like it dissolves you into liquid with how hard it hits you, the sounds emitting from you are foreign to your own ears only increasing in volume when he follows with the same path, his come spilling into you.

You’re feeling hazy as he pulls out of you, the air heavy even when he kisses behind your ears with murmurs of needing to clean you up.

You have fallen silent the entire process and it’s not until the both of you had changed that he’s pulling you into bed atop his chest with a question lingering in his gaze.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice soft with careful tenderness and you only nod your head with a smile.

“i’m just sleepy and tired.”

“My dick is that good?” You don’t need to look at him to know he’s wearing that same annoying expression he has whenever he teases you, a smirk and a glint in his eyes.

“Fuck off bro.” your hands react before your mind, grabbing one of the pillows and hitting him square in the face, the chuckle that erupts from his lips is otherworldly heavenly and your eyes soften, mind plagued with the words he had said earlier.

“Bro? What is wrong with you? I just fucked you.”

“No what is wrong with you?”

“A lot.” He answers and you arch a brow at him, biting back a smile when he rolls his eyes at you with endearment tinting his hands as he pulls you closer to him once again, your head rests atop his chest and you fall into tune with his heartbeat.

As he runs his hands through your strands, the both of you are quiet, something akin to a tranquil silence fills the room yet your mind races with everything that has happened the few couple of weeks, Jake remains unstable, days pass by with him saying a few words to you then fucking you only to fall asleep with the same silence between you, then other nights unfold similar like today, with you pulling effortless laughs from his lips, gentle kisses scattered on your skin.

you're so pretty when you're mine

Did he mean it? or did you imagine it? Have you finally gone mad?

Perhaps it’s that sole reason your hope climbs over every other feeling, perhaps is the heat seared onto your back with whispers of the words he muttered that have you slipping with a new devotion, one like foolishly wishing for your souls to intertwine.

Maybe that’s why you thought it would be okay for you to speak after a while.

A fatal fantasy -

“When we were in Paris.” You start with overflowing prudent, circling the air as you slightly tilt your head upwards with intent to steal a glance at him, his hum comes as encouragement for you to continue “you told me you want to love music the way you used to do but you never answered me when I asked you why.” Your voice is much quieter than before, and his body grows rigid in counted seconds, shorter than you could blink away your orgasm.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.” He replies with a deepened sigh, tone monotone and you chew on your lower lip with evident nerves at the lack of emotions radiating from him.

“I’m not gonna force you.” you say, hesitating for a few seconds before speaking again “I know things have been tough.” You’re met with quietude from him, one that has the tips of his fingers ceasing atop the skin of your back as if warning you to tie your tongue into a knot, do not break through your vows that took you countless enticing stares to keep.

Your heart abides a trivial piece of glass, yearning for him cuts through like the light of dawn coming to life with increasing heartbeat and woven with feelings you refuse to plaster labels on. Perhaps deep down your soul seeks for everything to fall apart.

“I know you must feel very lonely with how things are. with your mom gone and then your undiagnosed ocd-“you don’t get to finish your sentence before Jake is flinching away from you.

“What?” He sits up on the bed with a furrowed brow and a fire lacing his gaze as it lands on you, the heat of his body abandoning you has you itching “Are you trying be my fucking psych?” his tone - albeit does not change in volume, it still has apparent venom tinting every syllable. It has your heart trembling in your chest with the fear of stepping in too far, tripping on a ticking time bomb that explodes with a bat of your eyelashes.

“No I just thought-“ with nerves aptitude in your tone, limbs. You sit up as well, your fingers trailing over his arm in searched comfort, a reminder that mere minutes ago he was still entangled with you “I’m just trying to help and I thought-“you stumble, on your words and on your quivering heart as you try to find the right words to say yet your cognitive facilities shut down at the disillusionment sneaking into his irises.

“You thought what?” He lets out a short solemn laugh yet long enough to have your temerity crumbling as if daring you to speak.

“I opened up to you earlier and I thought maybe you’d be able to do the same.” You clarify with a whisper, eyes widened with pure longing.

A heedless wish.

“So, you thought you could talk like you fucking know a thing about me.” he grumbles, annoyance evident in the way he pushes his hand through his disheveled hair, and you watch with a shaking heart as he trudges out the bed with slumped shoulders.

“What? No, I’m trying to get to know you, Jake.” You defend, albeit debilitated by the obstacles of ice materializing in his eyes, you follow with the sun in yours.

“By treating me like a fucking project?” He’s growing angrier, it’s so visible in the cruelty that drips from his voice, in the way his eyes widen with a scalding fire threating to take you both down.

“I don’t treat you like a project.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit yn!” he swivels around to face you and you still in your trail with a bated breath “You think I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing? We talk for one night and suddenly you’re talking as if you have the cure to all my problems! Like you can fix me.”

“I’m sorry if it came out that way.” You mutter, your irises shaking with sincerity he doesn’t get to witness, not when he’s overtaken by anger, not when fear trickles in just as intense “When I saw that you had Niki’s painting I just thought-I thought we would be able to relate to each other. That there are sides of us we could understand.” He scoffs at your words, shaking his head in disbelief and your chest tightens, as if callous hands have made their way inside you with abhorrence, squeezing your fragile organ.

“Relate to each other?” He speaks, low and more to himself with displeasure written all over his face “You didn’t even understand what that painting meant until I explained it to you yn how the fuck are you gonna understand anything about me?”

“I know but-“

“God yn do you ever just stop and think about the way you act? The things you say?” As if a monster that has been unleashed, the shackles covered in rust, and they crack with the lump forming in the middle of your throat with a threat for tears to burn your cheeks with scalding trails “Do you ever stop and think about how overbearing you act sometimes?” Jake cannot stop, he feels it in the way his blood burns as it runs through his veins “why can’t you fucking listen to me when I tell you to stop? Why do you need to push me past my limits?”

“I’m sorry maybe I worded it wrong but my goal this time wasn’t to push you.” your words are not getting through to him, instead something akin to hideousness he’s all too familiar crumbles inside of him.

“I feel fucking sorry for your brother he has to deal with this kind of shit from you on top of whatever lead him to make that fucking painting.” His tone is cold and low when he speaks you but they break through your bones harsher than anything he had ever said to you and they crack, extending all the way to your heart, forming scars on the surface he had so delicately soothed not long ago.

You almost want to scoff at yourself more than anyone, how could you be so stupid to think of yourself as anything more than trivial glass that stays unaware of its imminent fate?

Jake regrets his words the moment they leave his mouth, not because of the bitter taste they leave behind but rather over the broken look that seeps into your face as quick as he inhales. His anger for you flees, tumbles to the ground right next to your puddle of blood, woven with your heartbreak and caused by the bullets he aimed at you while he wavers, colored with remorse.

It only penetrates him deeper when you grow quiet, your eyes fliting everywhere as if trying to find meaning in his words somewhere other than his face, as if you didn’t look at him you’ll be able to find different facets of them, ones that aren’t directed at you with only for hurt to unfurls throughout every nook and cranny of you. but then your eyes dart up to him, this time your eye contact doesn’t transpires with desire nor hidden giggles from you. This time your expression completely crumbles with excruciating agony.

“That’s too cruel to say even to someone like me Jake.”

Your words come out choked despite the tears glimmering in your eyes none fall, and it feels like punishment that dawns on him right away, he blinks rapidly at you, too aware of the harsh words that he let slip. There’s real pain in your voice, albeit your pure ability to display your emotions carelessly, he had never seen you this hurt, not in this unadulterated form and he falls speechless.

“bunny,,” he’s not sure what to say, his mind empty but it doesn’t matter because then you’re harshly wiping at your eyes with your arm and in mere moments you’re turning away from him.

He doesn’t know how long he stands in the dimly lit corridor, but it’s long enough to feel the weight of his own words pressing him down until he feels close to suffocating, he stares at his palms and fragments of your broken heart stares back at him.

You should have known heedless wishes were meant to break rather than mend.

→ taglist : @slutforsjy @wonwoos-wineparty @nxzz-skz @piripurora @vousty

@realrintaro @slut4hee @chartrucewhore @iveivory @hearteyesforseungsung

@jooniesbears-blog @hee4lifer @babrieeee @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @softieluvsyou

@onlyhyunjin @beommii @fuxktaekook @lukeysgiggle @faithnsstuff

@jakeyverse @belovedsthings @vveebee @duhgurl @niniissus

@dreamiestay @lhspeachie @illvding @not-very-slay-of-you @luvrseung

@tanisha2060 @sngleehee @hmusunoo @chlodavids @arimiu

@mandoscyare @danielleism @nessas-archive @pochamocharoll @thatonexcgirl

@jakesfurry @enhaslxt @missychief1404 @stargirl-gigi @ohwonzs

(bold can't be tagged)

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pokemonshelterstories · 3 months ago

Note

i'm taking a trip to alola in a few months, and am hoping to evolve my pikachu into an alolan raichu while i'm there. i'm prepared for the changes i'll have to make in caring for him, and i have some experience caring for psychic-types (i also have a gallade), but i feel like everywhere i look says something different about what makes alolan raichu evolve that way!

i'm pretty sure the thing about pancakes is an old wives' tale, so i haven't been feeding him any. for now, he's just been napping under the sun lamp we bring out in winter, and we're watching practically every surfing movie ever made. these all feel kinda vibes-based, but i'm really unsure what to do! is there anything i can do to prepare him to evolve before we get there? i feel like it can't possibly be as easy as just giving him a thunder stone as soon as we land :/

funnily enough, it really is as simple as using a thunderstone on your pikachu while you're in alola. the reason why pikachu evolve into a different form in alola is because of an environmental energy influence on them! it's thought to be the same kind of energy that causes totem pokemon to be the way they are and causes z crystals to appear.

good choice on not feeding the pancakes, as that's a lot of unhealthy carbs and sugars for a pikachu. but the sun lamp and movies are good enrichment and bonding time, so i don't think that's wasted time on your part! it won't influence his evolution, but if you're both enjoying it, there's no need to stop.

#charlietalks #pkmn irl #pokemon irl #pokemon evolution #pokemon variants #raichu

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diorcities · 5 months ago

Text

with you (teaser)

spiderverse chronicles. haechan x reader, mark x reader genre fluff, action, mature content content spiderman au, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, selective mutism, sign language, smut (not in the teaser) more tba teaser wc 1.5k full fic est. 20k

an: since i'm making progress on the story (shocking) i'll share a little teaser. the past few days i've consumed a lot of spiderman content, it's not funny anymore. it was a sign of the times. i'm so excited to write this. happy reading ♡

description: after a catastrophic scientific explosion, chaos is unleashed in new york. a deaf girl must face the city that she once knew now submerged in a mayhem, pairing with a daily bugle intern to try to solve the mystery when one of the many affected with extraordinary abilities seems to have a duplicity between good and evil.

he can sense you're there.

just moments ago he had swept the area, now, he looks intently at the boxes loaded into the helicopter.

“planning on stealing the moon tonight?” he's growing bored. “you guys aren't elusive at all, you should practice a little at that.”

the ambiguity of his own reaction puzzles him. there was no hurry in his movements, nor the usual tension. instead, there was a deliberate pause, and this unbearable boredom.

he's quick to deflect a couple of bullets; it comes out spontaneously now. all his senses are enriched. everything vibrates. everything sings. he's sneaky instead of a fighter. and he's also fond to make jokes at inopportune times.

“isn't this labor exploitation?” he inquires. “i hope you get paid overtime,” he says again when in response, a dozen men point their guns at him. he reacts shooting his hands upwards.

“easy, i'm your friendly neighbor.” a man turns to him. the big fish. “oh, my bad, i mistook you for some lookalike with a bunch of small yellow people.” he also doesn't miss the opportunity to make an emphasis on his size.

wilson kingpin snorts, annoyed. “after months, i'd think you'd stop acting like a kid.”

“i am a kid.” he chuckles, removing the mask.

there was no point in hiding his identity when the old crow knew who he was from the very beginning, though it also made him a prospect for his tasteless jokes.

he takes a look at the containers when the man turns his back at him and shout instructions. “nano-technology prototypes...” his voice comes out in an interrogatory tone, sniffing through the large box.

the man in charge sees him snooping around when he speaks. “are you interested?”

“they wouldn't hurt,” he replies, distracted; something stirs inside him when you move closer.

“take a few, see if you put it to good use.” he sneers and he mimics him, nonchalantly.

he's pretty quick and elusive. skills, he guesses, his best traits; but even though, he might need some; he's been doing alchemy lately, so he grabs two and when the man looks away, grabs a few more. he can put good use to that kind of technology. “any other tasks you need me to do?”

he bristles when the man smiles, agreeing; he's been waiting for the moment. doing silly tasks, dirty work. finally he was getting closer to get what he wants. “yes. why don't you take care of that little reporter mouse?”

fisk goes back to his job as if he's bored, and his lips tighten into a grimace that he already knows, making him take care of you.

“was this what you wanted, to steal technology?” you ask to the wind. the men hardly pay attention to you, but he does.

he must acknowledge that you have guts even though fisk is giving you a window because you don't pose a threat. not because of his size, but because of his influence.

“what's in the boxes?”

“as if i were going to tell you.” he mocks, hiding behind the mask. “why don't you cover tonight's weather instead, family of murderers?” he sees you freeze. “why don't you leave these matters to us and you take care of yours? seems like you're in deep shit,” he says, taking one step closer.

when you realize it, he's in front of you and you have nowhere to run. yet your feet recede to the edge. “mmm? don't test your luck and stay out of it.”

he gives you recognition that you don't look even a little intimidated. “who are you?”

his smile almost reach his eyes, “as if i were going to tell you,” he repeats, morbid.

fisk growls behind you, and something dark spreads on his gut, “get done with it, bug.”

he does what he says. first, he steals it from you in one move. and you're not quick to protest when his hands half-push you and your feet stumble. doing silly tasks, dirty work. one more thing and it will end.

nevertheless, getting rid of you is hard for him.

your hands try to hold on but he pulls away, so you fall into nothing.

like a bullet, he watches you fall, waiting. and when a blue boost barely flashes around you, he moves away from the edge. afterward, you just fall into new york.

#mark x you #haechan x you #mark lee au #haechan au #haechan angst #mark lee angst #mark fluff #haechan fluff #haechan smut #mark smut

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hotchnersangel · 4 months ago

Text

The Manuscript.

Aaron Hotchner

a/n; hey so i hate myself after this bc my heart hurtssssssss. Oh my god i cant breathe why have i done that ouch

warnings; implications of sex, heartbreak, age gap, light mentions of eating struggles, emotional hotch

---------------------

You and Aaron had a loving and happy relationship for the most part, no, for the whole part. You always felt safe with him, content when in his arms and no matter what was going on, you knew that it would be okay because you had Aaron, but... now you didn't. You no longer had him and that was the issue, the root of your internal pain- the feeling of claustrophobia as you're trapped within your own body, being suffocated and closed in on very slowly and agonisingly.

Your relationship had happened hard and fast. One day he was your boss, the next you were entwined in his arms and suddenly all you knew was him. Now and then you re-read the manuscript of your relationship. A silly, stupid, gutwrenching piece of paper displayed with your handwriting. The only place the two of you were still together.

The concept seemed silly now but the two of you promised to write out letters to one another on extremely special occasions. It held a greater sentiment than leaving a message when it was handwritten. You had only one but that one manuscript was the bane of your existence, drawing you in like a moth to the flame. It was enough to sentence you to a life imposing as a lamb to slaughter, at his hand. You hated how he always had an effect on you, even after all these years, he was always your because. The manuscript in question? His hand written confession of love. You scoff looking over the paper, tracing your finger over the ink scrawling and silently curse Aaron Hotchner and his utter romantic mind.

'I'm not a donor but I'd give you my heart if you needed it.'

A sentence that haunted the ghost of who she had become.

It had been a very long and passionate night between the two of you. Let's just say age had not effected you man's ability to perform when it came to you. Over and over and over. You were laying in bed besides him, tracing his cheek with the pad of your fingertips, memorising the features of his face. "I don't know what I prefer, being given the opportunity to be this intimate with you... or being able to talk to you about anything and know you still care." "You don't have to prefer one or the other," you reply with a smile, kissing his nose. "You will always have both." "Don't say things like that uness you want to be pushing our baby's stroller," he jokes with a loving smile and you laugh. Your pretty sure your heart just burst with love and adoration for this man.

But, soon it was over.

The reason he broke up with you was 'simple', because of you age gap, he deemed it to be inappropriate. Sure, you were in your late twenties and he may be in his fourties but it had never been a problem to him before.

In the age of him you wished you were thirty, if it meant that much to him. Just a few more years and it would have been fine. You wouldn't have lost the love of your life. Your soulmate, your person. Because that's what he was. He understood you, he accepted you and most importantly- he loved you.

You had dreams while in the relationship and post-relationship about making coffee every morning before work in his fancy new french press. Coffee was a huge part of your job enrichment so to start with a genuinely good coffee was always a reason to smile that day. Though, your favourite part of that damn french press was the coffee scented kisses. Every morning before you got in the car, Aaron made sure to kiss you with every ounce of love he had for you, no matter if you were both running late or urgently called out, he never forgot. The kisses tasted like him, it's strange how the smell and taste coffee could be so distinct to a person; to the point where it takes over all of your senses. You haven't drank coffee since you guys broke up.

After the breakup, you went back home to England to stay with your parents. You never understood how much a breakup could effect you until you stayed in bed all day, not even your own, your mother's bed. She held you as you cried for days on end, trying to coerce you back into an everyday routine once again but soon giving up because she knew it would not work. She regularly brought you a bowl of cereal, trying to get you to eat something. Though, you rarely ate it, especially in the first few days.

"It was your favourite when you were little, I thought maybe some nostalgia could help." Your mom explained with a soft smile, holding you like you were still a baby, because you would always be her aby and all she wanted to do was protect you.

Eventually you started dating again, this time a boy who was your own age. Though, you couldn't help but compare him to your Aaron. This boy was immature, didn't know what he wanted and cared only about parties. A bad choice, you knew that not all boys your age care about so little but they would never compare to Aaron. A man who wrote you a handwritten confession of love and kissed you so gently like you were soon to be framed in an art gallery.

He often told you that you were wise beyond your years which you accepted as a compliment. You had to mature sooner, with the actions of your irresponsible father, you were forced to learn to live without him in your life. Maybe that's part of the initial appeal to Aaron.

Years ad passed since your breakup and life no longer felt real, maybe you over-depended on Aaron but it was far from unhealthy. Your life felt like a cruel drama you watch on an occasional weekend. In the time apart, you went to university back in England, studying a psychology masters with hopes of diverting from police work into psychological fields. But goddamn, everything reminded you of him.

The professor had told us that looking backwards may be the only way to move forward in life, not appealing to us, but to the degree, though it played at your heartstrings and you knew what you had to do.

You booked a flight out to Quantico, Virginia as soon as you could. The plane ride was like a death trap for you. A feeling of distraught ripping at your insides, something that had never truly gone away these past years. Suddenly you wonder if he had been feeling the same these past years. They say water holds memories so when the tears stream down your face with adamant precision, you knew that you were about to rip open a half stitched wound.

The sheet of paper was the only thing you brought with you.

You started to get nervous at seeing him again for the first time in many of years and hopefully, it was the last. Hopefully the dreams would stop, the reminders would stop and you will be okay again.

You walk into the FBI building, the security still recognising you and letting you through the building and you press level 6 when you get into the elevator, for the very last time. You exist the elevator and look into the familiar building, seeing the team in the bullpen as you walk through. Emily looks up and catches your eye, immediately shocked to see you. A ghost of her unit chief's past.

"Hello you- what are you doing here?" She smiles and pulls you into a hug dragging everyones attention. Soon they all swaddle you in hugs and welcomes.

"I'm not here for long, I just came to... drop something off." You say with a flat mouth and you know damn well they can see the effect it is having on you.

"Do you want one of us to give it to him?" JJ asks kindly, placing her hand on your shoulder, offering a polite smile.

In reality they can all see that you had yet to heal from your breakup, you still looked exhausted, you looked hollow. Like a part was taken from you and it seemed all too familiar to them because you looked like Aaron, maybe even in a better condition than him.

"No, I want to seee his one last time." You say simply and point up the stairs. "is he up there?"

They nod and so you knock on the door and open it, your heart shattering at the sight of him. He was far from looking after himself, you knew him enough to tell despite him looking professional. He looks up from his work load and stares at you, his mouth falling into an 'o'.

"What..."

You shake your head, "Aaron, hi." you breathe out softly, a huge weight on your shoulders.

"Hi... please come in." You do but you don't sit.

"I'm here to give-"

"How've you-"

You both overlap one another, letting out a soft sigh with a smile.

"How've you been?" His eyes are glassy, probably from how he was rubbing them to see if you were really stood infront of him or not.

"Fine."

"How's London?" He asks again, softer this time.

"Good. I needed my mom."

"Yes." He nods and looks at you longingy. The silence is thick.

"I- I came to return this." You say softly, handing over the sheets of handwritten paper. "I think it is inappropriate to keep considering our circumstances."

He takes the sheet, his finger brushing against yours and you feel your heart shatter in your chest. Tears burned your eyes and you handed him it and he took it, opening it to see if it was true. He looked at the paper and visibly frowned, tears mimicing yours in his eyes. "You're giving it back? You flew here to...give it back?"

"The only thing that is left in us healing is the manuscript-"

"Oh," he wipes his eyes, not even hiding his feelings. "Can I hug you?"

You nod, knowing this is the last time you will get to experience this again. "Take it as my last souvenir from my trip to your shores." You laugh through tears, holding onto him like it was the last thing you will ever do.

You cry into each others arms, holding one another so tightly. "I re-read that so many times and i realised... the story isn't mine anymore."

#aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch angst #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch #hotch x you #aaron hotch fanfiction #hotchner x reader #hotchner x you #agent hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #Spotify

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pomefioredove · 9 months ago

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Hello 💕 If you're still accepting headcanons requests, could you write something about a reader who seems normal and "ordinary" and even a little shy/demure but shines brilliantly on stage as if a completely different person (can be an actor, singer, idol etc.) with Rook and Vil and the Pop music club (separately)? Tysm 💓

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ the opposite of stage fright

type of post: headcanons characters: cater, kalim, rook, vil, lilia additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu

introverts are Lilia's favorite people

...to torture

when you first started attending club meetings, he assumed you were some kind of groupie

I mean, who wouldn't want to fawn over him?

but he still tried to drag you into club activities

you just... refused to play anything, wouldn't sing, wouldn't so much as speak...

but Lilia was confident he could get you to stop holding back

so, the club got clever

at their next concert, Kalim ~magically~ has a sore throat

and who else to take his place but the only other member of the club?

manipulative little fae...

and, as he thought, you had been holding back

the concert is a rousing success

...and he's never going to let you forget it

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil is like a bloodhound for talent

he can smell the potential on you from one look at your plain, slightly-disheveled self

he knows that any other student would have ignored you. but he isn't just any student

he knows you're holding out on him

and he'll crack that shell of yours no matter what it takes

that is to say,

once you've caught his eye,

you will never know peace again

...and maybe that sounds like an over exaggeration, but if you're a timid person, it's your worst nightmare

I mean dance rehearsals twice a week, vocal training, posture, projection, poise, presentation-

everything

the other Pomefiore students may give you odd looks as you walk by on their Housewarden's arm,

but he knows

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Kalim doesn't need a big performance to know that he's already proud of you

what can I say? he's got enough enthusiastic hugs to go around

and he definitely doesn't mind that you're shy

...honestly, the thought hasn't even occurred to him

even if you don't want to party or dance or say hi to everyone in the dorm every time you come over,

he like you. he doesn't need anything else

you're already amazing to him

and ... in a way, he kind of turns out to be right?

he had always said he could see the star in you, and here you are, performing on stage like a professional!

...not that he isn't surprised

Kalim is completely blown away

it's all he can talk about for the next week, actually

(much to your embarrassment)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Rook had a feeling

...and he's also listened to you singing to yourself when you thought you were alone

I mean WHAT who said that

he definitely just had a feeling

now, seeing you on stage, he's almost brought to his knees

having watched the seed of your beauty blossom into a beautiful flower is the ultimate enrichment for him

and unlike Vil, he waited for you to blossom on your own

a hunter is nothing if not patient, after all

though, he still can't help but feel a little accomplished...

even though he didn't push you, or train you, he kept the secret of your beauty all to himself

...which is a kind of guidance

admittedly, he wouldn't have minded keeping it all to himself for a little while longer, though

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Cater always just thought of you as...

...kinda cute. right?

you were shy and quiet, always avoiding his camera, meek, the kind of person that doesn't last long at NRC

...of course, he had to take you under his wing!

sort of?

really, he just liked that you let him talk your ear off

he didn't even mind that you never let him take your picture! ...kind of

and he thought he knew you pretty well, but...

...seeing you on stage after the music club's performance...

totally wiping the floor with them...

well, well, you still find ways to surprise him

of course, though, now that he knows you're a world-class performer, he's never going to let it go

he got a lot of likes on the videos of your performance, after all

I guess he finally got that picture he wanted ;3

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #queued #vil schoenheit x reader #rook hunt x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #kalim al asim x reader #cater diamond x reader

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sincerelyhunnybee · 5 days ago

Text

unchained | dark romance w. dabi

chapter 4

wc: 4.6k

cw: captivity/abduction, psychological distress, power imbalance, sensory discomfort, dubious morality, surveillance, toga being scary, dabi being soft ???(ooc)

ೀfrom bee: surprise, it's an early chapter drop! felt really inspired to finish this one quickly. the pressure of school is also upon me because i start a summer class this monday :(( hope fully my updates will stay consistent. i can only hope you enjoy reading this as much as i did writing it. :)) support on ao3!

Just a tray, waiting by the door. Food again—something warm. Something different.

For a moment, your body stalls, not from fear but from confusion. He always brought it in. Said something. Gave you a look, at least. But this time?

Nothing.

Your socked feet against the cold floor as you cross the room, slow and cautious, like something might lurch out of the shadows if you move too fast. You crouch by the tray and stare.

Oatmeal. A banana. A boiled egg. Not ration scraps or reheated soup. There’s more thought and care being put in to this meal.

You don’t touch it right away. You pick up the spoon, hold it like it might be a message folded in metal.

He’s trying to get in your head. Or maybe you’re already in his.

You eat. Your tastebuds not granting you the satisfaction of savoring the meal. But it’s not comfort. Not really. It’s just fuel in a cage with a semi-soft bed and hot running water.

After eating, you place your tray by the door, where he normally picks it up, and you sit back on the mattress, and wait.

And eventually—he shows.

The door whines open without warning. Dabi steps inside with a dog-eared paperback.

He tosses it onto the mattress beside you with casual disinterest.

You glance down. The Count of Monte Cristo.

“Subtle,” you say dryly.

He gives a half-shrug, eyes already scanning the corners of the room. “Figured you’d start talking to the walls if I didn’t give you something else to do.”

You run your fingers over the cover. “What is this? A hostage enrichment program?”

“You're welcome.”

You pause. Then smirk faintly. “Didn’t peg you as a reader.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you as the type to survive this long.”

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. Just awkward. Uneasy. Like two people trying to remember which mask to wear.

You look back at the book. “Is this supposed to mean something? Revenge and all that?”

“It’s a story,” he says simply, folding his arms. “Take it or leave it.”

You turn the book over in your hands, flipping through a few worn pages. The margins are underlined. Not recently. But intentionally. You don’t ask if it’s his copy.

“Did you used to read a lot?” you ask instead, not looking up.

There’s a pause.

“Before.”

That word again. Before.

“Sometimes,” he says eventually. “It's hard to focus when you’re on fire.”

You laugh—soft and hollow. “Fair.”

He sits across from you again, in the same chair, the one he always seems to claim like a ritual. The distance between you stays the same. The tension, however, does not.

You shift on the mattress, letting your legs stretch out over the side. “So. . . Are you planning on keeping me here forever, or just until you get bored?”

He doesn’t answer.

You look up at him. “Because it’s starting to feel like either way, I die here. Doesn’t matter if it’s by your hands or theirs.”

He regards you for a long beat. “You’re not dead.”

“Yet.”

“That’s more than most get.”

The weight in those words slams into you harder than expected. Like there’s a ledger in his head, and you’re still on the right side of it—for now.

You chew your bottom lip, then try again. “Do you even know what they’re going to do with me?”

Another long pause. “I don’t ask.” he states quietly.

You blink. “You don’t ask?”

He shrugs, eyes cast somewhere over your shoulder. “Nothing good ever comes from the answer.”

It makes you cold. Not because you believe he’s lying. But because you believe he isn’t.

“Why bother feeding me then? Why give me books and let me shower and—” You cut yourself off before your voice cracks. “Why pretend I’m not just another loose end?”

His jaw ticks. “You don’t scream.”

You freeze. “What?”

“You don’t beg. You don’t cry. You just… sit. Think. Talk.” He shifts, like the words are too sharp in his mouth. “Makes it easier.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

So you don’t.

The silence returns to fill the gaps in the words you both would to say, but don’t. This time like a wall.

You pick at the corner of the book again.

“…You ever miss it?” you ask, almost to yourself.

He glances at you.

“Normal,” you clarify. “Whatever that means.”

He lets out a faint scoff. “Normal’s just another lie people cling to.”

“That’s not a ‘no’.”

Glacier-like eyes stare into your own, bottom lid twitching. And before he can speak, someone playfully knocks. The door opens a sliver.

“Daaabiiii,” Toga sing-songs, head peeking through. “Shigaraki wants you. Something about a recon detail.”

She pauses when she sees you.

Her eyes flicker over you—curious, hungry.

You stiffen under her gaze.

Dabi doesn’t turn to look at her. “Out.”

Toga pouts. “I was being polite.”

“Get. Out.”

“You’re no fun.” She twirls a knife between her fingers and sighs.

Then she’s gone.

The door shuts a little too hard, but not before she gives you one last wink and a smile.

A warning wrapped in teeth.

Dabi doesn’t move for a long moment. He brings his fingers to the bridge of his nose, rubbing it.

Sucking a deep breath, he finally stands. Doesn’t look at you when he speaks.

“You’ll be fine. Just read the damn book.”

He walks out.

And this time, the silence he leaves behind feels different. Less like prison.

More like something just waiting to cave in.

The screen flickers, casting pale light across his face in the dark.

Dabi sits at the desk where the monitor broadcasts the current enigma in his life. An elbow rests on the grainy wood surface, supporting his head up while he continues to observe the grainy black-and-white feed in front of him. His right leg bounces up and down as his mind races.

You're sitting cross-legged on the mattress, the one he dragged in two nights ago after hearing the way your breathing changed when you slept on concrete. You’re touching the book he left—haven’t opened it yet. Just picking at the edges like you think it might burn you.

Maybe it will.

He doesn’t know why he left it. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t want to admit it to himself.

Your movements are slower now, more thoughtful, like you’re trying to make sense of what your body remembers when your mind won’t keep up. You don’t talk to yourself. You don’t cry when you think you’re alone. You just sit there and exist like that’s enough. And it’s getting to him. Eating away at every thought.

He shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t matter.

But you do. You’re all he ever thinks about now.

Dabi exhales slowly, and slings his coat over his shoulders. The door groans on its hinges like a greeting as he pushes it open. You look up sharply, but there’s no fear in your eyes this time—only guardedness. A flicker of suspicion. He feels like that’s worse.

He steps inside and shuts the door behind him with less force than usual. The room feels warmer than it should be.

"Hey," you say carefully.

He doesn’t respond. Just walks over to the chair, drops into it, and rests an ankle on his knee. You notice he’s fidgeting with his fingers.

There’s a long silence.

You break it first..

“I forgot to tell you that I saw someone the other day,” you say. “Blonde. Big eyes. The same one who called for you yesterday. Looked at me like she wanted to carve a heart into my ribs.”

“Toga,” he mutters. “Don’t take it personally. She’s like that with everyone.”

“Comforting.”

“She didn’t touch you, did she?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He doesn’t say what he’d do if she had. You’re not sure if it’s a warning or a promise.

You glance down at the book between you. Your fingers are resting on it again like a nervous tic.

“Did you actually read this?” you ask. “Or was it just lying around?”

His lips twitch, not quite a smile. “What do you think?”

You flip the cover open. A name is scratched inside in messy handwriting. Not his, probably stolen.

“It's about revenge,” you say, testing the air.

“Isn’t everything?”

You hum quietly, scooting back and leaning back against the wall. For a moment, there's no violence between you. Just steam-thick air, soft breath, the faint rustle of pages as you finally start to read.

He stays longer than he should.

At some point, his head drops back against the chair, lids lowered like he might drift off. You watch the staples along his jawline catch the light, you wonder how it would feel to run your fingers over them.

"Can I ask you something?" you say after a while.

His eyes crack open, one pale blue flickering with tired amusement. "Do you ever stop?"

You ignore the jab. "If they kill me, will you watch?"

The question hangs in the air like smoke.

When he answers, his voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “I’d make sure it was quick.”

You flinch. But you don’t look away.

He holds your gaze in his for a long beat. “I’m not gonna lie to you.”

“I know,” you whisper. “That’s why it scares me.”

Another silence. He looks away first.

He watches the hallway camera feed from his phone this time, eyes narrowing when he sees Twice pacing two doors down. Muttering to himself again. There’s been talk about movement. Pro Hero patrols shifting east. Pressure rising.

He hears voices down the hall. Shigaraki. Compress. A disagreement.

And he knows your time here is running out.

You’re not a long-term plan. You were never supposed to become anything. But you have.

Dabi scrubs a hand down his face and exhales through his teeth.

When he walks past your door again, he stops.

Just for a second.

And then, against his better judgment, he opens the door

Your head shoots up from the book, you look surprised, even though you shouldn’t be. However, he never comes back twice in one day.

You wait.

“We might move you soon.”

Your heart stutters. “Move me?”

He nods once.

“Why?”

“I don’t ask,” he says again, but this time it’s laced with something else. A warning. A regret. A quiet kind of run while you can, even if there’s nowhere to go.

“Just… stay sharp.” he softly states.

And before you can ask what that means, before you can ask if he’s coming with you, he’s already gone.

Door shut.

Boots fading.

And the room feels smaller than it ever has before.

The hallway is dim, its only light coming from the flickering bulb above the main junction where several of the warehouse corridors meet. Dabi rounds the corner with his coat pulled tighter than usual, trying to walk past unnoticed. He needs air. A cigarette. Something.

He doesn’t get far.

“Touyaaaa~”

Her voice cuts through the quiet like a blade.

Toga steps out from behind a support beam with her arms behind her back, swaying slightly like a child waiting to be praised—or punished. Her hair is a little messier than usual. There's dried blood on her cheek. Not hers.

He doesn’t stop walking.

She follows.

“I saw you go in again,” she says, voice lilting. “That’s four times this week. You usually get bored after once.”

“Maybe I’m just getting more patient,” he mutters.

She giggles. “That’s not it.”

Dabi stops.

Turns.

“They’re cute,” Toga says sweetly, and the way she says it makes his skin crawl. “All soft and scared and grateful. Makes me want to see what color they bleed.”

He doesn’t lunge. He doesn’t raise his voice.

But the heat rises.

“Toga,” he says, and it’s not a warning. It’s a promise.

Her smile doesn’t falter. “I didn’t touch her. You told me not to, remember?”

“You so much as look at them wrong again, I won’t repeat myself.”

Her head tilts, eyes wide, voice dropping to a whisper. “Why do you care?”

He says nothing.

Because he doesn’t have an answer he likes.

Just then, Twice appears from the side hallway, hoodie half-zipped, mouth already mid-sentence.

“I told you guys this was gonna get messy—wait, are we fighting? Is this a fight? Please don’t fight.”

Toga spins toward him with a dramatic sigh. “Our dearest Dabi is getting attached.”

“I am not,” Dabi snaps, too fast.

Twice blinks. “Dude. You brought them food. Like, not even the gross stuff. Real food.”

“They needed to eat.”

“You brought them a book.”

“They were going to start talking to themselves.”

“You put a bed in their room.”

“They were—” He cuts himself off.

Twice raises both gloved hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m not judging. I think it’s nice! Creepy. But nice. But also creepy.”

Toga leans back against the wall, twirling a knife idly. “You better be careful, Touya. They’re starting to look at you like you matter.”

Dabi meets her eyes, unflinching. “That’s their mistake.”

“Or yours,” she sings.

Twice snorts, trying to defuse the tension. “Well, we can’t all be emotionally constipated murder machines, right? Right?”

Neither of them laughs.

Dabi turns back toward the hallway, boots scraping the floor as he walks away. “Stay out of their room,” he throws over his shoulder. “Both of you.”

Toga watches him go, expression unreadable.

Twice looks between them and sighs. “Y’know, this is how those enemies-to-lovers stories start. Just saying.”

Toga flips her knife and grins. “Not if I end it first.”

The warehouse halls feel colder when he leaves them behind.

Dabi slams the door to his room shut behind him and leans against it for a long moment. He should’ve burned that conversation to ash. Let Toga scratch her curiosity out on someone else. Let Twice run his mouth until it exhausted him. But no.

They’re all watching now.

Not just you.

Their face when I walked in… they looked relieved.That’s the problem.

He pushes off the door, drags a hand through his hair, and crosses the room to the corner where the monitor glows faintly, humming like a heart that won’t die. His thumb grazes the edge of the table as he sits back down.

The feed pulls him in again—grainy, black and white, but clear enough to see you curled up on the mattress, facing the wall. The book he left you is tucked under your arm like it’s something precious. Like it matters.

He taps a knuckle lightly against the monitor frame. Not hard enough to make a sound, just a ghost of a touch. Just enough to admit he’s still here.

They’ll touch them, he thinks, jaw tight. If I stop watching, someone will. Toga, bored and impulsive. Shigaraki, if the wrong idea takes root. Compress, if leverage becomes liability.

He’s seen what happens to people who get left alone in League custody.

And maybe you’re not supposed to be the exception. But you are.

That pisses him off.

He tells himself it’s just a habit now. A way to keep control. A way to monitor the variables, keep the rest of the idiots from getting creative. But when you shift slightly and curl your body tighter on the mattress, Dabi leans closer to the screen like that’ll let him feel the warmth too.

He sits like that for too long.

Boots kicked up, cigarette burning out in his fingers, face lit only by the pale glow of the camera feed.

He can’t trust them with you.

And the more he watches, the more he realizes—

He’s not sure he trusts himself, either.

You hear the door before you see him.

It opens quieter this time. Not Dabi’s usual impatient creak—this is something more theatrical. Intentional.

You glance up from the book, body already tensing.

The man who enters doesn’t move like Dabi. He’s smoother. Slower. Every step feels like it’s part of a performance. His clothes are more tailored to his body. His mask glints in the low light as he tips an invisible hat with a flourish.

“Well, well,” he says smoothly. “So this is the infamous guest.”

You straighten, posture taut. “You’re not him.”

“Correct,” he replies, stepping fully into the room, heels of his shoes clicking. “And judging by the way your shoulders just locked up, you already miss him.”

You say nothing.

He chuckles, a deep, velvety sound that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Relax. I’m not here to hurt you. Curiosity got the better of me.”

He walks toward the chair Dabi usually occupies, but doesn’t sit in it. Instead, he glances around the room like he’s assessing a gallery exhibit. His gaze lands on the book stretched out on its spine, the mattress that your body rests on, the towel folded on a table by the open panel of the bathroom.

“My, my. He’s really gone soft.”

You frown. “Why are you here?”

“To observe,” he says honestly. “To understand why a man like him would bend his routines for someone like you.”

His words aren’t cruel—but they sting. You aren’t sure why.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you mutter.

“No one ever does,” he replies. “But it’s not about what you ask for. It’s about what you cause by being here.”

You look up sharply. “So what is it? What do you think I’ve caused?”

He finally sits in Dabi’s chair, resting one ankle over his knee like he has all the time in the world. Taking over the presence of your captor companion.

“I think you’ve stirred something dangerous,” he says lightly. “Not because you’ve tried to. But because he’s watching you like he’s looking at something he lost.”

Your heart thuds once, heavy.

“I think,” he continues, voice still polite, “that you should be very careful. Because when a man like Dabi remembers how to care, he starts to remember everything else too.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“It’s not your bad thing,” Compress says with a shrug. “But it may become one.”

He stands again, dusting invisible lint from his coat.

“Do you want my advice?” he asks.

You don’t answer.

He leans in slightly, voice dropping just enough to send a chill through you.

“Don’t become a weakness. Because we don’t have room for those here.”

Then, just like that, he turns and exits with a dramatic flourish of his mannerisms, leaving behind the faintest scent of spice and smoke.

You stare at the door long after it shuts.

Suddenly, the room feels colder again.

Like no matter how clean you are, you’re still something they’re waiting to use—or discard.

The click of the door echoes louder than it should.

You don’t move right away. Just sit there, frame rigid, staring at the space where he stood like you expect him to reappear. Like it was all an illusion, some eerie theatrical piece performed for your benefit.

But the room stays empty.

You press your hands into the mattress, digging your fingers into the weathered material, grounding yourself, but it doesn’t help. Your skin still prickles, not from fear exactly, but from something colder. Something more corrosive.

Don’t become a weakness.

The words replay in your head, over and over, each pass cutting deeper.

You’re already a weakness. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here. Not because you’re powerful or important, but because you’re the opposite. Just some unlucky bystander who got dragged into the orbit of monsters playing pretend with power.

But now you’re something else too. A liability. A variable.

You glance toward the corner of the ceiling, toward the watchful eye of the camera lens.

And for the first time since Dabi cut the ties from your wrists, you wish you were still bound.

Because at least then, there were no illusions. No masks pretending to be mercy. No warmth passed off as indifference.

Your throat tightens. Fingers twitching like you can summon some quirk that could shield you from everything you don’t understand. But you're quirkless. Useless.

You don’t cry. Not yet.

But it’s the first time you feel like maybe you should have, from the start.

Because Mr. Compress didn’t threaten you.

He warned you.

A tired creak emits from the door. The noise has conditioned you to flinch.

Dabi stands in the doorway, backlit by the dim hall light. His posture looks exhausted, one hand braced on the doorframe like he’s debating whether to walk in at all.

You straighten your spine, trying to bury the remnants of your unease. But it lingers in your mouth like ash.

His eyes scan the room. You. The mattress. The book, with extra dog-eared pages. His eyebrow twitches.

“What did he say to you?” he asks.

No preamble. No lazy sarcasm.

Just that.

You lift your chin. “So you were watching.”

His expression hardens. “I always watch.”

You’re not sure if it’s meant to be reassuring or a threat.

“Doesn’t matter,” you say quietly. “It’s not like he hurt me.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

There’s something in his voice that’s more than curiosity. Something… sharp. Controlled, but only just. Like he's already bracing himself to torch the world if the answer’s wrong.

You look away. “He just talked. Said I shouldn’t make myself a weakness. That people like you don’t have room for them.”

A beat passes.

Then another.

You expect a scoff. A dismissal. One of his usual sardonic comebacks.

But instead—

“I told him not to come in here.”

Surprised by the bluntness. “Why?”

His eyes meet yours, unreadable. “Because he doesn’t know the difference between a threat and a warning.”

“…And you do?”

“I know what it looks like when someone’s already lost too much.” His delayed response coming out strained.

Your breath catches in your throat. That wasn’t what you expected. And the worst part? It sounds like the closest thing to an apology.

He steps into the room and closes the door behind him—not slammed, not locked. Just closed. The air shifts again, heavier now, but not oppressive. Just… full.

“You shouldn’t be afraid of him,” Dabi says after a long pause.

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I’m not sure who I shouldn’t be afraid of.”

He exhales, steps closer, but doesn’t sit. He stays near the wall, like he doesn’t trust himself near you right now.

“You want the truth?” he asks.

You nod, slowly.

His voice drops low. “Everyone in this place is dangerous. Some of them more than others. Some of them are less honest about it. But I’m the one who keeps them out.”

You study him, heart thudding harder than you’d like.

“Why?” you whisper.

His mouth pulls tight. His gaze drops for a second.

And then, barely audible— “Because someone has to.”

The room is so quiet. You can hear the distant hum of the warehouse electricity through the walls. For a second, you wonder if he regrets saying it. If he’s going to backpedal, throw up that wall of cold indifference again.

He just stays there—standing in a room too small for how much space he takes up. For how much he’s taking up inside of you now. You’re still not sure if it’s fear, or something far more complicated.

You hug your body tighter,, suddenly aware of the way your shoulders still tremble—not from cold, but from the aftermath of Mr. Compress’s words. From the knowledge that your presence here is changing something that maybe wasn’t meant to bend.

“You . . . okay?” Dabi asks, voice low.

You almost laugh at the absurdity of it. Am I okay?

“I don’t think I’ve been okay since I woke up in this room,” you murmur. “But . . . I’m not falling apart.”

He nods slowly, like that’s the most he can hope for. Then, without a word, he moves to the chair—but instead of sitting, he lowers himself down onto the floor. Just beside the mattress. Not too close. Just enough to make himself… present.

You glance at him, confused. “What are you doing?”

He stretches one leg out, crosses the other over it. “Making sure no one else drops by.”

Your heart kicks a little harder.

“You’re staying?” you ask.

“Just for a bit.”

You lie back against the wall, still watching him. The mattress creaks beneath you. He keeps his gaze forward, focused on the wall, like looking at you too long might undo him.

“Don’t read into it,” he adds.

“I already have,” you reply, barely above a whisper.

That makes the corner of his mouth twitch—just a fraction, but it’s there. Something close to a smile. Or the memory of one.

The silence that follows isn’t heavy this time. It’s the kind that settles around two people who no longer feel like strangers, even if they haven’t decided what they are yet.

“You always sit on the floor when you’re being nice?” you ask quietly.

He shrugs. “Better than standing guard outside. You’d just get paranoid.”

“I already am.”

He glances at you then briefly.

“You’ve got more fight in you than you think.”

You hold his gaze. “You keep saying things that sound like compliments.”

“Maybe you’re hearing them that way.”

You both fall quiet again.

And slowly—carefully—you stretch your hand out, let it hang off the edge of the mattress. You don’t expect him to take it. You don’t even know if you want him to. But something inside you wants him to know it’s there.

He doesn’t move right away.

But then—softly, without looking—he shifts his hand just enough that his pinky brushes yours. Not a grip. Not even a touch, really.

Simply contact.

Enough to say, I’m here.

And for now, that’s enough.

It’s barely a touch.

Flesh to flesh, if you can call what’s left of his skin that. Just the edge of a pinky brushing against yours. The kind of contact most people wouldn’t even notice.

But he notices.

Because he shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be sitting on the floor of a room they use for leverage. Shouldn’t be close enough to see the way your breathing changes when you think he’s not looking. Shouldn’t be watching you the way he does every time you shift like you’re learning how to trust your body again.

But he is.

And now your hand is there—open. An invitation, or a challenge. He can’t tell the difference anymore.

You’re too clean now. Too quiet. Like a smoothed-over scar that hasn't started itching yet.

He told himself he’d just keep watch. That this was about control. About protecting the mission. That you were a loose thread he couldn’t let someone else pull.

But you're more than that now. You’ve become a variable in a system that’s supposed to be airtight. And he hates variables.

They make people soft.

They make people reckless.

And he’s been both before.

He tilts his head, just enough to see the curve of your cheek, the lashes resting against your skin. You’re pretending to sleep—or trying. He doesn’t blame you. Being watched wears a person down. He knows that better than anyone.

Your fingers twitch, ever so slightly, still hanging off the edge of the mattress.

His eyes narrow.

You’re not afraid of me anymore when you should be.

He leans back slowly, resting his head against the cold concrete wall. His joints ache. His scars itch. The room is filled with the intoxicating smell that is you. Pure.

He doesn’t close his eyes.

He can’t.

Because if he does, he might forget that this is a cage. That he’s supposed to be the one holding the keys. Not standing on the inside with you.

He tells himself again: Just keep watch. Just make sure no one else comes in.

But even he knows it’s a lie.

He’s not just watching you.

He’s protecting you.

And the moment Shigaraki figures that out, it’s all going to burn.

reblogs + comments are very much appreciated !

taglist (open + ask to be added): @reggieswriter @d4rlinxs @dabislittlemouse @jelliephia @tulnht @ninja-hxych

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syntheticsymp · 2 days ago

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is Nikto's pet allowed to have hobbies? Pets need enrichment too

Nikto didn't think this through when he first stole you away. When he's home, he doesn't do much of anything other than stare at the wall and wait for the next mission. So, the hours you spent alone don't even cross his mind, until he starts noticing the little ways you start to unravel.

It quickly becomes clear that you need something to do, other than him. There are certain hobbies you picked up during your solitude. Particularly, birdwatching. Being out in the woods, you like to take note of the animals that pass by. You even start drawing, since you don't know the actual names of the birds. Once Nikto sees the small, labeled sketches lying about the house, he starts to ask about them. He loves listening to you talk, and it definitely beats starting conversation himself. Hearing your voice blocks out his own rambling alters, replacing their toxin with something sweeter.

"I call this bird the 'yellow-guy,'" you explain, holding the thin papers in your hands as you sat in Nikto's lap. "I call her that because she's yellow, obviously. I didn't have any colored pencils, though, so it's hard to capture--"

"We will find you colored pencils by tomorrow."

You looked up from your little notebook. "What?"

"We will find you colored pencils," he repeated, leaving no room for you to object. Then, pointed to the next page. "What is this one?"

Your smile was just as brilliant as the first time he had seen it. "I call this one the 'annoying-loud-bird.' Because he has an annoying chirp has woken me up on multiple occasions."

He continues listening to you for hours, his attention never wavering, his terrifying blue eyes never leaving you. He's making a mental note of all the birds you dislike; he'll make sure they will never ruin your view of your pretty favorites ever again.

It hurts a little, knowing you need more than him, but he wants to keep you alive physically and mentally. The amount of time you spend asleep, just waiting for him to come back, is concerning. So, he encourages anyway you find to entertain yourself.

He starts giving you small things he finds on the way home. Little toys for you to play with while he's gone, items to show his affection because he cannot express it. Knick-knacks, rubix cubes, even a little plush bear. The plushie quickly got booted after you started snuggling with it more than him, but other than that, he didn't mind the games.

A classic chessboard sits on the coffee table at all times now, pieces ordered carefully for your next match. You are learning, brushing up on techniques whenever he is away. Nikto has to admit, your tricks on the checkerboard are pretty impressive. He doesn't mind you beating him, because you're playing with him. It's like taking you on a walk, letting you stretch your legs to get your energy back. It's like it was before you shut down, you interact with a smile and sometimes wager a kiss on the cheek that you know you will give him regardless of who wins the match.

Almost instantly, he sees the difference. You seem more awake, your soul coming back to you. Just alive enough to move again. Coming back to him, his perfect little pet defrosting.

So, he continues his gift-giving. You don't always understand what he gives you at first, but you make do. There isn't much else to do around here.

But your favorite thing he has given you is a sewing machine. He pretty much just typed 'hobbies' into google and did what he could with that. The sewing machine was his mother's, still perfectly in tact when he went to get it from his family's old lockbox. Nikto wasn't sentimental, but he remembered the fondness his mother had for the machine, and he figured it would give you something to do. And, like the smart little thing you are, you taught yourself to embroider for hours on end, stitching little flowers and unique patterns into the tears of his shirts. It definitely wouldn't be appreciated if he wore that button up to KorTac, but you are just so proud of it that he doesn't care what people think. He wears it regardless, and promptly has to beat up the recruit who attempted to make fun of the cute detailing. Nikto later that night asks you to hem the rip in the fabric he had gotten from the fight.

He also gives you a pair of knitting needles, once he trusts you enough not to stab his eyes out. You're halfway done making him a bright blue scarf, having chosen the color specifically to match his eyes. You want to get it done by the winter, so he won't get cold while hunting. The deadline is self-imposed, Nikto couldn't care less about how long it takes for you to finish your project, but you like to keep a schedule. It's the little things that keep you sane.

#hehe hi velvet tears!! thank you sm for dropping this ask it was fun to write <3333 #unedited brainworms #experimenting with some present tense #we're nearing the end can you feel it?#nikto x reader #nikto x you #synthanswers #nikto

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screamingforests · 6 months ago

Text

Continuation of this

Read more bc its long

Days passed without you spotting a hair of Ghost. You knew he was on base, no missions had been assigned. He was just avoiding you, that was the only explanation.

You started putting on healthy weight again under the gaze of the 141 and medical. Every meal of your's was enriched and you got extra snacks, which wasn't anything to complain about. You didn't mind the attention - not really - but it felt empty.

It all comes to a head when you get assigned to a mission with the very man avoiding you. It was tense, despite just being an intel retrieval. The place was crawling with hostiles so you couldn't let your guard down.

"Door on your right corporal, get in there," Ghost's voice is tinny in the comms. You don't like it. It sounds nothing like him. "Wait for the hostiles to pass."

You breathe out an affirmative and slip into the room, taking the moment to recenter yourself. You could hear the footsteps as they stomped by, the talking in a language you didn't know.

What you didn't expect was them to suddenly walk into the room where you were hiding.

"Oi!"

Your eyes go wide, but your body moves, knives drawn in the blink of an eye. The first two hit the targets, deep in the enemy's throat. The last one just barely misses, which gives the enemy just enough time to land a lucky shot.

Pain flares through your abdomen, and you force through it, grabbing another knife to bury in the man's head. Your vision blurs for a moment.

"Corporal, are you okay?" Ghost's voice sound worried, which is odd.

"Fine, Lieutenant. Got caught in the abdomen, graze," you reported dutifully, even though it wasn't a graze. The bullet was deep in your abdomen, which helped to slow the bleeding.

You just had to last long enough to grab the intel. You needed to show him that you were strong enough to do this.

Ghost's guidance helps get you through the rest of the building, and you secure the intel. Your vision was starting to swim and it was difficult to focus on anything.

"Heading to evac now, Lieutenant," you state, already going.

Ghost's first thought when he sees you is that you look like shit. His second thought is concern. You had said that the gunshot was a graze, it was not a graze. Blood was caked into your uniform.

He rushes forward, catching you when you stumble. Doubt creeps into his mind, he couldn't even protect you when you were under his watch.

The want to scold you builds but Ghost holds it back, more focused on addressing the wound itself. He packs it full of guaze, flinching at every sound of pain you create. The want to soothe you, to try and help through more than just action is there but he has no words.

When you finally get into the evac vehicle, you nod on and off. You wanted to question Ghost, make him explain why he was so hard, and then suddenly backed off, but you didn't have the energy. Ghost was just silently staring at you.

"I wanted to protect you," is what he finally says. It isn't a comfort, but it helps to explain. "To help you grow stronger so you could also protect yourself."

It's hard to focus on his words. Your head swimming from the pain and blood loss. Ghost knew you would eventually nod off and most likely attribute this to a dream. Maybe after he could explain it better than he was again.

"But you hurt me, pushing me like that," you finally murmur, voice slurring. "I thought I wasn't good enough, that you didn't like me."

Ghost sighs, "I regret how I pushed you."

It's no apology, but it's an admission of guilt. It's enough for you to take comfort in to nod off again.

Waking up in a hospital is a scene that you're getting far too used to. Pain im your gut radiates out but its sting is dulled by morphine.

Ghost is sat off to the side, only his plain balaclava on his face. He wasn't Ghost, he was Simon.

"I don't forgive you."

Your throat is scratchy from dryness, it hurts to force the words out.

"I know. I don't expect you to."

Several moments of silence pass, only interrupted by the beat of medical machines.

"You remind me of an old friend," Ghost finally pushes the words out. "I couldn't protect him. I want to protect you."

"I didn't want this fucked-up notion of protection," you push it out. "It hurt, believing I could never be good enough, then for you to just ignore me the one time I failed? That leaves a mark, Ghost."

"I didn't-"

"But you did."

Ghost searches for the words. The ones to convince you. He wants to show you how much you mean to him, but he doesn't know how.

"Let me start this over, please, luv?" Ghost all but pleads, "let me show you proper how much you mean to me- to Simon, not Ghost."

You pause.

"You get one chance, Simon. Hurt me again and I leave for good."

The smile that makes his eyes crinkle would probably be prettier than the softest may flower.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #angst with a happy ending #angst #simon ghost riley x reader #brief mentions of #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price #task force 141 #forest writes

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russellsppttemplates · 1 year ago

Text

A red thread tying you to me (Charles Leclerc)

There was something pulling you to him and Charles was ready to act on it

Note: english is not my first language. I loved the blurb and now we have a big piece too!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions the death of reader's father's and Charles' father's deaths

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

"The congress is just outside of Milan, the exact city and details are in there", your colleague Lucia offered as she flickered though the pages, "I've been a couple of times before and it's really enriching, I just know you'll love the students and the department head - she was my supervisor for a couple of years".

"It sounds great", you looked at the panel information and then the travel details, "it's such a shame you can't come with me though, but I also wouldn't want to risk your little dude showing up and have me as your midwife", you chuckled as Lucia rubbed her baby bump.

"You're capable of many things, Y/N, but I would prefer if the fate of my baby and my underparts was in the hands of a professional!", she bumped your shoulder, "and the area is really nice too, I'm sure you'll find something to keep you busy during the weekend".

"I have plans, actually, I'll be fine I think", you smiled.

Like Lucia predicted, you had a great time in the conference and the guest lecture you gave was applauded and discussed for nearly an hour after you showed the last slide of the presentation, topics going back and forth until everyone had to absolutely leave the room before the next lecture began. For now, you'd get to enjoy the region, drinking some wine and taking in the views you recognised.

The park where your father used to take you didn't look too different. The slides didn't look rusty anymore, and the swing was a bright red colour as you sat on it once you didn't see any other kid around who might want to use them and let yourself feel the breeze on your face and hair as you kicked your legs in and out. Your father used to make you feel like you could touch the sky with how high he helped you go, "you're going to touch the clouds, mia piccola stella", he would say and you would laugh loudly.

You missed him every single day, but over the years, your grief allowed you remember all of the happy moments you lived with him, cherishing them close to your heart. Spending the whole weekend in Monza and attending the race was something you hadn't done without him since he passed away. The circuit was your father's favourite - "it's the fans, Y/N, there's a thrill in the air that no other circuit has - Tifosi cover the streets, they're all you can see around town and it's magical almost" he would say to you, so when you noticed the conference was in the area and coincided with the Grand Prix weekend, both you and your mother agreed you should take the opportunity.

On your way back to the hotel, you stopped by the track, wondering what the preparations for a race weekend looked like after so many years. You still followed the sport, but you never got the chance to catch this on television.

"Oh my, oh my", you heard someone say beside where you were standing, "I can't believe my eyes, it's Y/N Y/L/N".

Turning around you spotted Salvatore, one of the mechanics your father worked with. He also had kids around your age and you would often play together whenever you were both in the garage for the weekend.

"Salvatore!", you cheered, giving him a big smile after kissing each of his cheeks, "you better believe your eyes then".

"It's been so long since I've seen you last", he recalled, rubbing your back softly. You and your mother had gone to Maranello for a tribute ceremony the team had for your father - that had been the last time he saw you.

"It has been, yes - I'm sorry", you apoligised. You told the team you'd be around and so much had happened since and you only watched it through a screen instead of living it in the flesh.

"It's okay, it was the time you needed - What brought you to Monza this weekend?", he wondered as he walked inside the paddock with you, scanning his card and getting you both in.

"A work trip actually - I finished a conference yesterday and I also gave a lecture at the university", you nodded, "and my father always loved Monza", you smiled at the memory, "he knew how cliché that sounded, but he always said there wasn't a better weekend on the calendar. And I've missed the rush, too", you offered, letting the tears flow freely and accepting them even though you were in the middle of the paddock, loud noises coming from every angle as the teams prepared the finishing touches for the upcoming race.

"He's very proud of you, I'm sure", Salvatore comforted, "and everyone will be happy to see you here - the little girl with the high pigtails is a grown woman now who attends conferences and gives lectures, who would've known?", he joked as you stepped inside the garage.

"Is this little troublemaker Y/N Y/L/N?", one of the oldest mechanics said after he applied a sticker to the halo.

When your father took you to the races, everyone knew they had fun guaranteed with you, always pulling pranks and laughing loudly, "my troublemaker days are over, I'm a responsible woman now", you chuckled, giving a quick wave to everyone before greeting everyone individually.

"Do you have tickets for this weekend?", Fred asked. Even though he had just met you, it was clear to him how much you mattered to everyone who worked with your father, "we can get you a pass, I'm sure".

"I have grandstand tickets", you stated.

"Silvia!", the team principal called the woman, making her approach him and rub your arm kindly, "do we have any guest passes left?".

"Let me check", Silvia mumbled, "we have one left, actually! Charles didn't even notice he asked us to save a ticket for his mother twice - I'll get it for you, it's in the meeting room upstairs", she smiled.

"Charles will also be very happy to see you around, did you tell him you were coming?", Salvatore mentioned.

"I haven't actually - I've been really busy", you mumbled.

You met the monégasque driver when he was Scuderia Ferrari's development driver and Prema Racing driver in Formula Two, accidentally running into him in the dining area of the hospitality and ending up spending most of his free time there throughout the whole weekend.

Quickly, it became a tradition to do so whenever he was over and whenever he was done with his Formula Two duties and you happened to be at the same track.

When you stopped attending races because the memories were too painful, you lost contact, opting to react to eachother's Instagram stories every now and again and sending quick messages through the social media app.

"The boys arrive today, but they're only coming to the track tomorrow", Fred added, "you'll have plenty of time to catch up".

Charles had finally arrived to the hotel after all the flights and drives, thankful that there weren't many fans around already and he could get inside without a hitch, checking in and getting his room keys.

"Hold it, per favore!", he said to the person on the lift, dreaming of the changing from his travel outfit and the bed waiting for him. When his hand helped him inside the metal door, he couldn't believe his eyes, "Y/N?".

He could remember the last time he saw you. He had just started his first season as a Formula One driver for Alfa Romeo and you had come back to the paddock for the first race of the season like you promised you would. He sat with you whenever he had a little break, you caught up with him and his early days as a driver with a seat rather than just watching from the sidelines.

"Charles, hi!", you gasped, hugging him and feeling him squeeze your body against his.

"I- what are you doing here? Are you here for the race?", he wondered. This couldn't be a mere coincidence. He hoped it wasn't.

"I had a work trip here that coincided with this weekend, and I thought of it as a sign", you explained, "you're staying in this hotel too?".

"Yes, the team are at the one where we usually stay for the weekend, but until Thursday, I'm staying here, yes", he smiled, "Goodness, I feel like it's both been forever and like it was yesterday", he chuckled, "do you want to get a drink? I have a nice selection in my room whenever I stay", he offered.

"I'd love to, Charles", you said, hoping that the tingly feeling on your tummy mirrored Charles' own excitement at this unexpected but valued encounter, "are you sure though? You just arrived".

"No, don't worry about that! My room is... 705", he checked on the card he was handed, "so you can join me now or maybe you want to set those things down first and meet me there?", he pointed to the bag you were carrying.

"Yes, this is quite heavy actually", you blushed, "my room is on this floor, so I'll meet in your room in fifteen? I need to freshen up because I've been walking around town all day".

Leaving the elevator on your floor, Charles waved at your before the doors closed andyou headed to your door. Stepping inside, you left the totebag with the books you bought in the chair before heading to the bathroom, brushing out any tangles in your hair and splashing your face with water to freshen up.

After getting yourself ready to go, you went up to Charles' floor, knocking on the door and waiting for him.

"Come in, come in!", Charles offered after he opened the door, "I've unpacked but kept it very organised still", he chuckled as you walked inside the room. It looked the same as yours did, only a different colour pallette for the decoration.

"How have you been?", you wondered once you sat down and shared some sparkling water, neither of you really feeling like drinking anything alcoholic.

"You surely know more about me than I know about you", Charles smiled, "but it's been good, this season has been great so far, I feel like we're in a really good path and things are working well", he took a sip from his cup, "the team have done such an incredible job".

"And the driver on the car doesn't have anything to do with that?", you squinted at his ever so modest take on things.

"I suppose I do", he blushed.

"I may have not been here, but I've watched every race - minus some of the ones at daft o'clock, I only watched those when my sleep was all messed up", you joked, "you're an essential part of this team, Charles, everyone can see that so you should give yourself more credit", you touched his arm.

Even though it had been years since you last saw eachother, you hit it off immediately and it seemed like no time had passed.

"And you? What is this work trip that brought you here?", Charles nodded.

"You're not the only one who gets to travel for work, alright?", you tsked, "I had to do a presentation on a conference and then the department invited me for a lecture, nothing big".

"Who's being ever so modest now, hm? That is fantastic, mon ange!", he congratulated before he noticed the words coming out of his mouth.

"When I noticed it fell around this weekend, I told my mum and she said that I should try and dip my foot here - I've been wanting to come to race sooner but...", you trailed off.

"I get it - it's hard going to the places that remind you of them", Charles took his hand in yours and squeezed it, "he was so cherished by the team, I'm sure everyone will be very happy to see you".

"Actually, I walked to the track today so I could see it up close before the race - I hoped it wouldn't be such a big shock once I got there on Friday -, and I bumped into Salvatore", you smiled, "he let me go into the garage and I saw everyone, it was really nice", you looked up so the tears on your eyes wouldn't fall.

"I can get you a pass, let me just text Silvia!", Charles said as he got his phone from his pocket with his free hand.

"She already did", you chirped, "apparently you booked two for your mother, so they had a spare one".

"You see, a couple of years ago, my mum was too late to tell me she was coming to the race and I was out of the guest passes, so I always have one on hold for her and I sent the list with her name on it as well", he admitted, "but it seems to have turned out just fine - meant to be even".

You ended up requesting room service for the two of you for dinner, neither feeling like going out of the room after feeling so comfortable there. Conversation was steady, vulnerability was easy to show and the butterflies were happily dancing on your tummy.

"I better get to my room, then", you stated once Charles told you about what he needed to do tomorrow once he was at the track.

"I didn't mean it that way - I'm fine!", he said after doing his best attempt at containing a big yawn, "I'm fine!".

"You're tired, and frankly so am I", you admitted as you got up from the bed.

"Would you like to come with me to the track tomorrow? If you don't have other plans that is", he mumbled the last part.

"I don't - I was just going to work a little bit, but if you find me a spot in the hospitality, I'll happily take my stuff there", you smiled reassuringly as you put on your shoes and headed to the door.

"I can take you to your room", Charles got up from the bed and followed you.

"No need, my room is just downstairs", you reasoned, kissing his cheek in a silent thank you still.

"That's right - so we'll go tomorrow after breakfast?", he rested his body on the door once you opened it.

"Yes, that works for me! Good night, Charles", you smiled before walking up to the elevator.

Walking inside the hospitalitynwith Salvatore and the rest of the team, he was quick to show you where you could set up.

"Charles likes to spend as much time as possible with the fans and it's right about now that they start becoming more and more and they're everywhere, too", he explained as he helped you in the table on the lounge area, "there's food and coffee in there if you need anything", Salvatore smiled, "if you need anything, just ask someone".

"Thank you - this is perfect", you assured, sitting down and working on your laptop and reading some of the books you had bought.

Charles and Carlos finally arrived at the hospitality, greeting the team and talking to them for a while before they headed upstairs for a meeting.

"You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend and you were bringing her here", Carlos told Charles as he poured some coffee on a mug after the meeting.

"I don't - I haven't brought a girlfriend here", Charles quirked an eyebrow at his team-mate.

"So who is that young woman you just smiled at and are pouring coffee for after giving her the heart eyes?", it was the spanish driver's turn to raise his eyebrows.

"Oh, Y/N!", Charles smiled as he mentioned your name, "she's an old friend! Her father was a mechanic before he passed away a few years ago - the older team members have known her since she was little, everyone loves her", he mused.

"Everyone loves her - I can see that", Carlos chuckled as he followed Charles to the table.

"We don't want to interrupt or disturb you too much", Charles announced as he set the mug next to your laptop.

"It's fine, sit sit!", you encouraged as you closed the books you no longer needed to make room for them, "I'm Y/N", you told Carlos.

"I'm Carlos", he smiled back, "nice to meet you", he said before you dove into conversation, discussing anything that popped into your minds and getting to know eachother.

"Don't let her fool you into believing she has always been a responsible, put together girl because she used to steal and hide all of our tools!", Antonio, one of the engineers pointed at you after he got himself a bottle of water, "Charles knows her tricks already but you, Carlos, don't fall for that!".

"You loved it every time I was on the computers and drew on Paint! You even had one of my drawings as the background for almost an entire season!", you threw at him as he approached you, patting the top of your head protectively.

"I'd like to see that! I've only known her since she was way older", Charles pouted.

"Jealous much?", Carlos teased, his voice above a whisper as Charles seemed to get flustered.

"Is it really that obvious?", the monégasque driver mumbled once you got up to get something to eat, "I've had a crush on her since I was a development driver".

"Why have you never said anything? She seems like she really cares about you too", Carlos mused as he thought to a few moments before where you too gqve him heart eyes. He would have to be blind to not notice it, and even then the energy between you too would still be felt.

"The timing wasn't right, I guess - her father passed away almost right after as I became a driver for Alfa Romeo, and she hasn't been in the paddock since. We have texted every now and again over the years and now she happened to be here for the race too", Charles offered.

"I'd say you should take a shot - trust me, she likes you back", Carlos patted Charles' shoulder after getting up, watching you go back to the table with a big smile on your face.

After Charles took pole position in qualifying, the team stayed a bit longer for the debrief, going over a few points of the discussion and the changes they still needed to make before the race.

"Y/N! We're having dinner at one of our favourite restaurants in town and I'm counting you in, okay?", Charles said as he spotted you in the garage, followed by Andrea, who had been keeping you company along with his brothers, Charlotte and Pascale.

"Your family is here for you, Charles, I don't want to intrude", you said as you got up, unaware of the Leclerc matriarch behind you.

"Chérie, of course you won't be intruding - we'd love to have you there!", Pascale chirped in.

"Well, in that case...!", you smiled, "just tell me where I should go and at what time, or are we going straight there?", you wondered.

"I was thinking we could go straight there if that's okay with you - you can can come with me and Andrea can ride with my brothers", Charles suggested, "unless you need to go back to the hotel", he quickly scrambled.

"No, I'm fine! Unless this outfit is not restaurant appropriate", you muttered as you looked down. Against all odds, you managed to not get any food stains on your dress. It was a midi skirt cut, flowy to allow your body to feel cool considering the warm Italian day.

"It's fine - you're fine, you look beautiful!", Charles was quick to assure you.

"Good, that's good then", you smiled before excusing yourself to go and get your things.

"You have to tell her, Charles - your affection is no use to either of you if you keept it in here", Pascale tapped her son's chest.

"Y/N", Charles called you before he had to go and get ready for the race, "I have something for you - we do", he said as some of the mechanics, including Salvatore, followed him.

"Oh, what is it?", you smiled.

"We commented with some guys back at the factory that you were here with is this weekend and they found something we thought you'd like to have", Salvatore said as he handed you a bag.

Looking inside, you noticed an old Ferrari cap and some embroidered lettering on the side, recognising it immediately. When you were a teenager, you decided to try different hobbies and hand embroidery was the one that stuck the most, so much so that on one of the race weekends, you embroidered caps for everyone on the team that asked you.

"My wife remembered the one I have at home and then the guys at Maranello found your father's and apparently one you did for Charles' as well", Salvatore offered as you took them both out.

"Dad always said he had plenty of embroidered things at home and this one was the one he had to travel with him", you chuckled as tears welled up in your eyes, feeling Charles soothingly rub your back.

"I remember getting this and loving it - I thought I had lost it!", Charles said, unaware if how close he was pulling you together so he could get a peek at the old caps.

"There's some loose string here", you chuckled, wiping the tears and fiddling with the red thread, "I didn't know how to properly tie it at the start, I kept losing it - I think I even glued it down at some point. Thank you for bringing this out", you smiled.

"Would you mind if I wore this for the driver's parade?", Charles asked you.

"I was planning on wearing my dad's while I watched the race", you offered, testing the fabric and placing it on your head before doing the same with Charles, fixing it on his head and looking up at him.

You never got over how handsome he was. The little scar on his cheek, his mole, the smile that never failed to make you smile, his beautiful green eyes. His kindness, his gentleness, his talent - there wasn't a way to deny how much you liked it. How much you liked him.

"We will be matching then!", Charles squeezed you against him before going to his driver's room.

Only when Charles was headed to take P1 on the grid did he hand the cap back to Salvatore and put on his helmet, giving you a wink before he left.

"How are you feeling?", Pascale asked as she sat next to you to watch the race. Over the last couple of days, she had grown close to you, not only because you had captured her son's heart and she wanted to get to know you, but also because Charles had told her how emotionally charged it was for you to be at the track, in Monza nonetheless.

"It's a lot", you admitted, "everyone has been so kind and warm, so all of the heavy feelings have been slowly infiltrating the good ones and it's been easier to deal with them like that", you blinked away a few tears.

"I get it", Pascale nodded, "losing someone is not easy, and I can't imagine what it feels like for you - the boys and I talk about my late husband every now and again and it gets easier to talk about it, I think that's what it is anyway".

"Yes, definitely like that. My mum and I have reached the point where we don't cry at every mention - despite what you might have noticed this weekend", you chuckled.

"It's emotional, chérie - I, for one, always cry whenever the boys achieve their goals. Hervé isn't here to see them, but I know he knows, and the boys know how proud he is of them", Pascale smiled, keeping some tears at bay too.

"You raised amazing young men, don't doubt that", you let out. At this point, you were sure she had noticed or had at least an inkling. As any mechanic for the red team who knew you since you were a kid would say, you were never a good liar - anytime you said you didn't touch something, they knew to look in your backpack first.

"Thank you, dear", she added, "you know, Charles is quite careful in who he lets in, but he's never been good at hiding how much he cares about someone and I can tell he cares a great deal about you".

"I care a lot about him too", you smiled before you were handed a pair of headphones each with the race about to start.

When Charles successfully kept the cars behind him away with a good gap, you clapped and watched the remaining laps number get smaller and smaller until there was only the current lap left.

Charlotte held your hand together with hers as you watched Charles be the first driver to see the checkered flag and when Xavi yelled "And P1!" into the radio, you did your happy dance, not having a care in the world about what others thought as you watched the Tifosi erupt in cheer.

"He did it! He did it!", Pascale clapped for her son, Arthur hugging her while Lorenzo did the same with his girlfriend while you softly touched your father's embroidered name on your cap with your fingers.

Running up to Parc Fermé, you stood in the sea of red, waiting for him to come back and hug them.

"You did so well, congratulations!", you said as you pulled Charles for a hug.

"Had my good luck charm with me!", he smiled back, kissing your cheek as he took advantage of you being shielded by the mechanics and engineers.

The team celebratory dinner was going really well, everyone happy with how the weekend panned out with both drivers on the podium and enjoying the meal on the restaurant's outside patio.

"If you guys want dessert, they're going to set them out on that table and you can grab as much as you like", Fred spread the message as you could see all kinds of sweet foods being brought out, a pudding catching your eye along with some raspberries.

You and Charles got the dessert plates and served yourselves, noticing the staff was already clearing up the tables, meaning you'd have to move to the bar area, many people opting to skip dessert and get some drinks instead.

"You can see the stars so clearly tonight", you mused as you looked up at the sky, setting your plate on the high table.

"My father always said that the stars did shine brighter here, and tonight the sky is very clear", Charles hummed in agreement, looking at your face. The moonlight and the dim lighting for the lamps and fairy lights illuminated all your features perfectly - your smile as you looked up formed the dimples on your cheeks, your eyes that were a tiny bit squinty and the way your whole body seemed relaxed.

The goosebumps on your arms caught his eye though, "here, have this", Charles said as he offered you the cardigan he had carried around all night since according to him his mother made him do it because it would be cold.

"Thanks", you smiled as you pulled the sleeves and folded them around your wrist so they would fit better, "this is really comfy, I might steal this if you don't ask for it back", you joked.

"I don't mind if you keep it, you have had my heart all these years", Charles stated. There it was.

"What?", you faced him, heart beating fast inside your chest.

"It's true, I've had a crush on you since I first met you, and these past couple of days have been amazing, and I can't believe it took me all these years to realize how I truly feel about you Y/N", he told you, no stutter or sign of regret on his face.

"I haven't been around, really, it's my fault", you fiddled with your thumbs before looking at him again, "but I can't lose you again".

"You never lost me, amour", he smiled as his eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips, his hand cupping your cheek your mouth pressed on his, ignoring everything and everyone around you.

Interrupting the kiss for air, Charles giggled as you hid your face in his neck once you heard the cheers and whistles, your lashes tickling him as his arms circled your waist and pulled you closer to him.

"He wins inside the track and outside of it, Charles Leclerc, P1 to Y/N's heart!", Carlos shouted before whistling again.

"Just so you know, I want an invite to your wedding!", Salvatore pointed his finger at you, "I still remember when you invited me for your wedding with Vettel!".

"You and Seb?", Charles chuckled once you pulled away from his neck.

"Sebastian was my favourite when I was little", you giggled, hiding your face on Charles' chest this time, "when he was back in RedBull still, I asked my father to ask him if he could take a photo with me and I cherished that for so many years - it was my most prized possession!".

"I can't promise you Seb, but I can promise you the very best of me", Charles said as he kissed the top of your head.

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