#I made that banner in like 1 second

[diamonddaze01]

Full Throttle (ii)

pairing: ferrari driver!yoon jeonghan x journalist!reader chapter wc: 16.7K (dont look at me)genre: humor, fluff, angst, smut (?) au: f1 au (i am sorry i am a nerd abt this) rating: m (MINORS DNI)warnings: SLOW BURNNN. mentions of injuries, car crashes // unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT), some nipple-play, vaguely (?) rough (?) sex, begging

PREQUELS: would highly recommend reading On the Record and Off the Record to gain some context into the relationship! This fic starts directly after the end of Off the Record 

a/n: ok pt 2 here we gooooo! to kae @ylangelegy , who hasn't read the ending of this because they wanted to be surprised. i love you, im sorry, i love you // to alta @haologram , who hyped me up so much and made me feel so much better about my writing // thank you to lola @monamipencil and haneul @chanranghaeys for beta-reading! // and finally, an ENORMOUS thank you to jupiter @cheolism for the banner!

read part 1 here.

FORMULA 1 PIRELLI GRAN PREMIO D’ITALIA 2024 Track: Autodromo Nazionale Monza

Monza, the Temple of Speed. The track that had seen countless legends, where every tire mark told a story of glory and heartache. The crowd—the tifosi—roared like a living entity, their chants filling the air, demanding greatness from Ferrari’s finest. It wasn’t just a race here, it was a pilgrimage. The heat of Italy in late summer mixed with the electric atmosphere of a home Grand Prix, and Jeonghan could feel it all—the energy, the expectation, the weight of a thousand eyes on him.

The Autodromo Nazionale Monza was a track built on speed, but more than that, it was a track built on history. The sweeping curves, the long straights, the iconic Parabolica that would make or break a driver—it was a place where only the brave thrived, and only the strongest survived. Jeonghan knew the stakes: it wasn’t enough to be fast, not when you were wearing Ferrari red. He had to win, not just for himself, but for the tifosi, who saw him as their golden boy. He had to deliver.

As the weekend progressed, he couldn’t escape the growing weight on his shoulders. His performance was scrutinized with every passing second. In the pits, the team’s eyes were on him, hoping for that perfect lap. The techs, the engineers, the strategists—all working in harmony, hoping that Jeonghan would be the one to pull them across the finish line, but in the back of his mind, Jeonghan kept hearing the unspoken truth: nothing less than pole would suffice. Anything less was a failure.

He felt his pulse quicken as the qualifying session wore on, his concentration laser-sharp, every move calculated. But the tire strategy wasn’t perfect, and as the final moments ticked down, the truth settled over him like a cloud of doom. He was not going to make Q3. Neither was Soonyoung. The agony of it slammed into him like a punch to the gut.

The Ferrari garage was quiet, save for the hum of the engines being powered down. Soonyoung clapped him on the shoulder, a small gesture, but Jeonghan could see the frustration in his eyes, the mirror of his own defeat. The disappointment felt like a heavy weight on Jeonghan’s chest, suffocating, and he couldn’t shake it off. He couldn’t even look at the team, let alone the tifosi waiting outside.

The mood around the paddock was tense as Jeonghan left the garage, still in his race suit. The world felt unreal, as though it were in slow motion. He couldn’t escape it. The tifosi would be waiting to cheer their heroes, but today, he hadn’t been the hero they wanted. He was just another failure in a sea of victories that had come before him. He needed to escape it, to clear his mind.

It was then, as he walked toward his motorhome, that he felt it—a small, electric connection. Your hand brushed against his.

He froze.

Your presence was like a balm, soothing the sharp sting of defeat, but it also distracted him. The familiar, intoxicating scent of your shampoo, something floral and faintly sweet, hit him like a memory, and his heart skipped a beat. That scent, mixed with the lingering tension of the day, flooded his senses. He couldn’t look at you, couldn’t form words. All he could think about was that fleeting moment—so close—and the ridiculous notion that he had never noticed how desperately he wanted to be closer to you.

You didn’t stop walking either, your movements fluid, confident. But he couldn’t help the way his eyes followed you, the way the tension built with every step.

Without a word, you both continued on, the space between you shrinking until you finally spoke. Your voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, something that told him you understood more than he let on.

“Tough luck out there,” you said, a hint of sympathy in your tone.

The words were simple, but they hit harder than he expected. His chest tightened as he swallowed. “It’s... whatever,” he muttered, trying to brush it off. He didn’t have the energy to care.

You glanced at his fist, clenched so tightly it was almost painful to watch. “Doesn’t seem like ‘whatever’ to me,” you countered, raising an eyebrow, your words cutting through the fog in his mind.

He let out a small, mirthless chuckle. “I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice more convincing than he felt. But even as he said it, he knew. He wouldn’t be fine—not until he had redeemed himself, not until he could prove to the world that he was still Ferrari’s shining star. He had to be.

But for now, there was a fleeting connection between the two of you, and it was the only thing that made his heart skip, even if just for a moment.

The race was an uphill battle from the start, as expected. Jeonghan’s starting position was far from ideal, and the track ahead was a maze of cars, each one blocking his path, each one a reminder of the high stakes. The pressure weighed on him heavily, like an invisible force that squeezed the air from his lungs. It wasn’t just about the race, it was about redemption. The tifosi—his tifosi—filled his mind with a deafening chant, a roar of expectation, as if they were willing victory into existence. The weight of their adoration and their demand for perfection followed him, a constant reminder of the legacy he carried.

But Jeonghan had never been one to back down. The track felt like an extension of himself, the tires gripping, the engine vibrating beneath him, urging him to push. Even with traffic clogging his way, he found openings. He fought for every inch of track, his movements sharp, instinctive, like a surgeon making precise cuts. Overtaking felt almost effortless—his car slipping through gaps with the grace of a dancer. He was fluid, controlled, never losing sight of the goal.

As the laps unfolded, his nerves sharpened, but so did his focus. The aggressive strategy that had been laid out for him was beginning to pay off. He was making up ground, inching forward, climbing the ladder of positions one battle at a time. The thought of the tifosi cheering, of their voices blending into one thunderous symphony, drove him. They believed in him. He had to deliver. His mind cleared. He no longer heard the roaring crowds, the whirling thoughts of doubt. All that mattered was the track, the tires, and the roar of the engine beneath him. The conditions became his advantage—he thrived in this chaos.

Through the speed-trap corners, Jeonghan carved his way through the field. The world outside the cockpit blurred into a haze, his focus narrowing into sharp precision. He saw every gap, every opportunity, and he seized them without hesitation. The rain had turned the race into a dance of risk and control, and Jeonghan was leading the waltz.

Crossing the finish line first, Jeonghan allowed himself a single moment of release. The victory wasn’t just for him—it was for Ferrari, for the tifosi, for everything that had been building in his chest since the first day he’d strapped into the car. He had done it. He had delivered.

The roar of the crowd felt like an affirmation of his own heart, beating in time with the cheers of thousands. In that moment, the weight lifted off him, replaced by an overwhelming surge of satisfaction and relief. He had proven himself once again, and it was more sweet than any victory lap could ever capture. The tifosi were wild, their cheers ringing through the air, a thunderous confirmation of what Jeonghan had already known in his heart: this was his race. This was his victory.

After the podium celebrations, the champagne-soaked cheers, and the endless barrage of media questions, Jeonghan finally managed to steal a moment of solitude. His body was spent, muscles aching, his throat raw from the adrenaline-fueled roar that had escaped him as he crossed the finish line. And yet, his mind wasn’t on the race anymore. Not on the points, not on the tifosi.

It was on you.

The fleeting brush of your hand earlier lingered like a phantom touch, a warmth that refused to fade even as the hours passed. The memory of your scent—the subtle floral notes of your shampoo—clung to him, more grounding than the overwhelming chaos of the Monza circuit.

He walked toward his motorhome, each step feeling heavier now that the adrenaline had begun to wane. The din of the paddock was fading, replaced by the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat in his ears. The glow of the overhead lights cast long shadows, and as he turned the corner, there you were. Waiting for him. Leaning casually against the side of his motorhome, your arms crossed and a knowing smirk dancing on your lips. His footsteps slowed as his eyes locked onto yours, the soft gleam of your smile both a challenge and an invitation.

“You’re late,” you teased, tilting your head in mock disapproval.

Jeonghan huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he approached. “Didn’t realize I was on a schedule.”

“You’re always on a schedule,” you shot back, your tone light but your gaze sharp. “Besides, I thought you’d be faster off track too.”

His smirk deepened as he stopped in front of you, close enough that the scent of champagne and adrenaline clung to him. “Big words for someone who’s hanging around my motorhome.”

“Big win for someone who barely made it out of Q2,” you quipped, the corner of your mouth twitching upward.

Jeonghan’s chuckle was low, almost indulgent. “Touché.”

There was a moment of silence, the din of the paddock fading into a distant hum. His eyes traced your face, noting the way your lashes cast faint shadows on your cheekbones, the way you seemed perfectly at ease under his scrutiny. That unnerved him more than he cared to admit. You’d always been too good at staying cool, keeping him on edge.

“So,” he finally said, leaning casually against the doorframe, “where’s your article? Shouldn’t it be out by now?”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Oh, you think I’m done? I’m holding out for an exclusive.”

Jeonghan’s grin widened, his ego soaking up your words. “An exclusive? From the tifosi’s god?”

Your laugh was soft, teasing, and it sent a warmth through his chest that rivaled the rush of the race. “Your words, not mine.”

“You want a headline that bad?” His voice dropped, his tone dipping into something darker, something that made the air between you shift.

“Maybe,” you replied, your voice steady despite the way he was looking at you now—like he was ready to devour you whole. “But you’d have to give me something worth writing about.”

It was playful, the banter you always shared, but there was something crackling beneath the surface tonight, an electricity neither of you could ignore. Jeonghan stepped closer, his presence swallowing the space between you. You shifted back instinctively, your spine meeting the cool surface of the motorhome door.

“You always have something to say, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low, intimate.

“Someone has to keep you grounded,” you shot back, though your voice wavered slightly as his hand braced against the door beside your head, caging you in. His other hand hovered near your hip, close enough to make you hyper-aware of the heat radiating off him.

“Grounded?” he repeated, his lips curling into a slow, predatory smile. “You’re doing a great job of that.”

Your heart was pounding now, the proximity, the tension—it was overwhelming. “Jeonghan,” you started, your voice quieter, more measured, “this… this isn’t professional.”

“Fuck being professional,” he said, the words slipping out like a confession. Before you could respond, his fingers tilted your jaw, firm but not rough, guiding you to look up at him.

And then his lips were on yours, capturing them in a kiss that was as fierce as it was unrelenting. It wasn’t sweet or tentative—it was raw, all the tension and frustration that had built up between you spilling over in a single, consuming moment. His hand slid to the nape of your neck, anchoring you to him as if he was afraid you might pull away.

But you didn’t. You kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands finding the front of his race suit, clutching the material as if to steady yourself. The world around you blurred into nothing; there was only the warmth of his mouth, the taste of him, the way he kissed like he was claiming something he’d wanted for far too long.

Jeonghan’s breath hitched as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours for something—confirmation, permission, anything. Whatever he found made him grin, wicked and hungry. Without a word, he reached for the door handle, pushing it open with a sharp motion. The door swung wide, and then his hands were on you again, pulling you inside. 

The door clicked shut behind you, plunging you both into the dim interior of the motorhome. Jeonghan's hands were everywhere at once, tracing the curve of your waist, sliding up your back, tangling in your hair. His lips found yours again, more urgent this time, as if he couldn't bear to be separated from you for even a moment.

You stumbled backward, your legs hitting the edge of the small couch. Jeonghan followed, never breaking contact, until you were lying beneath him, the leather cool against your heated skin. His weight pressed you down, a delicious pressure that made your head spin.

"God, I've wanted this for so long," he breathed against your neck, his words punctuated by hot, open-mouthed kisses that trailed down to your collarbone.

You arched into him, your hands fumbling with the zipper of his race suit. Your fingers trembled slightly as you tugged it down and yanked off his fireproofs, revealing more of his sweat-slicked skin. Jeonghan groaned against your throat as your hands slipped inside, exploring the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen.

"How long?" you managed to ask between ragged breaths, curiosity mingling with desire.

Jeonghan lifted his head, his eyes dark and intense as they locked onto yours. "Since the first time you interviewed me," he admitted, his voice low and husky. "The way you challenged me, saw right through my bullshit... I knew I was in trouble."

The confession sent a thrill through you, and you pulled him down for another searing kiss. Your tongues danced as his hands roamed your body, pushing up your shirt to caress the soft skin beneath. You gasped into his mouth as his thumb brushed the underside of your breast.

Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging gently as you deepened the kiss. Jeonghan groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. His hand slid lower, tracing the curve of your hip before gripping your thigh, hitching it up around his waist. 

“So what you’re saying,” you whispered, grinding your clothed cunt against him. “Is that you’ve been obsessed with me as long as I have with you.”

He drops his head and groans, hot and heavy, against your throat. “You’re telling me we could have been doing this for three years?”

You pull him back to your lips by his hair, relishing the way he hisses at your touch. “If only you’d put your money where your mouth is, pretty boy.”

At that, he props himself up above you, grinning like the cat that got the canary. “I knew you called me pretty in Japan!” 

You desperately claw at his shoulders in an attempt to bring his mouth back to yours. After three years of cat and mouse, you do believe you’re entitled to it. “Jeonghan, I swear to everything that is holy-”

“Say it.” His necklace hangs in front of you, glinting in the dim light of the motorhome. You have half a mind to crane your neck and take it with your teeth. But instead, you choose to stare up at him in mock confusion, fingers dancing at the nape of his neck. 

“Say what?”

His answering laugh mocks you a little, and he leans down to gently bite your earlobe. When he speaks, it’s low and deep. “Say I’m pretty. I know you think it when you’re drunk.”

You shiver at the sensation of his teeth grazing your ear, heat pooling in your core. His words make you flush, remembering all the times you'd drunkenly gushed about him to your friends. You'd always been careful to keep things professional in person, but apparently some of your true feelings had slipped out.

"And how would you know what I think when I'm drunk?" you challenge, trying to regain some control.

Jeonghan chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. "You're not the only one with sources in the paddock, sweetheart."

The pet name sends another thrill through you. You decide to give him what he wants, if only to move things along. "Fine," you breathe, trailing your fingers down his chest. "You're pretty, Jeonghan. Gorgeous, actually. Happy now?"

His grin is triumphant as he captures your lips again, the kiss deep and consuming. "Ecstatic, darling," he murmurs against your mouth.

Your hands roam his body, tracing the lean muscles of his back, feeling them flex under your touch. Jeonghan's fingers dance along your sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He breaks the kiss to nip at your jaw, then your neck, drawing a soft moan from your lips.

"You know," he says between kisses, his voice low and husky, "I've imagined this so many times. On the couch in the media room, in the garage, during those long interviews..."

You gasp as he finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck. "Is that why you always fidget so much during our talks?"

He chuckles against your skin. "Guilty as charged."

Your hands find the waistband of his fireproofs, , but as one hand curls around your jaw, the other stops you. 

“You first,” he breathes, sitting back on his knees to gently urge you out of your shirt.

You lift your arms, allowing him to peel your shirt off slowly, his eyes drinking in every inch of newly exposed skin. The cool air of the motorhome raises goosebumps on your flesh, but Jeonghan's heated gaze makes you feel like you're burning up.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the lace edge of your bra. "Even better than I imagined."

You reach up to pull him back down to you, craving the warmth of his body against yours. As your lips meet again, his hands roam your sides, mapping out every curve and dip. You arch into his touch, desperate for more.

His hands brush over your clothed nipple, and you inhale sharply. The sound makes Jeonghan raise his head, a faint smirk dancing across his lips. “Sensitive, are we?” He coos, hands drawing shapes against the swell of your breasts until goosebumps erupt on your flesh.

Your breath hitches as his fingers tease you though the thin fabric of your bra. “Jeonghan,” you breathe, half-warning, half-plea.

His smirk widens as he lowers his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. "Yes, sweetheart?" He murmurs against your skin. His lips trail lower, ghosting over the lacework.

You arch your back, silently begging for more. Jeonghan obliges, his tongue darting out to trace the lace edge of your bra. Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you hold him close.

With deft fingers, he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra. You lift slightly, allowing him to slide it off. His eyes darken as he takes you in. You moan wantonly, arching your back in an effort to touch you - somewhere, anywhere.

“Jeonghan, please-”

A singular finger traces the curve of your waist up to your collarbone. He hums as you squirm. “Look at you,” he murmurs. You shriek as he pinches your waist. “You act so big in the paddock, and here you are, begging for me to touch you.”

It enrages you a little, how easily he takes you apart. Hell, he’s barely even touched you and you’re already rubbing your thighs together, desperate for any amount of friction.

"Jeonghan, please," you gasp, not even sure what you're begging for. More? Less? Everything?

He lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours. The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch. "Tell me what you want," he says, his voice low and commanding.

You swallow hard, and the heat pooling between your legs feels hot enough to burn. “Y-your-”

“My what, baby?” His words are punctuated by hot, open mouthed kisses against your collarbones. He pointedly ignores your nipples, a thought that makes you whine. “Speak up.”

“Your mouth, Jeonghan,” you finally get out, hissing when his teeth find purchase on the skin of your neck.

“Yeah? Where, baby?” His hands fit themselves against the curve of your waist. “Here?”

“N-no,” you hate it, the way Jeonghan turns you into a whimpering mess. You shiver as his hands trail up your body.

“Hm…how about…here?” His thumbs brush against the underside of your breast again, and you arch your back, desperate and aching for him.

“Higher,” you breathe, mesmerized by the way his fingers dance up your body, by the way his eyes never leave yours.

“Here, baby?” His fingers tweak an already-hard nipple, and you gasp.

“Yes, please-”

“Say I’m a good driver, sweetheart, and I’ll give you what you want.”

Your eyes snap open, narrowing at him in disbelief. Even now, with you half-naked and writhing beneath him, he can't help but tease. "You're kidding, right?"

Jeonghan's grin is wicked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Not at all. Come on, darling. Just a few little words."

You bite your lip, torn between your pride and your desperate need for his touch. His thumb circles your nipple lazily, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Finally, you cave. "Fine," you breathe. "You're a good driver, Jeonghan. The best, even. Now please—"

Before you can finish, his mouth is on your breast, hot and wet. You cry out, arching into him as his tongue swirls around your nipple. His hand kneads your other breast, fingers teasing your other nipple. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close as he lavishes attention on your breasts. Jeonghan's tongue and teeth work in tandem, drawing gasps and moans from your lips. The sensations are overwhelming, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

"God, Jeonghan," you breathe, your head falling back against the couch cushions.

He hums against your skin, the vibration sending another shiver through you. His free hand trails down your stomach, fingers dancing along the waistband of your pants. You lift your hips instinctively, silently begging for more.

Jeonghan lifts his head, his eyes dark with desire as they meet yours. "Tell me you want this," he says, his voice husky and low. "I need to hear you say it."

You nod frantically, your breath coming in short gasps. "Yes," you breathe, your voice filled with need. "I want this. I want you, Jeonghan."

His eyes darken further at your words, a low growl escaping his throat. In one swift motion, he unbuttons your pants and slides them down your legs, taking your underwear with them. You kick them off eagerly, now fully bare beneath him.

Jeonghan's gaze rakes over your body, hungry and appreciative. "Beautiful," he murmurs, his hands skimming up your thighs. "So fucking beautiful."

You reach for him, tugging at the fireproofs still clinging to his hips. "Your turn," you say, your voice breathy with anticipation.

He grins, standing to shuck off the rest of his clothes. Your eyes widen as he reveals himself fully, drinking in the sight of his toned body. Jeonghan's grin widened as he caught you staring. "Like what you see?" he teased, his voice low and husky.

You nod, unable to form words as your eyes roam his body. The lean muscles of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his hipbones, the impressive length of his cock standing proud against his stomach - it was all even better than you'd imagined.

He chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?"

That snapped you out of your daze. "Shut up and get back here," you growl, reaching for him.

Jeonghan obliges, lowering himself back onto the couch and covering your body with his. You gasp at the feeling of skin on skin, the heat of his body against yours. His lips find yours in a searing kiss as his hands explore every curve and dip of your body. When his fingers finally brush against your core, you gasp into his mouth, your hips bucking involuntarily.

“So wet,” he murmurs against your lips. “All for me?”

"Yes," you breathe, your hips rolling against his hand. "All for you."

Jeonghan's fingers explore your folds, teasing and mapping out every sensitive spot. When he finally slides a finger inside you, you moan loudly, your back arching off the couch. He sets a slow, torturous pace, curling his finger just right to hit that spot inside you that makes you see stars.

"More," you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders. "Please, Jeonghan."

He obliges, adding a second finger and increasing his pace. His thumb finds your clit, circling it in tight, precise movements that have you writhing beneath him. You can feel the tension building in your core, a coiling heat that threatens to consume you. Your hands scramble for purchase against his shoulders – you’re too drunk on lust to recognize if you’re pushing him away because it’s too much or pulling him closer because it’s not nearly enough. 

"That's it, baby," Jeonghan murmurs, his voice low and encouraging. "Let go for me.”

His words push you over the edge, and you come with a cry, your body arching off the couch as waves of pleasure wash over you. Jeonghan works you through it, his fingers never stopping their relentless rhythm until you're trembling and oversensitive.

As you come down from your high, Jeonghan peppers soft kisses along your jaw and neck. "Beautiful," he murmurs against your skin. "You're so beautiful when you let go."

You're still catching your breath when you feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh. Your hand snakes between your bodies, wrapping around his cock. Jeonghan hisses at the contact, his hips jerking involuntarily.

"Fuck," he groans, his forehead resting against yours. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

"Show me," you breathe, thumb brushing over the tip of his pre-cum slick cock. You relish the way he shudders against you. “Show me everything you imagined, pretty boy.”

He preens a little at your teasing words, arms shaking with the exertion of keeping himself above you. “Yeah?” he purrs, hips bucking to the tempo of your hand. “You wanna see, sweetheart?”

You barely have the time to nod before he’s sweeping his arms under your thighs and sitting back against the couch, setting you on top of him. Your wet heat is inches from his weeping cock, and you give him an experimental roll of your hips. The friction is delicious, and you bite your lips at the way his head rolls back.

You take advantage of his position and press hot kisses against his neck as he squirms below you.

“This is what you wanted, baby?” you whisper against his ear, biting gently. He shudders, one arm circling your waist and the other finding purchase in your hair. “You wanted me on top? Me in control?” 

He laughs breathlessly at that, hips grinding against yours with such fervour that you almost succumb right then and there. “You might be on top, sweetheart,” he hisses as you position yourself above him, one hand circling his length. “But I’m the one in char-”

He cuts himself off with a strangled moan as you sink down until your hips are flush to his. “Hmmm?” You hum sweetly against his throat, exhaling at the sheer size of him inside you. “What was that?”

“Fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back against the couch as his hands trail down to rest on the curve of your ass. “Move, please, sweetheart.” 

“Tell me how much you love my writing.” The words leave you in a rush, the sight of him panting for you almost too heady to ignore. You hadn’t planned on teasing him, but his earlier words had lit a fire in your core that would only be doused once you flipped the script on him. 

His head is still on the back of the couch as he barks out a laugh. “You’re a fucking menace,” he murmurs, pinching your waist. “Now, move.”

“No.” It takes every bone in your body to stay absolutely still. You can feel him, thick and throbbing, and the thought of it makes you almost forgo this insanity to ride him into oblivion.

His eyes meet yours, and he raises his eyebrows in mock outrage. “Are you serious?” He punctuates his words by dragging a hand down your body, fingers finding your clit and pressing until you jerk away from him. It’s a futile attempt though, because his other hand is still fisted in your hair, and he uses it as leverage to hold you against him, powerless against his ministrations. 

With a shaking hand, your press against his wrist until his fingers stop moving in circles around your clit. “C-come on,” you tease breathlessly, using your other hand to thread through his sweat-soaked hair and yanking until he bares his throat to you with a groan. “Play nice, pretty boy. Tell me how much you love my writing.” 

He groans again as you lick a stripe up his throat, the hand in your hair loosening as his resolve weakens. “Y-you don’t play fair,” he moans, legs shaking with the exertion of keeping still, of playing your little game of cat and mouse. 

“Neither do you,” you whisper, your words paired with a tweak to his nipple that has him gasping and arching his back. 

“Fuck!” He cries out, curling forward until his chin rests against your ribs and he’s staring up at you. “Y-your writing is perfect.”

He’s rewarded with another gentle tug on his hair and a firm, “keep going.”

“S-so perfect and wonderful, I – fuck, baby please – read every word th-three times,” he’s almost whimpering now, looking up at you with so much desire that you decide it’s time to reward him for being so pliant, so good for you. “You-you’re the best writer in the whole paddock, fuck, yes, thank yo-”

You decide to put him out of his misery, preening at his praise, you start with an experimental grind against his hips, and watch with glee as he almost melts back against the couch. You decide to take advantage of the situation for a little while longer, rocking your hips faster as his lips find your nipple.

“Who’s in charge?” you coo, fingers gripping his hair a little tighter. He draws back to give you a quick smirk. They don’t call him the fastest on the grid for nothing – one second, you feel like you’re in complete control, and the next, he’s lifting you off of him with surprising ease. Your chest meets the couch before you can even form a single thought, and Jeonghan gathers up your wrists in one of his hands. 

“You really thought,” he hisses as he re-enters your aching pussy. “You were in charge, sweetheart?”

The new angle allows him to sink even deeper inside you, drawing a low moan from your lips.

"You were saying?" he purrs, chest pressed against your back, his breath hot on your neck as he sets a punishing pace. Each thrust drives the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping and whimpering beneath him.

"You thought you could tease me like that and get away with it?" he groans, his free hand gripping your hip tightly. "Thought you could make me beg?"

You can only moan in response, overwhelmed by the sensation of him pounding into you relentlessly. The couch creaks beneath you dangerously.

"Answer me," Jeonghan demands, slowing his pace torturously.

"J-Jeonghan," you manage to stammer, your voice muffled against the cushions.

He leans over you, his chest pressed against your back as he whispers in your ear. "What was that, sweetheart? I couldn't quite hear you."

You turn your head, meeting his intense gaze over your shoulder. "Please," you whimper.

“Please what?” He demands.

"Please," you gasp, struggling to form coherent thoughts as Jeonghan's hips continue their torturously slow pace. "Please, I need more."

His low chuckle sends shivers down your spine. "More what, baby? Use your words. You’re so good with words, aren’t you?"

You whine in frustration, trying to push back against him, seeking the friction you desperately crave. But his grip on your hip is firm, holding you in place.

"Fuck me," you finally manage to choke out. "Please, Jeonghan, fuck me harder."

"There we go," he purrs, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Was that so hard?"

Before you can retort, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside you. You cry out at the sudden fullness, your fingers clawing at the couch cushions.

Jeonghan sets a punishing pace, each thrust driving you further into the couch cushions. The hand not holding your wrists snakes around to find your clit, rubbing tight circles that have you seeing stars.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Jeonghan groans, his breath hot against your neck. "So tight, so perfect for me."

You moan at his words, feeling the familiar coil of heat building in your core. "J-Jeonghan," you whimper, "I'm close..."

"That's it, baby," he encourages, his fingers working faster against your clit. "Come for me. Let me feel you."

Every part of your body is on fire, from the way Jeonghan's hips press against yours to the way his fingers expertly stroke your clit.

You come with a cry, your body shaking as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your inner walls clench around him, drawing a deep groan from Jeonghan.

He doesn't slow his pace, fucking you through your orgasm and pushing you towards another. You're oversensitive, every nerve ending on fire, but the pleasure is too intense to resist.

"God, you're perfect," Jeonghan pants, his rhythm becoming erratic. "So fucking perfect."

You feel his thrusts becoming more desperate, his breathing ragged against your neck. "Come on, Jeonghan," you manage to gasp out.

"Come for me," you urge him, clenching around him deliberately.

With a guttural groan, Jeonghan's hips stutter and he comes, spilling inside you as his body shudders with release. The feeling of him pulsing within you sends you over the edge again, and you cry out, trembling beneath him.

For a long moment, the only sound in the motorhome is your combined heavy breathing. Jeonghan releases your wrists and gently pulls out, causing you both to wince at the sensitivity. 

Jeonghan collapses onto the couch beside you, his body warm and solid as he pulls you into his arms. The weight of him, the feeling of his heartbeat drumming against your cheek, is grounding. You curl into his chest, letting the rise and fall of his breathing lull you into a rare moment of stillness. His fingers trace lazy patterns across your back, the movements unhurried, almost absentminded, as if he can’t bear to stop touching you just yet.

“Well,” he says finally, his voice rough and lower than usual, laced with satisfaction. “I think that was worth the wait.”

You huff a laugh, the sound barely audible over the soft thrum of life outside the motorhome. “Of course you do,” you mutter, your cheek pressed against the hard planes of his chest, which smells faintly of sweat, champagne, and something uniquely Jeonghan.

His fingers pause their tracing for a moment, as though considering his next move, before starting again, this time slower and more deliberate. “Admit it,” he murmurs, his tone teasing, though softer now, quieter, like the vulnerability from before hadn’t completely left. “You’ve been thinking about this as much as I have.”

You tilt your head up, catching the faint glow of the ceiling light reflected in his eyes. They’re darker now, warmer, but still full of that infuriating smugness. Your lips twitch in defiance as you fight the urge to smile. “What makes you so sure I was thinking about it at all?”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, a lock of hair falling across his forehead in a way that’s unfairly distracting. His grin is sharp and unrelenting. “You’re terrible at lying.”

“Am not,” you fire back, though your tone lacks any real conviction. The way his fingers continue their soft, languid exploration of your back doesn’t help.

“Okay,” he says, clearly enjoying himself as he leans his head back against the couch. “So when you cornered me after qualifying that one time in Japan two years ago, that wasn’t because you couldn’t stop staring at me in my race suit?”

You gape at him, your body jerking upright just enough to glare at him properly. “I cornered you because I wanted a quote, you egomaniac.” You punctuate the accusation with a half-hearted swat at his arm.

He catches your wrist easily, his grip firm but gentle, and intertwines his fingers with yours. The warmth of his hand against yours is distracting, and it takes all your willpower not to lose focus. “Oh, you got a quote, all right,” he counters, his laughter bubbling up like he’s savoring every second of your indignation. “Admit it—you’ve been counting the days.”

You roll your eyes, the movement dramatic, though the warmth blooming in your chest betrays you. “And if I was?”

Jeonghan’s grin softens at your words, the sharp edges smoothing out into something quieter, something vulnerable. He lifts a hand to your face, his fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. “Then I’d say it was worth the wait,” he says, his voice lower now, more intimate.

The air between you shifts, heavier now, the teasing replaced by something else entirely. His gaze locks on yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades—the low hum of the paddock outside, the faint creak of the motorhome settling. All that exists is him, his hand still resting near your face, and the weight of his words hanging between you.

Your throat feels tight, and you clear it quickly, trying to shake off the spell he’s cast over you. “Don’t let it go to your head,” you mutter, shifting slightly to put some distance between you.

“Too late,” he replies with a ghost of a smirk, leaning back lazily against the couch. His arm stretches along the back of the cushions, the casual sprawl of his posture somehow making him seem even more confident. Then, with an easy grace that feels entirely unfair, he leans forward and plucks something from the coffee table. “By the way, your article? It’s still late.”

You blink at him, incredulous, before groaning and burying your face in your hands. “Now you care about professionalism?”

Jeonghan shrugs, holding out his hand as if offering you an invisible microphone, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Exclusive with the winner of Monza? Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

You peek at him through your fingers, shaking your head with a laugh that’s half exasperation, half affection. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he counters, his voice softening again as he leans forward to press a kiss to your temple. His lips linger there, warm and reassuring, before he pulls back just enough to look at you again. “But I’ll let you pretend for a little while.”

Jeonghan’s arms tighten around you as the laughter fades into a comfortable quiet. The warmth of his hand on your back and the steady rhythm of his breathing are grounding, but your thoughts won’t stop spinning. You tilt your head up to look at him, searching his expression for something you can’t quite name.

“What?” he asks softly, his tone warm but teasing. His fingers brush over the curve of your shoulder, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

“What… what are we now?” you ask, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. They hang in the air between you, vulnerable and raw.

Jeonghan’s gaze doesn’t waver. His thumb brushes your cheek with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten. “We’re whatever you want to be, sweetheart,” he says simply, his voice low and full of something too deep to name.

You feel your heart stutter, the weight of his words sinking into you. “Can we…” You hesitate, the vulnerability of the moment making your voice falter. “Can we take it slow?”

For a second, he just blinks at you, and then the corners of his mouth lift into that infuriatingly familiar smirk. “Take it slow? After you just made me beg?” He chuckles, the sound soft but undeniably teasing. “You’re full of surprises.”

Your face heats instantly, and you swat at his shoulder, your embarrassment overridden by his smugness. “Shut up.”

Jeonghan catches your wrist before you can retreat, his laughter fading as he shifts closer, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m kidding,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. The mischief in his eyes melts into something gentler, something that makes your breath catch. “I’ll wait as long as you want.”

You glance at him, your walls crumbling under the weight of his sincerity. “It’s just…” You trail off, trying to find the right words, the weight of reality settling in around you. “Our careers, the season… It’s a lot. I don’t want to mess this up, not with everything else happening.”

Jeonghan’s expression softens even further, the teasing flicker in his eyes replaced by understanding. “I get it,” he says quietly. His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “I’ve waited three years to feel this close to you. What’s forever if it means I get to do it right?”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, equal parts devastating and beautiful. You close your eyes for a moment, letting them sink in, before leaning forward to press your lips to his—soft, brief, but full of everything you can’t quite bring yourself to say.

When you pull back, Jeonghan’s smile is softer than you’ve ever seen it, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he gazes at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at.

“No pressure, though,” he adds after a beat, his teasing tone returning as his grin widens. “Unless you’re writing a follow-up article about me being the world’s most patient man.”

You groan, burying your face in his chest as he laughs, the sound rich and warm. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, but you love me for it,” he counters, his hand sliding back to your hair, cradling you close.

And maybe you do. Maybe you always have.

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS AZERBAIJAN GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Baku City Circuit

The streets of Baku were as much a character in the race as any driver—a stunning clash of history and modernity, where medieval walls stood beside glimmering skyscrapers. The track was notorious for its tight corners and long straights, a playground of risk and reward. Jeonghan knew every inch of it like it was an old rival, one he had to best to keep his championship hopes alive.

Qualifying was tight—Jeonghan secured P2, just behind Mingyu. "He’s fast," Jeonghan muttered to you that evening, the weight of the competition clear in his voice. But there was no self-doubt, just the quiet calculation that always preceded his brilliance.

Race day was a spectacle. Jeonghan’s precision through the castle section was breathtaking, and when the opportunity came to pass Mingyu on the long straight during the final stint, he didn’t hesitate. The roar of the tifosi—echoing even in Azerbaijan—followed him as he crossed the line first. The team’s radio had erupted with cheers as Jeonghan crossed the finish line, and when you saw him after the podium ceremony, his champagne-damp hair and triumphant smile had made your heart skip a beat.

Later, after the media frenzy, Jeonghan pulls you aside. "Come on," he says with a conspiratorial grin, grabbing your hand. "You didn’t think I’d let you leave Baku without exploring, did you?"

The cobblestone streets of Baku feel like something out of a postcard. The sun is just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the historic Old City. Jeonghan walks beside you, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he gestures to the buildings with a sense of wonder that’s rare to see in him.

“How do you know all this?” you ask, genuinely curious as he points out the Maiden Tower and recounts its legends with surprising accuracy.

He grins, tilting his head in that maddeningly charming way. “What, you thought I only studied race strategies? I’ve got layers, sweetheart.” He insists on taking cheesy tourist photos, including one where he pretends to be a knight defending you at the city walls.

“I could be your knight in shining armor,” he teases, holding his imaginary sword aloft.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re already Ferrari’s golden boy,” you shoot back, snapping the photo anyway. “Isn’t that enough?” 

He’s good at this—whisking you away from the chaos of the paddock and making you forget, even if just for a moment, that the world is watching him.

Now, as you wander the streets of Baku, he’s more relaxed, his usual playful demeanor slipping into something softer. You pause in front of a street vendor selling intricate souvenirs, and Jeonghan picks up a small, hand-carved wooden box.

“For your desk,” he says simply, handing it to you before you can protest.

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but you take the gift anyway.

“Yeah, but you love me,” he teases, slinging an arm around your shoulders as the two of you continue down the street, the sound of distant music and laughter filling the warm night air.

That night, back at the hotel, Jeonghan skims your article on his phone while sprawled on the couch.

Jeonghan’s Baku Blitz: Closes the Gap to Mingyu with Stunning Victory

His smirk grows wider with every sentence. “Stunning victory, huh? You really know how to make me sound good.”

You roll your eyes, throwing a pillow at him. “It was stunning. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, it’s too late for that,” he quips, pulling you into his lap. “And don’t think I didn’t notice the little shout-out to my late-braking move. Makes me wonder how closely you’re watching me.”

“Always,” you admit softly, the truth laced between your words. His grin softens, and he leans in to press a kiss to your temple.

FORMULA 1 SINGAPORE AIRLINES SINGAPORE GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Marina Bay Street Circuit

The Marina Bay Circuit was infamous—its oppressive heat, humidity, and unforgiving corners made it a grueling test of endurance. It was Jeonghan’s least favorite track, something he’d muttered repeatedly during practice.

In qualifying, he delivered a masterclass, securing pole position under the glowing lights that lined the circuit. "See?" he said, leaning casually against his car afterward, sweat still dripping from his brow. "Guess the heat doesn’t bother me as much as I thought."  Watching him grin through post-quali interviews, drenched in sweat but radiating confidence, had you practically floating back to your hotel room.

You’ve barely ventured outside the hotel after qualifying, and he texts you cryptically to “stay put.” Now, the air conditioning hums softly as you sit cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through headlines about his performance. You’re still reading when the door swings open, and Jeonghan strides in, carrying a tray.

“Room service,” he announces with a dramatic flourish, setting it down beside you.

Your eyes widen at the sight of chocolate-covered strawberries and a chilled bottle of champagne. “What’s the occasion?”

He shrugs, popping the cork with practiced ease. “Pole position deserves a celebration. Plus…” He smirks, holding up a strawberry. “I wanted to see you smile.”

You laugh, shaking your head as he moves closer, offering the berry. But when you reach for it, he pulls it back, dragging it over your lips instead, smearing chocolate at the corner of your mouth.

“You missed a spot,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss it away. The sweetness lingers on his lips, and before you know it, he’s pulled you into his lap, the rest of the world forgotten.

The race the next day is less triumphant. A perfectly timed pit stop keeps Jeonghan ahead of the pack for most of the race, but a late safety car allows another driver to close the gap, relegating him to P2. Still, with Mingyu out of the race, Jeonghan’s second-place finish is enough to reclaim the championship lead.

Jeonghan’s expression is unreadable when he reads your latest article:

Heat and Havoc in Singapore: Jeonghan Takes Second as Mingyu Crashes Out

“Well, at least you didn’t call me lucky,” he says finally, leaning back in his chair.

“You weren’t lucky. You earned that result,” you reply, watching his face carefully.

He hums, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Still. Next time, I’d rather win outright.”

FALL BREAK: SEPT 23-OCT 17

The crisp autumn air brushes against your face as you unlock your front door, arms full of groceries. It’s been a quiet few weeks since Singapore, the space between races stretching out like an eternity. You’ve tried to enjoy the pause, but it feels strange—unnatural, even—to be so far removed from the whirlwind of Jeonghan’s life.

Your thoughts drift to him as you drop the keys on the counter. Monaco. Ferrari’s headquarters in Maranello. Both places are worlds away from your little apartment.

You’re unloading a carton of eggs when there’s a knock at the door. Confused, you glance at the clock. It’s too late for deliveries and far too early for your neighbors to come by.

When you open the door, your heart stops.

Jeonghan stands there, his frame relaxed yet somehow magnetic. He’s dressed in a simple leather jacket and jeans, his dark hair catching the golden glow of the setting sun. A bouquet of your favorite flowers is clutched in one hand, their vibrant colors almost as captivating as the smile tugging at his lips.

“Jeonghan?” you ask, blinking in disbelief. “What are you—how—”

“Miss me?” he interrupts, stepping inside before you can fully process his presence. He hands you the flowers like it’s the most natural thing in the world, leaning in to press a quick kiss against your lips.

Your breath catches, and you can only stare at him, your mind struggling to keep up.

“You live in Monaco,” you point out, still staring at him. “And work in Italy.”

“I’m aware,” he says, a hint of amusement in his tone. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Of course, I missed you,” you murmur, your cheeks heating.

“Good.” He grins and takes your free hand, tugging you toward the door.

“Wait—where are we going?”

“Out,” he says simply.

You try to protest, gesturing to the groceries still sitting on the counter, but he’s already leading you down the hallway. His excitement is infectious, and you find yourself laughing despite your confusion.

An hour later, you’re standing at the entrance of a sprawling amusement park, the neon lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the evening sky.

“You’re serious?” you ask, staring at the carousel spinning lazily in the distance.

“Dead serious,” Jeonghan replies, his tone light as he hands over your ticket. “I figured you could use a night off.”

“I’m not the one traveling the world every other week,” you point out.

“Exactly,” he counters, his smile growing. “I needed to see you smile. And this seemed like a good place to start.”

The night unfolds in a blur of laughter and adrenaline. Jeonghan, surprisingly competitive, insists on winning you a giant stuffed bear at the ring toss, only to fail spectacularly—twice. You tease him mercilessly, your stomach aching from how hard you’re laughing.

When you step off the bumper cars, your cheeks are flushed, and your voice is hoarse from yelling. Jeonghan is no better, his hair sticking up in all directions after you gleefully rammed into him three times in a row.

“I think you’ve got a mean streak,” he says, pretending to nurse an invisible injury.

“Me?” you gasp, feigning innocence. “You literally tried to corner me!”

He doesn’t respond—at least, not verbally. Instead, he grabs your hand again, intertwining your fingers as he pulls you toward the Ferris wheel.

The view from the top is breathtaking. The park stretches out below you, a sea of lights and movement, while the city skyline glimmers in the distance.

Jeonghan is quiet beside you, his gaze fixed on your face instead of the view. You turn to him, suddenly aware of how close he’s sitting.

“What?” you ask softly.

“You’re happy,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “I like seeing you like this.”

Before you can respond, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that steals your breath. It’s slow and deliberate, his hand moving to cradle your jaw as the world around you seems to fall away.

When he pulls back, you’re both smiling.

“This is dangerous,” you tease, though your voice is barely above a whisper. “You’re going to make me think nothing can go wrong.”

“Maybe nothing will,” he replies, his forehead resting gently against yours.

FORMULA 1 PIRELLI UNITED STATES GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Circuit of the Americas

Austin brought a different kind of challenge. The Circuit of the Americas was iconic for its mix of sweeping corners, elevation changes, and a crowd that rivaled the tifosi in their enthusiasm. Jeonghan thrived here, securing P1 in qualifying and delivering a flawless race to claim another victory.

"Two wins in three races," he said that evening, pulling you into his side as you walked into a cowboy-themed bar downtown. "Guess I’m on a roll."

The bar was loud, filled with locals and fans alike, but Jeonghan stood out effortlessly. His cowboy hat tilted just right, a plaid shirt unbuttoned enough to make you wonder how he managed to look like that after hours in a car.

He kept his hand in your back pocket all night, his touch a silent claim when no one was looking. Every time he leaned in to murmur something in your ear, his lips brushed your skin just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"Save a horse, ride a cowboy," he whispered at one point, his grin wicked as he tipped his hat at you.

That was all it took. You dragged him back to the hotel, barely making it through the door before he was on you, the hat ending up on the floor somewhere between the bed and the door.

The article you write the next day earns a rare whistle of approval from Jeonghan:

Cowboy Jeonghan Rides High in Austin, Extends Championship Lead

“I think this might be your best one yet,” he says, setting the phone down as he pulls you into his lap.

“Because I complimented you, or because I called you a cowboy?”

“Both,” he answers, his lips brushing against yours. “You know how much I love it when you’re right.”

And as his hand slides to the small of your back, you can’t help but think this season isn’t just his championship—it’s yours, too.

FORMULA 1 GRAN PREMIO DE LA CIUDAD DE MÉXICO 2024 Track: Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez

The atmosphere at the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez crackles with energy even hours after the race ends. The stands have mostly cleared, but the celebratory chaos of the paddock lingers. Jeonghan, fresh off another stellar performance, grins as reporters crowd around him, microphones extended like offerings. His hair is damp with sweat, his race suit tied around his waist as he leans casually against the Ferrari garage.

You watch from a distance, notebook in hand, trying not to let your gaze linger too long. He catches your eye anyway, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s been calling you his “lucky charm” ever since you started waking up in his bed on race mornings, and it’s a moniker he seems to enjoy reminding you of at every opportunity.

"Don't go too far," he says when the interviews wrap up, his voice low as he brushes past you on his way to the motorhome. The warmth of his fingertips grazing your wrist sends a jolt of electricity through you. "We’re celebrating tonight, and you’re not wriggling out of it this time."

You don’t see the ambush coming.

You’re reviewing your notes in the quiet corner of the paddock when your editor finds you. His expression is stern, almost irate, as he approaches. The celebration around you suddenly feels muffled, the weight of his presence pulling you back to reality.

"Finally," he snaps, crossing his arms. "I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days."

"Hey, sorry, it’s been hectic," you start, tucking your notebook under your arm.

He doesn’t let you finish. "Hectic? I gave you the Ferrari all-access months ago. They’re breathing down my neck about where the hell it is. Where’s the draft?"

The question lands like a punch to the gut. You open your mouth, fumbling for an answer, but he’s already barreling forward.

"And don’t think I haven’t noticed your tone shift," he continues, his voice lowering but losing none of its edge. "All this newfound niceness toward Jeonghan in your articles. What’s that about, huh? You sleeping with him or something?"

The accusation slices through you, leaving you momentarily stunned.

"That’s not—" you begin, but your voice falters.

"Spare me," he says, waving you off. "I don’t care what’s going on between you two, but I do care about the reputation of this outlet. You’ve built your career on being incisive, unbiased. So get it together, or I’ll find someone who can."

He doesn’t wait for a response, leaving you standing there as the din of the paddock swells around you. The celebration feels distant now, muffled by the blood rushing in your ears.

When Jeonghan finally finds you later that night, you’re a bundle of frayed nerves. The confrontation with your editor replays in your head like a broken record, each word cutting deeper into your carefully constructed sense of self. You sit hunched over your laptop in the corner of the media center, the fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows that match the knot in your chest.

“What, you sleeping with him or something?”

The accusation echoes, burrowing into your mind, where it tangles with your own insecurities. You’ve built your entire career on being sharp, unbiased, and unflinchingly honest. And yet, somewhere along the way, Jeonghan had slipped through your defenses. You can still hear the venom in your editor’s voice, feel the judgment in his eyes. The doubt wasn’t just his anymore—it was yours, too.

Was he right? Had you compromised everything for Jeonghan?

Your hands tremble slightly as you scroll through the notes you’ve been trying to organize for hours, but the words blur together, useless. Guilt presses against your ribs like a vice, mixing with a raw ache of something you’re too scared to name. You’re drowning in your own thoughts, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve let everyone down: your editor, your readers, and most of all, Jeonghan.

When he finally appears, his presence fills the doorway like a shadow cutting through the sterile light. He leans against the doorframe with a casualness you can’t match, arms crossed and head tilted slightly, his damp hair still clinging to his forehead. The sight of him, so familiar and yet suddenly so distant, sends a pang through your chest.

“Working late?” he asks, his voice low but carrying the faint edge of concern.

You look up, startled, and quickly shut your laptop as if that might erase everything weighing on you. “Just...catching up,” you say, forcing a smile that feels as flimsy as the excuse.

Jeonghan doesn’t move, his eyes scanning you with the precision of someone who knows you too well. He doesn’t buy the act—you can tell by the way his brows knit together, a subtle but telling sign of his worry.

“Catching up on what?” he asks, stepping closer, his tone light but probing.

You shrug, trying to sound casual. “Just notes. Articles. The usual.”

His gaze sharpens. “Right. And that’s why you look like you haven’t breathed in hours?”

You glance away, your fingers curling into fists on the tabletop. “I’m fine, Jeonghan. Go enjoy your win. You earned it.”

“And what, leave you like this?” He pulls out a chair and sits across from you, resting his arms on the table. “Not happening.”

The flood of emotions bubbling under your surface threatens to spill over. You want to tell him everything, but the words feel too tangled, too raw.

“I just need to get this done,” you say, your voice tight.

Jeonghan frowns, studying you more closely. "What’s going on? Did something happen?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, sidestepping him. "I just need some space tonight, okay?"

His hand brushes your arm, but you pull away, and the confusion in his eyes makes your stomach twist. "Fine," he says after a moment, his voice quieter now. "If that’s what you want."

Jeonghan wakes up to sunlight filtering through the blinds, but the bed feels empty. The cool sheets where you usually sleep tug at his attention before he fully registers the weight in his chest. Frowning, he rolls over and reaches for his phone on the nightstand, still groggy.

The screen lights up with a mess of notifications: congratulatory texts, memes from Soonyoung, and a dozen links to your latest article. He swipes through the chaos with a faint smile, already anticipating your sharp insights mingled with the familiar affection that’s always laced through your critiques.

Propping himself up against the headboard, Jeonghan opens the piece. At first, the smile lingers—he’s grown to appreciate the balance you strike between honest criticism and admiration. But the further he reads, the slower he scrolls, the words pressing into him like bruises.

His smile fades entirely by the time he reaches the paragraph describing his meltdown in Spain. The words cut too close, dragging him back to that moment in the Aston Martin garage: the oppressive silence, the rain hammering against the roof, and the suffocating realization of yet another missed opportunity.

"Jeonghan’s brilliance is undeniable, but brilliance without consistency leaves championships just out of reach."

The sentence burns itself into his mind. The carefully chosen words feel clinical, detached—so unlike you. He rereads it, hoping to find the warmth he’s come to expect, but it’s nowhere to be found.

Jeonghan tosses his phone onto the bed and stares at the ceiling, disbelief simmering into anger. This wasn’t just an article. This was personal.

The paddock is bustling, teams dismantling their motorhomes to get ready for next weekend. Jeonghan doesn’t bother changing out of his sweats before leaving his room, each step through the maze of hospitality suites and garages fueled by frustration.

When he finally reaches the media center, his chest tightens at the sight of you hunched over your laptop, headphones in, oblivious to his stormy approach. He doesn’t hesitate.

"You want to tell me what the hell that was?" His voice slices through the low hum of conversations around you.

Startled, you pull off your headphones, your eyes widening as you take him in. "Jeonghan—"

"No." He slaps his phone onto the desk in front of you, his movements sharp and deliberate. The article stares back at you, a glaring reminder of the wedge you’ve driven between you. "Don’t ‘Jeonghan’ me. What is this?"

"It’s my job," you say, standing to meet his intensity. The tremor in your voice betrays your composure. "You’ve always said you respected that about me."

"Respect?" His laugh is sharp, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. "You think I respect this?" He gestures to the article like it’s a living thing, something venomous and cruel. "You went for my throat."

"I didn’t go for your throat," you argue, though your voice cracks at the edges. "I wrote the truth."

"The truth?" His hands ball into fists at his sides. "You think I don’t know when you’re pulling punches? You tore me apart for no reason."

"You’ve been avoiding media days. You had a meltdown in Spain," you fire back, your tone rising as your frustration bubbles to the surface. "Those are facts, Jeonghan."

"You didn’t have to highlight them," he counters, his voice quieter but no less cutting. "You know how much this season means to me."

"And do you think this was easy for me?" you ask, tears pricking at your eyes. "Do you think I wanted to write that?"

"Then why did you?" His voice softens, the anger slipping to reveal something raw and vulnerable. "Why would you do that to me?"

"Because I had to!" The words explode out of you, breaking the fragile tension. "Because people already think I’m biased. That I’ve gone soft. That I’m compromised because of you."

The weight of your confession hangs in the air, pressing down on both of you. Jeonghan’s face shifts, the fury giving way to something heavier—hurt, confusion, disappointment.

"I never asked you to compromise anything for me," he says quietly, his voice thick. "I never would."

You look away, your gaze falling to the floor. "I know. But this isn’t just about you. It’s about my career. My integrity."

"And what about us?" he asks, his voice breaking slightly. "Where does that leave us?"

You have no answer, the words lodged in your throat. The silence stretches, broken only by the faint hum of activity outside the room.

Finally, Jeonghan exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I can’t do this right now," he mutters, taking a step back. "I need...I need to get out of here."

Jeonghan finds himself at the bar later that evening, the neon lights washing over him in hazy blues and reds. The whiskey in his glass is halfway gone before Soonyoung slides onto the stool next to him, his arrival quiet but not unnoticed.

"You look like shit," Soonyoung says, his tone light despite the obvious concern in his eyes.

"Thanks," Jeonghan mutters, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

They sit in silence for a moment before Soonyoung breaks it. "Want to talk about it?"

Jeonghan stares at his drink, the ice melting faster than he can keep up with. "I don’t know what we’re doing anymore," he admits, the words coming out heavier than he expected. "Me and her."

Soonyoung hums thoughtfully, taking a slow sip of his drink. "You two have always been complicated."

Jeonghan huffs out a humorless laugh. "That’s one way to put it."

"But," Soonyoung says, setting his glass down, "you’ve also always figured it out."

Jeonghan doesn’t respond, his thoughts a tangled mess of frustration and longing.

"You’re not going to fix it tonight," Soonyoung continues, his voice quieter now. "But if it matters—and I know it does—you’ll find a way. Just...don’t wait too long, yeah?"

Jeonghan nods slowly, the whiskey burning on its way down. Soonyoung’s words linger, a reminder of what he already knows but isn’t ready to face.

Not yet.

FORMULA 1 LENOVO GRANDE PRÊMIO DE SÃO PAULO 2024 Track: Autódromo José Carlos Pace

The rain is relentless in São Paulo, hammering down on the paddock and turning the atmosphere into a chaotic mess of drenched personnel and frayed nerves. Qualifying has been suspended indefinitely, the downpour rendering the track undriveable, and the mood in the Ferrari garage is grim. The asphalt glistens under the floodlights, reflecting streaks of color from team banners and sponsor logos. It feels like the world is holding its breath. 

You’ve never liked rain. It has a way of amplifying what’s already simmering under the surface, and today is no exception. Your heart pounds as you weave through the maze of garages, dodging puddles and sidelong glances from team members. You know exactly where he’ll be—Jeonghan never strays far from the Ferrari setup, even when there’s nothing to do but wait.

Sure enough, there he is. Sitting on the edge of a workbench, his race suit unzipped to his waist and his damp undershirt clinging to his torso. His head is bowed, one hand gripping the edge of the bench while the other pushes wet strands of hair back from his forehead. He looks exhausted—physically, emotionally—but the moment your shoes scuff against the concrete floor, his eyes snap up to meet yours.

You’ve been blowing up his phone all week. Texts, calls, voice notes—all unanswered or met with cold, clipped replies.

"Jeonghan," you start, the sound of your voice barely carrying over the rain pelting the garage roof.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t smile. "What are you doing here?"

The coldness in his tone sends a shiver down your spine, but you force yourself to step closer. "I could ask you the same thing."

His laugh is short, bitter. "Why are you surprised? This is where I always am."

"Don’t do that," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "Don’t act like this is normal. You’ve been ignoring me for weeks."

"I haven’t been ignoring you," he snaps, pushing off the bench. He stands tall now, towering over you, his hands resting on his hips. "I’ve been busy."

"Busy?" You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. "You call one-word replies busy? Jeonghan, I’ve been calling and texting nonstop, and you’ve barely said anything to me."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the distant clatter of tools being packed away. Finally, he exhales sharply, running a hand through his damp hair again.

"Maybe I’m tired," he says, his voice quieter but no less sharp. "Maybe I’m sick of pretending everything’s fine when it’s not."

Your heart twists at the admission, but you push it aside. "What’s not fine? Tell me, Jeonghan. Because I don’t understand why you’re shutting me out."

He shakes his head, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. "You don’t understand?" His voice rises, cracking with the weight of his frustration. "How could you not? You tore me apart in that article like I was just another driver. Like I meant nothing to you."

"It’s my job," you argue, but the words sound weak even to your ears.

"Your job?" he repeats, throwing his arms up. "You mean the job where you’re supposed to be unbiased? Yeah, I’ve noticed how ‘unbiased’ you’ve been lately. Especially when it comes to me."

"That’s not fair," you shoot back, taking a step closer. "You know I’ve always tried to be honest—"

"Honest?" He laughs, the sound bitter and hollow. "You call dragging my worst moments into the spotlight honest? You didn’t write about me; you dissected me. Like I was nothing more than a story."

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let him see how much his words cut. "I didn’t mean to hurt you."

"But you did," he says, his voice softening but losing none of its edge. "And now I don’t even know where we stand."

"We stand..." You falter, your throat tightening. "We stand where we’ve always stood. I care about you, Jeonghan. But this is complicated."

He steps closer, his eyes searching yours. "It doesn’t have to be. It’s only complicated because you’re making it that way."

You look away, unable to hold his gaze. "You don’t understand what this means for me. For my career. For the season."

"And what about me?" he presses, his voice breaking. "What about what this means for us?"

The weight of his words hangs between you, heavy and suffocating. You take a shaky step back, the sound of the rain growing louder in the silence. "Maybe I should go," you whisper, turning toward the garage entrance.

"Don’t," he says sharply, and before you can take another step, his hand wraps around your wrist. “Don’t walk away from me.”

You barely have time to register the movement before he’s pulling you back, his other hand cupping your face as his lips crash against yours. The rain spills into the garage, soaking you both as his kiss deepens, desperate and unyielding. His hands slide to your waist, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead presses against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I won’t give you up," he whispers, his voice raw. "But I need you to choose."

"Jeonghan..." Your voice trembles, but he cuts you off.

"You love me," he says, his hands cupping your face. "Yes or no."

You hesitate, the weight of his question pressing down on you like the storm outside.

"Come on, sweetheart," he pleads, his voice cracking. "Don’t make me beg."

"I’m scared," you admit finally, your voice breaking. "Scared of losing myself. Of losing everything I’ve worked for."

He exhales shakily, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Are you willing to lose me to keep writing?"

"I..." The words catch in your throat, the truth slipping through your fingers. "I don’t know."

His hands drop to his sides, and he takes a step back, the distance between you like a chasm. "When you decide," he says quietly, his voice heavy with resignation, "give me a call."

The rain clears just in time for Sunday’s race, and Jeonghan is unstoppable. He weaves through the slick track with the precision and grace that made him a legend, crossing the finish line first and extending his lead in the championship.

But you’re not there to celebrate with him.

You watch from the media center, your chest tight as the cameras capture his triumphant smile. But there’s a hollowness in his expression, a flicker of something unspoken as he scans the crowd for someone who isn’t there.

The post-race interviews blur together, and even as you type up your article, the words feel lifeless. Without him beside you, the hotel room feels cold and sterile, the thrill of the race dulled by the ache in your chest.

The days leading up to the Las Vegas Grand Prix are a haze of press releases and anticipation. Jeonghan is one race away from becoming a world champion, but all you can think about is the sound of his voice, the warmth of his touch, the way he looked at you under the floodlights.

Your editor calls to praise your latest pieces, but the compliments feel hollow. The articles are polished and professional, but they lack the spark you used to feel when writing about him.

You glance at your phone, your thumb hovering over Jeonghan’s name. You haven’t called. Haven’t texted. Haven’t dared to.

Because the truth is, you’re terrified. 

Terrified of losing yourself. 

But even more terrified of losing him.

FORMULA 1 HEINEKEN SILVER LAS VEGAS GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Las Vegas Strip Circuit

The sun sets over Las Vegas in a haze of neon and desert dust, the city already buzzing with anticipation for the final race of the season. But in the paddock, the air is electric for all the wrong reasons.

Jeonghan crashes out in Q3.

Your eyes are glued to the screen as Jeonghan’s car slides violently into the barriers, the sharp sound of the impact slicing through the usual hum of commentary. Gasps ripple through the room, but your stomach lurches with something deeper than professional concern. 

You’re in the media center when it happens, staring at the screen as his time locks in. The commentators speculate, the other journalists start drafting headlines, but you can’t hear a word of it. Your heart is already in free fall, and you don’t breathe again until he climbs out of the car, his hands held up in frustration as he waves off the medics.

P8. A disastrous result for the race that could make—or break—his championship. It might as well be the end of the world. 

The room erupts into murmurs as analysts speculate on strategy and rival team fans cheer, but you barely hear them. Your editor sidles up to your desk, his grin practically gleaming in the fluorescent light.

"Well, well," he says, leaning over your shoulder. "Looks like we’ve got our headline for tomorrow. ‘Jeonghan’s Championship Dream in Tatters.’ Perfect angle to dissect his mistakes, maybe even his cocky attitude catching up with him—"

His words fade into the background as something clicks inside you. Every fiber of your being recoils at the thought of reducing Jeonghan—your Jeonghan—to nothing more than a headline. You love writing, yes, but this? This isn’t writing. This is tearing apart the one person who matters most to you, all for clicks and ad revenue.

Without thinking, you swivel in your chair, fixing your editor with a glare so sharp it silences him mid-sentence. "This is my two weeks’ notice."

He blinks, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." You stand, grabbing your bag and laptop. "I’m done."

Before he can argue, you’re already out the door, leaving behind the cacophony of keyboards and camera flashes. The paddock is chaos as you weave through the throngs of team personnel and fans, your heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and urgency.

You run.

The Ferrari garage is chaos. Engineers scramble to pack up the car, Jeonghan’s manager barks into his phone, and his publicist looks ready to faint. You push your way through it all, ignoring the glares and the shouted protests.

“He doesn’t want to see anyone right now,” Soonyoung says, stepping in front of you as you approach the motorhome.

“I don’t care,” you snap, shoving past him.

The motorhome is empty.

For a moment, you’re frozen, your chest heaving as you glance around the pristine space. The stillness only amplifies your worry. And then it hits you, like a sudden gust of wind: you know exactly where he is.

You sprint again, your heartbeat pounding louder than the chaos of the paddock behind you. The world blurs into streaks of neon lights, the hum of distant conversations, and the faint roar of engines being powered down for the night. The grandstands loom ahead, their cold metal steps stretching upward like an impossible climb. Each step burns in your legs, your breath coming in shallow gasps, but you don’t let up.

You don’t stop until you see him.

Jeonghan sits alone, halfway up the grandstands, his figure slouched as though the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders. The floodlights bathe him in a pale glow, illuminating the soft curve of his profile, his hair catching the light in strands of gold. His head is tilted back, eyes fixed on the track below as if searching for answers in the lines he couldn’t master tonight. A half-finished beer dangles loosely from his fingertips, the bottle swaying slightly with every small movement. Beside him, another bottle sits untouched, condensation pooling on the aluminum seat beneath it.

Waiting.

You take the last steps slowly, your chest tightening as your breathing evens out. Up close, his exhaustion is palpable—dark shadows under his eyes, his usual sharp features softened by an unfamiliar vulnerability.

“I knew you’d come,” he says without looking at you, breaking the silence. His voice is soft, but it carries a weight that settles heavily in your chest. He doesn’t even look at you, his gaze still fixed somewhere far ahead, lost in thought.

You hover for a moment before lowering yourself into the seat beside him. The cold aluminum seeps through your jeans, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your own skin after the sprint. Jeonghan doesn’t move, doesn’t turn toward you, and the distance between you feels like a chasm.

“Jeonghan...” you start, your voice hesitant, but he cuts you off with a bitter laugh.

“This is what happens when my lucky charm leaves me,” he mutters, a sad smile curling at the edges of his lips. His tone is light, but it does nothing to hide the ache in his words. He takes a slow sip of his beer, the motion unhurried.

You glance at the track, the sharp turns and straightaways now cloaked in shadows. “It’s not your fault,” you say softly, your hand reaching out to brush his arm. He flinches at the contact, his muscles tense beneath your touch, but he doesn’t pull away.

“P8 doesn’t mean it’s over.”

This time, he turns to look at you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The raw vulnerability there makes your chest tighten further. His voice is quieter now, almost fragile. “You don’t get it,” he murmurs, shaking his head as his gaze drops to the beer bottle in his hand. “This race... it’s everything. If I win, I’m a champion. If I don’t...” He trails off, his words hanging in the air between you.

“I’m scared, Y/N.” His voice cracks, and the sound is almost unbearable. “Scared of all of it. The pressure, the expectations... losing.”

You stare at him, the usually unshakable Jeonghan, the Golden Boy, the Ferrari God, unraveling before you. Your hands move without thinking, cupping his face and tilting his chin so he’s forced to meet your gaze again. His skin is warm beneath your palms, a faint flush from the alcohol—or maybe the stress—lingering across his cheeks.

“Jeonghan,” you say, your voice steady despite the storm in your chest. You press your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his as you close the distance between you. “You love me. Yes or no.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. And then his hands come up to grip your wrists, his touch firm but trembling. “Yes,” he whispers, the word spilling from his lips without hesitation, raw and resolute. His voice shakes, but his eyes hold yours, steady and certain despite the tears brimming there.

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you lean in, your lips brushing against his forehead in a feather-light kiss. “Good,” you whisper, the word carrying a quiet strength. “You’ll always have me.”

His grip on your wrists loosens, his expression shifting to something between confusion and hope. “But your job... your writing?”

“I’m quitting,” you say simply, letting the words hang for a moment. You watch the shock bloom across his face, his eyebrows shooting up as he sits back slightly, pulling your hands with him.

“You’re what?”

You laugh softly, brushing your thumb against his cheek as if to soothe him. “Not writing, idiot,” you tease gently. “I’m still going to write. But I’m not writing for any organization that profits off me tearing the man I love to shreds.”

His lips part, but no words come. He blinks rapidly, trying to process, and you take the opportunity to continue.

“Besides,” you add, your voice lighter now, “Sky Sports has been trying to recruit me for an on-air job for almost a year now.”

He stares at you, his gaze searching your face for any hint of doubt or regret. Finally, his voice comes, soft and uncertain. “You love me?”

The corners of your mouth lift into a playful smile, and you raise an eyebrow. “Is that what you decide to focus on?”

“Y/N,” he says again, his voice dropping to a whisper, almost desperate. His hands move to clasp yours, his fingers lacing through yours as if afraid you’ll slip away. “Do you love me?”

You answer with action, leaning in and capturing his lips in a quick, tender kiss. His breath hitches, his fingers tightening around yours. “Win tomorrow, golden boy,” you whisper, your lips brushing his as you speak. “And I’ll tell you my answer.”

For the first time that night, Jeonghan smiles—a real, genuine smile that reaches his eyes and softens the tension in his face. And in that moment, as the world fades to just the two of you under the floodlights, you know he’s already won.

Jeonghan is going to lose.

He’s sure of it.

The car feels like it’s fighting him at every turn, the tires slipping just slightly when he needs them to grip, the brakes locking up when he’s trying to conserve them for the final laps. His body aches from the sheer force of the race—the g-forces on the corners, the strain in his neck, the tension in his hands from gripping the wheel too hard.

The numbers on his dashboard blur together, his mind a muddled mess of strategies, tire temps, and sector times. He’s made up four places since the chaotic start and sits in P4 now, but every gain feels like a herculean effort. Every corner feels like it could be his last.

He slams the steering wheel in frustration as he exits another turn slower than he should, the car wobbling slightly under him. “This isn’t working,” he growls into the radio, his voice clipped and strained.

His engineer’s calm voice filters through the crackling static. “We know, Jeonghan. Stay focused. We believe in you.”

Jeonghan clenches his teeth, a biting retort forming on his tongue, but before he can spit it out, the radio crackles again.

“Your girl is here. In the garage. She’s watching.”

“What the fuck?” The words come out before he can stop them, his tone incredulous.

“Soonyoung wanted to surprise you,” his engineer explains, and Jeonghan can practically hear the grin in his voice.

His mind stutters to a halt, and for a moment, all the noise fades—the engine’s roar, the tires screeching against the asphalt, even the deafening wind rushing past his helmet. He blinks, the image of you sitting in the garage flashing in his mind, your presence there grounding him in a way nothing else can.

And then, like a light cutting through the fog, your words echo in his head. “Win tomorrow, and I’ll tell you my answer.”

His grip on the wheel tightens, his breath steadies, and something in him clicks. It’s not just the car anymore—it’s him. His mind, his body, the machine—they all fall into alignment like pieces of a puzzle.

“Copy,” he says into the radio, his voice calm now. The frustration is gone, replaced by a steely determination.

Lap 50. Jeonghan is chasing down P3, the gap shrinking corner by corner. His tires scream in protest as he takes each turn with precision, braking just a fraction later, accelerating just a fraction earlier. The car isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t need to be. He’s making it work.

As he dives into the braking zone at Turn 7, the car in front of him falters, locking up slightly. Jeonghan seizes the opportunity, darting to the inside line and slipping past with a calculated aggression that leaves no room for error.

P3.

Lap 53. The leader pack is within sight now—Mingyu in P1, his closest rival, and Seungcheol in P2, a surprising dark horse this season. The three of them have danced this dance all season, but tonight feels different. Tonight, everything is on the line.

Lap 55. Seungcheol’s car begins to falter, his tires degrading as he struggles to maintain pace. Jeonghan hovers in his slipstream, biding his time.

On the main straight, he pulls to the outside, pushing his car to its limits. The engine roars as he edges past Seungcheol, the two of them side by side into the braking zone. Jeonghan holds his line, his heart pounding as he feels the car stick.

P2.

Lap 58. Mingyu is just ahead, the gap less than a second now. Jeonghan can feel the strain in his body, his hands cramping from the sheer effort, but he doesn’t let up. Every ounce of energy he has left is poured into these final laps.

Lap 59. DRS is open, the rear wing flattening to reduce drag as Jeonghan closes the gap on the straight. Mingyu defends aggressively, forcing Jeonghan to the outside.

They enter Turn 10 side by side, the apex inches away. Jeonghan holds his breath, his tires brushing the curbs as he edges ahead. But Mingyu doesn’t back down, his car pushing right up to Jeonghan’s rear wing as they exit the turn.

Lap 60. The final lap. It’s a battle of wills now, neither of them giving an inch. Jeonghan’s heart feels like it’s about to burst, the sweat dripping down his face soaking into the padding of his helmet.

The final corner looms ahead, and Jeonghan knows this is it. Mingyu is on his inside, the two of them neck and neck as they approach the braking zone.

Jeonghan brakes just a millisecond later, his car sliding slightly as he takes the tighter line. He holds his breath, willing the car to stay steady, and then he’s through.

The checkered flag waves, the two cars crossing the line almost simultaneously.

Jeonghan’s chest heaves as he slumps back in his seat, his mind a blur of exhaustion and adrenaline. He doesn’t know if he’s won or lost—everything was too close, too fast.

The radio crackles to life, and for a moment, all he hears is chaos—shouting, cheering, voices overlapping in a cacophony of noise.

And then, cutting through it all, your voice rings out.

“YOON JEONGHAN, TWO-TIME WORLD CHAMPION!”

The words hit him like a lightning bolt, and a yell tears from his throat, loud and raw and triumphant. He punches the air, his entire body trembling with emotion as he lets out another scream, so loud he’s sure the neighboring cars can hear him.

He’s done it.

Through the static of the radio, he hears your laughter, bright and unrestrained, and it’s the only sound that matters.

Jeonghan rolls into Parc Fermé with deliberate precision, the sound of his engine fading into silence as he pulls to a stop. His hands are shaking, his knuckles pale from the grip he’s maintained for the last grueling laps. The cockpit feels stifling, and yet he lingers for a second longer, the enormity of what’s just happened crashing over him like a wave.

He’s done it.

The realization leaves him breathless. His fingers fumble with the steering wheel as he pulls it free, his movements automatic even as his mind spirals. Around him, the world is chaos. Fans scream from the stands, the floodlights of Las Vegas painting the scene in stark gold and shadows. Through the static in his earpiece, his engineer’s voice is still ringing with elation, and he hears indistinct shouting from his crew, but it all blends into a distant roar.

All Jeonghan can think about is you.

He climbs out of the car, bracing his foot on the halo as he pushes himself upright. For a brief moment, he stands tall atop the machine, his body vibrating with adrenaline. His fists shoot into the air, and he lets out a triumphant yell, a sound ripped from deep within his chest. The Ferrari crew erupts in response, a sea of red swarming toward him, shouting his name, their arms outstretched in celebration.

But Jeonghan���s eyes are already searching, scanning the barriers beyond the chaos, darting from one face to another. He’s not looking for his engineers or the cameras or even his teammates. He’s looking for you.

And then he sees you.

You’re there, pressed against the barricade, your hands gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles are white. Your face is wet—tears streaming freely—but your smile is brighter than anything he’s ever seen. It’s disbelieving, joyous, and so achingly familiar that his breath catches in his throat.

In that moment, everything else fades away. The cheers of his team, the flashing cameras, the rules about protocol—none of it exists anymore.

Jeonghan jumps down from the car, tossing the wheel to a waiting mechanic, and tears at his helmet strap. The world around him is a blur of movement and noise—his team surging forward, the cameras flashing, the announcer’s voice booming overhead—but none of it registers. His helmet comes off with a sharp tug, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat as he grips the sleek surface in one hand and bolts toward you.

He’s moving before he realizes it, his boots pounding against the pavement as he cuts through the throng of people. The barricade draws closer, and the sight of you—your tear-streaked cheeks, your trembling shoulders—grounds him in a way nothing else could.

When he reaches you, he doesn’t stop.

His hands find you immediately. One curls around your neck, his palm warm and steady against your skin, while the other cups your face, his thumb brushing away the tears tracing paths down your cheek. His chest is still heaving, his breath ragged from the exertion of the race, but his touch is impossibly tender.

Your lips part, and your voice comes out in a trembling whisper, just loud enough for him to hear over the chaos. “Congratulations, pretty boy.”

It’s like the world holds its breath. For one fleeting second, it’s just the two of you. The noise of the paddock fades, the flashing lights dim, and all that remains is the quiet intimacy of your words.

Jeonghan’s lips curve into a smile so pure, so unrestrained, that it feels like sunlight breaking through a storm. “You love me,” he murmurs, his voice low and reverent. His forehead dips to rest against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Yes or—”

You don’t let him finish.

Your arms shoot out, locking around his neck as you pull him down into a kiss. It’s desperate and dizzying, a culmination of everything left unsaid. Jeonghan freezes for the briefest of moments, his eyes widening, before melting into you entirely. His lips move against yours, soft but insistent, and the hand on your neck slides up to thread through your hair, holding you close as if you might disappear.

“Yes,” you whisper against his mouth, your voice breaking. Your hands fist in the front of his race suit, anchoring yourself as you press your forehead to his. “Yes. I love you.”

The barriers around you tremble as the Ferrari crew erupts in celebration, their cheers deafening. Jeonghan barely registers it. His fist shoots into the air, his lips still brushing against yours as he laughs—a sound full of pure, unrestrained joy.

“You’re my lucky charm,” he murmurs, his voice shaking with a mix of awe and certainty.

And when you smile back at him, it’s brighter than the floodlights, warmer than the victory. 

EPILOGUE

FORMULA 1 ROLEX AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Albert Park Grand Prix Circuit

The air at Albert Park hums with the kind of energy that only a new season can bring. The stands are packed, a sea of flags waving for drivers and teams, and the scent of freshly cut grass mingles with the faint tang of engine oil. It’s not quite spring yet, but the Melbourne sun still beats down relentlessly, leaving Jeonghan’s fireproofs clinging uncomfortably to his skin as he strides out of the Ferrari garage.

His mind buzzes with the aftermath of qualifying—P2 isn’t pole, but it’s close enough to feel like a promise. Yet, beneath the satisfaction, there’s the familiar tug of nerves that always follows a strong start. Tomorrow is what counts.

His publicist catches up to him, clipboard in hand. “Sky Sports first,” she says, her tone clipped but not unkind.

Jeonghan barely suppresses a groan, already knowing what awaits him. He doesn’t mind media—not entirely—but right now, his thoughts are miles away from answering questions about his out lap or tire degradation.

He rounds the corner into the media pen, where cameras are trained on bright logos and polished smiles. But his eyes find you immediately, waiting just behind the barricade, a microphone in hand, your hair catching the golden glow of the late afternoon sun.

You’re a vision.

He slows as he approaches, his publicist muttering instructions he doesn’t bother to hear. Your eyes catch his, and a secret smile spreads across your lips. He mirrors it, his heart lifting in a way that has nothing to do with his qualifying position.

Jeonghan leans against the barricade, his hands braced on the metal. It’s casual, nonchalant—a stark contrast to the spark simmering beneath the surface. As the questions begin, his fingers shift, brushing yours. The touch is featherlight, a soft sweep of skin against skin, but it’s enough to make his chest tighten.

The lanyard around your neck gleams in the sunlight, a stark reminder of how much had changed—and how much hadn’t. You’re still you.

And you’re wearing it.

The chain glints faintly against your skin, the two charms catching the light with each movement. One is the microphone, delicate and detailed, perfectly crafted. The other is his initial: J. Small, simple, yet undeniably his.

(You’d teased him endlessly when he gave it to you at Christmas. “Modest as always, aren’t you?” you’d laughed.

“Of course,” he’d replied, his voice low and teasing as he leaned into your hair. “One charm for your new job, because I’m so proud of you. And one for me, because I’m so amazing.”

“Two-time world champion,” you’d corrected, poking his ribs.

“Two-time world champion,” he’d agreed with a grin, pulling you into his arms.)

“Jeonghan,” you greet, a secret smile tugging at your lips.

The sound of his name on your lips—professional but laced with affection—sends a warmth through him that he doesn’t bother to hide. “Y/N,” he replies, his tone light but his eyes heavy with meaning.

The interview begins, your questions sharp and to the point. Jeonghan answers with his usual ease, the confidence that had earned him his titles. But he’s distracted, his focus flickering between your voice and the way your thumb absently brushes the microphone charm as you speak.

“You’re awfully cheerful for someone who only managed P2,” you tease, tilting your head slightly.

He leans closer, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Just keeping it interesting. Wouldn’t want to win everything too easily.”

You roll your eyes, but the soft laugh that escapes you betrays your amusement.

The banter continues, each exchange laced with an undercurrent of warmth that only the two of you can fully understand. To anyone watching, it’s just another driver and journalist sharing a lighthearted moment. But to Jeonghan, it’s everything.

When the cameras finally cut, the energy between you shifts. He leans over the barricade without hesitation, his hands curling around the edge for balance as he dips his head toward you.

The first kiss is quick, a soft press of lips that feels like a punctuation mark to the conversation.

The second is slower, more deliberate, as if he’s savoring the fact that he can do this now.

The third lingers, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that makes your breath catch.

“Jeonghan,” you murmur, glancing around with a mix of amusement and exasperation. But your grin is wide, and your cheeks are flushed, and he knows you’re not annoyed in the slightest.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice so low it barely reaches you. His eyes are soft, his expression open in a way that’s reserved only for you.

Your hand finds his wrist, your fingers curling gently around it. “I love you too,” you reply, your voice steady, your gaze unyielding.

For a moment, the world around you fades—the bustling media pen, the hum of conversations, the clicking cameras. All that exists is the space between you, filled with unspoken promises and the quiet certainty of what comes next.

And as Jeonghan straightens, reluctantly stepping back into the whirlwind of his world, he knows he’s carrying a part of you with him—just as you carry a part of him. Always.

a/n: and that, was full throttle. i cannot express to any of you how proud i am of myself for finishing this. i think i spent more time deleting things on this doc than i did writing it and somehow, i fucking love the way this turned out. alta, kae, if you're reading this - thank you. from the bottom of my heart. this story would have never happened had it not been for the two of you motivating me to get this out of my head and onto a doc. you both inspire me every day and i am lucky that i had you on my side for this one.

[lunavrse]

WHAT YOU HEARD

LANDO NORRIS

summary ★ : streets are saying yn finally broke up with her loser boyfriend and guess who couldn't be happier? if you guessed lando, you'd be wrong, it's actually her (but lando's a really close second).

category ★ : smau.

notes ★ : disregard all times and dates, they don't matter. all spelling mistakes are intentional. with that out of the way, finally someone other than charles even though i still have like 2 drafts for him that i need to finish. ntm on the banner and article 😶‍🌫️. when you get to the hello kitty reactions pls just scroll💀 it was funny when i made it but now it's just... and i cba to remove it. sorry this is so short 🙏.

part 2

yn_ln added to their story.

user00: oooh, girl's night????

user01: love seeing my fav wags out and about

user02: what happened to your foot? hope you're okay🫶

yourfriend: lils on her phone probably texting alex🙄 they make me sick w how cute they are

user03: y'all look so good🥴

user04: I just know that club's hot as satan's arsehole, how do you look so good? what's your secret🎤

alex_albon: please bring my girlfriend back in one piece🙏

yn_ln: nah, she's my girlfriend now😪

user05: no ezra? break up abeg

maxfewtrell replied to your Close Friends story : did you forget she's on your cf

landonorris: do you think i'm stupid? obviously i removed her before posting this

maxfewtrell: so you do have a working brain cell🤗 congrats🎉

monaspencer replied to your story : wasteman is hilarious but deserved.

alex_albon replied to your Close Friends story : may your efforts fail 🤞🙏

landonorris: WOW🤣🤣

alex_albon: nothing personal mate🤷‍♂️

landonorris: WDYM nothing personal, you're literally cursing me😒

randomfriend replied to your story : VINDICATION!!! i knew you couldn't read🥳

alex_albon replied to your Close Friends story : why did he have to be such a simp, now i owe lily and mona money

yn_ln: you're a millionaire, you can afford it, so suck it up king👑🫶🏽

monaspencer replied to your Close Friends story : you just made me 200€ richer😘

yn_ln: i actually don't want to know...

lilymhe replied to your Close Friends story : now alex owes mo and i money, thank you🙏🏻

yn_ln: glad to be of service?

landonorris replied to your Close Friends story : i wonder who that handsome guy is

yn_ln: some stray i found wandering around and out of the goodness of my heart, i decided to bring into my home

landonorris: you're not funny

yn_ln: then why were you laughing at all my jokes earlier?

landonorris: i was laughing at how bad they were😕

yn_ln: sure...

charles_leclerc replied to your story : tangled on a date? how romantic

yourfriend replied to your Close Friends story : this doesn't look very "im done w yt men" 🤔

yn_ln: you're in my business, don't do that😁

yourfriend: but it's so interesting 🥴

⤷ end note ‧ ★ : made a cute lil divider so hopefully it distracts you from everything else😋. honestly this took so long bc i was mostly working with vibes, no writing, no thoughts, just vibes. i don't know how some of y'all are so fast, like you guys amaze me, my goal is to just get more than 1 smau per month out. also i will no longer be writing for charles leclerc bc someone said he looked like noah schnapp and i can't unsee it 💀💀 gonna have to change the drafts🥲

[httpdwaekki]

massage | l.m. - s.c. - h.h. - y.j.

summary: you're sore and stressed but luckily your boy is there to help. collab w/ @giddyfatherchris <3

wc | ss: 5.4k | 5

warnings: fem! reader, use of noona (jeongin), nudity (not sexual), descriptions of pain, definitely typos bc i wrote most of these a long time ago, probably more but you get the generally consensus.

a/n: i would like to give ilya a formal apology for how long it took me to write these, truly an egregious amount of time LMAO. but she never rushed me once and i love n appreciate that more than she knows. also made these way longer than they needed to be but, anyway! i hope you all enjoy, remember to eat, drink water and take your meds, ily <3. (also sorry if the writing style feels different for some, i wrote these months apart so it might get weird lol)

please consider donating to this fundraiser!

part 1 | my library

banners by cafekitsune

(photos are not mine! credit to owners!)

minho

wc: 1.5k | ss: 1

you didn’t argue it further knowing it was futile.

he wraps an arm around your waist as you both say your goodbyes, helping you walk back to the car. you were both spending the day with his members, chan had found a new trail he wanted to explore, inviting all the members and you to tag along.

about half way into the trail your ankle started to flare up, causing you to start limping. it was an old injury that just didn’t heal correctly so being on it for long periods of time causes pain as well as swelling. you tried to hide it because you were having a good time but minho clocked it almost immediately.

once you were sat in the car, minho rounded the car, popping the trunk of the car to grab something. he opens the door, sitting while placing a bag in your lap before starting the car. “what’s this?” you asked softly, opening the bag.

“i figured your feet would hurt after walking for so long so i brought comfier shoes for you.” he explains as you pull out your crocs and a pair of soft socks. you stick out your bottom lip, heart warming from the kind gesture. you kick your old shoes off, replacing them with the softer pair, placing the old ones back in the bag.

“thank you 자기야.” leaning over, giving him a kiss on his slightly pink cheek, settling back in your chair. he smiles, putting the car in gear before grabbing your hand, looking into your eyes as he places a kiss to the back of it. “anything for you.” he whispers against your skin, dropping your joined hands in his lap before taking his foot off the brake.

the ride home was silent beside the music softly playing in the background as minho drove. you leaned towards him, hissing as your ankle and foot began to feel tender. he squeezes your hand, placing a kiss to it, rubbing soothing circles to the back of it.

“we’ll be home soon 야기.” you nod, trying not to think about the throbbing pain, focusing more on the passing landscape. 

soon the car pulls up to your shared apartment, luckily there was an open spot in front of your building. you unbuckle your seatbelt, reaching for the door handle, letting go of his hand before he grabs it again. you pause, looking at him confused, “what’s wrong?” you ask softly.

“just wait a second, let me help you.” he waits for a response, big eyes staring into yours. you nod, allowing him to help. he smiles, placing one last kiss to the back of your hand before unbuckling, making his way to your side.

he opens the door, pointing to the bag by your feet, “let me take that first.” you hand it over before carefully scooting to the edge of the seat. he puts the bag on his back before reaching down for you.

you take his hands, planting your feet on the ground, hissing at the slight pressure you put on the sore appendage. “take your time, okay? don’t push it.” he says, rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand once more. you nod, taking a deep breath before carefully standing up.

he helps pull up the extra weight, helping you lean against him a bit once at your full height. once you move out of the way, you push the door closed as minho adjusted his grip on your waist.

“ready?” you nod, smiling as you slowly limp your way to your door, suddenly thankful you lived on the first floor. he quickly unlocks the door, placing the bag to the side before slipping off his shoes.

“do you need help?” he asks, pointing to your feet still in your crocs. you shake your head before holding onto his arm, slipping your feet out of the shoes cautiously. he helps you to your room where he sits you down on the bed before opening the closet.

“do you wanna take a shower now or later?” he asks, rummaging through clothes for something more comfortable for both of you to change into. you thought about it for a second, knowing you probably should, but just wanting to relax and stay off your foot.

“i’ll shower a little later, once it starts feeling better.” you respond as he walks over with two sets of clothes in hand. he places yours down next to you, “do you want help getting changed?” you nod your head before answering, “maybe with the shorts, please.” you smiled up at him.

“of course 야기.” he says, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead while reaching for your shorts. he taps your thigh, then his shoulder, causing you to stand up, balancing on his shoulder.

“i’m gonna unbutton these now, okay?” he asks, his fingers brushing the metal of your pants. you nod before he undoes the button, pulling down the zipper, sliding his hands into the fabric, pulling it down your legs.

you lift each leg to let him take the fabric off them, wincing as you put pressure on the hurt one. he kisses the leg of your hurt ankle, rubbing it softly as he tosses your pants to the side. he grabs the shorts on the edge of your bed, getting them ready for you to step in safely.

“ just one more time 자기야 .” he says, waiting for you to step into them. you adjust your grip on his shoulders one last time before stepping into it. you bite your lip in pain, as you slip the second leg into the fabric, letting him pull them up your legs completely. 

he places a kiss to each thigh before you sit back down. “thank you, min.” you smile before he gets up, leaving a kiss on your lips as he goes. “anything for you, 야기.” he smiles back before grabbing his stack of clothes on the bed.“i’ll be right back okay?” you nod and watch as he walks into the bathroom not bothering to shut the door. 

you slip off your shirt, replacing it with a softer, bigger one, throwing the old fabric in the same direction as your pants. you get up to walk (limp) your way to the kitchen to grab a cold compress before you relax.

you made it to the door before minho leaves the bathroom. “what do you think you’re doing?” he asks from the doorway, his hands full of medicine, lotions and wraps. “i’m going to get a cold compress from the freezer?” you ask in a small voice, feeling like a kid that got caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“sit back down before you make it worse please.” he scolds, pointing to the bed as best he could with full arms. “but i-” you cut yourself dramatically points to the bed once more. you sigh, shuffling your way back to the bed, where you sit down once more.

he walks over, setting everything down on the foot of the bed before gently grabbing your leg, slotting himself between them, placing the hurt one on his lap. he grabs the medicated lotion, lightly massaging the swollen area.

“oh that feels nice.” you sigh, sinking into the pillows behind you as he continues his work. he does that for a good 15 minutes, pausing when he hits a particularly sore spot before continuing with a softer touch.

you didn’t realize you had fallen asleep until he finishes wrapping up your foot and ankle, grabbing a pillow to place under it. “i’ll be right back love.” he whispers, placing a kiss to your hair before leaving the room.

he comes in a few moments later, with more supplies in hand. he places a water bottle, snack and medicine bottle on your bedside table before, carefully placing the compress to your ankle. he gently presses down, pulling a sigh from you as you feel the cold seep through the wrap.

he grabs the snack bar, opening it before handing it to you, who happily takes a bite out of the sweet bar. he opens the bottle of water, trading with you once you finish your snack. he watches you take a couple sips before opening the medicine bottle, holding out 2 pills for you.

you take them from him, putting them in your mouth as he grabs the trash to throw out. he enters the room once again with another water bottle, placing it next to yours.

he grabs a blanket carefully laying it on top of you before making his way to the other side of the bed. he turns on the show you’re watching together before settling in next to you, wrapping his arms around you.

“thank you for taking care of me, my love.” you whispering, leaning into him, placing a kiss to the arm closest to you. he tightens his arms around you, placing a kiss to your hair, “anything for you, 자기야 .” you smile, melting into him, where you both stay for the rest of the night.

changbin

wc: 1.1k | ss: 1

you weren’t technically lying, you were tired. you didn’t tell the whole truth either.

it was your fault, truly, you worked out yesterday, didn’t properly stretch and you certainly didn’t drink enough water after your workout. you were so worried about some work to finish up that you forgot about it.

so unfortunately this led to you getting a charley horse in not one, but both calves. you had woken up this morning, stretched and both of your calves immediately seized up. the pain was immediate and lasted for about a minute.

you probably should’ve told bin but, you didn’t feel like getting lectured on top of everything else you had going on. plus, he had enough going on, he didn’t need to worry about your silly little muscle cramp.

you were moving around-semi fine. it did hurt to walk and your legs feel super tight but it was nothing to worry about- and certainly not for changbin to stress over. that was short-lived however, as soon as he arrived at your apartment, he clocked you immediately.

“what did you do?” he asked as soon as you opened the door.

“what? no hi baby! how are you? how was your day?” you pouted. “all i get is a what did you do?” you said in your best bini impression. “yeah it is because you hurt my baby and not even you can get away with that.” he shot back.

you roll your eyes at his comment. “will you at least get inside before you chastise me.” you widen the door to allow him to pass. once inside, he sets his bag and keys down while kicking off his shoes.

“so?” he asks, looking at you. “i just got a charley horse bin, i’m fine.” you reassure him softly. you saw it in his face as soon as the words left your mouth.

you quickly raise your hand as he opens his mouth. “i know, i don’t want to hear bin please, i just want to lay down.” you say, feeling defeated and tired. “okay bunny.” he sighed, grabbing your hand, placing it around his waist before wrapping his arms around you.

you both stay there for a minute before bini pulls away, places a kiss on your cheek. “can i carry you to bed?” you nod before he picks you up bridal style, pulling a squeak from you in surprise. you quickly wrap your arms around his neck and he carries you to your room.

he carefully lays you down on your soft mattress before walking into your bathroom. he walks back out, massage oil and towel in his hand.

you move to sit up, giving him space, getting ready to give him a massage. but when you look up, he’s just staring at you, almost hurt.

“what are you doing?”

you tilt your head in confusion. “sitting up to give you a massage.” you say, eyes big as you look at him. he walks over to you shaking his head, “no bunny, lay back, i’m giving you one.” he sets the folded towel and oil at the edge of the bed before moving your leg to sit.

“but i told you i’d give you one.” you mumbled, your eyes following his movements. “did you really think i’d make you give me one when you’re clearly tired and hurting?” you look down as you realized how silly it sounded.

“baby,” he places a gentle hand to your cheek, forcing you to look at you. “why don’t you ever let me take care of you?” he asked, eyes filled with love and concern. you shrug, “i’m just not used to asking for or receiving it i guess.”

his thumb gently rubs the soft skin of your cheek, “will you let me take care of you please?” he asks softly.his thumb gently rubs the soft skin of your cheek, “will you let me take care of you please?” he asks softly.

you give him a small nod. “okay.” he smiles, leaning forward to cover your face in kisses, before you giggle, softly pushing him away. “binnie!” you squeak. “okay okay.” he giggles, backing away.

he goes to help you lay back but not before stealing one last kiss. you try to act annoyed but your smile gives you away. “do you want to watch frieren?” he asks as he helps you move your pillows and blanket to get comfy.

“yes please.” you reply, fixing the soft blanket he placed over you. he hands you the remote for the tv before sitting down, placing your legs atop his. he puts the towel under your legs before putting some of the oil in his hands, gently rubbing the tight muscle.

“let me know if it hurts okay?” you give him a quick nod and smile before pressing play, snuggling under the soft fabric. he adds a little more pressure, you let out a small noise, the muscle feeling tender.

he immediately stops, “are you okay?” you nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “it’s just tender, it feels good though.” he guy, understanding, continue his massage, a tad bit lighter.

you both stay like that for at least 20 minutes, binnie switching legs half way through. it only took a few of those twenty to drift off, not fully sleeping but definitely not conscious.

until binnie stopped his movements, gently wiping away the excess oil. you open your eyes and look down, admiring the sweet boy in front of you.

once finished with the task at hand he meets your eyes and pauses. you give him a sleepy smile before making grabby hands to him. he giggles, moving your legs, throwing the towel to side, carefully laying on top of you.

you wrap your arms around him as he places kisses all of your face, pulling giggles from you in the process.

he stops for a moment and admires you, “what?” you ask softly. he shakes his head, “you know i love you right? and i’ll always be here to take care of you.” he’s looking at you with so much love. you nod your head, bring one hand to his soft cheek.

“i know, baby, and you know the same goes for your right?” your thumb gently rubbing the skin as he nods. he quickly leans down, placing a loving kiss to your plush lips before rolling over, pulling you into his chest.

he pulls a blanket over both of you, letting you get comfy, handing you your plushie before wrapping his arms around you. “love you so much bunny, okay?” he reassures once more, placing a kiss to your temple.

you sink further into him, placing a kiss above his heart, “you love you too, my binnie, so much.”

hyunjin

wc: 1.3k | ss: 2

to say you felt overwhelmed was an understatement.

you knew hyunjin would do anything for you, he’d drop everything if you asked him too. however, you never did, always worrying about burdening or annoying him no matter how much you preached the opposite.

you were stressed out, in pain and on top of that feeling so guilty. because not only did you cancel on your boyfriend and his friends but now, you made your boyfriend also cancel on his friends.

so now here you were, sitting on your couch, still in your work clothes, tears streaming down your face as the guilt, stress and pain overwhelmed your senses. 

so much so that you were unaware of said boyfriend using his key to enter your apartment.

he was immediately alarmed by the uneven breathing coming from your couch. he made quick work of discarding his shoes and bags before finding the source of the noise.

“hey, hey, angel what’s going on?”

he rounded the furniture as shot up, looking at him. “i’m sorry.” you sobbed, covering your face in the process. he quickly makes his way to you, kneeling in front of you, one hand on your head, thumb brushing your forehead.

second hand gently rubbing the arm closest to him. “hey, what’s going on, hm? what are you apologizing for?” you feel him rest his chin on your shoulder.

you shake your head slightly, feeling suffocated under all the negative emotions. “breathe baby, breathe.” he pulls your hands from your face in an attempt to help you breathe better.

“can you sit up for me?” he whispers, thumb still rubbing soothing circles on your forehead. you shake your head, “it hurts.” you whimper, turning to face him.

“your back?” you nod, unshed tears gather in your eyes. he leans forward, placing a kiss to your forehead. “okay, will you let me help you? i just wanna help you feel better but you gotta sit up okay?” 

he can see the stress in your face, “it’ll be okay, okay? i promise. i just wanna get you to the bathroom so i can run you a bath okay?” you’d be lying if you said that didn’t sound divine.

you nod your head slightly, prompting him to give you a kiss before readjusting. “okay my baby, i’m gonna help you sit up before you stand okay?” 

“okay.” you nod, already holding your breath in preparation. he gives you his arm to hold as you pull yourself up. he gives you a countdown before pulling you up, moving your legs to the side of the couch.

you hiss in pain as you finally sit up, “you did so good for me baby.” he places a kiss to your temple. he stands, putting a hand out for you to grab.

you prepare yourself to follow him, as you grab his hand, taking a deep breath before pulling yourself up, “ow.” you whimpered before stumbling into him.

he catches you before you can fall, bringing you into his arms. a few tears shed as the pain shoots through your lower back, gripping hyunjin’s hand, letting out a few labored breaths..

he rubs your back gently and your head. rests against him, trying to breathe through the pain. “you’re doing so good baby, you’re halfway there. let me know when you’re ready.” you nod your head, taking one last deep breath.

“okay, i’m ready” you mumble. he turns as you grab his arm to hold as you walk. you focus on your breathing the whole way to the bathroom before he helps you lean against the counter.

“do you think you can stay like this while i get the bath ready?” he asks, eyes filled with concern and worry. you nod, giving him a small smile, “thank you hyune.” you say, bringing a hand up to rub his cheek.

“anything for you my love.” he says before grabbing your hand, placing a kiss to your palm.

you watch as he sets up the bath, starting the water, making it as hot as he can take it before adding the epsom salt and bubbles. once everything was added he made his way over to you. 

“i’m gonna help you undress okay?” you nod your head before carefully lifting your arms. he grabs the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, tossing it to the side.

he reaches behind you, undoing the clasp to your bra, kissing each shoulder and he pulls the straps down. “my beautiful muse.” he hums, giving your bra the same fate as your shirt.

you shiver, feeling exposed but the movement once again made the pain shoot up your spine. “ah.” you hiss, taking a deep breath once more. “i know baby, i’m sorry. just a little longer.” 

he makes quick work of unbuttoning your jeans, cautiously pulling them down each leg. once they were pulled down, he did the same with your underwear. “okay hold my shoulder while i take them off.”

once he feels your hands grip his shoulders, he taps one leg, prompting you to lift it. he does the same to the other leg before once again tossing the fabric aside.

“there we go, i’m gonna help you get in then i’ll join you okay?” you nod before grabbing his hands once more.

he helps you step in, holding you steady as you sit down. you let out a sigh of relief as the hot water soothed your spine. you lean back, hyune placing a kiss to your temple before leaving you.

he searches through your cabinet before grabbing the massage oil, placing it to the side of the tub. he quick undresses, as you slowly shift forward, giving him space behind you.

he shuts off the water before he steps in, carefully sitting behind you. you go to sit back before he stops you. “hold on baby, i’m gonna try and massage it a bit okay?”

you pout, “but that’s my job.” he shaked his head, dark hair swishing back and forth with it. “not today, today i’m here to make you feel better.” he says before putting some oil hands, warming it up a bit.

“can you lean forward a bit or does it hurt?” you slowly cross you legs before carefully leaning forward. you felt a slight stretch in your lower back, letting out a sigh. hyunjin’s hands lay against your back, thumbs rubbing soft circles.

“you okay baby?” you nod a bit. “i’m good.” you mumble, trying to relax a bit more. hyunjin’s hands glide across your back with ease, stopping at each knot, giving it extra attention.

you were basically falling asleep when he came across a particularly sore spot, a gasp from you. he immediately stops his hands, resting them on your back.

“i’m sorry, baby.” you shake your head. “it’s okay, just a little tender now.” he places his hands on your sides, pulling you back slightly, carefully bringing you to him.

you gently lay against his back, sighing as you feel the hot water surround you from the shift. he wraps his arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer, placing a kiss to the side of you head.

“i wish you would’ve told me it was this bad.” he mumbles into your ear, playing with the bubbles around you.

you lean your head against his, “i’m sorry.” you play with his fingers, stopping his movements in the bubbles. “you have so much going on and i didn’t wanna add to that.”

you felt his head shift next to you. “hey,” you turn your head to him, “no matter what i have going on, i wanna be there for you when you’re hurting okay?”

you swallow the lump in your throat, nodding your head. “promise?” he asks, taking his hand to grab yours, lacing your fingers together. “i promise.” you lean fully into him, basking in the moment.

once the water ran cold, hyunjin helped you out of the tub, and into some comfy clothes. once he got you settled in your bed with your heating pad, he ordered dinner before joining you in bed. 

and that is how you stayed for the rest of the night (apart from hyunjin grabbing your food) wrapped in the arms of your favorite boy, feeling much better than before.

jeongin

wc: 1.3k | ss: 1

you were were getting ahead on some prep for your bakery when jeongin texted you. you started wrapping up the strawberries you prepped for the cheesecakes the next day, dating them before going to put them in the cooler.

but as you turned around, container of red fruit in hand, you felt a jolt of pain in your knee before it gave out. luckily you were close enough to the countertop you were able to set the fruits down safely before finding your footing.

you look down and find your knee to find it swollen, fighting against the fabric of your pants. you sigh gently massaging it, hissing slightly as a shock of pain spreads through your knee. you place weight on your knee, finding it stronger than before but still weak.

you carefully making way your way to the cooler placing them gently inside. you turn around, placing your hands on your hips, looking at the kitchen around you, feeling proud of what you accomplished.

you were also thanking your past self for asking ryujin to clean the floors before she left because there’s no way you would’ve been able to. you made your way over to your work station, wiping down the table and discarding your trash. 

you turn off all the lights, and headed out the door just in time to see jeongin’s car pull around the corner. you waved and gave him a smile, locking the door behind you. you walked to the car trying (and failing) to hide your limp.

seeing this jeongin immediately parked the car, getting out to meet you halfway. “hi bubba.” you smiled as he approached you. “hi noona,” he gives you a quick hug and peck on the side of your head before pulling away.

“what’s going on with your knee?” he asks, voice laced with concern. “nothing, it’s just a little sore-” he cuts you off. “noona, i love you but if you say it's nothing to worry about i’m gonna lose it.” you giggle and shake your head.

“there’s nothing to worry about, my knee gets like that every once and a while i’m okay.” you smile, trying to ease his concern. “i’d believe that if i didn’t just watch you limp over here.” he says, folding his arms, raising an eyebrow.

“ while i appreciate the concern,” you smile, you unfold his arms, sliding your hands in his, “i promise i am fine, it’s just a little swollen and sore. nothing a little ice and aspirin can’t fix.” you place a kiss on his cheek, moving to get to the car.

well at least you were trying to until your knee gave out once more, causing you to stumble. he catches you before you can fall, wrapping an arm around your waist, “woah! okay y/n, that’s not normal!” he exclaims, helping you stand.

“okay it looks bad but i promise it’s fine, i have it under control.” you tried reassure him, but he wasn’t buying it. “y/n.” his tone was stern and his eyes were worried. you sighed, knowing what had to be done. “i know.” you whispered, looking down. “but i can’t afford to go right now.” he sighed, pulling you into him, placing his arms around you.

“peach, you gotta get this checked out please, you’re making me worried.”  you feel a slight sting behind your eyes, turning your face into his neck, wrapping your arms around him. “don’t worry about the money, okay? but we gotta get this figured out before it gets worse.” he whispers next to your ear, placing a kiss there.

you nod, taking a deep breath, pulling back looking at him. “okay, i’ll call tomorrow.” he smiles, placing a kiss on your temple. “okay good, now let’s go home hm?” you sniffle nodding. “yes please.”

he walks you to the car, helping you in the car, closing the door and making his way to the driver’s side. he grabs your hand, placing it on your thigh as he started the journey home. once he pulls into the parking lot of your complex, helps you out of the car.

“we’re gonna take it slow okay?” you go to open your mouth but quickly shut it, seeing the stern look on his face. you grab the hand he holds out, slowly make your way up the flight of stairs, one by one.

once making it into the apartment, you both kick off shoes, making your way into your room. “go shower, i’ll grab your clothes and towel for you.” he squeezes your hand as you part ways. you slowly make your way to your ensuite while he heads to your closet.

you turn on the water, making sure it’s set to warm the ridding yourself of your work clothes. once naked, you double check the temperature of the water before carefully stepping in, making sure to find your balance against the wall. 

you heard a knock on the door before it opens, “peach?” he calls out, “i got your towel and some comfy clothes for you, i’m gonna set them on the counter okay?” you hear as he places the collection on the counter. “okay, thank you i.n-ah.” your heart warms at the act, wondering how you got so lucky. he takes a seat on the toilet, taking out his phone, scrolling through a delivery app.

“noona, what do you want for dinner?” he asks, “i was thinking ramen.” you can’t help the smile on your face as you sit under the water. “that sounds perfect.” 

you both fall into casual conversation as you finish your shower and he finishes your order. you turn off the water and peek around the curtain, finding jeongin standing with your towel in hand. you reach your hand but he pulls it away before you can. he leans forward, “kiss please.” he purses his lips, waiting.

you giggle, rolling your eyes before giving him a quick kiss, “pleasure doing business with you.” he smiles, handing you the soft fabric. you wrap the towel around you, stepping out of the shower as jeongin walks about into your room, giving you privacy to get dressed.

you quickly dry off, carefully getting dressed, leaning on the sink to put on your shorts. you walk back into your room to find jeongin on your bed with lotion and massage oil next to him.

he smiles as you enter the room, patting the spot next to him, signaling you to take a seat. you make your way over, sitting against the pillows, being mindful of your knee. once settled he moves to sit in front of you, gently placing your leg on top of his.

“which one?” he asks, holding up the two bottles. “uh, the oil, but only a little please.” he nods, knowing you hate the feeling of anything greasy. he gets to work gently rubbing your knee, making sure to not apply too much pressure.

you both sit in silence while he worked his magic. you took in his side profile, taking this opportunity to truly take in his appearance. his soft skin, his boba eyes, his dimples that peak out every once in a while.

he senses someone looking at him causing him to look up, locking eyes with you. his cheeks become a light pink, “stop staring at me, weirdo.” he mumbles, continuing his task on your knee. you gasp in offense, “you're lucky my knee hurts or i’d kick you.” you pout, sinking into the pillow behind you.

he giggles before placing a kiss to your knee, moving to rub the underside of our knee. you hiss but soon relax as he works the sore muscle. you fall into conversation once more, him recounting his day as you relax further and further into the bed.

you end up falling asleep halfway through his story about hyunjin’s cuteness aggression halting dance practice once more. he looks over as soft breaths leave your lips, careful moving and placing your legs on the bed and a soft blanket over you.

placing a kiss on your forehead he leaves to prepare bowls, utensils and drinks for dinner, only waking you once it arrives. he brings it in with all other necessities to help soothe the pain in your knee, spending the rest of the night pampering you and icing your knee.

do not repost

i hope you all enjoyed! i kinda got lost in the sauce and made these alot longer than they should've lol but hopefully they're still good! please let me n ilya know what u think! love u guys <33

[nlvrr]

CHEERLEADER | jude bellingham

summary: you go to your new boyfriend’s football game to support him which leads to an abrupt hard launch to your relationship.

warnings: fluff, implied sexual themes

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

chapter 1 , game day at madrid

the mirror in front of you felt like a stranger as you studied your reflection. you hadn’t worn a jersey in years, let alone go to one. but today was different. it wasn’t just any jersey. It was your boyfriend, jude’s. his number 5 stretching across your back. you’d seen him wear it with pride countless times, but wearing it now felt… strange, in the most exciting way possible.

“is this really happening?” you muttered to yourself, tapping the fabric against your chest. with a soft sigh, you slid it on, the oversized fit swaying gently with each movement. you gaze shifted to your reflection in the full-length mirror. nervous but excited. ready but not sure at the same time.

another buzz from your phone startled you as you slipped on a pair of sneakers. jude’s name with a tiny heart next to it flashed across the screen. his text made your heart beat a little faster.

“are you ready? im about to hit the field. can’t wait to finally see you here.”

your fingers shook slightly as you typed back.

“i’m almost there. so ready to cheer you on.” you felt a flush on your cheeks after you hit send. it felt surreal saying “your boyfriend,” even in a text. her had quickly become the one constant in your life, his sweet laugh, the way he cared for the smallest details…

you grabbed your bag, pausing in the doorway for a second. how are you supposed to feel? nervous? exited? confident?

the drive felt like a blur, as if the whole world was moving too quickly. the closer you got to the stadium, the louder the noises outside became. the fans. the tailgate parties. everywhere you looked, people were wearing the same jerseys, hats, and scarves. the bright glow of neon banners and screens teased you. the overwhelming sound of cheering from stadium-goers carried through the streets.

once you parked, the walk toward the place jude calls home seemed to drag on forever. the pulse in your neck mimicked the beat of the cheering fans.

the stadium towered above you, all sharp edges and glaring lights. the crowd was a moving sea of colors, shouts of anticipation weaving into the heartbeat of the city. you pulled the jersey tighter around yourself as you threaded through the bustling fans, their excited energy contagious.

finally stepping into the grand stands, you were hit with an overwhelming view of the field. rows upon rows of perfectly manicured green stretched out before you, floodlights making the blades of grass look almost unreal. the smells of all different aromas took over your nose, the freshly cut grass, the smell of fireworks due to a pregame celebration and the mix of different foods. it was oddly comfortable.

your phone buzzed again. jude.

“where are you?”

you smirked, thumb tapping away quickly.

“somewhere cheering you on, superstar. don’t worry. I’m hard to miss.”

sliding your phone into your bag, you found your seat. It was closer to the sidelines than you’d expected, almost perfect for catching every move he made. the players were warming up already, and even from afar, you could see jude, easily recognizable in his number five jersey.

it felt like he sensed your gaze before he spotted you. he jogged to the sideline, loosening up with a final stretch, before sneaking a glance toward the stands. the second his eyes landed on you, his smile softened and he lifted his arm to give you the smallest wave. you grinned, lifting your fingers in a shy little wave back.

“nice jersey!” someone yelled beside you, clearly spotting his name on your back. you turned, cheeks heating up slightly. “i guess we know which team you’re rooting for,” the older man added, laughing lightly as you nodded.

“you could say I have a favorite player,” you joked back.

jude, watching from the field, probably noticed your flustered reaction because he ducked his head with an amused shake of his own, clearly proud of himself. this was quickly interrupted with a punch from one of his teammates and he laughed, running to the bench to talk to his coach. a warmth bloomed in your chest; he was yours, and there was something special about seeing him in his element.

-

the energy in the stadium was electric—the fans roaring, chanting jude’s name as his goal decided the match. your voice was already hoarse, throat tight with excitement as you cheered your heart out. as the final whistle blew, jude’s arms shot up in victory, and before you knew it, you were being nudged and congratulated by fans around you who assumed you were just another supporter.

moments later, when players were wandering closer to the sidelines again, jude found you with his eyes and mouthed something exaggerated and teasing, tapping his jersey. you squinted, trying to read his lips. Nice shirt.

your rolled your eyes playfully, laughing as you motioned for him to get back to celebrating with his team. still, the moment lingered between you two like it carried a weight only the two of you could understand.

-

the tunnel was chaotic. a mix of buzzing fans, random staff members weaving through, and reporters darting around like vultures hunting for prey. your leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching it all, trying to keep a low profile. it wasn’t exactly your scene, but you’d been waiting for jude to finish his interview with the media.

and then, there he was, fresh from the match, looking exhausted but that usual cocky grin still plastered on his face. His messy hair and shirt sticking to his skin only added to the scrappy-but-charming vibe. when his eyes landed on you from across the chaos, his whole demeanor shifted—like he’d spotted his favorite person in the crowd. his lips curved into that easy grin, and for a moment, the madness around him seemed to fade.

you leaned off the wall with a grin of your own. "you took your sweet time," you teased, eyebrow raised.

he walked up with an exaggerated slow pace, clearly enjoying how much he could mess with you. “miss me already?”

“do i look like i’m dying to see you?” you smirked, folding your arms.

he leaned in, ignoring the close group of reporters nearby, giving you an exaggerated look like really?“come on. You can’t tell me you’ve survived this long without me.”

“oh, i’m surviving.” you gave him a playful shove. “i’m just bored, that’s all.”

just as he opened his mouth to reply, a couple of reporters, catching sight of him walking toward you, began to rush forward. jude, always quick to pick up on what was happening, straightened up and snapped into his public persona. he gave you a wink before he turned toward them with a practiced, easy smile.

“jude! congrats on the win! what an assist, yeah? could you tell us how you’re feeling about this season?”

“happy with how things went today,” he said smoothly, giving his usual ‘team-player’ response. but there was that familiar distance in his voice, like he wasn’t entirely present. it was clear, he’d answered these questions a hundred times before.

another voice interrupted. “and who’s that with you? a new girlfriend, jude?”

you could practically feel the moment hanging in the air between you both. A new girlfriend?

his smile remained, but there was a subtle shift in his body language, and then, he slid in front of you just a little, instinctively protecting your space. his tone didn’t change, but there was an edge to it. “that’s enough questions for today, yeah?”

the reporters, not willing to give up, pushed a few more questions. your could hear snippets but the responses turned into a blur. jude kept the conversation light, answering in the most polished, public-friendly way, as if this moment didn’t matter much to him.

with the last camera flash blinding you, jude’s hand brushed your lower back gently, urging you to walk toward the car park. the overwhelming weight of the attention felt like it was fading, but a few lingering reporters took notice. it only took a second, and before you could even fully process what was happening, you heard a sharp click behind you.

a photographer had snapped a picture—the kind that could get recycled into another stupid article. your barely registered it, your heart racing, more than a little annoyed by how easily they caught the moment. your gaze shot to jude, who paused and glanced back.

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath, but the words barely had time to leave his lips before he took a deep breath and leaned in close to you, turning his attention back to you instead. “its the game, babe,” he said in a quiet, dry tone.

you shook your head, trying to calm the mild irritation swelling inside of you. “i don’t like being the game.” your eyes stayed ahead, trying to put as much distance between the scene and the cameras.

“tell me about it.” her nudged you playfully with his elbow. “you’re the mysterious new girlfriend, huh? how’d that for a headline?”

“thats what they’re going with?” you raised an eyebrow as you both stepped into the quieter car park, finally leaving the madness behind.

he shrugged, walking with easy strides beside you. “they’ll spin it any way they can. but it’ll keep them happy for a while.”

you shot him a teasing look. “of course, you’d be the one to feed the drama.”

"drama’s where the fun’s at." he smirked. "but you look good in a headline. guess that's not all bad."

you rolled your eyes to jude’s playful teasing that still managed to make you smile as you arrived to the car.

jude leaned in and opened the car door for you, his fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the frame as he did. there was an effortless ease to his movement, a silent promise in his quiet gesture.

“thank you," you said, your voice softer as you climbed into the seat, trying to shake off the feeling of being thrust into the chaos.

jude lingered for a second longer, and you could feel his gaze on you as you settled. he stepped in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “ill meet you at your apartment after i’m done with the guys," he said, voice lowered, the playful tone gone as something more genuine replaced it. "shouldn’t be too long, but i’ll text you when i’m on my way.”

you raised an eyebrow, giving him an amused look. “you sure about that?”

his lips curled into his signature grin, all cockiness and charm. “would i lie to you?”

“guess I’ll find out.” the words were playful, but there was something else there, a curiosity—you hadn’t expected the weight in his voice just now.

he seemed to read it, his eyes searching yours for a moment, then it was like a switch flicked—he was closer, too close to ignore. without another word, he gently cupped your face with one hand, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. the sudden proximity caught your breath, the playful tension shifting into something more electric.

he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours.

the kiss was slow, teasing, barely more than a graze at first. his lips were warm, fitting perfectly against yours, but it was the intensity of it—how everything else in the world blurred out of existence for just that second—that left you breathless. when he pulled away, your chest tightened with the weight of his absence.

there was that teasing glint back in his eye, but it was clouded by something deeper, a promise unspoken. “see you soon,” he said, his voice low, husky.

you swallowed, struggling to push the immediate need rising inside of you down. That kiss hadn’t been long enough infact, it was far from it. and now, that familiar longing was twisting inside you, making your mind whirl.

jude shut the door gently, the final sound of his footsteps echoing in the distance before you were left in the car, the car engine humming softly in your ears.

one kiss. It hadn’t even lasted a full minute, but it was enough to leave you wanting more.

and you couldn’t help but wonder just how much more he’d be willing to give.

—

a/n: lmk if i should continue this! im not too sure but definitely could expand it

[sanctus-ingenium]

we need to talk about Inprnt.com

Following a really good post with more screenshots and evidence by @dynasoar5 i'm going to talk about my own experiences with @inprnt and why I am about to put my shop on indefinite hiatus from Monday the 14th of August.

First of all I'll say that since starting my print shop last year it has been a significant help to me financially - I was able to not worry about affording car insurance or motor tax (together commonly over a thousand euro) when I bought my first car, for example. I am immeasurably grateful to anyone who chose to buy one and I treasure all the pictures I've been sent of my prints hanging up on people's walls. Right now they are displayed in a real (if small) art exhibition in my home town.

(top right print is not from inprnt though)

They're great prints. Never had any complaints about them. But here's what's going on behind the scenes.

Earlier this year, around March or April, Inprnt sales started increasing in regularity. I'd made as much as $600 a week during previous sales when I made proper promo posts here, but with this increase in regularity, I felt that I couldn't make promo posts every single week. And then one day, I'm not sure when tbh, the sale just never ended. It just didn't stop having that "Ending soon! 15% off your order" banner at the top of the site. Right now it says "Final Hours: $5 Worldwide shipping and save up to 35% off your order!" and not even for a second do I believe in this final hours bullshit. It's been 'final hours' for weeks now. Months, even.

Why is this a problem? Well, how tf am I meant to make a promo post for a sale that is always "ending soon!!" and then never ends. One week it'll say "this weekend only!!" and then when the weekend is over, the sale banner just changes its wording and the sale doesn't end. I can't promo this, it makes me look like a liar and a skeevy salesman by association! It makes the site look like it's 1 week from crashing and burning, and the site owners are just scrabbling to suck as much money from artists as possible before they drown.

And they are sucking money from us. To peel back the curtain, Inprnt money can only be transferred to my paypal account 30 days after the sale is made, just in case the order is cancelled and refunded. This means I used to make one withdrawal every couple of months, when there was enough build-up of money to make it worthwhile. It also forbids withdrawing any sum under $50 btw. I would make a withdrawal request and then, after a 10 business day wait, it would reach my Paypal account.

Not anymore! The past few withdrawals have taken over a month to complete. They are straight up keeping my earnings from me for longer the agreed period. This was my last fulfilled withdrawal:

Note the date.

Almost two months.

And here is the latest withdrawal request that still has not been fulfilled.

It's coming up on 1 month and if the pattern continues, it could literally be November or December by the time I fully clear all sales.

So what's going to happen to my print shop? Because my art is currently being exhibited with a QR code linking to the shop, I can't close the shop this week. Instead I will close it on Monday the 14th of August, next week. That means that on the 14th of September, I can withdraw all of the remaining money without having any left over. My account balance will go to 0 and stay there. Although I'll de-list my prints I will leave my account there, because at the end of the day I don't want to leave Inprnt. It still offers the best artist margins and as I'm now unemployed after graduating, the additional support is such a load off my mind. So this is a chance to wait and see - if they improve their services, I'll happily re-open.

It's a big deal to me because selling prints is sort of my ideal life as an artist. I never had the attention span or self-discipline for commission work and I found that it left me creatively stagnant. I always want to try new things, new concepts and ideas, and being able to think "yeah, people will like this as a print" while I experiment is honestly very reassuring. And I know that in going on hiatus, it'll break a lot of "buy a print" links in my circulating posts. Oh well lmao. If you want to buy a print right now - go ahead, it might be your last opportunity. Another way to support me would be to check out my ko-fi for once-off donations or some nice sketchbooks/comics/book samples you can buy, or subscribing to my Patreon.

As of right now, Inprnt owes me $381 (the unfulfilled request submitted above for $186.60 and my current standing balance of $194.80 which takes 30 days from each transaction to clear).

[welcometohellfilm]

Congrats to everyone who has been working on W2H2! 🎉 If it's alright, I'd like to ask to ask 2 questions:

Is there by chance an official ref of colors for Debbie, or is it still up to interpretation at the moment?

Would you say that your personal, real life experiences within the 10 years moving from W2H to W2H2 shifted the tone/story of the series in some way? Something that I've always been fascinated with when I started looking more into W2H was the shift in Sock's character from the original comic -> first film -> second film, and Jonathan's character from the first film -> second film.

Thank you! ✨

I actually just made some 'official'-ish colors for Debbie! Her voice actor Kaitlyn wanted something to use on a banner for conventions haha... so here you go!

2. I'm not really sure how to answer this one, haha. I mean I've definitely changed as a person over the course of making each iteration of W2H. I started the comic while I was at community college, before I went to art school. I adapted it into an animation for my graduation project. And I started W2H2 a couple years after I graduated college. So there's a good 2-3 years between each attempt at W2H I've done, haha. I think a lot of my original ideas from the comic had to change because it needed to be condensed into a short film. I didn't even GET to Jonathan yet in the comic! Some things just didn't make sense to me anymore, like the idea of Sock already having a human body count. It'd just be absurd for him to be able to hide it for so long! Plus, if I made it so that Sock has only ever entertained the idea of murder, it makes his new job that much more appealing-- it's a chance for him to really lean in to this thing he's always had to hide. Between the first and second films though, I mean... I think there's been some tonal shift, for sure (I don't know about a character shift? We'll get to that haha) But basically, when I was first thinking about W2H2, my idea was "Sock and Jonathan hang out and attempt to figure out touch physics, also there's some drama about a journal Jonathan keeps." All of the hell stuff is something that came from bouncing ideas around with my friends, Michael and Neil. I was worried that sending Jonathan to hell would be too bonkers for a "2nd episode", but we all kinda agreed that enough time had passed that the fans would probably enjoy something higher stakes, so it would be fine. (I'll give everyone a moment to realize this conversation would've been happening in 2015-16... ha.)

We also kind of thought, y'know... I have no idea how many more of these there's even gonna' be, so why not go a little bigger with this one? W2H2 is a higher stakes story than what I set out to make in the beginning, that's for sure. It is interesting to compare all of them.. the employee handbook was actually from the comic and I cut that because it wasn't helpful for W2H... but then it became helpful for W2H2, so it came back! Haha. I'm curious to know in what ways people think the characters have changed though. (And is that a good thing or a bad thing?) Especially a character like Jonathan, no one's really even seen that much of him yet, I think most of the characterization comes from fandom, or like... art I've drawn, I guess? Haha... I'm not sure! I guess Sock's a little more confident and antagonistic in this one (though he'll have his moments of hesitation... we're only at Part 1 right now!), and Jonathan has had to become a more vocal/active character, just by nature of the kind of story it is, I suppose. But yeah, I'm not sure! Happy to hear your guys' thoughts though!

[haoboutyou]

hello!!! I really enjoy your fics and was wondering if you could do wonwoo, cheol & mingyu where they're crushing on you? separate ones!!

when they have a crush on you | hhu

fluff | 1278 words (300-ish per member) | no warnings

an: hihi! hope this is what you're looking for! it took me a while ngl I have new-found respect for headcanon writers T-T + added vernon because 🤷🏽‍♀️

divider credit

1. Choi Seungcheol

He carries your bags for you. 

You’re not sure when it started, but you’ve noticed that Seungcheol would always carry your bags for you, even despite your insistence. It’s like he’s made it his own personal mission to carry your stuff for you, even when you’re out with others. of course, this came hand in hand with the other guys teasing you two whenever you hung out. It doesn’t help that Jeonghan often jokes that Seungcheol’s crush on you is an open secret, but the boy in question wouldn’t even dispel his best friend’s words, flushing bright red every time.

“Seungcheol, give me that!”

Seungcheol stops in his tracks, causing you to bump into his back. The equipment in the box clinks against each other as he turns around, facing you. Wordlessly, he dumps the box into your waiting arms, smirking when you almost topple over at the unexpected weight. 

“I told you, sweetheart; leave the heavy lifting to me.”

You glance up at him, a slight blush from the unexpected nickname. When did he start calling you that? A bead of sweat glistens on your brow as you brush that thought away, your expression a mix of defiance and sheepishness. 

"I can manage," you mumble, trying your hardest to conceal the struggle in your tone.

He can’t shake off the apprehension swirling within him. He had warned you, hadn't he? Yet, you continue to persist, your determination outmatching your physical strength. Concern floods Seungcheol as he watches the way your arms tremble at the weight of the box. 

He approaches you, gently but firmly emphasising again. "I told you, y/n.” With a resigned sigh, he reached out, his hands enveloping the box, effortlessly lifting it from your grasp. "Stubborn as ever," his voice's a certain fondness, tugging at your heart for no apparent reason.

You watch him, a mixture of gratitude and embarrassment colouring your features as he continues walking away with the box. Eh, what harm is an extra hand?

2. Jeon Wonwoo

He lets you win in games.

Wonwoo’s proud of his in-game skills; he’s not afraid to say his reflexes sharp and his strategies are flawless. He’s rather good too– having high rankings in the server makes him cocky, Seungcheol likes to say. But as he glanced at his crush beside him, he notices the slight furrow of your brow, a hint of frustration clouding your features as you struggle to keep up.

A pang of empathy tugs at his heart. Wonwoo did ask you to join him at the internet cafe; he only wishes that you would learn to enjoy the game as much as he did. And so, in a split-second decision, he dials back his intensity, purposely taking on more hits to level the playing field.

Your eyes widened in surprise as you suddenly found your character gaining ground, rallying against the opposing team with newfound vigor. Unbeknownst to you, Wonwoo was subtly adjusting his tactics– allowing you to seize the advantage, all the while maintaining the illusion of competition.

Your team wins. Across you, Jihoon whoops in joy. “That’s foul!” Chan baulks opposite Wonwoo, clicking away furiously on his keyboard. Wonwoo smirks as he leans back in his chair, the loser banner blinking brightly on his screen. Arms stretching up, he leans over his monitor to peek your screen.

Your eyes seemed to shine brighter than the screen in front of you. Contrary to the boy next to you, your monitor flashes an animated victory banner.

“I did it! We–I did it!” you clap your hands together, grinning ear to ear. You lean towards Wonwoo to bump shoulders with him. 

He chuckles, arms crossing behind his head as he leans back in his seat. “Yes, you did!”

3. Chwe Vernon

He gets you medicine.

“Here.” A box drops in front of you, breaking the concentration you had on your laptop in front of you. 

You look up from your screen in confusion. “What’s this?” 

Vernon nudges the box of painkillers in front of you. He settles down on the chair opposite yours, acknowledging Seungkwan seated beside you. 

“You said you had a headache.” He acts nonchalant as he dives into conversation with his best friend, but the heavy blush creeping up his neck suggests otherwise. Yes, you had texted him earlier asking if he had painkillers on him, but you recalled him replying a plain ‘no’. Either he was lying (you doubt it– why would Vernon lie to you?) or he had stopped by a pharmacy just to pick up some for you.

You’re slightly flushing now, and not because of the dull throbbing in your head. Sure, Seungkwan had fed into your delusion earlier, suggesting that Vernon might have a crush on you– but there’s no way that’s, right?

You sneak a glance at your two best friends in front of you, now engaging in a deep argument about potatoes. Vernon’s brows furrow even deeper but soften when he realises you’re looking his way. The shy smile he sends your way causes cartwheels in your stomach before replacing it with an exaggerated gasp directed to Seungkwan’s way. 

You bury your head back into your laptop, mumbling a quick thanks before trying to focus on your work. Still, you can’t shake off what Seungkwan said about your best friend.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think Vernon has a crush on you.”

“That’s ridiculous, Kwan. He sees me as a friend, just like you.”

Seungkwan wiggles his eyebrows, choosing to scroll on his phone instead half-heartedly. “Sure, Jan,” he scoffs.

You slink back deeper in your seat. That can’t be true, right?

4. Kim Mingyu

He gets jealous of others.

Mingyu watches from across the cafe as you laugh at something Seokmin said, your smile radiant, eyes sparkling with amusement. He feels a knot tighten in his stomach– a familiar pang of jealousy gnawing at his insides. Aren’t you standing a little bit too close for comfort? Your easy camaraderie is triggering a surge of insecurity within him.

Seokmin is charming, there is no denying it. He has a way with words, a magnetic-like personality that drew people in effortlessly. And you seem rather captivated, hanging on to his every word. Usually, your laughter rings out like music to Mingyu’s ears. Today, though, it was all a cacophony of discord. A reminder of what he could be missing out on.

He clenches his fists, trying to push down the rising tide of jealousy threatening to consume him. Mingyu knows he had no right to feel this way; you aren’t his to claim, and Seokmin had every right to befriend you. But logic did very little to quell the sudden surge of possessiveness coursing through his veins.

So he sits, pouting on his own until you notice him from the corner of your eye. He stares you down with his big puppy eyes until you sigh and walk over to your best friend. Your hand can’t help but run through his soft dark hair.

“What’s wrong, Gyu?”

“Hmm?” he leans into your touch, nuzzling against the palm of your hand. “Nothing, Y/n.”

You shoot him a condescending look. “Yeah? You shooting Seokmin daggers with your eyes for nothing?” Your eyes flutter shut as you sigh, shaking your heard in disbelief. Then, ruffling his hair, “If you say so, Gyu.” 

“Anyways,” Mingyu clears his throat, looking up at the cafe’s menu board. “Have you decided what to get? My treat today!” 

“Really?!” Your eyes sparkle, glad you won’t have to open your wallet today. “Help me finish the then cakes, okay? Promise!” 

[revehae]

day and night (1)

pairing ↠ jeno x (f) reader x haechan

genre .. warnings ↠ noncon, abduction, use of a gun, bondage, unprotected sex, slapping

summary ↠ haechan is one of the sweetest guys you’ve ever met and a pleasure to tutor, but your perspective of him changes forever when you wake up in a foreign room tied to the bed; and only haechan and his team captain jeno are to blame.

wc ↠ 2.5k

a/n ↠ this is part one of a repost! i don’t have the original banner anymore if it matters pls don’t shoot me. here’s part two

don’t like it, don’t read.

maybe all of the signs had been staring you dead in the face - the shy glances haechan casted you, only to glance off as swiftly as possible the moment you caught him staring. the way he always blushed whenever you praised his efforts or called him smart. how he was always so curious about you, and maybe his cute face and innocent smile had lured you into telling him a little more than you should have.

after all, he was merely a stranger before you agreed to tutor him. just the cute boy in class that did his work and kept quiet, and was only found to be close with his fellow teammates on the baseball team. 

but you thought that it only meant he had an innocent crush on you. never did you imagine that all of it would culminate in this way. that you would wake up in an unfamiliar room with haechan towering above you. 

“you’re awake,” haechan whispered, more inwardly, as if he meant to keep the words inside of his head. 

you glanced around, nothing short of confused. the bedroom was quite clearly not yours. for one, the bed you were lying on is much bigger and comfortable. second of all, it’s so much more decorative, looking more like your ideal bedroom than the one you actually own. it’s filled with your favorite colors, posters of your favorite musical artists, and things alike. almost as if you designed the room yourself. but you knew you didn’t. 

when you tried to sit up, you were forced right back in place. you glanced up and realized that your wrists were bound. the feeling of the rope digging into your skin made you grimace. haechan’s eyes flashed with arm, and he rushed to your side. “is it too tight?” as soon as you nodded, haechan went to loosen the ropes. not enough so that you could free yourself from them, of course, but enough so that it wouldn’t be prying into your skin. “better?” he asked. you gave him another nod, and he sported his signature cute smile. you only wished that you could still trust it.

merely seconds later, haechan made another move. he seemed to be pensive and mull his decision over, taking one step forward, then another back, and then he made a few more forward until he was right at the edge of the bed. he reached for your shorts, and in an instant you realized what he was trying to do. you tried to kick, but he held your legs carefully, trying not to hurt you in spite of your attempts to kick him away. “please don’t do this, haechan,” you whimpered, shaking your head. your throat hurt when you tried to talk and your breath picked up a rapid pace to the point where you almost couldn’t breathe. 

haechan frowned, but he didn’t let up. “i have to - i’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

your brain immediately began to think of reasons why he would have to do something this terrible to you. why he would have to kidnap you and lock you inside of some bedroom, presumably in his house. you had never been. all of the studying sessions took place at yours, and he had all of the time in the world to learn every little thing there was to know about you that made you vulnerable to this kind of situation, simply by paying attention. then, it occurred to you exactly how you had been abducted - belt wrapped around your throat from the backseat of your car, until you eventually lost consciousness. that didn’t seem like haechan’s M.O, though. sure he was stronger than you, that much was obvious from the fact that he was holding your legs in place, but even then, he was gentle. the ambush in your car was anything but, betraying every effort of preserving your comfort that haechan had put forth. and then, it clicked. haechan l wasn’t the one that had kidnapped you.

then, who had?

“did someone put you up to this?” you questioned, trying hard to ignore the burn around your neck. the belt was no longer there, but the pain lingered. as soon as the question left your mouth, haechan seemed to freeze, and you knew by now that that meant you had hit the nail on the head. haechan was merely someone’s partner in crime, but you couldn’t imagine who. someone from the baseball team? i don’t even know anyone else from the baseball team. “who… who, hyuck? you can tell me.”

he only shook his head. “i can’t.” 

you bit your lip. “is it someone from the team? you don’t have to do this, hyuck. you can let me go.”

haechan was still hesitant, but his reluctance didn’t side with you this time. unless, he was telling the cold, hard truth when he replied, “no one forced me to do anything.”

you didn’t want to believe that. it made you sick to your stomach to think that haechan was fully willing to do something like this to you. 

“come on, donghyuck.”

“he’s right,” added another voice, deep enough for you to tell that it obviously didn’t belong to haechan. your vision panned to the doorway, where the last person you thought you’d see appeared - lee jeno, captain of the baseball team. “this was a group effort. teamwork, if you will.”

“jeno…” 

jeno lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers before stepping in the room, “that’s me,” he announced, smiling. it wasn’t sweet or even kind, though of course you were biased in that description; he was the one pulling all of the strings. it was… victorious. like the prideful smiles he sported after winning a championship game, when people would flock towards him with their congratulations and asking him how it felt to be so utterly undefeated. at least then, you thought he was respectable. he never acted as if he carried all of the weight, never forgetting to mention that it was teamwork that rewarded him with a victory. but now he was looking at you as if he had won possession over you, and you felt nauseous. 

jeno glanced at haechan with a displeased look, chiding, “haven’t even gotten the bitch naked yet? what good are you for?”

haechan hung his head and whispered, “sorry.” 

jeno sighed and shook his head, then began to walk towards you. and that was when you began to panic. when you were alone with haechan, you felt a tad bit safer, considering you had at least trusted him at one point and he was gentle with you, but jeno wasn’t like that. you didn’t know him personally, but he worked hard, played hard, and nothing about him was ever soft. he reached for something inside of the bedside drawer, and your eyes went round when you realized that it was a knife. he leaned towards you and shut your eyes, begging, “jeno, please don’t hurt me, please, i’ll do whatever you want.”

the man in question tilted his head. “whatever i want?”

tears rolling down your cheeks, you nodded. your eyes only opened again once you heard something rip and your skin suddenly felt cold. jeno had tore your shirt apart with his knife and the air was hitting your bare skin. your chest heaved as you made eye contact with him, so much fear in yours and so much power in his.

jeno dragged the knife down your abdomen and to your underwear. you held your breath when you felt the cold edge of the knife against your bare skin, and soon it was slitting your underwear open. he wasn’t as careful as haechan, and the only reason his pace was even relatively slow was because he knew it would unnerve you. he asked through thick breath, “will you give me something?”

you gulped, mouth going dry. you knew what he wanted. it was clear as day - what both of them wanted. 

carelessly, jeno threw the broken pieces of fabric somewhere across the floor and ran a finger over your cunt. instantly you squirmed, trying to pry your legs shut, and you managed to land a kick on jeno. “you fucking bitch,” he spat, visibly now upset. he stormed over to the uppermost end of the bed and tightened the ropes around your arms again in punishment, satisfied when you let out a loud noise of pain and discomfort. 

“hurts?” 

you nodded, lips trembling. 

jeno snickered and moved back to the other end of the bed. “good.” 

he shot haechan a look and he swooped over, holding your legs spread. never had you ever felt so helpless and betrayed. you just couldn’t believe that this was happening, couldn’t fathom why it was happening to you.

“i don’t want this,” you croaked, hoping that maybe something could get them to stop. something could deter them and get them to change their mind. 

“i don’t give a fuck what you want,” jeno retorted bluntly. and just like that, the hope vanished. jeno got an idea and said, “haechan, it’s your turn.” 

haechan meandered towards you slowly, almost looking shy. he saw the way your eyes begged and pleaded for mercy and knew that you saw something in him that you didn’t see in jeno, but you weren’t ready to accept how similar they were. that haechan was capable of terrible things, just as much as jeno was.

“i want…” haechan trailed off, looking down at his feet. 

eyebrow arched, jeno urged him on, “you want what?” 

haechan cleared his throat. “i want her to ride me.”

for a second, you were glad that jeno’s teasing wasn’t directed towards you at the moment. he laughed, amused by his teammate’s honesty. “you’re fucking kidding. you hear that, babe? haechan’s so pathetic that he can’t even fuck you. he needs you to do all the fucking work for him.”

then you saw it. the tent in haechan’s pants. as humiliating as the situation was, he was aroused.

jeno walked back to the top side of the bed, then grabbed your jaw and warned, “listen, you little cunt. i’m gonna untie these ropes and you’re going to be on your best behavior or else i’ll have to hurt you - really, really bad. is that what you want?”

rapidly, you shook your head. jeno went to untie the ropes and you felt a little relieved to have your wrists freed, though they still stung. 

“now be a good girl and ride haechan.”

haechan stripped himself of his clothes and simultaneously you of all of your dignity. it was your turn to hesitate: should you cave in to their desires, or resist and possibly make things worse for yourself? it seemed like no matter what you did they always had the upper hand, and your only option was to submit, whether you did it willingly or by force.

“just do what he says. please,” haechan told you, giving you the most pitiful eyes. whether he was telling you that for your sake or for his, you didn’t know anymore. you thought that there was a chance he wasn’t as sick as jeno was, but clearly you were being proven wrong. his hunger for you obviously outweighed any sense of conscience he had, his moral compass broken. and you felt disgusted.

you swallowed to wet your throat. “do you have a condom?” 

“haechan’ll pull out,” jeno said, unperturbed. much unlike you. the last thing you wanted was to have a baby and especially by either of them. “won’t you, haechan?”

haechan’s eyes flickered. “i don’t think…”

jeno repeated more sharply this time, “won’t you, haechan?”

slowly, haechan nods. you didn’t trust it - especially considering jeno had essentially just forced haechan into saying that he’d pull out - but it wasn’t like you had a choice. you couldn’t imagine the things he’d do to you if you resisted. so with all of the strength you could muster, you walked on your knees towards haechan and straddled his crotch, slowly pushing the head of his cock into you. haechan tipped his head back almost immediately, a high-pitched noise escaping his lips. a noise left yours, but it wasn’t one of pleasure. it burned and tears pricked your eyes.

at least you had control over the pace. that was the only thing that you had power over in this entire situation. you weren’t sure how to feel about that.

“good. you’re complying,” jeno remarked, only observing from the sidelines - for now. “don’t know why you’re crying like a fucking bitch. we haven’t even gotten to the best part yet. you should be glad haechan’s such a wimp - i won’t be going so easy on you.”

“shut up,” you hissed. you hadn’t really meant to say it aloud, but it was too late - you already had. and now you were definitely going to suffer the consequences.

anger flashed on jeno’s face in an instant and he didn’t hesitate to reach for your jaw again, forcing you to look at him so rapidly that you thought your neck would snap. “what the fuck did you just say?”

you had never regretted anything quicker. gulping, you swiftly tried to save yourself, “i’m sorry-“ 

the words had hardly left your mouth before the palm of his hand landed against your cheek, and it stung like hell. if you weren’t crying already, you were sobbing now. 

jeno repeated, “i said, what the fuck did you just say to me?” 

you hesitated, but in your best effort to not get hit again, you whispered in the tinest voice, “i said… i said shut up.” 

jeno swung his palm towards your face again and you closed your eyes in preparation, but it never came. you opened your eyes again after a moment, met with the sight of laughing in your face. whether from anger or genuine amusement or a combination of the two, you couldn’t tell.  much to your surprise, he let go of your face, but you should have known that he wouldn’t let you off the hook so easily. the words left his mouth and you gawked when he spoke to haechan, “cum in her.”

“no- no, you can’t!” you yelled to haechan, immediately trying to get away before he got the chance. but you felt something cold against your temple and immediately froze.

“move and i’ll have to coat these pretty walls with your brains. you wouldn’t want that, would you?” jeno asked, holding a firearm to your head. you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything. the fear plaguing you had broken you. it took every bit of strength you had to even shake your head. “wouldn’t have had to do this if you just behaved like i told you to. but since you wanna be a fucking brat, i guess i gotta treat you like one. see this as your punishment.”

when haechan came with a loud cry, filling you to the brim, it wasn’t long before they switched places. and when jeno forcefully bended you over, you knew that you were in for one hell of a ride. 

and it was going to be a long one. 

[yuurei20]

I see you mention Magical Archives a lot. Is that like an official artbook? Can I get it in English somewhere?

Hello hello! Thank you so much for this question, I have been hoping to write about this for weeks 🥳

The Magical Archives Game Guide vol. 1 (full name: 『ディズニー ツイステッドワンダーランド』公式ガイド＋設定資料集 Magical Archives ) is maybe the single-most informative Twisted Wonderland resource available!

It includes a huge amount of extremely detailed information, from gameplay to the characters to early-stage development illustrations to a multi-page interview with Toboso Yana herself, only one of two that she has ever given on Twisted Wonderland.

While it may be described as an artbook it is also much, much more, and if you are only capable of purchasing one piece of Twst merchandise in your life, it is absolutely the #1 thing I would recommend.

First published in 2020 it is still available for purchase from outlets such as Square Enix's Online Store, Amazon, Rakuten, Animate and more.

It is not currently available in English, but for a brief while Aniplex USA was releasing "Player Guides" for free via social media:

These were multi-page PDFs that were, visually, quite similar to the first 1/3rd of the Magical Archives game guide, but with updated gameplay information.

These game-guide-inspired PDFs combined with how out of date the gameplay information in the original guide has since become makes me wonder if maybe there not are any plans for any official translation of the original Magical Archives :<

There has since been a second volume of the Magical Archives released (in September 2024), but it is not quite as detailed as its predecessor, including gameplay information and a huge library of game sprites but very few sketches from Yana and no interviews.

On the subject of translated art books, there actually is an official English-language book being released in December!

While its English-language title is "The Official Artbook," this is actually one of four books of a series called "Visual Books!"

Much like the magical archives the first volume is the most detailed, including pre-colored base art and the occasional messages from Yana to the colorist (re: a comment that there is no need to put any light in Rook's eyes for his labwear vignette groovy ww).

The Visual Book Series is not really comparable to the Magical Archives, consisting of pre- and post-groovy card art.

The "Design Note" might be the closest to the usual definition of "artbook," consisting of insight into event outfits worn by various characters and even including a few sketches of unused designs.

Unlike the Magical Archives, however, there are no behind-the-scenes notes such as "He has a black-hearted side, so he may laugh with a hint of that often" (about Trey) and "He has vertically-slit pupils that become round in dark places" (about Leona), which can only be found in the game guide.

There are also volumes 1 and 2 of the Art Gallery! These are collections of artwork by artists that are unaffiliated with Twisted Wonderland, depicting Twst's characters, much like Square-Enix-branded fan art (no contribution from Yana involved).

Lastly, there are the fanbooks! Contrary to their titles they do not consist of any fan-made content.

Volume 1 of the Fanbook mostly consists of character/story overview, but it also has some fascinating etymology information and exclusive interviews with several members of the voice cast!

The second fanbook focuses moreso on events, and also includes detailed recipes of Master Chef cuisine, a report on the since-concluded Twisted Wonderland Exhibition, a look into a Twst-themed hotel room in Tokyo Disneyland's Ambassador Hotel, and more.

And a third fanbook was just recently listed 🥳 (Amazon link), said to include event, card and story content from the 2nd to the 4th anniversaries.

I hope this helps! ^^

[navybrat817]

Bucky needs to be smothered in kisses. No sex has to follow, just him allowing you to pepper kisses all over his cute face simply for being him and for looking so pretty and cute. Like, "Shut up, Bucky and take it" - proceeded by dozens of kisses 💋💋💋

Bucky deserves all the kisses! How about a little something for our tattoo artist?

What Dreams Are Made Of

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Female Reader Summary: You're on Bucky's mind before your date. Word Count: Over 1.5k Warnings: Ki-ssing, Fluff, slight insecurity if you squint, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). Graphics talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass, Divider - @firefly-graphics, Bucky edit - Nix, Moodboard - yours truly A/N: My second Connect 4 (C4007 - Square 1) / Into an Alternate Juneiverse for @buckybarnesevents! Set in my Sin on Skin AU, but can be read as a standalone.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky flopped down on the break room couch with a tired smile. He had a hard time sleeping the night before and wanted a little rest before his first client of the day arrived. It didn't surprise him when he struggled to sleep. He could sometimes be a night owl when he wasn't dealing with the occasional nightmare, but last night was different. You consumed his thoughts after he went home.

Every single one of them.

You thinking of me, Sugar? I hope you are.

Hell, you hadn’t left his mind since he first walked into your shop. His beautiful, sweet baker with the warm smile and humor to brighten his day. You looked too pure to be with someone who looked like him. He wasn't blind to the stares he received whenever he went out. With his physique and exposed skin littered with ink, many wrote him off as dangerous without a second thought. They would’ve been shocked to learn he was a bit of a science nerd who loved to read in his spare time or that he served his country alongside his best friend.

Something told him you’d appreciate all those little details about him, especially since you asked him out.

"Wish I was taking you out now, Sugar," he whispered to himself as he shut his eyes.

Bucky didn’t want to admit to himself that he was a little nervous. From his chats with you, he gathered enough of an idea on where it would be good to take you for your first date. He didn’t want it to be generic though. If he couldn’t make it unique, it at least had to be special. Something you’d remember. You deserve the best.

And he wanted to show you he was nothing like your prick of an ex.

"Hey."

The sound of your voice beside him made his eyes open, his heart racing as you smiled. He hadn’t even heard your footsteps. When he tried to sit up, you pushed him to lay back down. The sugary scent that lingered on your skin from the shop had him licking his lips as you moved on top of him. But instead of your normal work clothes and apron, you wore a sundress.

One that was dangerously riding up your hips as you straddled him.

And he was too in awe to stop you.

“How did you get back here?” he whispered, not at all upset that you managed to sneak into the room.

“Steve let me in,” you whispered back, framing his face. He couldn’t decide where to place his hands. He wanted them all over you. “I had a break and couldn’t wait to see you.”

“You saw me last night,” he smirked as you leaned down, your lips dangerously close to his. “Not that I’m complaining.”

While the guys heard all about you and expected to meet you at some point, no one thought you would rush into the shop the way you had. You didn’t know it yet, but they all had a soft spot for you because of Bucky. Even if they didn’t, not a single one of them would’ve put up with how your dick of an ex spoke to you. Respect meant everything in their establishment and any man who talked down to someone the way he had with you had no right to be there.

The fucker made you cry, but I wiped that smug look off his face just for you.

“Too long to wait,” you smiled, your breath skimming his mouth. It paralyzed him as he waited to see what you would do next. “And I know our date isn’t until Friday, but I want to kiss you now.”

“Why do you wanna kiss me?” he smiled because yours was contagious.

“Because I want to thank you.”

“You don’t need to,” he promised. He’d stick up for you no matter what the situation called for. Call him smitten or a decent guy, that was just how he was.

“I want to. I also want to kiss you because you’re pretty. And, yes, you are pretty because I say so,” you teased, which earned an almost bashful smile from him. He was far from pretty, but any sort of compliment from you meant the world. “But mainly because you’re a good man and deserve a kiss.”

“Just a kiss?” he asked as he did his best to keep his hips still. You didn’t just deserve the best date, but you deserve a gentleman as well. Fuck, did he want you though and the things he wanted to do to you were far from innocent. He wondered if you felt through his jeans just how much he did.

“Just a kiss. For now,” you said, closing the gap between the two of you.

There was no hunger or desperation when your tongue slipped past his lips. Even when he deepend the kiss, you didn’t rush. It was soft and tender, but held the promise of something more just like your first kiss had. He wasn’t just a moth drawn to your flame. He carried the fuel and wanted to douse you in it.

Bucky craved to be the one who brought your fire to the surface until it consumed you both.

“Am I dreaming?” he exhaled, finally gripping your hips when you dragged your lips along his face. The featherlight motions were enough to drive him mad, tempting him to flip you over so he could explore your body properly. No, he needed to let you stay in control for now. “Sugar, you’re killing me.”

“And what a way to go, Hottie. So, shut up and take my kisses,” you giggled.

He chuckled as you smothered him with your lips and he took the opportunity to hold you closer. It felt right to have you in his arms. He couldn’t recall the last time he fell for someone so quickly, if ever. What if that scared you?

What if he scared you?

“It’s time to wake up, Bucky,” you whispered in his ear. “I’ll see you soon.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed as you faded from his arms. “Sugar?” he asked. Where did you go?

“Buck, you need to get up!”

Steve’s shout startled Bucky awake and it was a miracle he didn’t fall off the couch. His heart pounded before he realized he had been dreaming. You weren’t in the back room with him. You hadn’t smothered him with gentle kisses.

He was all alone.

“What the fuck?” he whispered, tossling his hair as he sat up.

Figures. It was just a dream, but I’m glad I had it.

“You okay?” Steve asked as he carefully approached his friend. “Hey, I wasn’t trying to scare you. Called your name a couple of times and that didn’t do the trick. Didn’t think I should touch you either.”

“I’m fine. Thanks,” Bucky huffed a little. Both of them had their share of nightmares after being overseas. Steve wouldn’t have yelled his name if he thought something was wrong, so he must’ve appeared peaceful enough. Peace. That was what you gave him, even if his jeans felt a little tighther and uncomfortable.

“You need a minute?” the blonde smirked when Bucky adjusted a bit.

“Why did you wake me?” he replied, avoiding his question. The guys knew well enough how crazy he was about you and didn’t need to know he was dreaming about you in the shop. “I’m sure it was extremely important.”

“Because your client should be here in a few minutes and I wanted to make sure you didn’t sleep through the appointment. So, yeah, extremely important.”

With a nod, Bucky slowly got to his feet. “Space is already cleaned and disinfected. Stencil’s done, too,” he said. He liked to prepare as much as he could and they prided themselves on having a clean and safe workspace. “Um, Sugar hasn’t stopped by, has she?”

Steve shook his head. “No, she hasn’t,” he answered, giving Bucky a small smile when he frowned. He knew all about the date. “But Friday is just around the corner if you don’t see her before then.”

He tried not to feel disappointment and swore he could still smell the sugary scent of you in the air. It must’ve lingered on the couch from when you were there the night before. He wished he could have that smell on his pillows and sheets. “I like her.”

“I know you do. We all do,” Steve said, leaning against the wall. “We even told Hal he wasn’t allowed to go into the bakery out of fear that she’d fall for his charm,” he added with a wink.

I’m charming, too.

“No, punk,” he said, not wanting to be more vulnerable than he already had. “I really like her.”

The playful look on Steve’s face fell, replaced with something softer. “I know, jerk. And I think she really likes you, too. So be the good guy we know you are and sweep her off her feet.”

That’s exactly what Bucky planned to do.

Bucky, our hearts are yours! Check out more of Hottie and Sugar wiht Sweet and Strong. Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[liveyun]

EYES LIKE STARS | 1

banner by the amazing @itaeewon 🌧️

summary. “He was everything you were not. He was perfect—too perfect. Always kind, always excelling, always loved by everyone, even your own parents, like a reminder of everything you weren’t. And you hated this. You hated him. You hated the way he always included you, the way he tried to help, as if you ever needed his pity. He was always there, almost like a shadow you could never escape.

Returning to the town that holds both your earliest memories and silent secrets, you’re forced to confront not only the unsolved knots you’d left behind all those years ago, but the boy who was always at the center of your pain. Whose eyes have always seen right through you : Jungkook.”

title. Eyes like Stars

pairing. Jeon Jungkook x afab reader/oc

status. ongoing

rating. M (18+)

genre. e2f2e2L (you get it), angst, drama, romance, boy next door sorta situation, emotional baggage, slow burn, eventual smut

wc. 9.5k +

warnings. (for this chapter) coarse language, OC being in denial and this is just the beginning LOL , parental negligence / toxic parenting , flashbacks, slight mention injuries (knee scraping) and crying , panic attack :( , oc is kinda.. eh, SOMEONE is introduced 😵‍💫, this is it for the first part, lmk if i missed any other warnings, “english isnt my first language” so can contain grammatical errors, not proof read + the last part omfg

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Some doors, no matter how tightly shut, always find a way to open.

The sun was up after the drizzle, which bathed the town in a subtle golden haze, the kind that made everything feel a little too warm, a little too nostalgic. You walked slowly, almost as if your feet were dragging against the weight of the years you’d left behind. A part of you did not really want to be here, but a greater part of you knew you cannot continue to run away from everything like you always have.

Such a coward.

Your home stood at the end of a narrow lane, tucked away like a secret that had been kept for far too long, to the point you felt like it maybe didn’t exist anymore. The house looked the same, yet different, almost as if it had aged in your absence - funny, because although it looked pretty worn out, nothing really felt off. Or did it? The paint was chipped, the garden overgrown, the lawn and grass both destroyed.

But it was still the place you’d once called home—a place that had witnessed more arguments than apologies, more silence than understanding. You pause, staring at the old, browned door as if it’s a portal to another world— always has been— to a world where you were always second best, always compared, always found wanting, longing, no— yearning for the bare minimum. Your own once called home which always felt like a far distant place for you.

It still does.

The windows stare back at you, blank and lifeless, just like the eyes that used to watch you so closely, judging every move, every breath. You don’t want to go inside, but you know you have to. You cannot keep on running away anymore. You are tired, but you dont exactly know if doing something which has your gut churning with disdain can be exactly considered as rest or relaxation.

You notice that the shabby WELCOME door mat which was once a home for mites is no longer at the front door anymore.

As you drew closer, your eyes involuntarily flickered to the house next door. The garden was well-tended, prettiest of the flowers scattered in the greenery in full bloom, just like how you’d remembered.

As always.

The house stood as if nothing had changed there— as if time had preserved that house and all its memories in a neat little bubble. Always so full of life, always so welcoming. You bite down the bitterness which floats up your chest at the thought. Push down the small voice in the back of your head which insists that you will never be welcomed the way a static house makes you feel.

A part of you, the part you’d tried to bury, kick away— wondered if he still lived there. If his parents still looked out from the same windows, waiting for their golden boy to come home.

Who cares.

You quickly turned your gaze away, focusing on the worn steps leading up to her own front door. Your hand trembles as you reach for the doorknob, the cold metal biting into your skin. You’d previously informed your mum through a text message that you will be visiting them, which you didn’t bother or have the energy to check if she’d actually seen.

Your hand on the knob stills, and you purse your lips in thought. You’d decided it’d be a bit courteous to knock instead of just barging in — perhaps some basic decency to spare — although if it was your own home — as if it ever was. You raise your fists to knock— and the door creaked open before you could really.

There she stood.

The same face that had greeted you with tired smiles and even more tired expectations, back in the days when her face was devoid of wrinkles, and full of youthful beauty. The same person who’d cradled you on her bosom and cherished you; the same person who at least tried to make an effort to mend some broken ties, although when she was very well aware it was way too late.

“You’re back,” your mother said, her voice heavy with something that wasn’t quite disappointment but wasn’t quite relief either. She sounded tired— and your mind partially thought if it was because of you. You really felt overwhelmed by emotions, you really did.

You felt the back of your eyes burn with tears — that familiar feeling which you’d remembered was a staple one when you used to live here back in your teenage days. You wanted to engulf her in a hug and just cry, hoping that you could just, for once, forget about whatever had ever happened, and truly be a child once again.

“I’m back,” you reply, deciding to push aside any fleeting emotions which dared to threaten you. You stepped inside as soon as your mom moved aside and let the familiar scent of home—of old furniture — of broken communication — of forgotten dreams —wash over you.

— — —

Inside, the house was just as you’d remembered it. The wallpaper was still peeling in the corners, the furniture still arranged the way it had been since you were a child. It smelled like old wood, dust, the old sandalwood diffuser — and something bitter that lingered in the air, like the remnants of a fight that never really ended.

The walls seem closer than you remember, the space smaller, suffocating. Everything is the same, yet different, distorted by the journey of time and the weight of all that’s been left unsaid. Was any of the furniture ever even moved ever since you’d left? You’re in doubt.

However, the air was thick with unspoken tension, a tension that had always existed— but was now more prominent, more suffocating. You could feel the weight of your mother’s gaze on you, as if she were waiting for her to say something, anything, to break the silence that had settled between them like thick snow.

Although it’s been so long, surprisingly, you didnt really have anything to break the ice with.

Or even if you did, you didn’t want to.

You move through the house on autopilot, your feet carrying you to the living room where you remember the echoes of your parents’ voices being the loudest. You felt disgruntled — upset, at how memories of your parents fighting are the only prominent thing you can remember vividly inside this house. You wanted to laugh ; you can almost see them standing there, locked in yet another battle of wills, their words sharp and cutting, slicing through the air like knives, and you— you ?

Perhaps standing in some corner with your favorite old teddy bear, covering your ears the best you could, trembling with sobs, wondering if this would ever stop. Their words, though, are like a very vague memory to you. Almost as if someone is tingling a metal glass in the back of your head, far away, and the echoes which reach you are the only thing audible.

They were always fighting, always tearing each other apart, and you were always caught in the crossfire, collateral damage in a war that wasn’t even yours to fight.

But it was you who paid the price, every single time.

You hear footsteps, and your throat goes dry. The realization that you recognize the footsteps is beyond disturbing to you, as the fact that you even know who the owner of the footsteps is.

From recognising footsteps to vehicle horns, you grew up, and this would never not be able to turn on a switch in the back of your head. You knew the footsteps, their urgency, or even their tone, may you be called crazy. And you perhaps are delusional to think that maybe these steps are rather relaxed and slow. . .

perks of growing in a strict family, you guess.

Your father emerged from the kitchen, his steps slow and deliberate. His eyes, now very much lacking of the light they used to radiate, widen ever so slightly, but then again, come back to their usual resting form. Almost as if he tried to mask his. . . disappointment?

You weren’t sure, and his expression wasn’t one of happiness, either.

He looked older, more worn, but his eyes held the same disapproval you had seen so many times before. The kind of disapproval that was never voiced but was always felt.

A kind of disapproval you felt in your veins even before you were faced to force it, almost as if it was imprinted deep in your veins, that no matter what you’d do, you’re going to get this stamp of resentment passed onto you.

“Long time,” he muttered, his eyes flicking over yours as if assessing the damage of the years. The silence which has stretched all over these years. You were surprised that he even decided to speak up, remembering the time when you departed.. wasn’t exactly as serene as a teary goodbye sounded like, but that was a memory you refused to unlock.

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

You grimace at how dry you sounded, but you couldn’t help it. Maybe because it’s partially the fact that you didn't know what to answer, or maybe because..

Well.

You stood there, the three of you, now, in the cramped living room that had never felt like a home to you. You wonder if it did to them too, or was it just the forced idea of it being a home to rest their heads in made them used to the idea that it was a home. Misunderstandings which haunt you, as their child, you sure are to know that they must haunt them too.

You were someone who tried fixing them, who never once tried to do that themselves, right in the place where it all began, pretending it was home, when all it ever felt like was a place they were too tired to leave.

The silence in the room felt heavy, oppressive, broken only by the faint ticking of the old clock on the wall which seemed to drag time over and over.

It once again felt like their eyes pierced your very own soul, trying to burn you with their gaze.

“I’ll get dinner started,” your mother echoed, turning away before anyone could respond. It was easier, you supposed, to keep busy than to confront the reality of your return.

Or her expectations. Who knows.

You nodded, more to yourself than to anyone else, and followed your mother into the kitchen. You weren’t surprised that your father opted to go outside — a habit you’d recall which was so frequent back in the olden days when everything was a frenzied mess. Either he used to be out puffing out nicotine, or simply. . . didn’t return home until he felt like it.

— — —

The kitchen was smaller than you’d remembered, or maybe you’d just grown up. The shelves were no longer as tall as Burj Khalifa to you, and neither were the long random cabinets— who were the same dull brown, the countertops cluttered with the same appliances that had seen better days.

Your breath stuttered at how even the products you’d seen were the same, not a single new thing filled there— from the good ol’ crunchy cereal cornflakes (which was barely even consumed for breakfast,) or the chilli crisp you’d loved to drizzle on top of nearly any dish you’d had.

Truly, nothing really had changed.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” your mother’s voice reached out to you as you nearly flinched, not having expected her to begin a conversation. She was diligent in her chore; her question was like a soft command which demanded an answer, not looking up from where she was peeling potatoes, with that same old lilac handled peeler.

“Yeah,” you repeat, this time truly not knowing what else to say. To say you felt like a dumbass was an understatement; because truly, after so long, you seem to have lost the spark to even think to answer.

However , you didn’t want to explain yourself, didn’t want to justify why you’d stayed away for so long. You didn’t owe them that. You didn’t owe them anything.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. It felt better that way.

The silence returned, heavy and uncomfortable. You found yourself staring out the small kitchen window, your gaze drifting to the house next door. You could see the top of the garden wall, the vibrant green of the plants that lined it.

It was strange how one small thing could hold so many memories, how one small thing could make you feel so much. Much more than being inside of your own house ever did, or ever could.

Yet, something about it feels different now, like a memory you’ve revisited too many times, its edges blurred with the weight of all you’ve carried inside you for decades.

You can almost see him there, in the yard, surrounded by laughter that wasn’t just his—it was a magnet, he was like a magnet, pulling everyone into its orbit, everyone except you. You were always on the outside looking in, (and it’s nearly ironic how you are now too,) your heart a silent witness to the joy you could never touch, never reach.

Even when he reached out, trying to pull you into that magnetic circle of warmth, you resisted. Your pride was too wounded, your envy was too sharp. How could you join in when every smile of his was a reminder of everything you could never be?

.....

Fuck.

You quickly look away, focusing on the mundane task of setting the table, very well knowing that your mom is gonna do that again. But the curiosity lingered, like a small fucking bug, a small, nagging feeling that you couldn’t quite shake out of you.

You did not want to think about him. You did not come here all the way to remember someone who has always just,. . . you sigh, gritting your teeth. Here were you again, fretting and sweating. Your mind whirred, not wanting to remember the way his smile had once made you feel both seen and invisible at the same time.

— — —

You decide you could take a walk around to fuck around and.. uh, find out, maybe? (You weren’t sure what exactly, though.)

As you maneuver through the hallway, your gaze drifts to the old family photos hanging on the wall. They seem. . out of place, like relics from a time that never really existed, or more like pieces on . . a museum? A museum where no one cared for its content , and everything was just randomly added to make something out of nothing.

You were always smiling in those pictures, but it was a smile that never reached your eyes—a smile that hid the exhaustion inside you. And there, in the corner of every photo, was him.

Even in those memories, those old photos, he was perfect. The golden boy with the bright eyes and the easy smile. His eyes were so bright and full of a happiness that seemed to come so naturally, would crinkle at the corners when he smiled—an easy, effortless smile that lit up his entire face.

His hair, always a little tousled from running around, caught the sunlight in a way that made it glow, adding to the image of him as the golden boy. You remember the way his front teeth, slightly larger and giving him that bunny-like appearance, would peek out when he grinned, adding a touch of innocence to his already charming features. He’s grinning widely in this picture, his nose crinkled up and his fingers poised in a victory sign, aligned to his face, right above his eyes, a smile so infectious that you feel your lips stretch to a smile even before you know it.

Your heart drops to your ass.

You’re smiling.

You can still hear their voices,though. Dripping with disappointment every time they said his name, their expectations pressing down on you like a weight you could never lift. You were expected to be someone’s walking copy— perfect and what not. You were the one who couldn’t measure up, the one who always fell short, who always came last in the race.

You take a deep breath, but it feels like you’re inhaling shards of glass, each breath painful, deep and cutting. The silence in the house is deafening, only the distant noise of your mother chopping up vegetables with that same dull thud against the chop board audible.

It doesn’t take you long to realize that the absence of your parents’ voices is more suffocating than their arguments ever were. You had always wished for the fighting to stop, but now that it has, you find yourself wishing for the noise, the chaos—anything to drown out the silence that presses in on you from all sides.

Maybe you had finally gone insane.

You had run away from it all. From the piercing noises, comparison, disdain, disappointment, everything. You were so young back then, with no knowledge of the outside world or its secrets.

You’d try to settle in different parts of the world, failing miserably each time because that feeling of something missing in your soul— that deep longing and yearning for anything that wasn’t as quick as getting a quick whiff of dopamine.. never quite left following you.

And now, here you are, back where it all began, and nothing has changed. Except, perhaps, you. You’re not the same girl who left this place. You’ve seen too much, been through too much. The world has carved its mark on you, left you scarred and weary, and you’re not sure if there’s anything left of the girl you used to be.

But as you stand there, looking out at the endless pictures which hang on the old plastered walls where the past that still haunts you, you realize something.

You’re not just angry anymore.

You’re tired.

Tired of carrying this weight, this burden of resentment and hurt. Tired of blaming all the misunderstandings that were woven into the delicate fabric of your mind as you grew up, to someone who perhaps wasn't even slightly related to your pain.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t really him you despised, but the circumstances that had pushed you to see him as the source of your pain, which had settled like dust in the chambers of your heart. The misunderstandings that had tangled themselves into the delicate fabric of your mind as you grew up, weaving him into the narrative of your suffering, were unfair to you both.

It felt easier to blame him than to confront the truth—that your pain had roots far deeper than just one boy with a bright smile and kind heart.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to let go.

The thought surprises you, shakes you to your core. Where the fuck did that come from?

The thought not only surprises you, but mostly, scares you. You take a cautious step back. It comes with a dozen questions which you fear that you don’t know the answers to, or are way too confused to even think about them.

You’ve held onto this anger for so long, let it define you, shape you. Who will you be without it? Can you really let go of something that has been a part of you for so long?

Did it really take you this long to realise this, all that, too in the place where you desperately ran away from?

You don’t have the answers, not yet. But standing here, in this place where it all began, you think that maybe you’re ready to start looking for them.

And that scares you more than anything else.

You find yourself staring at a sketchbook, after dinner, which was all just . . . once again, all silence. You remember how you realised that the food tasted bland, despite having a home cooked meal after nearly a decade. You tried adding salt till it was way too salty, and you had to gulp down each morsel because it became too bitter for your taste. The suffocating silence was broken when the bubbling hot stew burnt your tongue, as you yelped in pain. The only relief you got was gulping down a whole bottle of iced water from the fridge.

Your tongue feels numb now. Great.

Your eyes roam over the sketchbook again, its once pristine pages now yellowed with age. It was a relic from your childhood, buried deep in the attic with dust for years until your return home unearthed it. As you trace the lines of the drawing on the first page, you remember the day you made it—a simple scene of a house on a hill, surrounded by trees and bathed in the warm glow of a sunset, and those huge “V” shaped birds marked randomly near the sun.

You remember that you were so proud of that drawing, each line and color carefully chosen by your younger self, an attempt to capture a world that felt safe and beautiful.

An imaginary place where you’d even thought of making stick figures to show you and your parents, a world where they lived happily, but the vague pencil traces underneath the pastel scribbling show that you’d decided it was better without it.

But the memory of showing it to your parents is what lingers most. You remember how your excitement had bubbled over as you presented the drawing to your parents, your young heart brimming with pride. You’d spent hours on that piece, the house on the hill, the yellow-ish hues of the sunset, the trees swaying gently in the imaginary breeze. You thought it was the best thing you’d ever created.

But when you placed the sketchbook in front of them, eager for their approval, their reactions were far from what you had hoped.

Your mother’s eyes had flickered over the page, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t say anything at first, just handed the sketchbook over to your father, who barely glanced at it before returning to his newspaper. It was your mother who finally broke the silence, her voice flat and dismissive. “It’s… fine,” she’d said, and that single word was like a bucket of cold water on your excitement, your hard work.

You remember vividly, how your heart sank, how the colours of your drawing seemed to dull right before your eyes. How hours of scribbling felt like it’d all been to waste. The pride you’d felt moments before quickly evaporated, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You were too young to understand why her words stung so much, but old enough to know they did.

But then your mother’s tone shifted, a hint of something sharper creeping into her voice. Her eyes, dark and clear, were on you. “You know,” she’d continued, “Jungkook showed us a drawing he did just last week. It was a landscape too, but he added so much detail. The way he captured the mountains and the way the light reflected on the water… It was really impressive. His technique is really improving.”

Your father chimed in, not even looking up. “Yes, he’s always had a good eye for these things, hah. Natural talent, I suppose.”

You’d just stood there in the corner, your limbs feeling way too weak and shaky to hold you up.

You’d tried to keep your expression neutral, tried to swallow the hollow pain in your chest, but it was no use. The resentment boiled inside you, twisting something in your chest until all you could feel was the unfairness of it all. You had wanted to create something beautiful, to show them what you were capable of, that you could do better, but instead, your drawing had become just another reminder of how you didn’t measure up.

The sting of their words burned hot behind your eyes, and before you knew it, tears were blurring your vision. You didn’t want to cry in front of them, didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing how deeply they had hurt you. So you bolted from the yard, the sound of their conversation fading behind you as you ran, feeling even hurt that none of your parents bothered to ask about where you were going.

But your vision was too clouded by tears, and as you reached the stairs, you’d feel your foot catch on the edge of a step. You stumbled forward, eyes widening, your arms flailing as you tried to catch yourself, but it was too late. You’d fallen, hard, the impact of your knee against the hardwood sending a sharp jolt of pain through your leg.

You remember the way your mother had smiled when she talked about Jungkook’s drawing, a soft, admiring smile that she rarely directed at you. It wasn’t just the critique of your work that hurt—it was the realization that, in their eyes, Jungkook would always outshine you. No matter how hard you tried, how much effort you put in, he was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, while you were just… there.

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, partly from the pain, but mostly from the overwhelming sense of rejection and inadequacy. You sat there on the stairs, your knee scraped and bleeding, the ache in your chest even worse than the one on your knee. The drawing that had once filled you with pride now felt like a cruel joke, a reminder of how you would always fall short, no matter how hard you tried.

You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, angry at yourself for crying, angry at them for making you feel this way, and angry at Jungkook for being the perfect son they never had. The resentment grew deeper, and with it, so did the belief that you were never going to be good enough for them, no matter what you did.

— — —

The moon is full overhead when you finally change into some comfortable PJs and finally feel sleep knock on the back of your eyelids and exhaustion making its way to move gradually along your body. Today wasn’t exactly eventful, but rather a concoction of memories which tickled and stung you like a thousand bees over and over.

You’ve decided to keep the windows open, . . .for tonight, atleast, because you do not dare sleep without feeling suffocated here. It sounds silly, but having nice ventilation feels. . . fresh, or more so.

You were around fourteen, you think, as you remember sitting on the edge of the playground, kicking at the dirt with the toes of your worn sneakers. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the field, and you could hear the other kids shouting and playing, their voices mingling with the distant hum of traffic.

You weren’t interested in joining them. Your eyes were fixed on a figure in the distance, one you knew all too well.

Jungkook.

He was standing by the swings, laughing with a group of boys who seemed to hang on his every word. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he pushed it back, and his smile—God, that smile—was so bright, so beautiful, it almost hurt to look at. You hated that smile. You hated how perfect he seemed, how effortless everything was for him. And you hated how, no matter what you did, you could never seem to escape his shadow. No wonder the girls were so hung up on him, even the class president— it was ridiculous.

That day had started like any other, with your parents reminding you how you should be more like Jungkook. They praised his grades, his athletic abilities, and his charm. Either a direct implication of “Why can’t you be more like him?” or something like “You know, Jungkook— blah blah blah, all that bullshit about how he was better than you in every aspect. Even if it was the topic of increasing acne on your face, not realising—or maybe not caring—how their words cut you down. You knew they meant well, or maybe not, but each comparison felt like a knife to your heart, a reminder that you would never be good enough.

That you’ll never be him.

You were lost in your thoughts when you felt a presence beside you. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Hey,” Jungkook said, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “Why are you sitting here alone?” His voice was always so soft. So gentle.

You hated his voice. Why did he sound so. . . sweet ? so smooth, almost with a slight undertone of a rasp. Why did it make you want to surrender and break down into the frustration which was pent up inside you since ages?

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak. Your throat felt tight, your chest heavy. You wanted to tell him to go away, to leave you alone, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because as much as you resented him, wanted him away from you, you somehow wanted him near you, a feeling which was hugely perplexing to you. It was a twisted, painful contradiction that you didn’t fully understand, nor you’d ever wanted to.

Jungkook sat down beside you, right on the dusty ground, his knee brushing against yours. The contact sent a jolt, a feeling of fleeting emotions through you, but you didn’t move away. Instead, you kept your eyes fixed on the ground, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears that were threatening to spill over.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Of course he’s gonna be concerned.

And that was the thing about Jungkook—he was always so kind, so considerate, even when you didn’t want him to be. It only made you feel worse. It only made you feel like utter shit, like you were not meant for anything, not even basic human compassion.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your emotions in check. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook didn’t seem convinced. He shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. He smelled like baby powder mixed with sweat. Irritating. “You know you can talk to me, right? If something’s bothering you.”

You almost laughed at the irony. How could you talk to him when he was the source of so much of your pain? When everyday you had to just, suffer because of him? How could you tell him that every time you looked at him, you felt like you were drowning in your own inadequacy? That every time he succeeded, it felt like another reminder of your failures? While he was always praised, always encouraged, while you were left to wonder why your efforts never seemed to measure up?

But instead of saying any of that, you just nodded, giving him the answer he wanted. Because you couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing you as weak, as vulnerable. You couldn’t let him know how deeply he had affected you.

There was a long silence between you, the kind that felt like it was stretching out forever. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, feel the tension in your chest building with every passing second. And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Jungkook spoke again.

“You know, you’re really talented,” he said, his voice slightly higher than usual, a habit you hate to have noticed when he gets excited about something. “I just saw your abstract sketches the other day. Holy shit dude, they’re amazing!”

You didn’t know if your heart hammering in your chest sounded more or the silence after his praise did. He, however, didn’t stop there.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

His words were meant to be comforting, but they only served to twist the knife deeper. Because at that moment, you realised that he didn’t understand. He couldn’t. To him, everything came so easily—success, praise, admiration. But for you, it was a constant struggle, a battle you fought every day just to keep your head above water.

You turned to look at him then, really look at him, not caring if your eyes are brimming with unshed tears or if your nose is runny with snot and tears.

And for the first time, you saw the boy behind the perfect image. There was a softness in his eyes, a sincerity that made your heart ache. And for a fleeting moment, you wanted to believe him, to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were more than the sum of your insecurities.

But then reality came crashing back, and the bitterness you had tried so hard to suppress bubbled to the surface.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice flat, on the verge of cracking, devoid of the warmth you knew he was expecting. “But I don’t need your pity.”

Jungkook blinked, his doe eyes widening, taken aback by your sudden harshness. “It’s not—”

“Just leave me alone,” you’d hissed, standing up abruptly. You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you turned and walked away, your heart pounding in your chest, your blood rushing onto your face. You could feel his eyes on your back, but you didn’t dare look back. Because if you did, you knew you would see the hurt in his expression, and you couldn’t handle that. Not when you were already so close to breaking.

And so you ran. Ran so fast, so hard, that you felt your chest constrict and gulp for air— the static breeze feeling like wind on your face as you ran, ran, ran. Ran till your limbs gave away and your head hurt, till you feel your insides eat you up with a strange mix of emotions—anger, regret, sadness.

But most of all, you felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness, even if you felt like you did the right thing. Because in pushing Jungkook away, you had also pushed away the one person who might have understood, who might have been able to help you. . . only if you hadn’t pushed him away.

But it was too late now. The damage was done, and you were left to pick up the pieces alone.

But as you stare at the sketchbook now, under the glowing moonlight, running your fingers over the faded lines of the drawing, the sketches you’d made again — you see it with different eyes—eyes that can appreciate the innocence in those lines, the earnestness of a child who only wanted to create something beautiful. The proportions might not be perfect, almost nothing in those sketches were — but there’s a charm in their simplicity, a warmth in the colors that you hadn’t noticed before. They were all good drawings, you think, not because of their technical skill, but because they were a reflection of who you were back then—hopeful, imaginative, and full of dreams.

And maybe, just maybe, you had been a little too hard on yourself all those years ago.

You hadn’t even planned to be here.

The moment your father casually mentioned that the Jeons still lived next door, you felt that familiar, uncomfortable pressure building in your chest. You didn’t absolutely know why that information passed on, especially when after a heavy restless night of feeling like crap, your muscles aching from exhaustion , your brain unable to process every thought which you’d thought, you were finally up to join your parents for an early evening tea.

His voice was cheerful, like he had no idea the gravity of what he was suggesting, but you felt it immediately. Every time the conversation veered toward your neighbors, it dredged up feelings you weren’t ready to confront. The Jeons—his parents—meant one thing, and ultimately, one thing only: Jungkook.

The mention of their name was enough to send your mind into overdrive, painting images of polite conversation and awkward laughter, images that twisted into something far more unbearable—seeing him. You could already hear the follow-up conversation in your mother’s saccharine sweet voice, “Why don’t you come over and say hello? Catch up with the Jeons?” And worst of all, they’d ask about you. You felt despondent to even think of the conversation, if it ever took place.

You weren’t used to the warmth which Mr. and Mrs. Jeon had shown you throughout the years, which only made you doubt if they ever knew the thick wall of ash between their son and you. They were so copacetically well humored, it almost hurt to be in a conversation with them.

Almost as if you never were used to this form of decency, that it shocked you to your core.

Jungkook’s parents would definitely ask, and you'd be expected to stand there and smile like you hadn't left everything behind. You know they definitely wouldn’t mean anything hurtful, but you do not believe your mind.

Not yet, atleast.

Before your parents could suggest anything more, before they could casually lead you down that path of small talk and forced interactions, you’d mumbled a vague excuse. Something about needing to stretch your legs, or needing some air.

You really did, though.

You’d slipped out the front door like you were running away, and you shook away the bitterness forming in your throat. You weren’t sure where you were going, only that it had to be away from that conversation, away from the chance of seeing him.

As your feet carried you through the familiar streets, your mind raced faster than your heart. The narrow, winding streets were the same, the faded signs on shop windows were the same, but the memories that clung to the air—they were suffocating.

You’d always thought coming back would be simple. Walk down memory lane, see familiar faces, and pretend you were someone new. But the weight of those memories hung over you, each one sharper than the last. With every corner you turned, you felt the tug of your past, a pull you couldn’t quite shake away, no matter how hard you’d tried to shrug it off.

— — —

You found yourself slipping into a small café you hadn’t noticed before, just off the main road, desperate for a reprieve.

What’s the name— 134340? Quite strange, you think, but shrug it off once again. People are creative with their business requirements, even if that means that you probably make out nothing from eyeing the café from outside. except the fact that. . . it’s possibly space themed?

Now that is strange for a coffee shop.

You think that it’s quite new. Or, who even knows. It stands out from the dull shops lit nearby, and there’s quite a buzz which attracts you here, although you’d prefer a quiet café over a bustling one any day.

Well, fuck it.

The smell of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries greeted you as you stepped inside, the hum of quiet conversation and the soft clink of mugs providing a much-needed escape. It’s surprisingly cozy, something you’d never guessed from the odd name and the theme previously. The café is small, actually smaller than most you’ve been to. Though, it’s nice, there are fewer people here, and you quite find yourself at peace already. You chose a table near the back, away from the windows, trying to create some distance from the life outside.

You hadn’t planned to stay long, but the peaceful atmosphere lulled you into a false sense of security. You let out a long breath, allowing the tension to ease from your shoulders as you sipped your coffee. Ha, thisfelt nice. For a few blissful moments, you felt like you could breathe again. Almost like. . . maybe you could handle this return to your hometown after all.

And then, the door chimes.

You barely looked up at first—just another customer, maybe a loner like you, someone else in this quiet café. But then the barista’s voice cut through the room, clear and distinct.

“Macchiato for Jungkook!”

Huh?

Your hand froze halfway to your cup. The familiar sound of his name hit you like a punch to the gut, making your breath hitch.

No fucking way.

Your gaze shot up, almost instinctively, and that’s when you saw him. There, standing by the counter, picking up his drink like it was the most casual thing in the world. Him.

Your heart seemed to lurch into your throat. It couldn’t be him—it couldn’t. And yet, there he was, right in front of you, a few inches away.

The room seemed to shrink around you, your pulse quickening as your eyes locked onto him. You felt yourself gasping for air, your peace long broken. Your body felt suddenly too warm, your chest tightening painfully as every nerve in your body screamed for you to look away.

But you just couldn’t.

He had changed.

The boy you left behind had grown into someone you barely recognized. His back was visible to you— his frame was broader, more solid than you remembered, and his shoulders— God, what the fuck? they seemed to stretch forever beneath the dark jacket he wore. His hair, slightly tousled, deep raven — as you’d remembered— framed his face in that familiar, careless way, but it was sharper now. Defined. There was no mistaking the confidence in the way he carried himself, something he hadn't fully grown into back then.

But what stood out most—what nearly knocked the breath from your lungs—were those— were those. . . tattoos peeking underneath his jacket?

Jungkook's arm, the one that used to be bare, now carried intricate black ink that snaked from his wrist to his elbow, disappearing under the sleeve of his jacket. The lines were bold, winding and curling, and you felt your jaw drop, even if he was standing at a distance. The tattoos seemed to catch the light as he reached for his drink, each motion of his arm drawing your attention like a magnet.

You couldn’t stop staring. The boy you remembered—the one who had always been so kind, so open—had become someone else entirely.

One who stood in stark contrast to the memories you had clung to.

And he was alone.

Jungkook had always been surrounded by people. He was known to be the crowd attractor, always having his admirers petting him by his neck. He was never the type to go anywhere without friends trailing behind him, their laughter filling the spaces around him. But here, now, in this café—he was by himself. There was a stillness about him that you didn’t remember, something quiet and self-assured.

Now, it almost felt like he didn’t need anyone around him to validate his presence. He was comfortable in his own skin, by himself.

That realisation hit you harder than you expected. He had changed in ways you hadn’t anticipated, ways that made your chest tighten with emotions you couldn’t even begin to name.

And then, just as you thought your heart might explode from your chest, Jungkook turned slightly, his eyes sweeping across the café—casually, as if he were taking in his surroundings—and your stomach dropped.

Fuck, fuck. The coffee was so strong, you feel it lurching up your stomach now.

You flinched, ducking your head quickly, heart pounding so loud you thought he might hear it across the room. Did he see you? Could he have recognized you after all these years? Your breath was shallow, uneven, panic rising in your throat as you wrestled with the urge to bolt from your seat.

You weren’t ready for this.

You weren’t ready to face him. Not here, not now. Not when you were still so caught up in your own thoughts, still trying to piece together the fragments of what your brain showed you. You’d come here for a cup of coffee— some peace— and seeing him again, after all this time, felt too much, and too little at once. It was like a bomb, or a bucket of ice cold water thrown directly at you.

It was overwhelming.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your bag, your movements jerky and uncoordinated. Your heart was racing, and every instinct in your body was telling you to run. But you hesitated, torn between the undeniable urge to leave and the part of you that wanted to look at him just once more. Just to see if he had really changed as much as you thought. Just to see if he, unlike this town, your home, had changed.

But you knew better. You couldn’t stay. Not with your emotions so close to the surface, threatening to spill over. If he saw you, if he recognized you—if he spoke to you— you didn’t know if you could handle that.

Because you know you can’t.

The café, once so peaceful, now felt stifling, the walls closing in on you as your breath quickened. You couldn’t breathe. You needed to get out of here, needed to escape before everything came crashing down.

With one final glance at his figure, standing there by the counter, you pushed your chair back, the screeching sound drawing more attention than you would have liked. But you didn’t care. You grabbed your things and bolted for the door, your pulse pounding in your ears, your steps quick and uneven.

You’d nearly made it. The door was just a few steps away, and all you had to do was keep your head down and walk.

Your heart was still hammering in your chest, the anxiety twisting your insides as you tried to steady your breathing. Jungkook hadn’t seen you—or at least you hoped he hadn’t. You prayed to heavens and hells that he hadn’t. But just as you reached for the door, you saw him lean against the counter, much closer now. Far closer than you had anticipated.

Fuck. Fuck!

The café’s single door was right beside where he stood, and there was no way out without passing directly by him.

Oh no.

You shouldn’t have chosen this café. Was there no other cafés for you to try? Did HE necessarily have to be in the same café as you?

Your stomach churned, your pulse thudding in your ears, drowning out everything else. He was right there. Right there. And you could feel the heat radiating off him even from where you stood. Panic crawled up your spine, making your movements sluggish and jerky. You just needed to keep your head down and walk—walk past him without glancing his way, without catching his eye. But he was so close, and as you stepped forward, trying to make yourself as small as possible, you caught it—his scent.

That familiar scent, one that had changed just as much as he had. He no longer smelled like baby powder. It was manly now, deeper, some sort of an expensive cologne, which was strong on its own— yet soft, almost comforting in a way that made your chest constrict painfully. The scent wrapped around you, making your knees feel weak, and for a second, you nearly lost your footing. You fought the instinct to look at him—to take one glance and confirm that yes, this is the Jungkook you left behind, the one who had grown into a man. But you couldn’t. If you looked at him, you’d be done.

You were beyond cooked.

Your legs carried you forward, faster than they should have, your mind racing with every step. You felt your arm brush something—him, the edge of his jacket maybe, or his hand on the counter—and your pulse spiked violently.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

You shoved the door open, your breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts as you stumbled outside, the cool air hitting your face like a hard slap back to reality.

You were outside. You’d made it. But the world around you was spinning, the street and the sky blurring together as your heart continued to pound in your chest. You leaned against the wall just outside the café, your hand pressed to your chest, trying to catch your breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside you.

Your palms felt uncomfortably clammy and you felt a sweat head run down your temple. Your thoughts were a mess—disjointed. Everything was hitting you at once; you had run away again. You had seen him, been close enough to touch him, and you had run. Just like before.

You squeezed your eyes shut, the ache in your chest spreading as you tried to pull yourself together. It was stupid. So stupid. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid ! You were an adult now, one with full responsibilities for your actions, and yet here you were, fleeing like a scared child.

You took a deep breath, forcing the air into your lungs. Maybe you could handle this. Yeah, you needed to clear your head. It’s just the coffee messing with you. Maybe you could—

“Excuse me?”

Your entire body froze at the voice directed at you.

That voice.

Deep. Smooth. Rich. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine, catching you off guard, wrapping itself around you like a tether, pulling you back toward the very thing you were trying to escape.

It wasn’t the voice you remembered—but it also very much was— heavier, weighted with a kind of maturity that made your breath catch. The boy you once knew had never sounded like this. This voice was deeper, more assured, like it had weathered years of life since you last heard it. The softness which his voice held in your memory still was back somewhere, but you couldn’t find it. And that hit you hard. He wasn’t that same boy anymore. The boy who used to tease you, who laughed with that bright, carefree chuckle—he was gone.

And now, that very voice was speaking to you.

You slowly turned to face him, your heart thudding violently in your chest as your eyes locked onto his face.

Yeah, this was your end.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Jungkook.

He was right there, just a few feet away. And this close, you could see everything.

The sharpness of his jawline hit you first, carved out and more defined than you ever remembered. It was strong, angular, like someone had taken the softness he once had and sculpted it into something more. . . commanding. His lips, parted slightly as he waited for you to respond, were full and soft, but even they held a sense of control, like every movement was deliberate. Fuck, was that a piercing at the corner ? His nose—perfectly straight, leading up to those eyes.

Those eyes.

Dark, deep, and searching. They hadn’t changed much in shape, but the way they looked at you was different now—more intense, more aware. His gaze wasn’t filled with youthful curiosity or mischief anymore. It was deeper. Grounded. Like he saw more, understood more.

He was a man now.

Your stomach twisted violently, and you had to force yourself to breathe.

Your gaze traveled up, noting the way his thick brows framed his face, darker and more defined than you remembered. They furrowed slightly as he watched you, as if trying to figure out why you were staring, why you hadn’t taken the phone from his hand yet. The small furrow in his brows only made his expression more serious, more focused. He was looking at you—not just glancing, but looking.

His dark, inky black hair brushed just above his brows, a few strands falling forward in that effortless, tousled way. It was longer now, framing his face, giving him an edge that made your chest tighten.

But it wasn’t just his face. Your eyes flickered down for just a second, barely able to handle it. His neck—strong and sinewy, leading to broad shoulders that seemed even broader now in the fitted jacket he wore. He’d filled out—a lot. His arms were no longer just lean muscle from teenage years of sports. Now, they were thicker, more muscular, straining against the fabric of his sleeve. Oh my God.

Your mind raced, every detail crashing into you at once, overwhelming your senses. Your chest felt tight, and you felt like your hands were shaking by your sides.

The more you looked, the more you realized how much had changed. How much you had missed. How much you had run away from?

It felt like the world was tilting, spinning, and you couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop the flood of memories, the weight of time lost, the realization that Jungkook had grown into someone you barely recognized—yet you knew it was still him.

He was still him.

You were losing yourself in it, in all of it, your thoughts spiraling out of control, unable to process the fact that he was standing here, holding something that belonged to you, waiting for you to take it from him.

Your eyes flickered back to his face, your heart clenching painfully. He was watching you, studying you in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. And yet, as much as he was looking at you, he didn’t know you. Didn’t recognize you. Not yet, anyway.

That hit you harder than you could’ve expected. How could he not know who you were? How could he not see it in your face, in the way you were trembling, in the panic written all over you?

But then again, why would he?

You were no longer the same girl he once knew.

And as his eyes narrowed in mild confusion, his brow furrowing just a little deeper, it became clear—he didn’t see you as the person who had disappeared from his life. Not yet.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asked softly, his voice sending a tremor down your spine. You couldn’t miss the concern in his tone, the slight edge of worry that made your throat tighten even more.

Fuck. Of course he’d be concerned.

You blinked, the world rushing back into focus, feeling like your pupils zoomed like crazy— and suddenly, you realized you had been standing there for far too long, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. Standing there like a damn weirdo.

Your phone. He is holding your phone.

For a split second, your eyes met his, and time seemed to freeze.

His gaze locked onto yours, and for the briefest of moments, something flickered there—something like recognition. You feel your eyes widening, bells ringing at the back of your head. His eyes softened, just slightly, as if he was searching your face for something familiar, something from the past. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that same polite curiosity.

For a moment, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Your eyes flickered between his face and the phone in his hand, your chest tightening with each passing second. What should you do? He was right there, right in front of you. He was close enough for yoh to reach out and take back what was yours.

But you couldn’t.

Your hand now actually trembled at your side, your body frozen in place. The air felt too thick for you to gulp in, and your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

“I—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, trying to force the words out, trying to make your body move. But you couldn’t.

You just couldn’t.

He tilted his head slightly, concern flickering across his face as he waited for you to take the phone. Why is he so concerned!? But you just stood there, rooted to the spot, like your feet had been glued to the ground. You felt the panic rising inside you again, the walls closing in as your chest tightened painfully, slowly.

“I—” you tried again, but your throat was too tight, and the word came out as nothing more than a strangled sound, like a muffled voice.

He took a step closer, and that was it. That was it.

Your body went into overdrive. Without thinking, without even trying to reason with yourself, you turned on your heel and bolted down the street, not caring if people stopped to look at you, thinking if you possibly were either a lunatic or someone who just won a lottery.

You didn’t care. You ran, ran, feeling your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you ran. Your legs felt shaky beneath you, your pulse pounding in your ears as you darted around the corner, as far away from him as possible.

You couldn’t do this.

Your heart was hammering so violently you thought it might burst right out of your chest, and all you could think about was getting away. Far, far away.

You ran till you feel your chest burn, you ran till you felt like your limbs would give up. You ran till you feel like nothing again, you ran till your mind was empty.

When you finally slowed, your breath came in harsh, ragged bursts, and your vision blurred with tears you hadn’t realized were there. You collapsed onto a bench, your whole body trembling violently as the weight of everything crashed down on you.

You had run away.

Again.

And this time, you didn’t even have an excuse.

a/n : phew.. 😵‍💫 if you’ve made this far, thank you for reading 💜 what do we think? i’d be very glad if you let me know your thoughts 🫶🏾 if you want, there’s an anonymous feedback box where you can drop your thoughts anonymously 💌

[musaslullaby]

I was so scared

Kimi Antonelli x fem reader

Summary: during Kimi's debut there was a small accident.

Warning: fluff

Masterlist

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Saying I was excited would be an understatement; I was bursting with anticipation. I couldn't comprehend how Kimi and his father could remain so focused and composed in the face of a Formula 1 debut.

As soon as we entered the paddock, I started to realize just how many people were there, just to watch a practice session. Everywhere I turned, there was something dedicated to Kimi—whether it was a banner or a chorus of people chanting his name. I knew it was just a debut, but I couldn't help imagining how incredible it would be when he was announced as a Mercedes driver, and how many people would celebrate and support him in all his races.

"Love, is everything okay?" Kimi asked, intertwining his fingers with mine in a gentle, reassuring grip.

"Oh, yes, I should be asking you that," I replied, slightly embarrassed, as my cheeks turned pink. He responded with a laugh, pulling me closer to him.

"Everything's fine, thank you."

In no time, we arrived at the Mercedes garage. My heart was racing; I could hardly wait. I had been given the opportunity to stand in the garage right next to Toto Wolff and George Russell himself. My hands were sweating, and as soon as Toto introduced himself with his charismatic smile and extended his hand, I froze for a few seconds. George was standing beside him, and I must say, he was even more handsome in person, with his eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

Kimi nudged me gently with his elbow, bringing me back to reality. I looked at him, slightly surprised, then remembered where I was. With an embarrassed smile, I shook hands with both of them.

"I'm sorry, I'm just really excited," I mumbled, thinking I had made a terrible impression. But instead, they both gave me a reassuring smile and led us inside the garage.

The three guys started talking about technical stuff while I looked around in awe. It felt like a dream, everything was so incredible, and then there was the car Kimi would be driving, the one used by Russell. Instinctively, I moved closer and touched the wing with my finger. It was smooth and cold. Suddenly, I felt hands around my waist, hugging me from behind.

"Do you like it?" asked a voice to my right.

"It's beautiful," I said with loving eyes, admiring the car's color, which reminded me of the sky.

"I know, it's my car," came a voice with a strong British accent from my left. I turned my head and saw George Russell smiling playfully at me.

Kimi tightened his grip on my waist and kissed me on the cheek. "I'll see you later," he whispered in my ear before heading off to get ready to enter the car.

The practice session was going well. I was standing close to George Russell while watching the race. It seemed so surreal to see Kimi in a Formula 1 car, finally making his debut.

"YN, are you nervous?" the Brit asked, noticing that I kept playing nervously with the rings on my fingers. I was happy, yes, but a small shiver of anxiety ran through my body. A string of "what ifs…" started to race through my mind.

George placed a hand on my shoulder. "Everything will be fine, he's been doing great." But he didn't even have time to finish that sentence before Kimi lost control of the car and, accelerating, crashed into the wall. A thick cloud of smoke rose around the car. My eyes stung, and I felt a tight knot in my stomach. I was scared, very scared.

"Is he okay?" I asked quickly, looking anxiously between Toto and George.

"They're taking him to the medical station, but he's fine," Toto replied gently.

"I want to go to him," I said desperately. I could only imagine how he must have felt at that moment. I wanted to be there for him, to comfort him and tell him everything would be alright.

"Hey, hey, YN, you can't go. Wait here with us, I promise he's fine," George said, looking at me with a serious expression on his face.

Defeated, I sat back down. I tortured my hands and bit my nails while waiting. Time passed slowly, and my body was filled with worry. When I finally saw on a camera that Kimi was returning to the garage, I jumped up from my chair. Toto tried to stop me, but I didn't care. I ran as fast as I could; the hot air burned my lungs, and when I saw him in front of me, safe and sound, I threw myself into his arms.

His arms immediately wrapped around me, holding me tightly, and relief washed over me like a wave. I couldn't hold back the tears, which started to stream silently down my cheeks. I could feel Kimi's heart beating strongly against my chest, and I knew he must have been shaken too, despite his usual calm demeanor.

"Hey, it's all okay," he whispered, his voice calm and reassuring. "I'm here, I'm safe."

I pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. His blue eyes, usually as cold as ice, were now filled with a warmth that melted my heart. Despite everything, he always managed to keep his composure, even when things seemed to be falling apart.

"Kimi, I was so scared," I said, my voice breaking as I lowered my gaze to hide my vulnerability. "When I saw you hit the wall… I didn't know what to do. I just wanted to be there for you."

He smiled slightly, taking my face in his hands and making me look at him. "I know, I know. But I'm here, with you. And that's all that matters."

In that moment, I realized just how important he was to me. He wasn't just a driver, a guy chasing his dream. He was also the man I loved, the person I wanted to protect at all costs, even though I knew that, in reality, he was the one protecting me.

Ci fu un momento di silenzio tra noi, rotto solo dai suoni lontani del paddock e dal ronzio dei tecnici che lavoravano intorno a noi. Poi, Kimi mi diede un altro bacio, questa volta più lungo, più intenso. Un bacio che disse tutto quello che non eravamo riusciti a dire a parole.

[its-not-a-pen]

[餘知傳] The 2nd Century Warlord (Part 1)

based on the story by @romanceyourdemons

art by @its-not-a-pen

first day as a second century warlord i have my men tie branches to their horses’ tails to stir up dust and make it look like there’s a lot of us but i forget it just rained so there isn’t any dust and the enemy can clearly see there’s like twenty of us all spread out in a line

second day as a second century warlord i bribe a bunch of kids to start singing a nursery rhyme i carefully crafted to spread misinformation and further my strategic ends but they change the lyrics to be about poop and the enemy isn’t misdirected at all

third day as a second century warlord i lure my enemy into a narrow valley and send a team of archers to shoot them from the high ground but there was a feral hog napping on the trail up to the overlook and they couldn’t decide whether to try and shoot it or just go around and by the time the hog woke up and left on its own the enemy had already passed safely below

fourth day as a second century warlord we attempt to join a battle on the side of the guy we want to ally with but he and the guy he’s fighting have really similar names and it’s finally dusty and i misread the standards and attack the wrong guy. so now we’re stuck with this total loser of a liege lord, because how the fuck do you explain that after a battle?

fifth day as a second century warlord and some sort of wizard wanders into camp, my loser liege lord wants to execute him for being a wizard but i convince him to let the wizard stay, because i want to do more weather-based strategies and i’m pretty sure having a camp wizard can help with that. after the welcome to the team banquet the wizard steals half the treasury and my liege lord’s wife and leaves

sixth day as a second century warlord my loser liege lord sends me to reinforce a city he’s taken, but in the confusion of leaving i forgot to take the token that would have gotten us into the city, so my men have to wait outside the city walls for like eight hours while i ride back to get it

seventh day as a second century warlord and my loser liege lord finally joins me in the city, it turns out he’s actually a pretty cool guy, and he isn’t even that mad at me for letting the wizard steal his wife. i decide to shoot my shot but i’m really nervous and keep on stalling because what if i mess up our relationship and by extension jeopardize the security of my men, and eventually he just says goodnight and goes back to his room, where an assassin is in the process of setting up to kill him

eighth day as a second century warlord and my loser liege lord tells me to fake defect to his rival warlord, the one i originally wanted to ally with, to find out if he was the one who sent the assassin and why. but my whole way over to the rival warlord i’m worried that this has something to do with the wizard thing or how awkward i made it last night

End of Part 1

part 2

This comic was made independently from the creator, I'm just a fan and these are my own interpretations.

Notes under the cut:

the title 餘知傳 [the Story of Yu Zhi], is the styled name of the Second Century Warlord. I translated 餘知 as [plentiful knowledge] since he's defined by a surplus of knowledge but a deficit in luck. It's also great for fish-based puns since it's a homophone. As a nice parallel, Loser Liege Lord's banner is a carp ;))). the art style was inspired by vintage Chinese comics.

The story is set during the Three Kingdoms period, (220 to 280 AD) natural disasters, infighting and civil unrest had dissolved the previous Han Dynasty, leading to a violent free-for-all. I based the clothes on the previous Eastern Han styles, mainly because there just weren't a lot of contemporary references from the 3K period (and it only lasted like, 60 years). I always strive for historical accuracy, however, the Han Dynasty was over 400 years long and some sources don't do a great job separating out the different fashions, so I apologise for any mistakes that occur.

2. there aren't a ton of drawings on what Han children looked like, but in general ancient kids hairstyles are pretty consistent. 9-15 yo boys had shaved heads with two little top knots, girls had natural hair in braids/buns.

3. the crossbow (back left) makes a cameo, it was associated with Zhuge Liang, famous real-life strategist from the 3K era.

4. the LLL and his wife thank the Warlord, (a noblewoman on a battlefield??? scandalous!). it shows the LLL enjoys the unconventional and the wife is not as timid as she appears. I thought it would be funny to make them look as Background Character (tm) as possible.

5. I based the wizard's design on sages from mythology. (Hey, he's not a total fraud, he invented gunpowder 800 years before the Tang dynasty!) Nice little character moment for the LLL who is shielding his wife.

6. What do soldiers do while they're waiting for 8 hours? (<-from the right) playing knucklebones with pebbles, whittling a little horse, feeding sparrows, gossiping with neighbour, drinking from his gourd, napping. A minor warlord can't afford to keep a professional army so they're most likely conscripted farmers who've had to buy their own weapons and armour, hence why they look so unimpressive.

7. LLL offers the Warlord a bitten peach. Inspired by the legend of Mizi Xia who bit into a delicious peach and gave it to the Emperor so he could taste it was well. "Bitten peach" was a byword for homosexuality in ancient China. I thought it would be SO funny if the LLL was actually smooth af and the Warlord was a like a teenaged girl crushing for the first time. He's desperate to taste that peach but is too timid to reach out >;))) man has zero game. negative game, even. truely the PS4 of homosexuals. RIP to the assassin in the back corner who was forced to watch the most awkward, cringe-fail attempt at flirting in the history of china play out.

8. this is what zero peach does to a mf. UnU

[innorogers]

Hypnagogia

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: How could you ever think, for a second, that he’d want to be with anyone else?

Warning: Fluff / He had an ex / Strategic mastermind Steve

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Sharon Carter

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️ You don't need to read the previous chapters but it will definitely enhance the experience if you do.

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare | 5: Awakening | 6: Dusk

The room was painted gold and white, sunlight penetrating through the glass wall, leaving a trace on the table, drawing a clear line between shadow and light. The air was cold—the AC was so strong that anyone who entered the room would feel a chill. 

Steve’s fingers tapped on the desk as he observed the dust dancing in the air, making nonsensical but beautiful twirls and circles, driven by the movement of the air.

The ray of sunlight moved slowly but eventually settled on his finger, causing a sparkle to reflect off the walls from the simple silver ring he was wearing. The reflection hit the wall like a starlight, and that made him smile.

He was relaxed, confident, and content. His body still echoed with the sensations from your night together, and a barely visible curve appeared on his lips as his eyes caught the ring’s reflection.

No one else in the room noticed, except for Commander Hill, who was sitting in front of him. And she felt so sorry for General Ross, the UN Secretary, projected on the screen and connected to this meeting.

Everyone could tell that Steve was in a good mood. His polite smiles and gentle diplomatic words suggested a calm, serene, and approachable Captain.

But Maria knew better.

When Steve was relaxed and calm, he became even more dangerous. That state allowed him to assess threats, predict outcomes, and shift the momentum of any confrontation with a single command.

He’d become a master symphony conductor of chaos, orchestrating every maneuver with grace and confidence. In that state of calm, Steve could decipher not only the strengths of his allies but also their vulnerabilities, using that knowledge like a painter, artfully blending raw power with disciplined strategy.

He could read a war room like a map—the ebb and flow of combat were as clear to him as written instructions, allowing him to think several steps ahead of his enemies.

Just like he was doing right now. The silence that filled the room had lasted for more than three minutes. The tension was palpable, yet Steve, the one who had initiated this standoff between both sides, was staring at the wall, following the reflection of his own ring like an idiot. 

Maria almost grinned. Steve knew exactly what he wanted, and wasn’t going to back down. He was still, unwavering. Like a panther poised to strike, he waited, while the UN Secretary-General on the screen was losing his shit.

Thaddeus Ross looked just as Maria remembered him before the Civil War—probably because he hadn’t aged during the Blip. He wore that familiar expression of pain, frustration, and anger, the same one he always had whenever he had to meet with Steve. He would have much preferred having this conversation with Tony, but Tony would sooner lick a rusty nail than be present in this meeting.

“Captain Rogers, we appreciate the Avengers’ cooperation and all that you’ve done for the world… for the universe.” Ross sighed, rubbing his temples. 

Maria looked down, suppressing a smile. 

Here we go.

“But let’s be clear. Agent Frazer is a trusted MI6 operative and a respected diplomat. Accusations like this require hard evidence, not speculation. We need to know exactly what happened on your end and why he’s being held.”

“I understand your concerns, Secretary, but this isn’t a simple matter of diplomacy gone wrong. Agent Frazer isn’t who you think he is anymore. Something changed when he entered our compound.” Steve replied, rubbing his thumb along the ring, his tone slipping into full Captain America mode.

“Changed?” Secretary Ross was losing his patience. “Like… a chameleon? Look, you’re holding an international agent without concrete proof. I need more than your word to justify this to our affiliate nations.”

“Well, you didn’t seem to need evidence when half the people in this room disappeared because a purple raisin snapped his fingers, did you?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid our word is actually the one thing you can rely on.”

Maria spoke up before Ross lost his shit over that comment: “He was fitted with a retinal device that was transmitting data. Whatever was sent, it wasn’t the actions of a regular agent. We traced it to a secure hub that's heavily encrypted. We’re not accusing without reason.”

“Oh…A retinal device?” Ross’s face was straightforward ‘are you kidding me’: “And do you really believe that the Brit Intel possesses this kind of tech? Who does this stuff besides you or Wakanda? Ok…” He put a hand on his forehead: “Where is it? This retinal device?” 

“We can’t share it yet.” Steve responded. “There are elements of this that go beyond a single agent. Frazer might not have been acting on his own, and he might not even be fully aware of what’s been done to him.”

“Oh…Oh…You can’t share it?” Ross nodded sarcastically, feigning understanding. 

“Sure, I’ll just go and tell the 216 representatives that you’re not ready yet. We should just sit and wait until you feel prepared. You’re holding and interrogating a UN Special Unit agent and accusing him of espionage and treason—those are serious claims, Rogers! And you’re still not providing actual evidence!” He nearly slammed the table in frustration.

But Steve remained immovable, now resting his hand on his jaw, his lips grazing the ring as if observing Ross’s imminent meltdown with mild amusement. He waited for Ross to calm down before speaking again, his tone patient.

“We’ve seen this kind of manipulation before. This technology—it’s something we’ve encountered from organizations that use people like Frazer as pawns. If we give you the full picture, we risk exposing more than we can afford right now.”

That’s a nice way of saying: I’m not revealing my girlfriend’s information to you, assholes. Maria tried to suppress her smile, keeping her expression serious.

“That sounds suspiciously like speculation.” Ross countered, his temper barely under control. He couldn't believe how difficult it was to reason with Steve and was amazed Stark ever put up with it.

“It’s not.”

Of course it is.

“Well, Captain, you’re implying this goes beyond Frazer, but without solid evidence or a proper investigation, you’re asking us to take this on faith. That’s a dangerous request, and we can’t accept that.”

You say that, but you’re exactly where Steve wants you. Maria thought, watching with awe. She had worked with some of the greatest tactical minds, but Steve’s natural ability to manipulate the flow of situations still amazed her.

“It’s not an act of faith.” Steve replied diplomatically. “I understand the difficulties of your position, Secretary. I’m asking you to trust our judgment. You know the Avengers don’t act without cause. We’re not holding Frazer out of suspicion alone. Something’s been compromised—maybe even within your own ranks. If you push too hard for full disclosure, we might end up tipping off whoever’s behind this.”

Ross’s expression shifted.

There it is. Maria noted. The bait was set.

“Are you suggesting there’s been a breach within the UN itself? That’s a serious accusation, Captain.”

Steve sighed. “It’s not an accusation—it’s a possibility. This is bigger than Frazer. If we’re wrong, we’ll take the heat. But if we’re right and this gets out before we can stop it, more than just Frazer’s life will be at risk.”

Ross sat back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Maria held her breath. 

Everything was unfolding exactly how Steve wanted.

“Look, Rogers, I’m bending over backward here. I could escalate this to the Security Council, or worse, handle it diplomatically—which wouldn’t end well for the Avengers. But I’m offering a compromise, and you should think about it carefully.”

Steve remained impassive, his gaze steady on the screen, waiting for Ross to continue.

“You bring Agent Frazer to the UN Headquarters.” Ross leaned forward, as if offering something generous. “And we’ll conduct a joint interrogation. Your people, our people—all present. We’ll see everything firsthand, no secrets, no games. It’s a big concession on my part, but I’m willing to do it for the sake of transparency.” Ross crossed his arms, clearly expecting Steve to appreciate the ‘favor.’

Maria raised an eyebrow. 

Checkmate.

It was exactly what Steve had wanted—moving Frazer to a controlled environment, where they could monitor both him and the UN’s reactions.

“That’s a reasonable compromise, Secretary.” Steve replied after a long pause, offering a diplomatic nod, his expression neutral, his voice steady. “We’ll escort Frazer to the UN HQ and work with your team. But remember, once that interrogation starts, what comes out might not be something anyone’s ready for.”

Ross exhaled heavily, convinced he had won. 

“Good. I’ll notify the necessary parties. The UN appreciates your cooperation, Captain.”

“Sure.” Steve responded calmly, watching as Ross disconnected from the meeting.

As soon as the screen went dark, Maria couldn’t help but smile. “Finally, something went as expected.”

Steve leaned back in his chair, a small smile tugging at his lips. He pulled out his phone, ready to text you, but paused for a moment, sighing.

“Just hope I don’t regret this mission.” he murmured, referring to bringing you to the UN HQ with the team.

“Oh, come on, she’ll be fine.” Maria said, rolling her eyes as she began organizing the documents scattered across the table. “Don’t make me go over this again.”

“What are you worrying about?” Sam called from the other side of the room. “I think it’s a great idea. She goes undercover, uses her powers to check for secret passages, weapons, surveillance—anything shady. And if someone’s controlling Frazer, maybe she can pick up on it, and we can trace it from there.”

“Thank you, that’s exactly what I said.” Maria agreed, gathering the last of the files and opening the door for them. “And Ross is right, you know. Every piece of tech we have? She’ll be wearing it. We’ll make sure she’s fully covered. Plus, we’re all going, and you’ll be stuck to her like a fridge magnet on Bucky’s arm, so stop worrying.”

“Well, now that the mission is settled, let’s get to the important stuff.” Sam winked as they walked down the hallway, throwing an arm around Steve’s neck. “So? I see a ring on your finger. Is that… the ring? Engagement, maybe? So soon?”

Steve chuckled, walking ahead: “What else it would be?”

“Of course it’s not an engagement ring!” you protested, blushing as Dr. Lin examined your finger with far too much excitement.

“It’s a high-frequency, multi-sensorial ring capable of real-time biometric and geospatial transmission, with micro-electromechanical systems that monitor and broadcast vital stats, and GPS included.” You repeated the clarification Steve had given you.

“Ew!” Robert dropped your hand like it was burning. “It’s a tracking device?!” 

His eyebrows shot up with incredulity: “Honey, I thought your ‘not-my-boyfriend’ was just some fling avoiding responsibility, but now…I’m worried. Is he some kind of psycho? This thing is connected to an app, isn’t it? So he can track you? Wait… does he work here? I bet HR would love to hear about this.”

“He’s not a psycho!” You laughed, finding his conclusion hilarious. “Far from it.” You said as admiring the way the ring caught the sunlight.

“Okay, sweetie? No. Nononono. This is NOT normal.” Dr. Lin leaned back in his chair, shutting down your screen and rearranging the desk so you were facing him. 

“Listen, I think we’re walking on thin ice here. Now, give me his name. No more secrecy. If I know him, I’ll tell you everything. If I don’t…I’ll hack into the employee system and dig up all his dirty little secrets. Come on, chop chop. This is serious—how did you even agree to this?”

Too caught up in his horror, Dr. Lin didn’t notice the whispers in the back of the lab or your co-workers discreetly pulling out their phones to take pictures. Neither did you.

“It’s just for a short period…” You explained. “It’s for my safety, so he knows I’m okay.”

“That’s what all manipulative stalkers say!”

“Aww, Robert.” You were touched by his genuine concern. “You’re so sweet for worrying about me.” You rubbed his shoulder. “But really, don’t worry. I know what I’m doing, he is fine.”

“Says the girl who only interacts with plants and has zero social life.” Robert shook his head. 

“Look sweetie, I don’t want to see you on the news, floating in the Hudson in a garbage bag, okay? Now give me his name.” 

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through the employee database. “Is he an agent? Because that seems like something an angry agent would do… Here, let me do some background checks…” His voice trailed off when he looked up to see Steve standing beside him.

“Good afternoon.” Steve greeted, smiling politely.

“C-Captain.” Robert blinked, glancing around to make sure he was in the right place. “Um, this is the R&D lab, Cap.” What are you doing here? Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark are regulars, but you?

“I know,” Steve replied with a polite nod and leaned down pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“Hey you ready? The car’s waiting.” He naturally picked up your bag and took your hand, nodding again to Dr. Lin. “Robert.”

You know my name?! 

Dr. Lin was jaw dropped as you were held by Steve and left with a wave and a smiling ‘I’ll see you later’, he also had to squeeze down a scream like a fangirl when Steve put his arm around your shoulder and gave you another kiss.

“That was… dramatic.” You laughed as Steve pressed another kiss to your forehead.

“More dramatic than your ‘Revelio’ moment?” Steve chuckled. “No, I think we’re fine.” He took a deep breath. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. At least now, whoever’s after you might think twice before making a move.” His grip on your hand tightened as you walked toward the car. “Come on. Let’s go over the plan one more time before we enter the lion’s den.”

“Ugh…” you groaned. “Again?”

The cars pulled up to the United Nations Headquarters in New York, the convoy blending seamlessly into the pulse of flashing lights and bustling streets. Sleek black vehicles came to a smooth stop in front of the ionic compound, its towering glass façade reflecting the late afternoon sun as flags from every nation fluttered in the breeze.

You couldn't help but smile.

Ever since Natasha had pulled you out of Siberia and Tony had done everything in his power to ensure your freedom, walking these streets –or any streets–  still felt like a gift. You never missed a chance to take it all in, but every time the city’s buzz—the constant hum of people, the soft melody of urban life—hit you, it was like this  invisible symphony that no one else could quite detect. It was overwhelming and yet comforting at once, as though the very chaos of the outside world was an affirmation that you were part of it. 

You stepped out of the car with Steve, Sam, and Maria close behind, as normal as always, if it weren’t for the human shield they were forming around you.

You were equipped with the latest Stark technology: retinal lenses calibrated to detect even the smallest anomalies, neuro-memory transmission implants capable of syncing with your mind (and Jarvis plus Friday), and discreet sensors were embedded into your gear, capturing and relaying data on anything that might emerge from the shadows. Everything Bruce and Tony had invented, inspired by your unique abilities, had been utilized, enhancing its powers.

And of course, Steve had insisted you wear the latest in protective gear, woven with advanced fibers that could withstand almost any physical impact. It was sleek, lightweight, and practically invisible—more like a second skin than armor.

But the reassurance in Steve’s eyes when he saw you wearing it was unmistakable. You’d sharpened your powers over time, and this was far from your first mission, but nothing made him worry less. He hated unpredictable situations, especially when it came to you.

You began to scan the surroundings. The heightened senses kicked in, eyes sharpening as you observed the compound. Your gaze fixed on the walls, seeing beyond the layers of concrete and steel, into corridors filled with armed security, advanced surveillance systems, and hidden passageways. Your mind – and everything Tony put on you– cataloged every detail: a vault hidden below the west wing, an array of weapons stored in an underground chamber, a strange device tucked behind a sealed door you couldn’t quite identify, but it wasn't a threat, just something heavy. Ew, was someone having sex in the basement? Well…who are you to judge?

As you reached the delegation, Steve stood tall, projecting calm authority as he greeted Thaddeus Ross.

“Secretary Ross, we appreciate your cooperation in handling this situation together. Agent Frazer is in your custody now.” He nodded as the car that held Agent Frazer with maximum care entered the building.

“Good to see everything went smoothly, Rogers.” Ross said, his eyes sweeping over the group. “Let’s hope this brings us closer to the truth.” Whatever the fuck that is.

“I’m sure it will.” Steve affirmed, his tone steady. “Commander Hill and I will be part of the joint interrogation. Captain Wilson and Dr. Lancaster are here specifically for the New Era Project.” He glanced at you and Sam, who both nodded in silent acknowledgment. “I believe Tony mentioned it before our arrival.”

Secretary Ross scowled, but Steve’s logic was irrefutable. The New Era Project was a groundbreaking collaboration between the Avengers and the UN, designed to bridge the gap between their efforts and resources. 

Both sides would exchange personnel—scientists, strategists, and field agents—to oversee, analyze, and integrate their respective strengths. It was more than just oversight; it was a mutual exchange of knowledge and expertise, aimed at building something greater together. Although fraught with tension, the project promised mutual benefit—Stark Industries’ cutting-edge tech paired with the UN’s global infrastructure.

But right now? Steve was doing what Steve does magnificently —controlling the situation like a puppeteer with his invisible strings of strategy.

Secretary Ross also knew through Tony how Steve was resisting this initiative, and Stark wasn’t going to risk starting Civil War 2.0 over any UN proposal, even though this time they were actually really considering humanity’s future and peaceful, technological solutions. 

But yet, here was Captain Rogers, offering two agents himself for cooperation on this project.

How could he say no?

“Fine.” F-You Rogers, F-You. Ross said with a forced smile: “But since Agent Frazer’s mission had been…a failure, I’m sure there will be no opposition from you if we send other agents, right?”

“As long as they aren’t brainwashed before coming in, I think we’ll be fine.” Steve patted the Secretary’s shoulder, joking a bit to ease the situation and ignoring the “Fuck you is not funny” face Ross just made.

“C’mon, let’s keep the wheel moving,” Secretary Ross growled.

You were walking a few steps behind him, both of your rings hidden in your pockets. Wearing them at the Avenger’s Facility? That was fine, where everything was under control and not a fly would pass by unnoticed, but here, neither you nor Steve wanted to be the spotlight of distractions or gossip that could lead to unanticipated events.

As the entire delegation began to move inside. The Secretary started the introductions of their side: “Dr. Yamato, head of Criminal Minds and War Behavior Analysis.” Ross gestured toward a sharp-eyed woman with a composed demeanor. “She’s one of the best in psychological warfare and behavioral profiling.”

“Colonel Marcus Bryant, specialist in Military Strategy and Hostage Negotiation.” He said as the Colonel gave a brief nod.

“And finally, Agent Elena Vasquez, cybersecurity and intelligence expert.” Ross introduced a woman with a sharp gaze and quick reflexes. “She’ll be handling the tech side of this, tracking any potential data leaks or anomalies.”

There were a few more nods exchanged, each member of the delegation poised for the task ahead.

As they reached the main entrance, another figure approached with confident strides. Ross turned to introduce her.

“And this is Agent Sharon Carter, head of Diplomatic Security.” Sharon, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, extended a hand with a polite smile.

“Captain.” She greeted Steve with professional ease. Her voice was polite, and nothing in her demeanor was out of line, but the familiarity between them didn’t escape your notice. There was a warmth in her eyes—a brief flicker of something that hadn’t entirely faded.

There was history there, subtle but unmistakable.

“Sharon. It’s good to see you.” Steve shook her hand with a warm smile. “You look great.” Though his focus never wavered from the mission at hand, a hint of something unspoken passed between them.

Your stomach tightened for just a moment, a flash of curiosity and unease passing through you, but you quickly refocused as Ross motioned everyone toward the compound for the formal debriefing. Sharon and Steve moved on, her interaction flawlessly professional, but that brief moment still lingered with you.

The UN HQ was as imposing as expected, but a day inside the building wasn’t enough to scan the entire place. You had superpowers, but is not like you are a machine, duh. And even with Stark’s enhanced tech, nothing new came up on your radar. Of course, you'd discreetly planted a tracking device for Tony to hack into their systems, but that was child’s play for him—he’d hacked SHIELD years ago, and the UN wasn’t much more of a challenge.

You frowned as you walked alongside Sam for what felt like the fifteenth lap through the hallways, waiting for the interrogation to wrap up.

Oh…this is so unfortunate. This building had the new edgy architecture style, encouraging horizontal workspaces and transparency through their walls of glass. So you could see… Steve and this gorgeous, agile, fierce, super-intelligent, attractive-as-hell Agent Carter chatting, sometimes chuckling, patting his shoulder.

What could they be talking about? “Oh, you’re so beautiful, like a golden rose in a summer garden. Look at you with that sexy-as-hell black suit and fine stilettos. Would you have dinner with me? Oh what? No, I’m not in a relationship, just with some weirdo that talks to plants and has x-rays in her eyes.”

“You know…” Sam was observing how your fingers were tapping on the desk over and over, maybe mumbling some unhearable words in a language he couldn’t understand. So he said in a very low voice, “That’s way in the past, okay? Things just didn’t work out for them. I think they didn’t even try… It was chaotic during the Sokovia Accords, running away, homeless, going from here to there, hiding in Europe… And then, the Blip. No one had the mood to be in a relationship… Well, not that I know, I was out in a limbo. But still, I think that’s like…so over.”

“WHAT?” It took you like 30 seconds to actually process what he was talking about. “They were…? They were…dating? In a relationship?”

Sam opened his mouth. And then closed it. And then he stood up.

“I’m gonna get some coffee. You want some? You look like you could use some coffee…yeah, so I’m just gonna…alright.”

And he was out. Leaving you with your jaw dropped. But then you looked back to the interrogation room and everything just made sense.

Oh my God. These two would have beautiful and incredibly blonde kids with that perfect silky skin, tall silhouette, gracious walk. If it’s a boy, it would be like Steve Rogers 2.0, and a girl would totally be Miss Americana. They’d be like this perfect cliché advertisement poster with the house in the countryside, white fences, a backyard full of roses, Sunday barbecues, a golden retriever, and kids playing baseball.

And what would you do? Well…if you survive this dark hidden organization that’s highly likely to use, torture, and experiment on you, maybe you could ask for a transfer to Wakanda. You never met Princess Shuri,  but Tony speaks so well about her, and the projects they have over there are so amazing.

You wouldn’t have to see Steve’s wedding of the century if you were in a cage in the woods, right? And the weather there is so good for the plants, oh you could finally have the Epiphyllum oxypetalum you’ve always wanted. And if anything, you could talk to it until you are old.

And Bucky is in Wakanda too! You’ve never met him, but hey, you could always bond over “remember those days we got two shots of electrowave in our bodies so we could get those injections that made us recover faster? Old times, huh?”

Yeah, that sounds okay. You could live with a broken heart; people do that all the time, right? Your body and mind were already quite shattered, so it wouldn’t matter if your soul and heart was a fucking mess too. You nodded as you decided and looked up at Sam, who was approaching with two coffees in his hands.

“Do you think Tony would allow me to take my plants to Wakanda?”

“What?” The Falcon hesitated for a moment, then he switched the coffee he was handing you: “Okay, girl, take the decaf.”

“Hey.” Steve’s voice broke through your spiraling thoughts as he approached, his hand lightly brushing your arm. You hadn’t even noticed he’d left the interrogation room. “We’re ready to go. We’ll probably have two or three more of these sessions, but we can’t keep the interrogation going forever. Maria will stay here for this shift, and Nat will take over tomorrow... hey, you alright?”

“What?” You realized you were biting your fingers. “Oh, um… yeah, it’s unusually quiet over here. Nothing’s happening, no extra readings, no signs of any… vibrations or energies in the air. We’ve covered everything we needed.” You actually had more than needed, but there were high frequencies in the air—signs of recordings—so you didn’t want to give too many details.

Steve nodded as he observed you giving a final look around the place. He knew what you were implying, so he tilted his head toward the exit. “I’ve already said my goodbyes, so we’re good. Let’s go.”

‘Your girl is concerned. You might want to talk to her.’ Sam gave Steve a look, the kind of Avenger’s sign-language they used for silent communication as they were walking out.

‘What?’ Steve didn’t get a thing what Sam was trying to say with those rolling eyes.

‘I said she seems upset, maybe talk to her… about stuff.’ Sam insisted.

‘You want me to hire more staff?’ Steve gave up, opening the door for you. “You suck at this, Sam.”

“Look, man…” Sam laughed, raising his hands. “You know what? Forget it.” Oh, he was going to enjoy this later. But then his phone pinged with an incoming message, and he frowned, showing it to Steve. “Hey, I’ll take this one.”

“I seriously doubt it’ll lead us anywhere, but yeah, go ahead,” Steve nodded. It was an army contact from Sam’s, probably had something to spill about Agent Frazer’s past. “I’ll see you at home.” There was no chance he was leaving you alone.

“Tony is sending the Iron Army to escort you.” Sam said, checking another message just like Steve’s: “Y’all wait for it, alright? Keeps me chilled.”

“Yup, think that’s the best.” Steve agreed, looking up at the sky as he nodded.

It was a long drive from the UN HQ back to the compound, but you were grateful for the journey. You always enjoyed watching the view outside the window, the streetlights passing by, tracing lines along the highway at night. The smooth, steady movement of the car always calmed your mind.

Steve noticed your unusual silence. You’d been so excited on the way there, but now you were lost in your thoughts—and not in the good way he remembered. Your gaze was fixed on the traffic lights outside, your face shadowed by the night.

“A penny for your thoughts?” He lowered the AC and took your hand; you were freezing.

You sighed. You were never good at lying or hiding your thoughts from him, especially when you were pouting, sad, and... angry?

“I don’t want you to break up with me and leave me. I’ll have to go to Wakanda… and I’ll end up digging Vibranium and talking to flowers and succulents for the rest of my life.”

“What?!” Steve nearly hit the brakes, torn between looking at you and driving safely. “Wh—what are you talking about? Why would I…” Didn’t he propose just yesterday? You seemed so happy this morning, looking at the shining ring and all. What happened…? Ohh! He remembered Sam’s muted signals and connected the dots.

“Babe… no…” He reached for your hand, noticing your eyes starting to redden. “It’s not what you think, okay? Look, I... I would never...” He was surprised, a little frustrated, and also... amused.

Were you jealous? He wanted to comfort you, but he couldn’t help the small smile creeping up. Did you care this much?

“But… why would you go to Wakanda?” He drove with one hand, gripping yours tightly with the other. He loved your comebacks, but he was always intrigued by your reasoning behind them.

“You’re right.” You looked down. “I wouldn’t go. I’d rather stay here and watch you fall for someone else than… than not see you at all.” The thought stung more than you expected, a pang in your chest as you almost sobbed.

“Hey… no, what are you even thinking?” Steve’s arm slid around your shoulders. “Come on, don’t say that. I’d never… that I could even look at anyone else?”

“Well, why wouldn’t you…” You grabbed a tissue and wiped your nose. “Prettier, hotter, smarter, taller, incredibly talented, agile, fierce, stunning legs, beautiful smile… impeccable résumé and…” You mumbled the most important part: “...memories.”

“I don’t live in the past.” Steve said after a pause. He almost never used your full name, and when he did, you knew he was serious. His hand gripped yours firmly, refusing to let go. Not now, not ever.

“I just want you. Don’t ever think I’d look for someone else because…” He glanced at you, smiling. “You’re…”

Before he could finish, you caught sight of a blinding light approaching behind him—fast, like a bolt of lightning.

“Brakes!” You yelled just as a fiery laser shot streaked past, slamming into the ground ahead. The explosion sent debris flying, and a smoking crater appeared in the middle of the road.

Steve reacted instinctively, throwing his arm in front of you to keep you from lunging forward as the car screeched to a halt.

The vehicle skidded wildly, barely stopping in time. He swerved hard, tires screeching again, and the car bolted down the highway at full speed.

“Was that the Iron Army?!” Steve growled, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheel tighter. “I thought they were escorting us?” His words trailed off as a series of rapid beeps echoed inside the car. The HUD on the dashboard flashed red, and in an instant, the Iron Army drones, which had been circling above, descended into a tight formation, blocking the road ahead with weapons locked.

“Go! Gogogo! I’ve got the comms!” You shouted looking back, bracing yourself as the car jerked from side to side. Your fingers flew over your mobile device, checking the connections. “System’s down.” You pressed your earpiece, connecting to Jarvis through a secondary hub. “Jarvis?!”

“There’s more incoming—hold tight!” Steve warned over the growing roar of engines as he dodged fire from the drones, veered sharply to avoid incoming fire, weaving the car in zigzags as explosions rocked the pavement next to you.

“Those drones have tracking sensors!” Now why the fuck you developed them to be so damn perfect?! You cursed under your breath, ducking as another drone whizzed overhead, firing a barrage of missiles. 

The impact sent the back wheels of the car into the air momentarily before Steve hit the gas, speeding through traffic.

“Comms down. We’ve been compromised.” You said as ripping out the chip from your phone and chucking it out the window. Reaching for Steve’s, you disabled it too. “These things have trackers.”

“We’re on our own.” Your eyes darted across the highway as you quickly scanned the drones’ movements. 

You leaned toward Steve, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Babe, I need you to trust me and do exactly what I say…”

He shot you a sideways glance, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes despite the chaos. “Oh that’s a first…”

“Take the next exit!” you commanded, spotting a key weakness. The car swerved down the off-ramp, taking a sharp turn under the bridge. “Now, slow down.”

“Slow down? We’re being chased by killer robots!” Steve’s voice was filled with disbelief, but he followed your instruction.

“Trust me.” You said, scanning the crumbling infrastructure above. “I’m going to make them hit that column over there. It’s weak, and when it falls, the impact will throw us out onto the next street. Just take that street after, and we’ll be free. Ready?”

Steve gave you a quick, impressed nod. Fuck, he was so turned on. “Ready.”

“Now, slow down and punch it!” 

The car came to an unnerving crawl before Steve slammed the gas pedal again. The drones locked onto the car, unleashing a barrage of fire at the bridge’s support column. It crumbled in an explosion of concrete and steel just as you predicted. The impact sent the car soaring forward as debris rained down around you. In a controlled swerve, Steve navigated through the chaos, landing on the next street.

“Shit, that was close…” You glanced back as the explosion faded in the distance.

Despite the situation, Steve couldn’t help but smile, shaking his head in awe. How could you ever think, for a second, that he’d want to be with anyone else?

“Drones,” You suddenly noticed, approaching from a side street. “Babe, turn left.” You were using your powers to their maximum potential. “Empty street on the right, go around it.” You clicked the back of your ear, and the lenses you wore enhanced your readings. “Iron Army on our twelve. We gotta ditch the car.”

“I don’t think…” Steve slammed the brakes as the car drifted, barely missing a wall by inches. Dark shapes of drones were closing in fast, their red targeting lights flickering ominously through the night. Then, up ahead, you saw it—the Iron Army.

Shots fired from the drones, hitting the pavement near the car. Sparks flew as explosions rocked the street around you, and the army of hacked robots was approaching by air.

“Go straight!” you shouted, just as Steve hit the gas, forcing the car into a sharp turn down a narrow alley. You braced yourself as the vehicle skidded around the corner, barely avoiding the collapsing dumpsters.

“It’s a dead end!” Steve said as the headlights illuminated a brick wall.

“Undo your seatbelt, drift at the end, and give me your hand!” you ordered, eyes fierce with determination as you watched the enemies surrounding the car. 

You blinked at him and added, “Will a minute be enough to disappear?”

Inspired by your confidence, Steve sighed with a smile. “It’ll have to be.” He held his breath slightly as the end of the alley neared. The tires smoked as the car drifted, nearly lifting off the ground, and everything happened so fast, yet so slow.

The car took a side hit from the attack right as it lifted off the ground, fishtailing through the air. With his seatbelt undone, Steve was thrown from the seat. He grasped your hand tightly as you both were flung away.

The Stark Tech Tony and Bruce implanted in your palm activated, covering your hand like a second skin. A repulsor blast shot out, and with that surge of energy, you both were propelled in the opposite direction.

Steve’s instincts kicked in, and he hugged you tightly, shielding you from the impact. At the same time, you raised your other hand, shattering the glass with another blast, saving him from harm. You both tumbled through a building’s window as the car exploded behind you.

Steve landed on top of you, protecting you with his hands and body, his face covered in ash and sweat. But he laughed, even while panting heavily. His heart was racing, resting on your shoulders as he caught his breath.

“Oh…” You panted too, your heart racing. “That was close…”

“God…” Steve grinned, laying his forehead against yours, utterly relieved and impressed. “You have no idea… how much I fucking love you.” You wonderful, perfect, incredible genius. His heart was about to explode with all the pride and love he felt at the moment.

“Yup, me too. Come on. We gotta move.” You noticed the Iron Army and drones’ lights behind the smoke of the explosion. “That fire will cover our temperature scans, but not for long. Come on, over here.” You quickly got up and held his hand as you exited the building.

“Here, I need you to throw this, with all your strength, as high as you can.” You reached into your jacket, pulled out a small spherical device, and handed it to Steve. He threw it with a quick flick, hurling it high into the air. The second it reached its peak, the device burst open, releasing a thick, shimmering cloud that expanded rapidly, enveloping both you and Steve entirely.

“What’s that?”

“Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.”

“What?”

“A nanotech cloaking device that disrupts sensors and bends light, creating a temporary optical camouflage, making everything go unnoticed by any scan detection. Even Stark Tech.” You held his hand as you moved swiftly and silently, cloaked by the swirling cloud.

Steve sighed as you slipped into an alley. “How many Harry Potter references are we having?”

TBD

Continue to:

8: Lull |

9: Vigil |

10: Eclipse |

Is past midnight but I still managed to post it on Friday! <3 I'm actually in the car posting this, lol, but I'm not driving! So this was SUCH a fun chapter to write, i LOVE this machiavellic mastermind super strategistic Steve!! (I'm so turned on by him) So thank you for sticking with me thus far! Now I have a question, would you do the honors and complete this for me?

Just let me know! (I'm actually near finishing it, and Idk if I'm changing it but who knows!!! :D )

Tag list: @vioplay19 / @jamneuromain / @steviebbboi / @heletsmelovehim / @otterlycanadian

[potatomountain]

For The Wolves

♦️pairing: Hongjoong x afab reader x yeosang

♦️wc: 4.1k

♦️au: rebel!teez, world Z

♦️genre: dystopian, pwp

♦️Summary: weeks without seeing the two rebels had you second guessing everything and a visit from the android guardians had you ready to flee anywhere else. But the two rebels who have your heart are determined to remind you that you're theirs

♦️warnings: mxm, bondage, a few whips, soft dom/switch Yeosang, hard dom Hongjoong, sub reader, dacryphilia (if you squint), some anxiety, dvp, oral (male receiving, male giving), threeway kiss, spanks, one slap to Yeosang, degradation, marking, praise, multiple orgasms (fem), penetration without a barrier. no pull out.

♦️AN: originally wasn't going to continue this, but it was one of my favorite works and @bunnliix wanted it for her birthday so happy birthday Lixie <3

♦️nets: @pirateeznet @mirohs-aurora-society

♦️Banner made by me | dividers made by @cafekitsune

♦️Part 1: To The Wolves | For other works: Masterlist

Just like that, you weren’t so willing to be with them any more. Yet you also couldn’t do anything about it. Weeks went by, your anger over the situation growing but also the pain, until you finally decided that maybe it was time to move shop.

The idea of packing up your clinic and going into hiding was strong after that night as if your senses had returned to you. How could you just let them ruin you like that? How could you enjoy it so much?

Your moral compass felt like it was spinning with no real direction and you lost yourself. The fact they left you before you had even fallen asleep, still covered in their cum, had cut deep.

They certainly ruined you, and you no longer liked the idea. You felt like a fool, one they used. Before you had given them an answer Hongjoong had gotten a call and then they were just gone. 

Especially since the government had tightened their hold on your district. It was harder to help others, less and less finding your clinic safe as android guardians patrolled the area often.

Then it happened. The guardians came into your clinic, and messed with your things. They trashed the place, turning it upside down while you protested. Never before did you have a direct problem with them, having always gone through the legal channels for your supplies, registering your patients during working hours, and paying your bills and taxes on time.

Whatever they were looking for, they didn’t find, leaving you with a trashed place and saying it was your problem to replace what was broken

Spending the better part of the day and well into the night cleaning it up, you were frustrated enough tears kept pricking your eyes, making it hard to clean up the last room- your bedroom. You gave up on trying to hang up the clothes, kicking them in frustration into the closet and letting out a sob.

Just to have something pulled over your head. You cried out, immediately thrashing out to whoever put a hand over your mouth to muffle your loud curses. Your foot connected with something, a deep groan falling from the person’s lips and you thought you recognized it.

It felt like all you had worked for was destroyed just like your clinic and home. All the good you did was for naught. Was it not enough? Was it all their fault? If you had just kept your head down, would the guardians have just left you alone?

“If I ever see them again I’ll strangle them with my own two hands.” You hissed out, with one final kick getting the pile of clothes behind the door. “Stupid Hongjoong. Yeosang. Bet they’re the reason those fuckers were here. Don’t see them for weeks and yet I get the backlash??” Slamming the door shut, your limbs were shaking with growing rage. 

“Easy Doll, don’t hurt Sangie too much.” Hongjoong whispered against your ear, holding the cloth bag over your head with a grip at the back of your neck as he tugged you back. You stumbled back against him, pissed that now was when they showed up.

So you kicked harder, swung your elbows back and connected with Hongjoong’s ribs multiple times. They scrambled back, throwing you on the bed as you curse at them specifically.

“What? Not happy to see us after the fun time we had the last time?”

“Fuck you.” You spat at Hongjoong once the bag was off, his hands now holding your wrists above your head while his knee held your legs still. Both of them looked quite different, their hair chained and something off about their aura. Or was this how they always were under the facade they had given you?

Surrounded on both sides though, held down by your wrists, and thighs, there was little you could do and truthfully, screaming would get you nowhere. People tended to mind their business this late thanks to all those raids that had happened.

Another thing to blame these two for.

Glaring at them both, and still squirming, Hongjoong looked you over with amusement while Yeosang slid onto the bed and took over his hold on you. “We heard the guardians were here.”

Your body tensed up at the reminder, turning your glare onto Yeosang. “So they were looking for you two?! Don’t see why when you haven’t been here for weeks! Bastards.” You hissed out, turning your glare to Hongjoong as he adjusted his black jacket.

“We’ve been here just… didn’t let you see us.” Yeosang spoke again, Hongjoong seemingly in his own world as he started humming, looking around at your trashed bedroom.

You scoffed, staring up at Yeosang trying to get a read on his expression. His jaw was tense, brows slightly knitted together, but there was some concern in his eyes. You pushed it aside. “I would’ve been fine without you! No reason to watch if you weren’t going to-” You cut the thought off, biting on your lip and turning your head away. You didn’t want to give them the satisfaction  of knowing you were waiting for them.

And the idea of them ruining you again was still far too tempting.

Hongjoong’s smirk showed he knew it though. Turning back to you, he held up some rope and a few items that sent a shiver down your body. You should be scared, but your body remembered clearly the last time they had free control over your body. His smirk turned into a wide grin as if he knew. “We’re here now Doll, and I’m well aware you wanted to leave us.”

Yeosang’s hands tightened on you at his words, gaze intense and demanding you look at him but you wouldn’t. “Didn’t you like last time?” He pleaded a bit softly, which just had you swallowing the growing lump of anxiety in your throat.

“You left me… and got the stupid guardians involved with this area so no one comes to see me anymore. Like everyone knew what you did to me.” You whined out, defeated. What could you do though? They were rebels, they fought for a living, you healed people, and took care of others.

Hongjoong approached the bed again, on knee on the edge as he leaned over you. “It’s not that they’re scared of your clinic Doll, just this area. We wanted to offer you to come with us, have a clinic at our base- but you were going to run away from us?”

“N-no.” You immediately protested, staring him down in hopes he wouldn’t question it. Instead he slapped down the cord onto your thigh, the sting surging up through your body, as the sound rang through the room almost as loud as your sudden cry.

How wet it left you should be concerning, especially since it prompted the idea of testing Hongjoong to see how many times you can get him to bring the cord down on your backside. Yeosang’s soft hand rubbing the stinging flesh through your jeans just added to that desire. 

Not wanting to give in just yet, you cried out again as Hongjoong brought the cord down on your other thigh, back arching as pleasure mixed with the pain. Pupils blown out, you stared up at him, panting, his brow raised questioningly.

“Don’t lie to us Baby.” Yeosang wasn’t really on your side for this, of course he wasn’t; but the contrast of hard dom and soft dom, pulling you every which way was exhilarating. Fuck they really had ruined you last time hadn’t they?

The smirks on their features told you they were well aware of their affect over you.

“I thought you didn’t care any more… after you used me.” You reluctantly admitted, shutting your eyes to hold back the tears that now threatened to fall. “Hated being here and thinking of you and the worst.”

You gave them no trouble at all as Yeosang stripped you of all your clothing, but took his time with your underwear while Hongjoong was now using padded cuffs to hold your wrists together. It was Yeosang’s deep hum as his fingers ran over the wet spot in your underwear that had you opening your eyes and looking down at him. He was staring intently as he pressed your panties between your wet folds, rubbing with two fingers to gather even more slick and rub your clit.

“Poor doll, we neglected you didn’t we?” Hongjoong’s voice lacked the condescension his words implied. “We’ll have to fix that. Sangie, undress her.”

At his leader’s command, your pants were pulled off as Hongjoong’s hand now held your wrist down. You were pliant under their touch, still heavily dejected and eager for them to hopefully wash it away. They would, right? Ease your worries?

Waiting with bated breath as he leaned in as if to taste, it was denied by Yeosang’s head getting pulled back by Hongjoong’s hand in his hair. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“Wanna taste her. Didn’t get to last time.” He groaned out, still staring at your soaked panties.

“And I didn’t get to fuck her cunt last time either. I had been generous, even let you fill her up Sangie. Are you already dumbed out just from the thought of fucking her? Really are just a pretty face and a hot body aren’t you? No brain up there?” Hongjoong scolded before pushing his head away just to grab at his throat instead. “Be good and maybe you can fuck her with me.”

You could only watch the way Yeosang whined, staring up at Hongjoong and being pliant in his grip. Heat scorched between the two, making you squirm with a newfound need between them and attempting to lift your bound wrists for a touch but they were tied to the bed with the cord from earlier.

Hongjoong reached down and gripped your thigh to still you, tugging Yeosang closer to his face and smirking as Yeosang parted his lips for him. “If you want to taste something, you can fixate on my cock. Get it nice and wet for our pretty doll.”

Yeosang’s nod had you whining at the idea, aware you wanted it a little too much.

What the hell did they do to you? The question rang in your head as you could only watch Yeosang scramble to get Hongjoong’s pants open, hand still in his hair. Whether he was that eager to fuck you, or suck on him, it didn’t even matter: his eagerness was contagious.

“You’re not fixing it Joongie-” You whined out, eyes trained on the way Yeosang’s hand stroked Hongjoong’s now freed member, his mouth getting closer. “Feels like you’re just rubbing it in my face more.”

He smirked down at you, a hint of softness in the corner of his lips. “You’re right, doll, I shouldn’t neglect you. You’ve shown you stray if you don’t get attention.” He stopped Yeosang just to pull his pants down and off. Both of you watched as he positioned himself between your legs, pushing both up by the calves just to flip you onto your stomach. “But you’re not getting rewarded so easily either.”

With a few more harsh movements you were on your knees, arms pulled as tight as they could from the rope and bondage, the bag now back over your head but leaving your mouth uncovered. Not that it would make a difference, at this angle you could barely lift your head from the sheets beneath you; a disappointment since you couldn’t watch Yeosang suck off Hongjoong.

“Fuck, at least you know how to use your mouth.” He hissed, the sounds of slurping going right to your core and making you leak with how turned on you were. With a whine you shook your ass, begging to be touched, just to feel his hand slap your bare skin and send pain and pleasure up your spine. “Patient Doll.”

So you remained as still as you could, listening so intently to the sounds of Yeosang’s mouth on Hongjoong’s cock, trying to picture his lips on your cunt instead. The thought was dashed as you felt two fingers run over your folds, gathering up your slick and then roughly pushing in. With a cry you jolted forward a bit, just for another smack to your other cheek.

“So fucking needy. You’re just sucking in my fingers.” Hongjoong rasped out, thrusting the two fingers into you roughly but you didn’t mind the harshness. As long as he was touching you. “B-both of you are so needy and pathetic.”

You let out a whine in protest. “D-Don’t be so mean.”

“Oh?” Another harsh slap. “This is being nice, Doll. I told you last time, I liked how scared you were. Fuck the thought of you running from me, crying, just to pin you down and fuck you like a toy? Fuck it got me off so much. Had to use others, but no one else had that same fear.”

You couldn’t say anything about that, fear spiking your heartbeat but also adrenaline; excitement. If it was Hongjoong, you were sure you would let him and like it.

Yeosang pulled off Hongjoong’s cock with a pop, letting out a deep groan of protest. “We’re trying to convince her to come with us, not scare her off Captain.”

A slap rang through the air, your pussy clenching around his features at the sound, but it wasn’t you who took the impact. “Oh God.” You mumbled, desire fogging your brain. Did he slap his mouth? His ass? Was it Yeosang that slapped Hongjoong? Every single image had you clenching down.

“She’s not scared at all Sangie. I think she wants me to hit you again based on how much she’s trying not to fuck herself on my fingers.” A third was pushed in, a low moan escaping your lips and you instantly tensed, expecting the slap.

Instead he just smoothed over your ass before giving a light squeeze. “Get your clothes off, I want you under her when I make her cum. Want you to see who makes our Doll feel good. Not your pathetic self.”

The sound of Yeosang hurriedly slipping off the bed and pulling his clothes off was proof he enjoyed the way Hongjoong talked to him. You also liked how Hongjoong talked to him, as much as you liked Hongjoong talking down to you.

Well, mostly. You still had your reservations, your worries, that you weren’t much more than a toy. And while it definitely had you turned on and dripping around Hongjoong’s fingers, your heart felt heavy.

Only Yeosang’s words from a moment ago gave it any hope, enough that you pushed for more. “J-Joongie?” There was a desperation in your tone that left you feeling vulnerable, even as his fingers curled to rub your sweet spot, heat pooling in your lower belly and building towards a climax.

He must have known, his tone a bit softer as he asked “What is it Doll?”

“A-am I just a toy?”

He kissed your shoulder blade, tip of his cock rubbing against your folds and asking for entrance. “You belong with us. You’re made for us. Part of our pack- that’s where you belong.” He whispered against your shoulder, slowly pushing in.

His fingers came to a halt at your whimper, then were pulled out. “No, you aren’t. Maybe I have been too mean to you.” He rushed out, voice drifting away which just made your anxiety spike.

You were being lifted and moved before you could voice your concerns again, Yeosang’s familiar hands on your waist, his cheek pressed against yours as you were now laying on his chest. “You mean so much to us baby, I promise.”

“But-” You protest was cut off by lips on yours, hands running over your sides and knees parting yours more. You melted in Yeosang beneath you, relaxing even further as you felt Hongjoong’s hands on the curve of your ass and up your back.

Your moan was swallowed up hungrily by Yeosang’s lips, perfectly sandwiched between them as Hongjoong pushed his full length into you.

He let out a shaky breath against the back of your neck, reaching around to cup one of your breasts, fingers rolling your nipple between them. He tugged roughly just as he started a brutal pace with his cock, causing you to cry out against Yeosang’s lips.

The man beneath you moved his hands to your ass, spreading your cheeks and holding them still as Hongjoong’s pelvis slammed into yours over and over. Unable to keep kissing him, your head lulled to the side, drool and spit coming with you and now leaking onto Yeosang’s shoulder.  “Taking him so well Baby, really just made for us.”

“J-Joongie~” The impending climax that had been building from his fingers was now back in reach.

“Gonna cream on my cock Doll? You’re clenching so hard- fuck so tight. You’re going to have to relax if you wanna take us both in this sweet pussy of yours though-” He laughed suddenly, a bit breathless, “-oh you like that idea?”

Yeosang groaned under you, lips now marring up your neck with little bites and hickies. He pulled back as Hongjoong grabbed you by the back of the head, a fist full of the bag and your hair, pulling so that you couldn’t hide your sounds against the man beneath you.

“Show Yeosang how good I fuck you Doll. How much you love my cock inside you.” Hongjoong practically growled the words out, demanding you cum for him.

It snapped that coil and you were cumming just as he said, jaw going slack and drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth as you cried out loudly for him. He fucked you through it, pulling you harshly back on his cock that just overstimulated you even further. Your arms thrashed, looking for something to grab onto and potentially pull away once Yeosang grabbed your hips and used his own strength to slam you back even harder on Hongjoong’s cock.

Tears were running down your cheeks, wetting the bag and having it stick to your skin as you cried for them. “T-too much! Too much!”

“Take it baby. Soak us. You can do it. I know you can.” Yeosang’s soft pleading beneath you was a stark contrast to Hongjoong’s degrading words behind you.

“Give me another Doll. Be a good fucking toy. Show me how pathetic you are for cock. For my cock.” With Yeosang holding your hips, Hongjoong’s free hand grabbed your throat, muffling your protests as the pain was becoming too much but also so pleasurable.

You came again, hard enough you pushed Hongjoong out of you and soaked them just as Yeosang asked. Sobbing as your body shook in their arms, you would have collapsed if not for their hold on you.

Seconds felt like minutes, small sobs still wrecking your body moments later as the sensations began to die down. Hongjoong removed his hands to rub your ass, running his nails over the reddened flesh and digging in on occasion. Yeosang however was showering you with soft kisses where he could reach, praising you under his breath for doing such a good job for them.

Only when the trembling of your muscles stopped did you feel Hongjoong’s cock press back against your sobbing hole. “You can fuck her now, but stretch her out for me.” He thrust in once, just to pull completely out with a happy sigh. “Want to mark her up so prettily.”

Yeosang didn’t hesitate to push his cock up into you, burying himself deep. “Oh fuck- baby.”

You whined, still a little too fucked out to form a coherent response. That climax had you seeing stars and you hadn’t fully crashed back to earth. It most definitely wasn’t happening with how good he felt inside you.

When he pushed a finger in, making your cunt even tighter around his cock, you let out another incoherent babble of a whine. He chuckled in your ear, pressing a kiss to your temple as he moved slowly. Long, deep, languid thrusts as he slowly stretched you out.

Soft moans and whimpers fell from your lips, regaining some energy and control from the harsh fucking you had just taken and simply enjoying the way he was moving. Though Hongjoong’s nails on your back, the trail of love bites, and his occasional slaps to your ass worked you up just as well.

Yeosang adding in a second finger had you drooling and feeling so full, but the third had you crying out a bit. “It’s okay baby, almost there. Don’t you want to take both of us?”

“Be a good hole to use?” Hongjoong nipped at the back of your neck roughly, tingles running down your spine.

“Y-yes please.” You whined out, pliant between them as you struggled to keep your breathing even.

Hongjoong laughed in your ear, Yeosang’s fingers out of your hole to be replaced by Hongjoong’s and he demanded a faster pace.

It was hard to focus as Yeosang matched Hongjoong’s pace, his own breathing picking up and little moans falling deliciously from his lips right against the bag around your head. You moaned out for him, turning your head to plead for a kiss. As his lips clashed with yours, Hongjoong’s fingers were gone and you were getting very full very fast.

He bottomed out, the three of you trembling and pausing your actions to adjust as your walls fluttered around them. Their gravelly groans, their tight grip on your body, Yeosang’s chest heaving beneath you, and their cocks pulsating inside- all of it felt more intense since you could only feel and hear.

“All ours Doll.”

“All ours.” Yeosang murmured against your lips, savoring your taste, just to have the bag ripped off your head and your throat grabbed. Your eyes locked onto Yeosang’s, stomach flipping at the pure fucked out expression he had, mouth covered in spit from your messy kisses and pupils blown wide.

Hongjoong’s visage was in your sight the next second, hard eyes boring into yours as he heavy breath fanned against your lips. “Say it.”

“A-all yours.” The words tumbled from your lips effortlessly, then again and again as Hongjoong’s soft lips were moving against yours. He didn’t pull away as he began to move, swallowing up your moans and breathing his own against yours.

Yeosang’s whines were louder, his hips bucking up to offset Hongjoong’s thrusts but match his pace. Muscles taunt against your breasts, held in place by them both as their pace picked up.

You felt so full, already ready to cum again but you were eager for their permission. You wanted their praise, their approval. Their love. Or as close to it as you could get at this moment.

“We’re yours too, you know.” Hongjoong mumbled softly against your lips as he pulled away, leaning back to fuck you even harder. “You belong to us-”

“And w-we belong to you.” Yeosang moaned out beneath you, stealing a sloppy kiss as you collapsed against him. Both of their hands were on your hips, Hongjoong’s resting over Yeosang’s possessively.

In the back of your mind, this whole scenario felt so filthy to you. But you couldn’t really care. You belonged to them and they belonged to you.

Whatever they had going on just fuzzled your brain even more, head lulling to the side to cry out freely for them when you could catch your breath enough to do so.

Orgasm hitting hard, your eyes flew open before rolling back, tongue slipping out as it felt like you had no control over your body, it was just pure electrifying ecstasy. Once the peak passed, you had enough sense to see that Hongjoong was now muffling Yeosang’s cries with his own mouth, their cum filling you up.

With every ounce of strength you had you pressed closer, the three of you clashing lips and spit and teeth as their hips were stuttering to a stop, so much cum filling you even further and pushing out of you with a need to go somewhere.

Vaguely you felt Hongjoong pull away as you were nothing more than a limp noodle, shaking from the remaining shocks of pleasure that was dimming your mind more and more by the second. Vaguely you could hear Yeosang asking him to clean you two up, his hands running over your marked up back and ass.

The only coherent thing you did process was his deep voice in your ear. “Sleep baby, we’ll take you home when you wake up.”

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[writerslittlelibrary]

So, I'm not a prisoner?

masterlist part 1 part 2 part 3 extra

summary: you did not expect that your mission to take down the traitor, could end in such a difficult situation for you…

pairing: Natasha x Red Room teen reader

warnings: fighting, weapons, stabbing, blood, implied sexual abuse

genre: fluff, angst

words: 3073

a/n: I wanted to do a fic like this for so long!!!! anyway, I just kept scouting tumblr trying to find fics like this, so I figured I’d finally write one myself :)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

A quick in and out. That was your mission. How on earth did you manage to screw it up so bad. In and out. Assassinate the traitor and come right back. 

Dreykov would’ve been so proud. 

But that didn’t happen. No. Every single aspect about that night failed to go according to plan. You snuck into the event Stark had hosted, was able to blend in with the other party goers, and you were able to hide when most of the people started to leave. 

Once it was just the Avengers left, you stayed in your hiding spot, observing them. You were here to kill Natasha Romanoff, and Natasha Romanoff only. 

You could not afford any casualties, so you had it all planned out. 

You’d wait until the Avengers would leave, and you’d take Natasha out before she could make it to her living quarters. You knew that once she made it to the living space of the Avengers tower, getting to her would be a lot harder. 

However, against all odds, Natasha excused herself from the group quite early, saying she wanted to get a good nights sleep. 

You internally cursed yourself, hating that this wasn’t something that you had planned for. 

Around the couches were still some Avengers sat. You recognised all of them. Clint Barton shouldn’t be too much trouble. He was only a guy who’s good with a bow. For Maria Hill could be said the same thing, except she’s very skilled with a gun.

No, you were worried about the other Avengers still seated. Tony Stark could call upon his armour in mere seconds. Thor had the power of thunder for god’s sake. Wanda Maximoff has exceptional powers, and therefor, if you were to attack with her still in the room, you’d be immobilised in an instant. 

You were fairly certain you didn’t need to worry much about Bruce Banner. Sure, he could turn into the Hulk, but he didn’t turn often, and lately, the Hulk hasn’t been spotted in the battlefield, meaning he probably had many trouble turning into him. 

Pietro Maximoff shouldn’t bring you a lot of trouble either. 

Your main concern were Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. One Super Soldier you could handle, but two? While fighting the rest of the Avengers? That wasn’t going to work. 

Lucky for you, Wanda Maximoff had excused herself from the gathering a while ago. If you didn’t make to much noise, she wouldn’t be much of a problem. You could be outside before she’d even make it to the party deck. 

Your original plan was to just wait. Natasha Romanoff would have usually sat through a party until far into the evening. You’d know, you’ve been watching her for weeks. 

However, now that Romanoff has announced she was returning to her bedroom, a slight panic ran through your body. 

Dreykov gave your 5 weeks to finish this assignment. That’s longer than any assignment you’d ever been on. You could not disappoint him with this. You had to kill the traitor. 

You figured now was your only chance, and so, as Natasha Romanoff made her way towards the elevator, you followed her. 

However, not even to your surprise, she stopped in the middle of the hallway. 

“You know I’m an assassin, too? You’re good, but you’re not un noticeable,” she states, calmly turning around, being met with a gun to your face. The moment she stopped, you were wise enough to draw your gun, holding her at gunpoint for any sudden movements. 

You could see a slight surprise appear on her face, before her face returned to her poker face once again. 

“You’re just a child…” Natasha spoke slowly, seeming almost disappointed. 

“You’re a traitor,” you spoke, loading the gun, taking a step closer. Natasha simply shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she spoke, before leaping towards you. You shot your gun, but Natasha was too fast, avoiding your gunfire as she ran past you, back to the other Avengers. 

How on earth could you have missed that shot? She was right there.

Pathetic. 

You don’t hesitate to run after her, determined to finish this tonight. 

Very much not to your surprise, the moment you run back into the party hall, the Avengers are already standing up and ready. Ready to fight you.

You don’t hesitate to move forwards, and after fighting Clint Barton for mere seconds, you quickly realise they have no intention of hurting you. You could use that to your advantage, and you do.

You kick Barton hard, leaving him on the floor, heaving for air as you move forward, taking on Maria. 

However, the moment you get close to Maria, two strong arms wrap around your body, pulling you back. They’re holding you tightly, and it doesn’t feel like they’re planning to let go. 

You struggle in the hold, fighting against who ever is holding you as you try to break free. A small panic runs through your body. The fear of being captured by the Avengers taking place in your mind. You do not fear the Avengers, but the thought of being seen as a traitor by Dreykov hurts your heart more than words could describe. 

“Stop struggling. We can help you,” you hear a voice behind you speak, and you soon come to realise the person you’re fighting is Captain America himself. 

No wonder you couldn’t get loose. 

Knowing it’s a Super Soldier, you’re quick to outsmart him, making him think you’re getting tired, relaxing your body is his hold. Because of this, the Captain lightens his grip a bit, giving you enough room to wiggle your arm free, moving it backwards to hit him in the face with your elbow. 

Because of the surprise, he lets you go, allowing you to stand again. 

The moment your feet hit the ground, you dash forward, holding up your knife as you use everyone’s shock to your advantage. 

Everyone is surprised by your capability of escaping Steve’s grasp, not realising your already moving towards Natasha again. You reach her quickly, stabbing your knife into her stomach as far as it can go. 

Natasha gasps, and you pull the knife out, watching as all the blood starts to seep from her stomach. 

Slowly, Natasha sinks to the ground, Maria catching her, helping her down. 

You move towards Natasha again, determined to get the job finished, but are quickly stopped by another pair of arms wrapping around your waist. You immediately recognise the metal arm, knowing that the Winter Soldier holds you in his grasp. You can’t escape him. You never have. 

He pulls you backwards, pushing you to the ground as he tries to punch you. However, you regain yourself quickly, rolling away from under him and kicking him in the face. 

Suddenly, you’re moved across the room. You forgot the damn speedster…

You raise your knife quickly, stabbing him before he has a chance to make another move. 

“PIETRO!” you hear a voice yell, and you turn your head to the right. Shit. Wanda Maximoff must have heard the commotion and went down to take a look. You have to get out of there. You will never win a fight with her.

You move quickly, running towards the stairs. However, before you could reach them, you felt a stabbing pain in your left shoulder, the sound of a gun shot following soon after. You had been shot. Bucky Barnes had shot you in an attempt to slow you down. 

But you didn’t let it. 

Instead, you went towards the stairs a little quicker, dashing down the hundreds of flights of stairs to get to the main floor. 

Of course, all SHIELD agents on the main floor were already expecting you, and you were followed by Steve Rogers, but you were quicker than him. You knew that. 

You dashed past all the SHIELD agents, avoiding their gun fire as you made it towards an emergency exit. 

The moment you stepped outside, you started your escape route. You already planned it, knowing exactly which way to go, no matter which way you would exit. 

Steve followed you outside, but the moment he set foot outside the door, you were gone. You had disappeared into the night, leaving no trace. 

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

Back in the Avengers tower, the team was recovering from your attack. Natasha was in bad shape. Your strike had been an attempt to murder her, and you didn’t miss any organs as you pierced your blade through her abdomen. 

Pietro was much better. He was back on his feet quickly, seeing as though you stabbing him hadn’t been a murder attempt. You merely wanted to distract him. 

It didn’t take long for Natasha to get back on her feet either, even though she was advised to stay on bed rest after the surgery. 

Natasha was determined to find you, and she quickly got to work. 

Even though you had made it out of the Avengers tower quickly, you were still hurt, and some of you blood had fallen on the floor as you made your escape towards the stairs. Clint and Maria had collected that blood, running multiple tests, only to find out you were not registered anywhere. 

There was no record of your existence. Were you just another ghost story?

What they did find were traces of the Super Soldier serum. However, they were modified, almost as if they were genetically a part of your system. 

Did that mean you were just another Hydra experiment? Natasha did hear you calling her a traitor. That had to mean you knew Dreykov, right? Who else viewed her as a traitor. I would make sense. Sending a modified teenage assassin after her, knowing Natasha was above killing children. 

Even in the Red Room, she always hesitated when sparring against the younger students. 

Dreykov must have had a lot of faith in you to send you after her. Natasha can only hope you’re not a graduate yet…

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

After the incident in the Avengers tower, you had fled to Germany. You figured it was best to leave the United States completely. And why would they ever search for you in Germany? 

You had rented an apartment, loving the small town you had chosen. Dreykov had given you 5 weeks to finish the assignment, and now, you had only 1 week left. There is now way that you’re going to succeed in killing Natasha within the week. 

They know you are after her now, and they will be prepared for you to make a return. You screwed it up.

Sloppy. 

Right now, you were just heading back to your apartment. You had taken a walk, deciding to make the most out of the freedom you had in the moment. The week would be over soon, and the moment Dreykov would send for your return you are certain you will not be seeing daylight any time soon. 

After you arrived in the apartment building, you instantly felt watched. 

Had the Avengers found you?

You made your way up to your apartment, pushing the key into the lock and walking through the small hallway. Someone was in here, you could feel it. 

You walked into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water, keeping your back towards the living room. 

“There are not a lot of places to hide in this apartment,” you spoke aloud into the emptiness of the apartment. Soon you heard a set of footsteps, and you felt another presence enter the room. 

“You’re very skilled for your age,” you heard a voice behind you say, and you immediately recognised it as Natasha’s. 

“And you are stronger than you look. I mean, even for you, I didn’t expect you to be on your feet so quickly,” you stated, turning around slowly. Natasha wasn’t holding a weapon in your face, something you were definitely expecting. 

You scanned her quickly, seeing the weapons she held on her belt. 

She didn’t come unarmed. Good. She’d be stupid to. 

“I don’t mean you any harm,” Natasha said, taking a small step forward as she held her hands in the air, showing you her every movement. 

You didn’t look impressed, instead just staring at her as she moved. 

“Then you are a fool,” you told her, and you spotted a small smirk flashing over Natasha’s face. “And you are very full of yourself,” she said, moving towards the kitchen island, leaning on it. 

“I can’t say I blame you. You took on a lot of the Avengers on your own. Even two Super Soldiers. That’s impressive,” she stated, giving you a small smile. You didn’t return it. 

“What? Jealous someone better took your place when you betrayed us,” you asked Natasha, determined to get on her nerves.

Natasha’s smile dropped quickly. 

“Quite the opposite, actually. I hoped no one would ever have to go through it again,” she told you, a hint of regret almost identifiable in her expression. Now it was your time to give her a small smile. 

“You think you’re so important that everything should’ve ended with you?” you asked her, moving towards the kitchen island as well, setting your glass down, still holding onto it. 

Natasha shook her head.

“What I am curious about, however, is the genetic Super Soldier serum that runs through your DNA,” Natasha paused, adjusting her stance before speaking again. “Tell me, was your dad a Super Soldier?” 

You let out a huff of amusement, surprising Natasha. 

“You think I believe you’re just here for a conversation? There are SHIELD agents placed on every corner of every street. Don’t think I didn’t notice it. The lovely young couple, drinking coffee at the restaurant downstairs? Amazing disguise, if you were trying to trick nine year olds,” you stated, finishing your glass of water. 

Natasha smiles, clearly impressed with your observations. 

“You’re right. I’m not here for just a conversation, although I do hope we can prevent violence,” Natasha started, but before she could continue you interrupted her. 

“You’re here to bring me in.” 

Natasha nodded, and the look on her face was almost apologetic. 

“No one needs to get hurt. If you just come with me, there’s a big chance you could avoid confinement,” Natasha explained, yet you just scoffed and shook your head. 

“Avoid confinement? Yeah right. There is no way, that after what I have done, your people won’t lock me away.” 

“I can be very persuasive,” Natasha simply replied. 

There was a small silence. Natasha knew you were debating your options. You didn’t seem like a brainwashed sheep. She knew that you knew better than trusting Dreykov’s lies. Sure, you still believed she was a traitor, but there is no way that you didn’t see that what Dreykov is doing is wrong. 

“You know going back after a failed mission will result in punishment,” Natasha started, trying to get through to you. Trying to give you that little push you needed to go with her. “If you go with me, you’ll never be punished like that ever again,” she finished. 

You looked up, deep in thought.

“How could you be so sure?” you asked her, and Natasha didn’t hesitate to respond. 

“We can keep you safe-”

“I found you. I nearly killed you. Who’s to say some other Widow won’t come after me as well?” you replied, and Natasha gave you another small smile. 

“I escaped the Red Room when I was 20,” Natasha started. “It took him 12 years to send someone after me. We will make sure we’ll take him down before he even has the chance to come after you.” 

“How many times, did you try to kill him, exactly? Because I believe you attempted his murder twice already, both of which you failed. You blew him up in Budapest, and then another time when you took the air facility down. Do you honestly think you’ll succeed now?”

Natasha shook her head, seemingly recollecting her thoughts. 

“I failed twice, and that was sloppy, but both times I didn’t have the Avengers on my side. You ran the moment you saw Wanda. You know what she is capable of. Taking down the Red Room for good shouldn’t be too difficult with the Avengers on our side,” Natasha explained, yet you just shook your head. 

“I’m not like you,” you told her, yet Natasha just looked at you in confusion. 

“I’m not some disposable widow like you were. I’m more important,” you explained, and Natasha gave you a sad smile.

“Everyone is just a disposable widow to him,” she started, but you interrupted her. 

“I’m not. You tested my blood. You know I carry the Super Soldier serum. I’m not just some girl he picked up from the streets,” you explained, and Natasha gave you a small nod, encouraging to keep going. 

“I can’t explain it, but he won’t just let me walk. He put too much time in my creation. He would never just let it go to waste,” you finished, looking down, avoiding Natasha’s gaze as you turned around, putting your glass by the sink. 

“We’ll help you. I know that we can,” Natasha tried. 

“Is it worth the risk? My life is not great, but it’s not terrible either. Dreykov values me, and I am not treated like a piece of meat, unlike you might suspect.” 

“So the punishment is worth it, then? Knowing that in three days time, Dreykov will have you be recollected, and once you return to the Red Room, you’ll be punished severely for a failed mission,” Natasha paused, allowing you to let her words sink in. 

“Or, in three days time, you could know you can go to bed without worrying about someone joining. You could know you can be safe, and sleep through the night without anyone disrupting you. Knowing that, is the choice really that hard?” Natasha finished, and you were almost at your breaking point. 

Was it worth it? Was going back the best decision? Dreykov would hurt you, you knew that, but you deserved it. Didn’t you? 

“Please, just come with me. We can help,” Natasha spoke, nearly begged. 

You sighed deeply. 

“Fine, but if you put me in a cell, I will go on a murder streak,” you told her, and Natasha let out a chuckle, before seeing your facial expression, and realising you were dead serious. 

“Duly noted,” Natasha said, before motioning you towards the door. 

What had you done…

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