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javierpena-inatacvest · 21 days ago

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Merry Christmas, Baby

Summary: You're not sure what to get Javi for Christmas, until he gives you an idea for a gift you can't put under the tree

Word Count: 3.3K (I wrote this in two hours, the thots do be thotin)

Paring: Husband!Javi x Wife!reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+) unprotected p in v sex (whoops), breeding kink (I'll say it once and I'll say it again, you KNOW this man deserves 17 kids) vaginal fingering, creampie (big time), family planning, Javi gets so excited about the idea of another baby he literally can't control himself, terrible, sexual Christmas puns, cute and sweet Christmas fluff bc I love this family more than life and you know they give their kids the most magical Christmases 🥺

A/N: I'll take Javier Peña with a big fat breeding kink for a thousand, please!!! I was feeling in a writing rut, until I read @notjustjavierpena Husband Javi Christmas fic last night, and lord have MERCY, consider me inspired 🫡 I'll never shut up about the fact that this man wants a football team, and every Christmas will ask to put another baby in you as his only Christmas gift BYEEEEEEE I need to be institutionalized at this point sorry this is poorly beta'd, it's me, I'm allergic to editing!!!

Forever and Always Masterlist Never Too Late Masterlist

“Javier Peña, there has to be something you want for Christmas.”

“As long as all my girls are happy, that’s all I want.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t wrap your sappy sentiment, Javi.”

There was nothing more that you enjoyed than showering Javi with gifts for the holidays. There were few people on earth you could imagine being more deserving than your husband- you’d find a way to wrap the moon and top it with a bow, if that’s what he wanted. Unfortunately for you, Javi was so sweet, it made buying gifts for him nearly impossible, considering there was rarely ever a tangible item on his wishlist.

“I don’t need anything, baby.” Javi smiled, reaching for the roll of bright pink and sparkly wrapping paper in front of him to start covering the new Barbie Dream House Lucy had been begging for all year long. “Toss me the tape.”

“Well obviously I have things for you, but I always wanna make sure I’m getting you things that you want.” You sighed, gently throwing the roll of Scotch tape you had been using over the pile of gifts between you and Javi you were working on wrapping while your daughters were asleep.

After six Christmases under your belts, you and Javi had learned from the one grave mistake of waiting until Christmas Eve to wrap all your daughter’s presents, now taking a few nights before the big day to wrap and assemble any gifts being left under the tree for your own sanity.

Now that your girls, Lucy, Elliot and Harper, were six, four and two, it made Christmas even more magical, knowing that they were beginning to understand the concept of what the holiday meant, and all the joyous anticipation that led up to the 25th of December.

It also meant that there were a lot more presents to wrap- 1, because Lucy and Elliot knew that they could ask for gifts they wanted, and 2, because Javi would say he’d be done buying presents and then show up the next day after work with another toy for his girls.

“Honey, you get great gifts, for me, but especially for the girls, too. Fuck, I forgot this needs batteries…” Javi mumbled to himself, carefully undoing the wrapping paper he had started working on, “You make a very good Santa.”

“I think the girls like your version of Santa better, since that’s how they end up with double the gifts under the tree.” You giggled, playfully rolling your eyes at Javi before reaching for the next toy in the pile, “I’m being serious, Javi. I love spoiling those girls just as much as you, but you also deserve to be spoiled too, ya know.”

“You’re my wife, gave me three beautiful daughters, and tolerate me on a daily basis. Baby, that’s plenty fucking spoiled, if you ask me.” Javi grinned, giving you a reassuring nod and little shrug of his shoulders.

“You’re much more than tolerable, you goof.” You laughed, cheeks pink at the warmth of your husband’s words, never failing to make you melt a little more each day. “Will you please just tell me one thing you want? Then I’ll let it go, I promise.”

Javi sat quietly for a moment, fiddling with the edges of the wrapping paper he was working on before a boyish smile began to creep into the corners of his cheeks.

“Uh oh.” You laughed to yourself, immediately recognizing the goofy grin Javi was trying to contain, “What is it, Peña?”

“You’re not gonna like it.” Javi snickered to himself, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Jav, if it’s another dog, I told you, when the girls are older and-”

“No, it’s not another dog.” He smirked, still softly laughing to himself as you tilted your head at him in confusion, trying to piece together what kind of gift Javi would want that would take any convincing from you, crossing your arms over your chest as you attempted to decipher the devious splayed across his face.

It only took about two seconds and that look to figure out what Javi was in the market for.

“Javi…” You sighed, your tone jokingly stern.

“Osita?” He responded back, trying to downplay his giddiness now that you had figured out his gift suggestion.

“Javi, four kids is a lot of kids. One more, and they’re doubling us in ranks.”

You had always been on the fence about having a fourth baby. Not because you didn’t love having kids, or that you didn’t think you couldn’t handle it, mentally or financially, but because your brain worked in logistics- adding one more member to your family was getting you to the point where you’d have so many kids, you wouldn’t even all fit in Javi’s truck anymore, unless someone got demoted to the trunk, which, in all honesty, you were sure Elliot wouldn’t mind.

For Javi, on the other hand, there was no need to worry about logistics- the two of you would figure it out sooner or later. The only logistics he was worried about was instigating the baby making process.

“You asked what I wanted!” Javi replied, chuckling as he held his hands up in defense, “I think I’ve been a very good boy all year, if you ask me.”

“What you’re asking for is definitely putting you on the naughty list.” You huffed, trying to distract yourself with finishing wrapping the present you were working on to hide the fact you were genuinely considering Javi’s present suggestion. “You really think we can handle four kids, Jav?”

It took everything in you not to laugh at the way Javi instantly perked up when your first response to his gift idea wasn’t rejection, eyeing you up and down and gently biting down on his lower lip.

“Mhmmm.” He nodded, slowly making his way around the pile of presents to scooch closer to you, “I’ll take care of everything, mi amor. You, the girls, the baby, I can ask for less hours at work so I can help around here, whatever you want, you know I’ll give it to you.”

“You really want this baby, huh?” You giggled, smirking at Javi as he crawled next to you, hungry look in his eyes while he began to cage his body over yours, carefully laying you down on the floor beneath him.

“Fuck, I wanna knock you up again so bad. You’re so fucking sexy when you’re pregnant.” Javi groaned, planking overtop you, his hot breath dancing across your skin in between his soft nips at your pulse point. “Let me fuck another baby into you, Osita. Please.”

Any inhibitions you would have had in protest had completely flown out the window, arousal soaking the fabric of your underwear as Javi kissed up your neck and across your collarbone, softly palming at your breasts under one of his old sweatshirts you had thrown on.

Truth be told, you and Javi had talked about baby number four enough that you were already leaning towards saying 'yes' anyways, but that wouldn’t stop you from having a little fun in seeing how badly Javi really wanted the Christmas gift he was asking you for.

“Tell me how badly you want it, Javi. Tell me how much you wanna fuck another baby into me.” You devilishly whispered into his ear, smiling to yourself at the pathetic groan that rumbled from his chest in response.

“Fuck me-” Javi moaned, hands feverishly groping your body, “Fuck, I want it so bad, quierda. Wanna fill you up ‘till it has no choice but to fucking take, fuck this pussy so full of me, let everyone know who it belongs to, watching you carry our baby. Please, Osita.”

It was a good thing you were already prepared to be easily swayed, because even if you weren’t, listening to the way Javi was begging to put another baby in you would have easily been enough.

“Okay. Merry Christmas, Papí.”

Your green light was all Javi needed to spark something completely feral in him, practically ripping your clothes off you in the middle of the living room, sprawled out on the carpet.

“Javi, we can go upstairs and-”

“No. Fuck, I need to fuck you right now, just like this.” He grunted, shedding his clothes before his hand was cupping over your underwear, jaw going slack at how absolutely soaked the fabric was under the pads of his fingers. “Apparently you do too, huh, Momma? She’s so wet for me, isn’t she? Pretty pussy wants me to fill her up so bad.”

Your stomach churned in arousal as Javi ripped your panties down your legs, revealing the puffy, glistening mess beneath. Javi had barely touched you, and you could already feel the way you’re dripping, admittedly just as turned on as him at the idea of letting him add another addition to your family.

“Christ, baby.” Javi muttered, settling between your legs. Letting his hands run up the insides of your thighs, he took his thumbs and slid them between your folds, spreading you open to get a full view of the way your slick was coating your cunt. “Making a fucking mess for me already.”

“I think I’m ovulating soon.” You sigh, doing some quick math in your head, trying to account for just how worked up you were, Javi’s eyes so going wide at the realization, you were worried they may just pop out of his skull.

“Oh, fuck me.” Javi groaned, shaking his head in disbelief at his luck, “You’re right, Merry fuckin’ Christmas to me then.”

Swirling the pads of his fingers against your clit, your back arched against the floor at the shockwaves the pleasure sent through your body, making you gasp so loud, you were worried you risked a real possibility of waking up your daughters.

“F-Fuck, Javi-” You whimpered, already bucking your bottom half towards him as he sunk his two fingers into your cunt while the heel of his palm rubbed deliciously against your clit. Reaching up, your grasp wrapped around Javi’s bicep, muscles flexing with each pulse of his fingers as you left half-crescent moons in his skin.

It took everything in you not to scream as a third finger joined the first two, stretching you out as he bumped against your g-spot, tension already beginning to build in your core. A sudden gasp escaped your chest, surprised by the newfound emptiness that had you clenching around nothing, looking up to see Javi reaching down to wrap his hand around his cock, stroking it a few times before lining it up with your entrance.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I need to fucking feel you, baby. Swear you’ve got me feeling like I’m about to bust like a fucking teenager.” Javi grunted, running his tip against your clit and down your cunt, collecting your arousal before thrusting himself inside you, filling you to the brim with every inch of him.

Unless you were desperately pressed for time, Javi normally had a bare bones minimum of pulling at least one orgasm out of you before he fucked you, but seeing how worked up and needy he was to feel you wrapped around him, it was about as close to an orgasm you could get withtout actually having one.

“Oh fuck, Javi!” you whined, feeling the tip of his head kiss your cervix as he began to thrust in and out of you, feeling dizzy from his fullness. You could tell he was trying to hold himself together, his hips slamming into you in deep, slow thrusts, breath hitching in the back of your throat every time he buries himself deeper inside you.

“Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking tight. Fuck, I can’t wait to fill her up, give you every last fucking drop. Taking me so fucking well.” Javi moaned through gritted teeth, already scrunching his face in concentration through his pussy drunk babbling.

Running his hands up the back of your thighs, Javi pushed your knees to your chest, pinning your legs in place against your stomach to stretch you out even further, letting him sink himself even deeper to hit the spot he knew drove you just as crazy as it drove him.

Despite how lost in pleasure the two of you were, Javi was at least conscious enough to realize how loud you had gotten, quickly reaching up cup your mouth, catching your muffled moans in the palm of his hand.

“I know, hermosa. Fuck, I love hearing you, but we gotta keep quiet enough, baby.” Javi huffed, snaking the hand covering your mouth between your bodies, circling at your clit, almost as if he was putting you through some sort of cruel test to see how far he could push you before he had you screaming at the top of your lungs.

“Fuck- fuck, I know. You feel so good, Javi.” You whined, hand pressed against his bare chest, his warmth and weight pinning your body below him.

You feel the way Javi’s thrusts become quicker and harsher, filling himself as deep as he could as your cunt began to clench around his length, sucking him in with your warmth and wetness. Your eyes had been scrunched, so lost in your own pleasure that you hadn’t even noticed the nearly pained look on Javi’s face, furrowing his brow in deep concentration with each slap of his hips against yours.

“You okay, Javi?” You asked, panting out each word as he pounded into you, circling your clit faster and faster as his grip tightened around your thighs, trying to keep himself grounded.

“Yeah, I- Fuck- fuck me, I’m trying so hard not to finish before you do. Pussy feels so fucking good. Wanna cum so fucking deep inside you.” Javi moaned, the rhythm of his hips already starting to falter thinking about his endgame.

If you weren’t so lost in your own ecstasy, you probably would have giggled at Javi’s admission, giving him shit about how he couldn’t hold it together for even just a few minutes, knowing he could finally try to get you pregnant again. But right now, you’re just shocked you can even get any words to form coherent thoughts to string together, let alone tease him.

“Put a baby in me, Javi. Fuck, want you to cum so deep inside me, please, baby.”

You could barely finish the whimpers of your sentence before Javi’s pace became sloppy and erratic, hips stuttering before his jaw went slack, letting a low, long groan escape from his chest.

“Oh, f-fuck-” Javi stammered, flushing his hips against yours as you felt his warm spend coat your walls, pressed so deep inside you, you were convinced it’d have no choice but to stick, in a few weeks finding out baby number four would be on the way.

Javi’s chest rose and fell, looking down at the way your bodies melted together beneath him, igniting something primal in him to see the mix of your arousal seeping around where the two of you met. His eyes darkened, looking down at you with a feral sort of smirk, not even giving you the chance to speak before his lips were crashing into yours again, hips slowly thrusting while his fingers rubbed at your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“J-Javi, what are you-” You muttered, cut off by the messy dancing of tongues and teeth in your mouths.

“I’m not done yet, Momma. Not until I fuck myself so deep in there we know it fucking takes. Wanna keep you stuffed so fucking full of me.” Javi grunted, rubbing your clit faster at the way he could feel the walls of your pussy starting to flutter around him, determined to make sure he wasn’t the only one who finished. “Cum for me, baby. I know you’re close. Can feel how tight she’s getting for me.”

You knew just as well as he did that the tingle that had been building at the base of your spine had slowly begun to flow to every inch of your body, building up through your legs and into your core, clenching down harder and harder around Javi’s cock, knowing there was no doubt the mess between your legs was surley just as wet as it sounded as he slid in and out of you.

“Oh fuck, Javi, oh fuck- fuck, fuckfuckfuck- ah!”

It didn't take long before your orgasm crashed through you, lighting up every inch of you in radiating pleasure, your cunt clamping down so hard around Javi’s cock, it made him let out a strangled gasp as he choked out curses under his breath.

“Jesus, fuck. Gonna squeeze every last fucking drop outta me, huh? My greedy fuckin’ girl.” Javi smirked, planting a soft kiss on your lips before he slumped on top of you, your chests rising and falling as one as you finished coming down from your high.

The two of you laid there for a moment, catching your breaths and basking in bliss before Javi was pulling out of you with a hiss, one hand wrapped around his softening cock, the other scooping up the mix of your spend pooling between your legs before it dripped to the floor, carefully pushing it back inside you.

“Fuck,” Javi laughed to himself quietly, sitting back on his haunches, admiring the slick, shiny mess your pussy had become, “Jesus, I can’t remember the last time I came that hard.”

“Looks like Christmas came early this year… and so did you.” You giggled, making Javi roll his eyes, playfully shaking one of the legs still pressed to your chest.

“Shut up.” He sighed, shaking his head at you before laying back down beside you, shifting so that his chest was pressed to your back, spooning you in his grasp. “Gotta make sure Santa’s not the only thing coming down the chimney this year.”

“Jesus Christ, Javi.” You can’t help but snort, ashamed of how easily amused you are by his stupid puns.

“What? You let me get my gift early, least I can do is stuff your stocking for you.”

“Oh my god, you are the worst.”

The two of you giggled, basking in your laughter as you laid together on the floor, only spurred on by the fact you realized how ridiculous it was that the two of you were completely naked in the middle of your living room, surrounded by a sea of wrapping paper and presents.

“Speaking of stocking stuffers, we should finish wrapping the rest of these gifts we have out before we go to bed. At least some of these presents should be wrapped, because the one you just gave me was most definitely not.” You teased, craning your neck to pepper ticklish kisses across Javi’s jaw.

“It’s the gift that keeps on giving. I’ll give it to you tomorrow too, if you let me.” Javi grinned, giving you a playful wink before pressing a kiss into your messy hair and patting your hip, reaching over you to grab the pile of clothes the two of you had left next to you. “Seriously though, thank you. You and our girls are the best gift I could ever have, but adding one more would make me so fucking happy. I love you, Osita.”

“I love you too, Javi. You guys are the best gift I could ask for, too. Although, I will say, your gift also selfishly works in my favor, too. Some presents are just better unwrapped.”

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

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ittybittyfanblog · 13 days ago

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Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 7

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, suggestive themes!, there’s some slight smut… but nothing too graphic (ion rly write smut haha), angst and comfort, this chapter’s brought to you by: a bunch of sad songs on repeat! A/N: 7k+ words what the fuck!! (this might actually be one of my favorite chapters. :’))

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8

“You don’t have a favorite color.”

“I… don’t, no.”

“But you’re quite partial to green.”

“I guess so—?”

“You’ve worn the same green shirt to bed thrice this week,” he notes lightly, pertaining to your Loki: Master of Mischief tee. The corners of his mouth pull into a faint, knowing smile. “It suits you, by the way.”

Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you glance at him, narrowing your eyes in slight embarrassment. “It’s a perfectly comfy shirt,” you reply, a defensive edge to your tone. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Nothing at all,” he agrees reassuringly. “Just making an observation.”

“What, are you keeping a dossier on me now?”

Sylus gives a noncommittal hum, but offers nothing more in response. He keeps watch on you from his usual spot in the corner between the monitor and the CPU box, chin resting on an open palm. His gaze betrays hints of smugness to it.

You eye him weirdly. With a huff, you turn back to your typing.

–

You’re cooking dinner—with Sylus supervising the entire thing like your very own personal sous chef. Something that has now been the norm for you two, since your–banging!–success with the tofu dish.

And for tonight’s menu: Butter noodles. Simple, foolproof, straightforward.

"Simple" is… well, it’s not entirely inaccurate. But the way that the boiling water hisses angrily through the small lid hole wavers the already shaky foundation of your developing culinary confidence.

(Just a little bit! You’re sure you’ve got nothing to worry about.)

A faint burning scent clings to the air; you forgot to stir the garlic early on, and now it looks dangerously close to a char. You rescue it just in time, cursing under your breath. Your sous chef, of course, catches everything. Even your nervousness.

“You know,” Sylus chimes in, watching the wooden spatula tremble in your hand. “This is quite the step up from your usual instant noodle packets. You should be proud of yourself, sweetie.”

“Gee, thanks. Really complex work for an extra half-hour of cooking time,” Your words are snide, but he doesn’t miss the way your grip on the spatula tightens ever-so-slightly. Steadies.

The smell stabilizes. You add half a stick of butter, squashing it to a melt, and he lets the subject drop—for now.

“Do you have siblings?”

“I have an older sister,” you answer distractedly, stirring the sauce and trying to scrape the edges of the sauté pan without having it splatter from the inside.

“How much older?”

“Uh—six years,” you reply, reaching for a pinch of salt. “She's got a family. Two kids. Another on the way.”

“Hm. You two are close?”

You pause, the question landing softly in the haze of rising steam. “I mean. S’ alright, I guess. We catch up over the phone sometimes.”

“Ah. Good.”

“... Yeah.”

You catch a glance of his expression in your peripheral, looking thoughtful.

It’s a recent development, his curiosity. Sporadic at first, like light rain on a windshield—little questions scattered here and there, easy to brush off. But over the past week, it’s grown into something more unrelenting. It’s almost as if you two were playing a round of twenty questions, only it’s just you in the hot seat being interrogated.

There’s also that habit of his to take it one step further. Hedging his questions strategically, acting like he already knows the little factoid he wanted to ask and just needs you to confirm it.

You don’t really get the logic behind it, but hey, who are you to judge? Everybody has their quirks. Even someone of his caliber, apparently.

… God forbid he gets blindsided by something he’s genuinely surprised to know about you, though.

“You know how to play the violin.”

You pause the video you’re watching on your laptop at its five minute mark to stare at Sylus through your phone screen. He sounds… terse? Like you’d intentionally kept this a secret from him.

“Wha—yes, I know how to play the violin,” you huff, incredulous by the show of attitude. “What’s up with all these weird questions?”

“You’ve given me explicit permission to ask them. Level the playing field,” he reminds you, eyes slightly accusatory. “What else are you keeping from me?”

You groan, collapsing onto your back on the couch. “Ugh, I don’t know,” you say sarcastically. “Do you wanna know my time of birth too?”

“Born at exactly twelve twenty-eight PM,” Sylus recites without missing a beat, his voice bored and unimpressed. “I saw it on your Co-Star app, sweetie.”

You freeze.

“…”

“That’s creepy,” you tell him, tone disapproving, giving him a scolding poke on the nose.

“Call it thorough research,” he counters smoothly, rolling his eyes at your feeble attack. “After all, a stubborn kitten’s been slacking on her side of the deal.”

The questions are, for the most part, harmless in nature. Anchored firmly in the mundane. He doesn’t stray too far from what’s comfortable, or what he deems safe to ask. And yet you can sense it beneath the surface: the burning curiosity. To know more of you, to take what he could—piece by piece, until he’s unraveled the puzzle of you entirely.

And you don’t get it. His world—filled with endless adventure, lore, and literal fucking superpowers—surely has to be more exciting than anything you’ve got to offer. What’s your life compared to that?

You said as much to him, mostly as an offhand comment. Although it did feel slightly more earnest when you put it into words, compared to how it sounded in your head.

“Honestly, Sy-Sy. Life here’s really not that interesting compared to all the stuff going on over there,” you told him matter-of-factly, in the middle of collecting your daily rewards. “You don’t have to keep this up, you know.”

Sylus didn’t speak for a moment. The easy nonchalance he wore so well shifted into something more reserved, almost somber. He didn’t challenge what you said, nor did he affirm anything—you're met with silence, loaded with thoughts unspoken.

“Don’t presume things on your own, little dove,” he said after a while, his voice low, a gentle reprimand.

Before you could even process what he meant by that, he smoothly changed the subject, his tone reverting back to his usual effortless calm as if to ease the weight of your words. “Now then, let’s circle back—what were you saying earlier? You almost drowned in a lake when you were eight? Because of a dare you made with your sister?”

And that was the end of it.

You tell yourself it’s exhausting—the way he keeps digging, prodding, asking questions like you’re worth the level of fascination he’s making you out to be. But there’s also the truth, hidden and tucked beneath your half-hearted protests, slowly unfurling. A part of you—cautiously hopeful, dreadfully fragile—that preens under the weight of his scrutiny.

So you let him press further; let him sift through twenty plus years of tiny, unremarkable fragments of your life like a beachcomber seeking treasures amongst the tide. And in return, he gives you his full attention, undivided and unyielding, as if your answers are the only ones that matter.

––––

He tells you there’s a new tête-à-tête feature in the game, so you check it out—not without giving him a slightly suspicious look.

“A microphone feature?” You snort, leveling him with a half-amused glare. “You already hear me talk all the time.”

Sylus blinks at you, his face a guilefully-crafted mask of innocence. “I’m just giving you the option, sweetie. You know, in case you’d like to put our conversations ‘on record.’”

“Treat you like some kind of… quasi-therapist or something? An online confessional?” You give him the stink eye. “Is that what you’re angling for now?”

He shrugs. “If it helps.”

You had no intention of using the tête-à-tête “feature” you’ve been so graciously offered, quickly dismissing it as just another one of his tactics to show off his capacity to manipulate the game’s code, or something along those lines.

It’s not the first time he’s done it.

But then, midnight comes on a deceptively ordinary Friday, and it’s suffused with an all-too familiar feeling of utter emptiness that drowns you. You’re crumpled on the toilet seat like chewed-up gum, knees pulled to your chest—the day’s wounds still festering. It's not anything new, but it leaves you feeling like shit all the same.

Yet another overtime shift. Yet another argument with your mom, over fuck all you know that you’re too damn old for, but still, still, finds its way to cut deep. Over and over, and over again.

Your phone’s blank screen stares back at you, just as mute and useless as the rest of the night. And you—

“Sweetie?”

You can’t speak. Not yet. But you don’t have to. One look at the exhaustion on your face is enough for Sylus to know exactly what you need.

Your mouth trembles open, then shuts again. He doesn’t say anything else, just waiting for you to make the first move. To start whenever you’re ready.

After a long moment, you finally exhale a shaky breath. That’s when you catch his gaze; fixed, patient, almost... encouraging. It’s a subtle invitation, urging you to take the plunge, to make use of him to an extent only he can provide–the only one he could offer to you at this time–

So, you talk. Tentatively at first, the words slipping out like droplets from your leaking sink faucet. But once the dam breaks, you can't stop.

It spills out. Every frustration, every ache, every moment that feels too much to carry for one person, especially for someone like you, and he… he just—

listens.

You feel drained. Every ounce of energy wrung out of you after unloading the day’s weight to your unexpected confidant.

“That helped, didn’t it?”

If it were anyone else—or if you didn’t know Sylus the way you do now—you’d only catch the smug notes in his voice. The teasing lilt and the airy pretense of someone trying to ease the heaviness out of the room.

But you do hear it. Beneath the surface, woven so subtly into the words… something vulnerable.

You hear the unspoken question behind it: he’s genuinely asking if it helped. If his presence, however small or inconsequential it might seem, was enough to pull you back ashore.

I helped.

Tell me I did.

“You did, Sy.” Your grin is tired, grateful, and a little lopsided. But it’s real. “Thank you.”

For a moment—just a split of a second—the red in his eyes betrays something achingly raw.

“Anytime, darling,” he says, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges, like it’s carrying more than the words themselves. “I mean it.”

And like a beacon of light slicing through the storm-tossed seas of your mind, you realize that he truly does.

____

You start giving Sylus the reins to select the music, trusting his taste enough to let him DJ for you. He picks the soundtrack for everything—cooking, errands, long rides—filling the silence with something that he knows the both of you would like.

The playlists grow. From one, to two, to almost an entire collection of carefully curated tracks to suit the mood and vibe of the day. He takes it seriously—so seriously that you can’t resist sneaking in a Megan Thee Stallion track onto his precious “Slow Evenings” playlist.

He finds it hilarious. Hilarious enough to loop Kitty Kat for all sixty-five minutes of your commute back home.

You laugh despite yourself. It’s exactly the type of shit you know he’d pull as petty retribution, already intimately familiar with his brand of humor. And if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine him beside you, sharing an earbud, smirking as he revels in your exasperation.

____

One night, you notice a weariness in his eyes. It’s an odd enough thing to see that it leads to a discussion on what he’s been up to as the shadowy leader of a notorious faction, deep in a lawless part of his universe.

“Just an operative gone wrong, sweetie,” he says with a sigh, rubbing a temple as though trying to physically push the stress away. “It happens.”

You press him on the details of the botched deal—and maybe, just maybe, a small part of you is excited to live vicariously through the tale. But it’s not about you this time, you remind yourself. So you listen as Sylus indulges every question you throw at him, giving you the play-by-play: what the deal was for (special, hard-to-get protocores), where the trade-off occurred (west of Charon), and how it all went sideways (he knew it was a set-up the moment he walked into the venue).

You don’t really know how to comfort him in a situation like this, but you want to try.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you joke, “Can you imagine clumsy, ol’ me there? I’d be dead before I even make it inside.”

Sylus freezes, his expression going still. Unreadable.

“No, you won’t.” He says in response to the second part of what you just said, his tone brooking no doubt. He says it with such intense conviction that you almost believe this exact hypothetical has already crossed his mind—more than once.

I won’t let you.

Before you can even think of what to say, he adds, quieter this time, but no less convinced: “And yes—I can.”

It’s a direct answer to your question, and it makes the words die in your throat. His voice is softer now too, but there’s no mistaking his tone. It has the same conviction from before, and it hits you that he’s had time to ruminate on this thought—more times than he’d care to admit.

And I do. You have no idea.

____

There’s another shift in the dynamic of your, well, relationship.

“Did you hear what I said, poppet?”

You snap back to meet his inquiring gaze, unwavering as always.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” You ask, the apology clear in your eyes.

He huffs, shaking his head in amusement—always patient, never annoyed—at your inattentiveness. “What’s on your mind, my sweet?”

Well. That.

Lately, Sylus has gotten into the habit of using possessive pronouns like they’re nothing. There’s also a notable increase on the variation of pet names too, each one more layered than the last.

It’s a little excessive, honestly. Like he’s trying to compensate for something—or maybe he sees it as just another natural step in whatever’s going on between you two. You’re still not sure what exactly goes in his head. He’s always been an enigma to you.

And yet, you never put a stop to it. How could you?

Little dove. Sweet girl. My darling.

When it comes off his lips like sunkist honey—each one brings a jolt straight to your heart.

You're quite partial to one in particular.

My love.

____

“Oh, my love,” Sylus tuts, feigning concern. “You’ve snoozed that alarm five times already.”

You groan, hitting the snooze button again—number six now—burying your face in your arms on the desk.

____

You’re attending a despedida party for a friend who’s flying abroad to study (For a PhD in Biomedical Science! You couldn’t be more proud.) and the venue’s going to be at The Penthouse, somewhere fancy up north. It even has an infinity pool on deck, something the celebrant dropped into the group chat with far too much enthusiasm.

So, earlier today, you’d ventured out to buy something nice for yourself. Nicer than what you have in the closet, which isn’t much of a stretch. Something different than your usual rotation of plaids and band shirts—not that there’s anything wrong with them. They’re just… you. Comfortable. Predictable. Not exactly the dress code for a rooftop soirée.

Now, you’re back home from a successful (!) trip to the mall, bags in hand: a small gift for your friend on one arm and a much larger shopping bag on the other.

You set the gift gently on the coffee table. Then, you head to the bathroom, the grosgrain ribbon of a paper tote held tight in your fist.

The pretty fabric caught your eye almost immediately, the moment you saw the garment; its sheen almost like woven liquid in the light. It felt like a risk, even on the rack. But under the unforgiving glare of your bathroom bulb?

Well, now, it’s looking less of a “bold choice,” and more along the lines of: “damn, what were you thinking?”

It’s not that big of a deal or anything. You like feeling pretty. But at the same time, you haven’t deluded yourself into thinking that you’re anything above average to look at, even on the nicest occasions.

It’s something you’ve grown used to, a definitive truth ingrained deep in your bones. You know this—like you know gravity tethers you to the ground, even when you’d rather be carried by the wind. You’ve gone through more than a decade to accept it as just another fact of life, to make peace with the reflection staring back at you from the bathroom mirror.

Even if it means you’ll never be on the receiving end of ‘interested’ glances from strangers on the street. Or that you’ve never known the feeling of someone doing a double take when they see you at your best, all dolled-up. More than once, you’ve sat across from dates whose eyes wandered—toward some other, someone better-looking, in restaurants, at parks, even outside the movies. Everywhere past your direction.

But that’s okay. You’re used to it, the same way you’ve grown used to everything else.

And still, there’s that impulse—a sudden need for someone else’s opinion. Someone close. Someone that matters.

There’s a pang of fear you can’t quite shake. You hear the small voice from the deep recesses of your mind, whispering to you that it’s one of your worse ideas. That you’ll fall short of any and all expectations, and that it’ll hurt more this time around. You’ll hear the polite, “you look nice” and you’re gonna have to live with the quiet certainty that you don’t, not really, and that you’ll never quite measure up to what he’s used to seeing. To her—

You swallow hard. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that to you. Not outwardly, at least.

And if he did… Well.

“I bought something,” you say as an opener, the words tumbling out in a rush as soon as you get a glimpse of his form on the screen. You’re rocking back on your heel, a little awkward as you stand there in front of your small vanity table even with your phone laid flat, front camera pointing upwards. “You remember the going-away party I’ll be attending two days from now, right?”

“Of course, the one for your secondary school batchmate.” Sylus replies easily, voice reverberating through the tinny speakers. Even at an angle, you can see the confused tilt of his head. “Is it on the ceiling, sweetie? What am I looking at, exactly?”

“No, smartass. I—” You press your lips together, eyes flitting upward, as if courage might be dangling from the ceiling in question.

Fuck, this is a bad idea. I can’t do this.

“It’s–I bought something for myself. I mean, I bought her a gift too, obviously. But I also bought an outfit. For the party.”

There.

He blinks, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head. Realization dawns on his face, a knowing smile beginning to form. His voice dips, a teasing edge to it as he purrs, “Oh? Well then, save me from the suspense, sweetheart.”

“I–I’m getting to it, okay?” It comes out a little snappier than you intend, nerves flaring hot. You sigh, feeling your shoulders drop. “I’m just… Don’t be—ugh, just don’t make a big deal out of this, alright?”

You keep your eyes off the screen, unable to face him directly.

But when he speaks, his tone carries only a quiet understanding of your struggle.

Of course he understands. He always does.

He speaks; and it’s slow and measured—as if he’s coaxing a terrified, cornered animal out of hiding.

“Show me.” Trust me.

And so with a heavy exhale through the nose, you flip the front camera towards your direction, revealing the bare expanse of gooseflesh skin—

… And the flimsy one-piece that clings to your body like wet plastic.

It dips low between the valley of your breasts and stops short just halfway up your thigh. The material is a gauzy organza; see-through and light, in seafoam green. Barely leaving anything to the imagination as it reveals the dusky coral swimsuit from underneath the fabric and the hot flush that spreads across your chest like wildfire. Your fists clench and unclench behind your back – hiding the physical manifestation of your rising anxiety – while you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

There's a deafening silence.

The knots in your stomach grow tighter, creeping its way past your lungs. Your fingers tremble as cold sweat breaks out across your skin, chilling you from the inside. You feel horribly exposed. So exposed it’s almost unbearable.

And you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.

Your thoughts stumble, desperate to cling to anything solid, and a faint memory surfaces—a passage from an org pamphlet you’ve skimmed through back in college, something that has to do with “self-perception.”

The flesh does not define you.

Your body is but a facet of who you are. You are as inconsequential as the earth beneath your feet, and as important as stardust in the universe.

A low, guttural sound cuts through the stillness, and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

You—

“Look at me.”

A searing heat laces the cadence of his voice. It sounds restless—like a flame unchecked, rapidly growing into a raging inferno. Stifling in the way it pulls the air from your lungs, like a suckerpunch to the gut.

Your primordial instinct is to flee. But right at that very moment, you're no different from a paralyzed insect caught in an inescapable web with the way you’re stood frozen in place. Every instinct to run is smothered by the mere inflection in his voice.

—are all. And that is all there is to be.

“My sweet little dove,” it’s almost a croon, the way the words curl around you like wisps of smoke. Sickly saccharine… downright serpentine. “Won’t you look at me when I talk to you?”

And like a marionette on a string, you obey.

Time seems to stop to a standstill the moment your eyes meet his.

Sylus’ gaze sinks into you. Loaded. Heavy. A crazed glint, almost—to it. Even to someone like you who's embarrassingly clueless about the nuances of attraction and wholly inexperienced in its depths can see it as plain as day.

Carnal desire. In its purest form.

Sylus looks at you as though you’re something to be coveted. Devoured.

A small, fearful noise slips past your lips, and the twin crimson flames burn brighter.

“You’d like to know what I think?”

Yes.

No?

He sees the war in your eyes, and a throaty chuckle escapes him—raw and breathy. “Maybe so?”

You give him the tiniest nod, and the grin on his face sharpens into something wanton, something far more licentious. It slinks in like a fever, stirring something deep within you. Something as old as time.

Sylus opens his mouth.

You brace yourself for the inevitable.

A ring slices through the room like a hot knife. Just like that, you can breathe again.

____

Your saving grace comes in the form of a phone call that grounds you back to reality.

It’s a friend, one of the party guests, asking for directions to the venue. You’re listening with one ear on the receiver, answering each question robotically—your voice a controlled calm on the surface, a stark contrast to the thoughts running amok inside your head.

The words blur into background noise, muffled and distant, like a TV commercial playing on low volume in another room.

The moment you hang up, a suffocating hush swallows the room whole. You’re left alone with nothing but heat kindling low in your gut. The ghost of the heavy exchange from earlier stays with you, thrumming beneath your skin, hot and pulsating.

You don’t know what to do with yourself. The abrupt suddenness of it all gnaws at you, its weight driving you toward an early retreat—maybe a long night’s rest will do wonders and help you get your shit together, who knows.

You slip between the sheets... but not before retrieving your, ah, trusty little companion from its hiding spot in the bedside drawer.

You didn’t want to assume… You don’t want to expect anything from him, but you have needs.

God, but you do.

Your body feels like flint struck against steel, sparked ablaze by just a handful of words. Words weaved into a vivid imagery from the mouth of your… friend??

(Something more?)

The uncertainty wrecks you, every nerve alight with tension. And yet it’s the same uncertainty that roots you there. Hesitating.

So. You lie back, pushing the sheets away from your fevered skin, and just—lay there. Staring at the ceiling. The plaster cracks form maps you trace with your eyes, as if searching for answers in their tangled routes. You count your breaths, one after the other, as though the repetition could calm your racing heartbeat.

It feels ridiculous, almost. You’re a grown adult, acting like a teenager with a demented crush. It’s more than that, though—it’s deeper, messier, and completely illogical.

But it’s not something you can figure out tonight, not in this state. So you stop trying.

Instead, you switch on your little toy, open an incognito browser, and let yourself succumb to what your body’s been screaming at you for the past fucking hour.

You feel… You feel weird about using anything Sylus-related to get yourself off. That’s not to say you haven’t, before, back when he was just another eye candy from a measly mobile game. When it was just another infatuation.

But now? Now it feels all levels of wrong, like you’re toeing some invisible line. Worse, it feels like you’re exploiting something fragile, testing the limits of a bond already stretched thin.

So, any content related to that man stays off the fap fodder. You’re not that far gone. You think.

Instead, you scroll through your bookmarks tab, a shaky sigh leaves your lips as you let the hard vibrations of your trusty rabbit glide from inside your thighs, up… up to your warm center, in between the juncture of your legs.

You pause on a Toji smut fic—one amongst, uhh, dozens in your folder. It’s not the same, you know this, but you’re settling for the next best thing in your current circumstance.

Since what you really want, who you’d rather much have, isn’t—

…

Your phone glitches.

The Chrome app crashes.

And what do you think you’re doing?

Your heart stutters a beat, and you stop breathing.

You can’t answer. The words don’t come. But he doesn’t wait for you to try.

Put on your headphones.

You’re done with that. Tonight, tomorrow, any other night. Do you understand me?

The uncharacteristic curtness of the message sends a jolt through you, and a blush overtakes your entire body. You hesitate, just for a second.

Now.

You scramble to obey, fumbling for your earbuds, slipping them on with shaking hands.

The moment the bluetooth connects, the game boots up on its own—straight to an irate Sylus, looking royally pissed-off.

“Sy-Sy—” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I—I don’t—”

"Oh, so back to Sy-Sy now, are we?"

The mocking lilt in his voice cuts sharper than the glare he fixes on your dimly lit face. Your mouth opens, then closes, words failing you entirely.

You want to explain, to defend yourself. To…

“I see what you read. What you watch,” he begins, voice cutting and mean. “In the dead of night, when you think you’re alone. When you think it’s safe. That no one hears the sweet moans spill so sinfully from your lips.”

His words pierce through the air like an arrow; you feel his overwhelming presence take over, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, every exhale grazing the sensitive shell of your ear.

“Oh, but I do,” he murmurs, the ambiguity in his tone somehow making it worse. “I hear everything. I know everything about you, kitten.”

A shiver races down your spine, your body betraying you as he speaks.

“What makes you tick,” he continues, his voice a sinister caress. “What leaves you writhing, desperate for more. The way your breathing quickens… the way your body trembles under the weight of your own pleasure.”

You’re struggling now—each breath harder to catch than the last.

“And the way that pretty little mouth of yours falls open in a silent gasp, right after you come undone.”

His words are a noose, tightening with every syllable. Your head spins as the air seems to grow heavier, saturated with the tension between you.

“But it’s never for me, is it?”

“I—I’m sorry… I don’t want to assume—”

“Assume?” His voice darkens, any hint of softness replaced with something colder, harsher. “Again with your presumptions.”

He leans closer, his tone dropping to a command that leaves no room for doubt. “From now on, the only thing you’ll need to believe is when I tell you you’re mine.”

You blink at him dumbly. His grin turns into something wicked—caustic and biting—as he cocks his head. Derisive.

“Do you understand?”

Your head bobs in a weak, reflexive nod.

“Words, poppet.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good.” His tone shifts, smooth like languid amber, yet no less imposing. “Now, my love,” he coos, savoring the way your eyes tear up with desperation, “show me how you touch yourself.”

____

“Shi–iit,” he hisses. “This wet already?”

You attempt to close your legs, shame rising like a tide, but freeze halfway when Sylus lets out a low, warning growl.

“Try that, and we’ll stop,” he warns. “I won’t repeat myself twice, pet.”

The weight of his words pins you in place, and you let out a helpless whimper.

“Don’t be afraid, sweet girl,” he murmurs, his tone gentler—coaxing. “It’s just me.”

His gaze burns into you, relentless, but something tender bleeds into it.

The glow of the screen casts shadows along the sharp angles of his jaw, the upward tick of his mouth a dangerous contradiction—part teasing, part command. His sanguine eyes gleam with a mix of hunger and control, a look that leaves no room for hesitation.

You give in.

Your body relaxes under the weight of his stare, the fight draining from your limbs. It’s not submission—it’s surrender, pure and unfiltered, the kind that leaves you bare and vulnerable.

Sylus watches you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Not soft, not kind, but triumphant—like a predator relishing the moment its prey stops running.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, the praise dripping from his tongue like honey. “That’s better.”

____

Sade’s Smooth Operator starts to play in the background as you catch your breath.

You let out a tired giggle, swiping a hand down your sweat-drenched face, earbuds still in place. “Ugh—don’t piss me off.”

You hear a resounding chuckle.

Gently, he asks, “Alright, little dove?” There’s a beat of hesitation before he adds, quieter now, “Did I go too far?”

You curl onto your side, phone clutched in your hand like a prayer. Sylus’ gaze peers back at you through the screen, a dangerously soft expression on his face that you don’t want to identify.

“It's perfect, Sy,” you say, your grin tender and bittersweet, heart full of something you won't name.

____

It’s one in the morning. The dim glow of your laptop screen flickers across your face, spilling into the darkened room, casting shadows along the wall. You lean back against it, the end credits of Everything Everywhere All At Once rolling quietly in the background.

Silence settles between you and Sylus like a warm blanket.

“Do you think it’s… like that?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, unwilling to shatter the stillness of the moment. “All versions of ourselves colliding and coexisting at the same time?”

The question hangs there; he doesn’t rush an answer, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s choosing not to.

When he finally speaks, it’s with the same quiet restraint, his voice threading softly through the air.

“I’d like to think that in this vast expanse of the universe, there’s something for you and me.”

There’s a trace of something dreadfully optimistic in his voice, and it makes your chest tighten. You blink a few times, glancing upwards.

The moment lingers, delicate in its quietness, until you instinctively reach for your phone. A quick swipe reveals a new addition to your shared playlist.

This Is A Life by Son Lux and Mitski.

A small, genuine smile tugs at your lips as you press play. The haunting strains of the song pour into the room, filling the spaces words can’t seem to touch.

“Sneaky,” you murmur, your gaze sliding back to Sylus’ face on the screen. His expression is unreadable, save for the faintest twitch of his mouth, the barest hint of a smile.

“Thought it fit the mood,” he says simply.

And it does. The music sweeps over you, soft and wistful, like the moment itself.

____

The balcony feels like a lifeboat drifting away from the chaos inside. The music, the chatter, the endless parade of tequila shots—it all fades to a dull hum as you step into the cool night air.

Out here, the world feels wider, the sky a little darker, and you can breathe without choking on the weight of the party.

She’s already there, of course. The friend of a friend. An acquaintance by definition, but someone who feels more of a comrade in these fleeting moments away from the crowd. You’ve seen her like this most times—leaning on the railing, a cigarette perched between her fingers, its faint ember glowing against the night. You don’t need an invitation to approach her.

“You mind if I bum one?”

She shrugs, silently offering the box to you. You take one.

“Fun party, huh?” you comment after two puffs, the lit end of the stick briefly catching the glow of the skyline. Your voice is loaded with the kind of irony only shared by those watching the world from the outside in.

“It always is with them around,” she snorts, rolling her eyes in fond exasperation. Her voice carries the warmth of familiarity, from an observation you’ve both shared before.

You exhale a soft laugh, the sound barely audible over the low hum of the city below.

The silence that follows isn’t just companionable—it’s necessary. A pause to recalibrate, to let the noise, and the lights, and the weight of too many people melt away. Neither of you feels the need to fill it. Words would only dilute the reprieve.

And then, unexpectedly:

“You look happy.”

The words land like a stone dropping into still water, rippling through the quiet. You glance at her, startled by the way her eyes narrow slightly, the way her tone suggests she’s already drawn her own conclusions.

“You ‘ave someone?”

You weren’t ready for that. You blink at her, surprised she’s noticed anything about you—surprised, too, that it’s written plainly enough for anyone to notice.

“...Yeah,” you mumble, looking away. The admission feels strange in its simplicity. “Yeah, I do.”

She smiles at that—easy but genuine, as if your happiness has spilled over and warmed her, too. “That’s good.”

There’s sincerity in her voice, unfiltered and direct, as she adds, “You look happier.”

You don’t reply, but her words settle somewhere deep, in the quiet places you thought were hidden.

And for once, you don’t mind being seen.

____

The party has left you drunker than you’ve been in ages.

As soon as the celebrant spots the two of you in the corner looking like a sad pair of eyesores, she quickly remedies it with copious amounts of Stone-Cold Stingers. You try to protest, but in the end, it’s futile against the cacophony of cheers and the face of societal peer pressure.

So now you stagger inside the condo building, looking every bit like a drowned rat dragged in from the storm. A weary guard from reception following closely behind, his patience visibly fraying as you giggle your way toward the elevator.

“‘m fine!” you insist, words slurring together as you attempt to shoo him off with a lazy wave. To emphasize your point, you pinch your fingers together, holding them inches apart. “Just this much to drink, see?”

He doesn’t respond, his expression coming across resigned and frustrated. You can almost hear the thought running through his mind: I don’t get paid enough for this.

With a long-suffering sigh, he finally relents, letting you totter into the elevator alone.

UG… P… 4…. 5…… Oh! Here you are.

Rivulets of water drip down from your rain-soaked hair, trailing icy paths down your neck as you stagger down the narrow hallway. Your vision blurs, making everything double—no, triple—as you fumble your way to the left, stopping in front of the door of 601—wait, no, 603.

You squint hard at the numbers, your head throbbing with the effort, but the stinging in your eyes and the stubborn clumping of your lashes make it way harder for you to make sense of it all.

Your waterlogged clutch feels heavier than it should, and your trembling fingers struggle to find the zipper pull that’s somehow become the bane of your existence. You huff, muttering incoherently to yourself, your throat tight and raw as a burning lump starts to rise. An annoyingly persistent buzzing from inside your bag adds to your mounting frustration.

With an angry yank, you finally manage to tear the bag open, water splashing off it in tiny droplets.

“Aha!” you exclaim, though the triumph is short-lived as your hands shake even harder when you pull out your phone. It’s the source of the buzzing apparently, the bright screen momentarily blinding you.

You try to unlock it—once, twice, three times—nearly getting locked out before the numbers finally click.

The notifications hit you like the mars lights of a freight train. Texts. Lots of them. You scroll through clumsily, the device slipping slightly from your grip as you snort gracelessly.

Sylus. Of course.

The words on the screen blur and twist, but you don’t need clarity to know the progression of each message—ranging from mild curiosity, to slight worry, to exasperatedly concerned.

The syllables of his pet name echo faintly in your muddled head, a small, fleeting comfort against the weight pressing down on your chest. Sy-Sy. Sy-Sy. Sy-Syyyyy—

Synchronous with your erratic breathing, you dig through your bag with a heavy hand, each failed attempt sends you spiraling lower.

Another ping jolts you from your drunken haze:

How are you feeling? Did you just get back?

“I can’t—I can��t find my damn keys!”

The words slips out as a frustrated cry.

Inner pocket, left side. Answer me, sweetheart.

His words flash across the screen just as your fumbling fingers find the keys exactly where he said they’d be.

A tear burns a path down your cheek as you let out a half-hearted chuckle, mumbling, “Can I even function without you?”

How long has it been since you could manage something like this on your own? Has he become an extension of your mind?

The door’s stubborn resistance only adds to your unraveling. After several failed attempts—your fingers too wound up to grip the key properly—you finally twist the lock and push it open, stumbling inside, into the darkness.

“I’m a mess, Sylus,” you whisper, voice thick with tears as your head spins, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.

The world feels heavy and muffled, like you’re trapped behind a fogged window. You know you’re a sight to behold—shoeless, drunk, drenched like some stray that wandered too far into the rain.

“I’ve noticed,” he says, his voice warm and steady, cutting through the quiet void of the room. It takes a second for the words to sink in, for your scattered mind to piece together that, somehow, you’ve already opened the game in the middle of all your fumbling. Automatic. Like second nature.

You stare at him, trembling and pitiful, like a kid lost in a crowd. Your bottom lip quivers, and you hate how small you feel under his gaze.

You see concern pooling in the depths of Sylus’ eyes. That and something… desperate.

You sniff, rubbing at your wet cheeks with pruning fingers, clinging to humor like a lifeline. "Don’t you do anything else?” you mumble, your voice fraying at the edges. “Like... live your own life or something? You spend so much time with me...” You force out a weak laugh, bitter and jagged. “It’s a miracle you haven’t gotten sick of me yet.”

Your laugh cracks halfway through, more like a sob than anything. It’s pathetic—you’re pathetic.

And yet, you can’t stop. Even if it stings your throat.

Sylus’ response comes, and his voice is solid—unwavering. He doesn’t flinch like you do. “I don’t get sick of you, sweetheart. Not in the slightest.”

Something in you cracks, spilling over. “I really like you,” you murmur, voice steeped with emotion. “You’re the brightest light in my life. You’re… you’re everything.”

A flash of lightning cuts through the room, illuminating your tear-stained face.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, Sylus calls out your name.

It’s quiet, reverent, and it feels like a tether pulling you back from the brink.

You crumple down the floor, clutching your phone like it’s the only thing holding you together. In the silence that follows, all you can hear is your ragged breathing and the quiet hum of his presence on the other end of the line.

“I’m here,” he tells you softly. “I’ve got you.”

____

This is a life

(Every possibility)

Free from destiny

(I choose you, and you choose me)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @nicora04 @blueberrysquire @love-anteros @fiyori @peachystea @slyfoxtsu @tinyweebsstuff @i2sannie (i spend so much time cross-checking the tags this is tiring lmao)

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #sylus qin

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sadbicth · 1 year ago

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israel posted a video of them giving water bottles to palestinians on a beach, then destroyed their luggage and shot at them after they stopped recording.

israel posted a photo of one of their soldiers "assisting" with an elderly man, then they shot him twice in the back and killed him.

in 2015, the idf posted pr photos of an israeli soldier giving water to an elderly palestinian woman, only for them to execute her after the photo was taken.

in 2005, an idf soldier emptied his rifle into a 13-year-old palestinian schoolgirl. he said he would have done the same thing if she was 3-years-old. he was acquitted of all charged.

israel claimed that hamas beheaded 40 israeli babies and then a month later cut off power to a palestinian hospital where premature babies were on incubators.

israel bombed a group of children collecting rainwater.

israel shot and killed two palestinian children playing with their scooter.

israel shot a hard of hearing girl in the face with a stun grenade and broke her jaw.

israel is using bombs with blades that are designed to cause maximum damage to the person in range.

israel forced medical workers at al-Nasr medical center to leave babies in incubators in order to evacuate the hospital they were bombing.

israel turned off power to hospitals in palestine, forcing nurses and doctors to use their phone flashlights when treating patients.

israel raised their flag over Al Shifa hospital.

israel has blown up the chambers of the palestinian legislative council.

israel targeted a "suspicious vehicle containing several terrorists”, meanwhile the only people in the car were three girls, ages 10, 12, and 14, their grandmother, and their mother. the only survivor was the three girls' mother.

israel planted a copy of mein kampf in a children's bedroom in a gazan house they claim hamas was hiding in.

israel poured fake blood onto the floor of an israeli child's bedroom and claimed hamas killed them.

israeli soldiers posted a video of them dancing on gazan graves.

israel posted a video showing a calendar in a palestinian children's hospital was a hamas guard list because it was written in arabic.

israel was using white phosphorus on hospitals.

israel bombed a refugee camp.

israel has burned olive trees in palestine.

israel has put cement into the water supply of palestine.

israel claimed that they found tunnels under Al Shifa hospital, only for it to be exposed that those tunnels are actually in sweden.

israel built a bunker and command room under Al Shifa hospital in 1983, only for them to now say that they are hamas tunnels.

israeli police arrested an israeli high school teacher, who posted on facebook expressing sympathy with palestinian civilians who have been killed.

israeli soldiers filmed themselves throwing a stun grenade into a palestinian mosque.

we are witnessing a genocide in real time framed under the guise of stopping hamas. israel has been terrorizing palestine for as long as israel has existed, but their access to technology and social media has made it much easier to fool people into supporting them.

meanwhile, noah schnapp is posting that zionism is sexy and celebrities are standing with israel. just absolutely twisted shit.

edit: for those who would like sources, my twitter is alliiesmith. i have retweeted everything i’ve mentioned. i apologize for not providing this sooner

edit 2: i’ve had some people in the replies and reposts pointing out that linking my twitter seems like promotion. i just wanted to clear up that that was not my intention. i’ve been retweeting resources and news much faster than i’m able to add to this post, and i thought that my twitter profile could be something of a hub for information. i don’t care if you follow me, but i think scrolling through and seeing what i’ve retweeted could be helpful.

#*#allie talks #israel palestine conflict #israel #idf #palestine #gaza #west bank #politics #current events

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littlcdarlin · 9 days ago

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My Burning Sun Will Someday Rise

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 || read on AO3

summary: Joel and reader's vacation continues and lines start to blur. tags: daddy kink, big age gap (Joel is 49, reader is 23), dbf!Joel, Joel has a lovely belly, Joel is a little mean, praise kink, Joel calls reader "kid", unprotected piv, creampie, cunnilingus, sexual tension, blow jobs, smut with a little bit of plot, no use of Y/N, afab!reader, reader has hair (will add more as I add more parts)

note: happy new year to all of you, and sorry for the long wait! I was completely flashed by the love you showed for part 1 (THANK YOU!!!), and wanted to live up to your expectations. I’ll try to write part 3 as quickly as possible! Sorry if there's any typos, I edited this while severely hungover

The afternoon at the beach was relaxing and lighthearted after you agreed with Joel and stopped studying so much, and you find that apart from having a body that makes you clench your thighs together, he’s interesting to talk to. He doesn’t give you the same bullshit about university and acting responsibly, but rather accepts that there are things you dislike about your degree. He doesn’t offer advice on how to learn to enjoy those things, he just nods when you tell him you’ve learnt to deal with them. He treats you like an adult, someone who makes their own informed choices – something your life has been sorely lacking.

You head back to the rooms in comfortable silence, and you enjoy the way Joel’s arm almost grazes yours. When you think about the flutter in your stomach for too long it’s ridiculous, but it’s so easy to leave behind the morals and expectations of home when all you’re facing right now is an all-inclusive dinner and as many cocktails as you want. You aren’t planning on getting drunk if Joel isn’t, but you want to have fun tonight. You haven’t been on a real vacation in ages.

You take another shower once you’re in your room, wash away the sunscreen and sea salt, until your hair is all soft again and you smell like shampoo. The hotel restaurant isn’t super fancy, but you feel like putting in a little effort, so you pick out a black dress you like, and wear your sandals again. You wonder if you’ll get cold – the days are burning hot, but at night there’s a cool breeze that might make you regret your choice of clothes. Fuck it, you think, you haven’t had an occasion to dress up in ages, and getting Joel all flustered again sure seems like reason enough. You grab your purse, phone and keycard, and head to the door.

Joel opens his door at the same time you do, and you swallow when you see he’s changed outfits, too. His hair is slightly damp and all curly, he’s wearing black jeans and a simple black t-shirt with an unbuttoned, flowy linen shirt over it. The sleeves are rolled up to reveal his forearms. It’s stylish. You didn’t expect Joel Miller to look stylish.

"Wow," you say with a smile. "You clean up nice."

Joel just huffs, but his eyes ghost over your dress for a second too long. He doesn’t answer.

When you get to the restaurant, Joel pulls out your chair for you, which earns him a blinding smile. Stylish and a gentleman, who would have thought? Back home he always seemed like a grumpy lumberjack to you, and although you do find him excruciatingly attractive in his flannels, you’re intrigued to find out what else you didn’t know about him.

"Is it really all-inclusive?", you ask, gazing at the menu and not quite believing you can order anything you’d like and not pay for it.

"Sure. You want a cocktail?"

"If you’ll have one with me?"

Joel holds your gaze, but shakes his head.

"I think I prefer whiskey over that sweet stuff," he says, and you make a face.

"Fine, whiskey it is, then," you say, and Joel frowns.

"You don’t have to drink what I’m drinkin’. Have a cocktail."

This time you’re the one to shake your head.

"It’s no fun, having cocktails on your own. But I haven’t had whiskey in ages, maybe I like it better now."

The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches.

"Ages, huh? How long have you been allowed to drink again?"

You smile, but don’t dignify his question with an answer, and after a moment Joel chuckles and looks back at the menu.

"Fine, I’ll have a Gin Fizz," he says, looking up again. "You?"

He wants to order a cocktail, just so that you can enjoy having one, too. Your stomach flutters.

"Joel, you don’t have t-"

"I know I don’t. I’m having a Gin Fizz."

There’s a finality to his tone, but his voice is friendly. You give him a reluctant smile, one that isn’t ironic or half-joking. He smiles back, and leans back in his chair, eyes still on yours. You study the menu again, this time having a closer look at the cocktails.

"Sex on the beach," you say seriously, and Joel snorts.

"Clever."

***

You do end up drinking a sex on the beach, and Joel actually enjoys his gin fizz. The food is delicious, Joel lets you try a piece of his steak and you offer him a bite of your fish, but he declines with a disgusted look on his face that makes you grin. No seafood for Joel Miller, then.

Joel orders you another cocktail when the waiter clears your plates, and you smile to yourself. He’s being courteous.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Miller?", you ask, the corner of your mouth twitching. Joel raises an eyebrow.

"I think you’re managin’ that without my help."

He’s right, of course – your long day of traveling makes the buzz in your head more prominent, and although you’re nowhere near drunk, your tongue is a little looser than usually, and you find it much easier to hold Joel’s eye-contact.

"I’m glad I came here," you say all of a sudden, the thought fleeting, but true. "I needed a break."

Joel’s smile is honest, when he answers.

"I’m glad you came, too. It’d be boring, bein’ here on my own."

"Right," you say, "who would get you to drink cocktails? You’d be stuck drinking disgusting whiskey and wallowing in your loneliness."

Joel smiles, shaking his head slightly, and takes a sip of his Gin.

"You wanna head down to the beach?", you ask when your glasses are empty and you feel a little woozy from the second cocktail. Joel looks surprised.

"I love the sea at night," you say a little dreamily, voice trailing off.

"Sure. Let’s go," Joel just answers.

The air outside is cool, just like you anticipated, and you shiver slightly, wrapping your arms around yourself to keep the goosebumps at bay. Joel notices, and immediately shrugs out of his linen shirt, handing it to you. You stare at him.

"Take it," he insists, and you do, the fabric soft in your hands. You slip it on, the sleeves coming down to your fingertips, the collar smelling of Joel’s cologne. You wonder why it took you two cocktails to notice how good he smells. When you’re done rolling up the sleeves, you look up and find Joel watching you quietly. Your eyes meet – he looks away, and starts walking again.

You’re pleasantly tipsy, walking to the beach at night, wearing Joel Miller’s clothes and brushing his arm with yours every once in a while. It feels a little surreal.

"Aren’t you cold now?", you ask after a couple of minutes of quiet.

"No," Joel answers, his voice a little rougher than before, "’sides, you wear it better anyway."

You flush, and when you don’t answer, he looks at you.

"Jesus, sorry," he mumbles. "I didn’t…it slipped out. Just meant you look pretty, is all."

Your stomach swirls pleasantly, and you want Joel to put his arm around your shoulder, or kiss you, or take that shirt off again. You clear your throat.

"Thanks," you answer quietly, toying with the hem of the shirt. "I think you wore it well, too, though. Suits you."

Joel doesn’t answer, but when you glance at him, you notice the ghost of a smile on his face, half-hidden by his patchy beard.

You walk the rest of the way in contemplative silence, each of you lost in your thoughts. You’re always amazed to see the sea at night. The darkness somehow elevates its vastness, water and sky bleeding into each other at the near invisible horizon. It’s easy to forget about your exams here, with the whole expanse of the planet spread out before you, the relentlessly calm sound of the waves, and Joel’s scent in your nose. You sit down on an abandoned deck chair and watch Joel walk up to the water, pick up a seashell, and drop it into the water again. He seems content to be here, you think. Relaxed. You don’t know him well, but his body language seems more at ease than it did back home. Perhaps you’re not the only one who needed a break.

You get up again, and walk over to Joel, who smiles when he sees you coming.

"You were right," he says, "it’s different in the dark."

You know he means the sea, the beach, the lack of people around, the sand that burned your feet only hours ago now having a cooling effect. Still, his words leave room for interpretation and you don’t miss the way his gaze moves over your form in his shirt.

"Thanks for the cocktails," you say quietly, "and the shirt."

Joel looks over at you, but you don’t have the guts to look at him. You can’t quite be sure what the moonlight and scenery will make you do, not when he’s never looked more handsome, and you’re more than tipsy.

"You’re welcome," he says honestly. "I know you’re doin’ this for your Dad more than anything, but I hope you’re still havin’ fun."

He’s self-conscious, or something close to it, wondering how he could make this trip more enjoyable for you – so he orders cocktails he doesn’t like and lets you wear his clothes.

"I am having fun," you reassure him. "I’m at the beach at night wearing a guy’s shirt who got me all the cocktails I wanted, instead of studying at my desk for the millionth night in a row."

Joel chuckles.

"My Dad should break his leg more often," you sigh, digging the heel of your foot into the sand. Joel doesn’t answer.

When you walk back to the hotel, you feel the ghost of his hand on your lower back, not touching, but lingering, as if he instinctively wants to stir you in the right direction, or keep you from stumbling. It makes that flutter in your stomach reappear.

You pass reception to get to the elevators, and the same woman is still there, smiling when he recognizes you.

"You two enjoying the sea?", she asks.

"Very much, thank you," you answer, "we had cocktails and walked to the beach."

The lady looks pleased at how happy you seem and smiles at Joel.

"I’m glad to hear it! Well, you two enjoy your Daddy-daughter trip," she says, before answering the telephone that starts ringing just as you’re about to say good-night.

Joel’s brows are furrowed when you look at him, which makes you suppress a grin. The lady assuming he’s your father is clearly bothering him, and you get the feeling it might not entirely be about his age.

When you’ve made it up to your rooms, you turn to Joel to find him already watching you. He looks different here, in the harsh light of the corridor, dark shadows falling over his features, his form somehow looking broader.

"Breakfast at nine?", he asks you, voice quiet so as not to disturb any other guests in their rooms.

"Yeah," you say, and before you can change your mind, you kiss his cheek. His expression is unreadable, when you pull away.

"Goodnight," you say with a tired smile, before teasingly adding "Daddy."

Joel holds your eye contact, and doesn’t flush this time.

"Careful," he says gently, voice low and dark. You swallow.

Before you can forget, you shrug off his shirt, but Joel doesn’t move to take it from your outstretched hand. After a beat, his eyes flicker over your face.

"Keep it," he says curtly, "I like it on ya."

And then he’s gone, the door to his room shutting with a soft thud. You shake your head slightly, and press the soft linen fabric against your nose, inhaling the scent of his cologne and sweat. You ache just at the thought of it having touched his skin, and him now wanting to see you in it, but it would feel like a violation if you relieved that ache now, even if Joel wasn’t there, so you ignore the dull throbbing between your legs best as you can and go to bed with Joel’s shirt right next to your bed.

***

The next morning you feel a little nervous about breakfast – something shifted between you and Joel after your good-bye in the hallway. He seemed so sure of himself when he told you he liked you in his shirt, so unwavering, and you’re a nervous wreck just thinking about saying good morning to him.

Instead of putting on the white sundress you wore yesterday, you slip into a bikini, a pair of comfortable shorts, and Joel’s linen shirt, half unbuttoned so that your necklace peeks out. This time you leave the sleeves un-rolled, liking how big it feels on you, a constant reminder of Joel’s size.

You wash your face and brush your teeth, but don’t shower since you’re going to have to do that in the evening anyway. Although you’re mostly excited to see Joel again, you also can’t wait to have your morning coffee and something to eat – you hope the breakfast buffet will be as good as dinner was.

You wait for Joel in the hallway, but when he doesn’t come out of his room, you knock on his door.

"One second," his voice comes from inside, and you wait leaning against the wall just like he did the day before. When he opens the door, you can’t suppress a smile – his hair is charmingly tousled from his sleep, he clearly didn’t know what to do with it without taking a shower first.

"Nice hair," you say, the corner of your mouth twitching. Joel doesn’t answer, with his brows slightly furrowed he keeps staring at you. Anxiety floods your veins, and you wonder if it was the best idea to dress the way you did, if Joel might think of it as strange or creepy or pathetic.

"You’re wearing my shirt," he says, voice quiet and still rough from sleep. It’s not a question, just a statement, no judgement behind it. You swallow, watching his brown eyes trail over your arms, torso, your shorts.

"Yeah," you answer timidly, fighting the urge to cross your arms. "You said you liked it on me."

Joel’s eyes snap up to yours, and with all the courage you can muster up, you hold his gaze for several long seconds.

"I did."

Again, just a statement. One that doesn’t require an answer, but you feel like shrinking under Joel’s gaze, so you offer him an out out of the situation.

"I’ll take it off, if you want me to," you mutter, and quickly add "I’ll put on something else."

Joel watches you quietly, and finally runs a hand through his messy hair.

"No need, kid," he says with a defeated sounding exhale. "’M glad ya like it."

***

Breakfast is a welcome distraction from whatever happened in the hallway – you drink too much coffee, and try all of the delicious food offered: bacon and eggs, colorful fruit you have never seen before, yoghurt and pancakes. Joel sticks to coffee and toast, though he does steal one of the peaces of fruit from your plate.

"I’ll get one more cup," you say when you have drained the last of your coffee, and Joel chuckles.

"Might as well do a line," he says and you snort, but stay seated – he’s right, you should watch your caffeine intake. He watches you, and after a second raises an eyebrow.

"I didn’t mean anything by it. You drink as much coffee as you want."

His voice is apologetic and soft.

"No, I’ll do as you say," you answer, "or I’ll die of heart failure."

Something flashes over his face at those words, but you can’t pinpoint it. Still, your stomach flutters, when Joel doesn’t break the eye-contact.

After breakfast the two of you get your towels and the rest of your beach-belongings from your rooms, and Joel changes into his trunks again. You walk past reception quietly, the lady from the day before isn’t there, and Joel’s arm brushes against yours casually. Suddenly you wish you weren’t wearing his shirt, just to feel his skin against yours. It’s a little pathetic.

Joel gets you two deckchairs – the beach is still relatively empty – and you put on sunscreen. When you’re done with your limbs and stomach, you offer Joel the bottle.

"Do my back, please?"

"Sure," he mutters, taking the bottle from you, and gently stroking your hair out of the way. He’s quiet, holding you steady by the shoulder when you instinctively squirm away from the initial cold of the liquid on your skin, his hands calloused but gentle. From time to time, his fingers slip under the shoulder straps of your bikini, and you feel heat pool between your legs when he starts covering your lower back in sunscreen. His hand is dangerously close to the waistband of your swimsuit.

"All done," he says, closing the bottle. You raise an eyebrow.

"Don’t need sunscreen," he explains, "I don’t burn easy."

"You’ll get skin cancer," you argue. "Everybody needs sunscreen."

He huffs, but hands you the bottle and turns around to sit down on the deckchair. You watch his beautiful back, the way the skin ripples over his muscles, how broad and solid it seems. You squirt some of the sunscreen onto your hand and apply it to Joel’s shoulders, rubbing gently. He relaxes under your touch, the tension leaving his muscles, and you move your hands more deliberately, focusing on his shoulders, until Joel’s head falls forward slightly, giving into the sensation.

"Good?", you ask, a little shy.

Joel hums, and you wonder if his eyes are closed, if he’s enjoying your touch so much he can’t form a full sentence. You dig the heels of your palms into his muscles, the sunscreen making the slide easy. His skin his littered in freckles and birthmarks, marked by years of working under the sun.

"You always apply sunscreen like that?", Joel asks suddenly, and you flush.

"Most people aren’t this tense," you quip back, fingers gliding over Joel’s neck. "Actually, nobody’s ever been this tense, I think."

He shakes his head slightly, but lets you carry on, working your way down his back, the tan line of his trunks visible and oh so tempting. You imagine pulling them down and try to refrain from clenching your thighs together.

When you’re done, Joel’s muscles feel a little looser, more relaxed, and he turns around to look at you.

"Thanks," he says quietly, and you nod. Now that he can see you, look you directly in the eye, it feels almost absurdly bold to have touched him like that. Still, things have started to unravel a little. Lines have blurred.

Although you don’t know where you get the courage from, you hold his gaze, put one hand on his shoulder, and squeeze.

"Any time, Joel," you answer, and watch him swallow. Then, his own hand comes up to yours, and you half think he’s going to remove yours, but he just loosely wraps his fingers around your wrist, eyes not leaving yours.

"That’s a dangerous game you’re playin’, kid," he says quietly, but doesn’t let go of you. You hope he never does.

"Do you…want me to stop?", you ask him, because you will if this is making him uncomfortable, if you read him wrong. He’s silent for a second.

"No," he says so quietly it’s almost inaudible. His thumb starts moving over your wrist, right over the pulse point, and it makes you weak in the knees. You didn’t know a touch as small as that one could be so erotic, but with Joel it seems, everything is. You fight to not let a whimper escape your mouth, and close your eyes for just a second.

"God," Joel mutters, more to himself than to you, "look at you."

Your eyes snap open when you feel him move, hand still locked around your wrist securely, and suddenly he’s towering over you. You gaze up at him, his eyes bright under the blazing sun, his hair still tousled, his beard patchy and flecked with grey. He’s all man, in a way you didn’t know you found desirable before him, but there is undeniable proof of your want leaking into your swimsuit, sticky and hot between your thighs.

He watches you, intense eyes moving over your face, your eyes, your mouth, your hands, your body in your nicest swimsuit, your throat as you swallow. His other hand comes up to stroke the hair away from your neck, and goosebumps erupt on your skin. Joel almost chuckles, but it’s more the ghost of a breath. You flush.

"It’s fucking stupid to go through with this," Joel says seriously, like he wants to inform you of it – as if you don’t know.

"Yes," you breathe, because he’s completely right.

"Your Dad would kill me, and rightly so," he adds.

"Oh, fuck my Dad," you answer, trying to reach out to touch Joel, but your wrist is still tightly locked in his grasp. You tug a little, but he doesn’t budge.

"You doin’ this to get back at him?"

You detect something in his voice you don’t like – uncertainty.

"No, Joel," you breathe, "God, no. Have you looked into a mirror recently?"

That makes him smile, and you wonder if he gets compliments a lot, but by the way his cheeks gain color, you don’t think he does. Stupid, stupid world, stupid people who came before you. He should be told every second of the day.

"It’s still stupid,“ he says, but his eyes are more intense than before now. You’re on holiday, away from all judgement. You can do whatever you want to do to each other.

"Thought I was the smart one in my family," you tease, reminding him of his words on the plane. You want him to lean down and finally kiss you, or throw you down on the deckchair and fuck you right there, your face pressed into his linen shirt. His thumb keeps moving over your wrist, relentlessly building tension.

"Take me to your room," you whisper, eyes wide, and anticipation pooling deep in your belly. Joel curses.

"You have any idea of the things I wanna do to you?"

His voice is low, dangerous, and you’d be at least a little afraid if this one anyone else. But it’s Joel, who lets you hate your degree without judgement, drinks cocktails he doesn’t like just so you can enjoy yourself, and through his permission allows you to stop studying, lets you enjoy this trip.

"Do them," you breathe, "I’ll let you do anything."

"Jesus fucking Christ, kid," he answers, and finally lets go of your wrist, one hand coming to rest on your waist, tugging you towards him, the other gently cradling your face. His breath ghosts over your mouth, and then he brushes your lips with his in a needy, slow kiss. His tongue slips into your mouth and you open up for him willingly. He tugs your hips against him, making you whimper and feel his bulge dig into your stomach.

The only thing keeping you from pulling him out of his swimming trunks right then is the fact that there are people around, and you’re pushing it already with the way his hands grasp at your skin and his tongue licks in your mouth. Any further and you could be arrested for public indecency.

"Please," you ask him between kisses, "Please, Joel, just take me to your room."

His teeth dig into your lower lip, and you fight a moan.

"Ask me again," he says, voice a little wrecked, and the need you feel for him deep in your stomach burns white hot. He wants you to beg.

"Please," you say, like he isn’t stripping you of your dignity instead of your clothes, but you can’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed, not when Joel groans at the sound.

"Alright, kid. I’ve got you.“

#my burning sun will someday rise #mine #my writing #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us part 1 #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedro hub #pedro pascal characters #game joel miller #hbo joel #hbo tlou

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mr-cha-n · 25 days ago

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Through the Lens

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

Genres: Smut, fluff, photographer x model AU

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, sexual content, penetration, nudity

Word Count: 12.5k

Summary: Six months. Full access. Intimate photos. A glimpse into the world of celebrity. And the last thing Jeon Wonwoo thought he was signing up for.

A/N: Publishing a draft, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

The email arrives at the most inconvenient time, as all important emails do. Wonwoo had spent the entire day at the studio, taking newborn photos of a client’s latest chow chow—"latest" being bolded because this was the third time this year that he’d been called in for this client’s endless stream of puppies. By the time he’d finished, his body was ached raw from awkward angles, and his mind was numb from a six-hour editing marathon. He only managed to drag himself back to his flat after the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, craving the sweet refuge of solitude.

Alas, he was dragged through a two-hour catch-up session with his flatmate, Mingyu, who, with his never-ending supply of caffeine and chatter, somehow managed to convince him to watch a movie about a guy who falls in love with his childhood friend who is also a ghost. (No, it didn't make sense, but Mingyu enjoyed it, and Wonwoo had long given up trying to follow his logic.)

By the time he collapses onto the couch, half-dead from human interaction, the email is waiting.

"Subject: Assignment Confirmation: (Y/n) (Y/l/n)."

He groans as he clicks it open, his finger hovering over the delete button, ready to toss the whole thing into the digital voice. Then he reads the first line:

"Dear Mr. Jeon, we are pleased to confirm that you have been selected as the official photographer for the upcoming feature on (Y/n) (Y/l/n), world-renowned socialite and philanthropist."

"What in the world..." Wonwoo mutters. He doesn't even really remember submitting his name for this, and he's shocked he'd ever consider it. Wonwoo has long made a mental vow to avoid people like you - socialites, celebrities, influencers - whatever you call them. In the world of photography, they are all the same: walking photo opportunity with zero personality and way too much drama. Perfect for paparazzi, but not something he has time for.

He's a quiet, detached observer of the world. He doesn't need to be a part of it.

But the email continues:

"We have full confidence in your ability to capture the raw and humanising side of Ms. (Y/l/n), giving our readers an intimate glimpse into her life, both public and private."

Raw? Humanising? Intimate? Which magazine is this again, the National Geographic?

His eyes flicker back up to the top of the email, growing wide as he sees the sender. Well, shit. Opus Magazine. He does remember applying for this, although, in his defence, they hadn't specified the subject of the op-ed when he'd submitted it.

"We are excited to have you on board for this project, which will span the next six months. Your first shoot is scheduled for next Thursday, at 10 AM, at Ms. (Y/l/n)’s residence. We look forward to seeing how your unique perspective brings this project to life.

Thank you for your time and commitment.

Best regards, The Editorial Team Opus Magazine"

Wonwoo leans back, tilting his head toward the ceiling as if the world would offer him an answer. It doesn’t.

In all fairness, he has never actually met you before. But he's seen you everywhere. The perfectly curated Instagram feed. The charity galas. The interviews. The way you seem to be exactly what everyone wants you to be: flawless, effortless, untouchable.

A three-page approval form for every photo, he assumes.

The door to the living room creaks open. "How are you not asleep yet?" Mingyu says cheerfully, poking his head in. Wonwoo glances at the clock on his screen: 2:43 am. He chooses not to point out that Mingyu's still awake too.

"I've been assigned to photograph (Y/n) (Y/l/n) for the next six months." Wonwoo grumbles, tapping his phone screen as if he could wipe away the whole thing with a swipe.

Mingyu's eyes widen in surprise. "Wait - (Y/n) (Y/l/n)? As in Forbes Under 30 (Y/n) (Y/l/n)?!"

"Yes. That one." Wonwoo replies flatly, eyes narrowing. "Six months. Full access. I'm going to want to die halfway through."

Mingyu looks delighted, clearly missing the gravity of the situation. "Ooh, this is going to be so fun! You're going to be all glamorous and -"

"No. No, I'm not," Wonwoo interrupts. "I'm going to hide behind my camera and take photos of her from so far away that she doesn't even know I'm there."

“Yeah, okay, Mr. Anti-Social. But—” Mingyu plops down beside him, grinning. “—what if she wants to get to know you?"

Wonwoo turns to him, unamused. "It's a professional gig to make her look good; she won't want me digging into her real life."

Mingyu, without missing a beat, grabs a bag of chips and shoves them into Wonwoo’s lap. “Just saying. People don’t come with Instagram models and high-profile gigs attached unless there’s something extra special about them, right? Maybe she’s a hidden gem.”

"Hidden gem?" Wonwoo scoffs. "Or a nightmare in designer shoes."

It doesn’t take long for Mingyu to bombard him with unsolicited advice. “... here’s my tip for you. Don’t just take boring photos. You know what’s going to make her stand out in the sea of perfect socialite portraits?” He paused dramatically. “Unfiltered moments. Catch her when she’s off guard. Capture her when she doesn’t know she’s being watched.”

Wonwoo shoots him a deadpan look. “What, you mean like stalking her?”

“I prefer the term artistic observation,” Mingyu replies, grinning mischievously. “Trust me. You’re going to fall in love with her vulnerability. You know, the real her. The one she hides behind all the glam.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, already regretting this conversation. He’s not even met you, and here Mingyu was, crafting an entire narrative of undiscovered depth based on nothing but a couple of well-lit photos.

Still, his finger hovers over the accept button.

Six months. Full access. Intimate photos.

Maybe he should just ... get on with it.

Wonwoo hasn't actually met you yet and he's already regretting his decision.

He's spent the past week alternating between panicking and ignoring the dozens of emails for your team, each one more frantic than the last. First, they sent a detailed itinerary of the shoot, followed by an even more detailed list of instructions on what he should wear, when to arrive, and what colour lens he should use for "optimal lighting" - as if he didn’t know how to work a camera by now.

9:00 AM, Inbox:

“Subject: URGENT: RE: Ms. (Y/l/n)’s Preferences for the Day”

“Good morning, Mr. Jeon,

I hope you're prepared for today’s shoot! Please note that Ms. (Y/l/n) prefers a soft light filter on all images, especially when she’s not directly posing. We’ve attached a sample of how she likes her candid photos to look (it’s very specific). Do ensure that you have the required lens, and if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out.

Best, Assistant to Ms. (Y/l/n)’s PR Team.”

Wonwoo stares at the email for a moment, blinking. Soft light filter? Do you breathe, or do you simply exist in a perpetual soft-focus glow? His finger hovers over the "delete" button, but he refrains. He already knows this is a battle he’s not going to win.

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to get up. He throws on his jacket, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him worse than when he submitted his final portfolio at college, and the project hasn't even begun yet. There's no escaping now. He has to do it - he's been hired for this. Paid for it, too, which means he's legally obliged to at least try.

He arrives at the shoot location just before 10 AM: a sprawling, minimalist mansion that looks like it's been pulled from the pages of an interior design magazine. It's sleek, modern, and incredibly intimidating. The atmosphere is slick with an 'unapproachable luxury' vibe, and Wonwoo can already feel the tension in his shoulders as he steps out of his car.

A member of the PR team greets him immediately, smiling far too brightly for someone who's probably already been working since 5 AM. "Mr. Jeon! So glad you could make it. Please follow me inside, Ms. (Y/l/n) is just getting ready.”

Wonwoo nods, trying to maintain the calm he doesn't really feel, muttering a "thank you" in response.

Inside, everything is sleek and spotless - nothing out of place, nothing too personal. Like no one's ever lived here. He's brought to a sitting room where the lighting is admittedly perfect. Almost too perfect. He's not used to working in these conditions. He's used to having to fix things last minute, create something out of nothing, or use the imperfections to his advantage. A soft hum of quiet chatter fills the air, and a stylist is busy adjusting something behind the curtain.

He doesn't know what he's expecting as you walk out. Maybe someone a little more ordinary, a little less polished than the figure seen in magazines. He's worked with models before, and they've always been so normal outside of shoots. But when you step into the light, it's like the room takes a collective breath. You're impossibly beautiful, even he can admit that, in that "perfectly put together, but effortless charming" way. Your smile hits him like a tidal wave, all dazzling teeth and liquid confidence, and for a split second, he forgets why he's here.

He opens his mouth to speak, but what comes out is a dry, “Hello.”

You tilt your head slightly, looking him up and down with eyes that seem to see everything. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Jeon,” you say, your voice smooth, almost teasing.

Wonwoo feels a flutter of unease in his chest, though he’s not sure why. It’s not like he hasn’t worked with famous people before, and yet something about you—something about the way you look at him—feels like an interrogation.

“Ah, well,” he stammers for a second, clearing his throat, “I… I hope it’s all positive.”

The smile on your lips doesn’t waver, but there’s something almost too sharp about it. The kind of smile that’s practised, like you’ve been wearing it since you were a child in front of mirrors, learning the exact angle for maximum charm.

“Oh, absolutely. You’ve got quite the reputation,” you say, as if it’s an afterthought. “They told me you’d be professional.”

Professional. Right. Because that’s exactly what he is. He’s always professional, no matter how much he wants to roll his eyes at the utter insanity of the situation.

He offers a stiff nod. “Good. That’s what I’m here for.”

You smile again, but this time it’s softer. There's a flicker of something in your eyes, almost like amusement, but also curiosity. For a moment, Wonwoo wonders if he's just a novelty to you, something to poke at for fun. Or maybe you think you’re the novelty here, and he's just another player in the game you're used to winning. Either way, he can feel the weight of that gaze, and it’s not entirely comfortable.

You take a step closer, and Wonwoo resists the urge to take a step back. It’s like you have this gravitational pull—magnetic, impossible to ignore. But he’s not going to let that faze him. His eyes stay focused on your face, trying not to let your presence throw him off his game.

“So,” you say, tilting your head slightly, “what’s your plan for today? I’m assuming I’m not just going to stand here all day and look pretty?”

It's a light question, but he can hear the expectation in your voice. He’s used to people expecting things. It’s just—well, usually, it’s an email with 10 bullet points, not an interrogation delivered with a smile.

“I’ll take a few shots first,” Wonwoo replies, keeping his tone neutral. “Get the feel of the lighting. Then we’ll see if we need anything more posed.”

You nod, and decide the conversation is over, floating back over to the set.

Wonwoo lifts his camera, adjusting the settings to give himself a moment to settle down.

You stand still, not quite posing, but perfectly aware of your body. Everything about you seems calculated. Even your fingers, relaxed at your sides, seem to fall into the right positions at just the right time. It’s strange, though, because you’re not the robotic kind of poised he’s used to. There's a subtle looseness to you, a humanity that he doesn't expect.

“How does this work?” you say after a beat. “You just take my picture and call it a day?”

Wonwoo focuses on adjusting the lens, trying to suppress the slight frustration that’s bubbling up. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to take your picture. All he wants is to get the job done and move on.

But instead, he clicks the shutter. One, two, three shots in rapid succession. The light catches your face in a way that’s almost too good to be real, too perfect for anyone to be this unfailingly photogenic.

“Relax,” he mutters more to himself than to you. “Just act natural.”

You tilt your head again, this time a little more playfully. “Natural?” You raise an eyebrow, a soft chuckle escaping you. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten what that is.”

Wonwoo’s finger freezes over the shutter, and he looks at you again, the barest hint of annoyance tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I’m sure you can manage."

You laugh then, a light, almost mythical sound, and for a moment, the tension in the room eases just enough for Wonwoo to breathe. “I’ll try. But no promises.”

He clicks another shot, and for the first time, something in his chest loosens. It’s not much—just a tiny shift—but it’s there. You’re... interesting.

“Tell me, Mr. Jeon,” you ask, your voice low. "I'm intrigued as to why you decided to do this shoot. What's your opinion on people like me?"

Wonwoo lowers the camera, the question catching him off guard. “What do you mean?”

You shrug, your gaze flicking toward the window, your expression momentarily unreadable. “People who live in the public eye. People who everyone thinks they know, but don’t. What’s your opinion on that?”

“People like you don’t need opinions,” he says, his voice flat, “because you already know how everyone feels about you.”

He’s being sharp. Cold, even. And he knows it. But he can’t help himself. This isn’t the first time he’s worked with someone who expects the world to revolve around them. It’s what they do. It’s why he keeps his distance.

You don’t react immediately. You just stare at him for a moment, your expression unreadable.

For a split second, he wonders if he’s crossed a line. But then your lips twitch, just the slightest hint of a smile.

“Well,” you finally say, your tone warm but still guarded, “I suppose that’s one way to see it.”

Wonwoo wants to say something else, maybe something witty or sarcastic, but he stops himself. Instead, he lifts the camera again, focusing on the next shot.

No matter how much he tries to bury it, Wonwoo can’t help but feel... a little intrigued by you.

Just a little.

The second shoot is at your apartment.

Wonwoo had been floored when he'd found out - although the spotless nature of the first home had kind of given away that it wasn't actually yours. More than that, the fact that he, despite meaning to have creative control over the project, wasn't told that the purpose of the first shoot was to show a contrast between how people thought you lived and how you actually lived. Seemed like something he should have a say in.

As he arrives, the reality is different to what he'd imagined, and the opposite of the slick, minimalist mansion.

Your apartment is, in a word, alive. The first thing that hits him is the colour. Bright hues of teal and mustard yellow leap off the walls, the kind of vibrant tones that feel like they belong in a 70s sitcom. The entire place seems to be a throwback to a cooler, bygone era, as if time itself was gently bent to live in this space. Mid-century modern furniture clashes with bold retro patterns—geometric prints, zigzags, and polka dots galore.

The space is wide and open, but it’s not the sterile kind of open that’s all white walls and cold metal. No, this is a living, breathing room that demands attention with its quirk and charm. He prefers it.

The walls are covered in vintage posters from concerts, movies, and random ads from the 60s and 70s—faded, but still full of energy. One poster catches his eye in particular: it’s a photograph of an old jazz band in action, the colours almost washed out but still vibrant in their intensity. He notices that it’s not framed, just tacked on with mismatched pins as though it was thrown up without a second thought. It’s a detail that makes him think you probably chose it on a whim.

At the far side of the room, there's a vintage bar cart—wooden, with brass accents, stocked with various bottles and a large glass decanter that catches the light as though it’s waiting for its next cocktail to be poured. A small but proud collection of classic board games, with bright, cheerful colours that look like they belong on a childhood shelf, sits close next door.

Despite the space being filled with vintage charm, there’s a kind of organised chaos to it all. The floor might have an old rug with faded patterns that don't quite match the couch, and the coffee table—half-full of magazines, books, and a stray mug—couldn’t be called tidy, but it’s the kind of mess that makes the space feel lived-in.

The thought makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

You lead him inside, wearing a loose, earthy sweater and faded denim jeans, a marked contrast to the polished image he’s gotten used to seeing in magazines. You still look beautiful, but comfortable. Not model-perfect.

“You can set up wherever you’d like,” you say casually. Your voice is warm, and easy-going in a way that’s almost disarming.

Looking around, he realises for the first time that none of your team is here. And, weirdly, it unsettles him.

He finds himself pausing for a moment when he notices a worn book sitting on the coffee table, the edges curled with time. He’s always had a soft spot for books, the way their covers could tell so much about the person who owned them. And that book? It’s clearly one you’ve read over and over.

His fingers hover over his camera lens for a moment, and before he can stop himself, he mutters, “You read a lot?”

You glance over, surprised. “Hmm?”

“The book.” He gestures vaguely, “It looks well-loved.”

You laugh softly, a short, pleasant sound that makes his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t fully understand. “Oh, that? It’s nothing, really. Just something I found at a little bookstore in Paris. I’ve read it a million times, but... sometimes, it feels like you can always find something new in the pages, you know?”

Wonwoo opens his mouth, but no words come out. It's almost spinning his head around - the way that you're mixing together something so casual like a well-worn book with the detail that you got it in Paris. There's this weird grating of human and celebrity that he doesn't know how to deal with.

You seem to notice the shift in his gaze, your smile becoming a little softer. But instead of explaining more, you walk over to the window and lean against the frame, glancing outside. “So, how do you want to do this today?” you ask, clearly trying to get back on track.

Wonwoo nods, snapping himself back into work mode. “Let’s start with some natural shots,” he says briskly, pointing to the light streaming in through the window. “You can stay by the window, maybe. I’ll catch the light.”

You agree without hesitation, sitting down on the frame.

The shots begin. You sit, your eyes thoughtful but distant, as if lost in some thought. He clicks the shutter a few times, and the room is silent except for the rhythmic sound of the camera.

The more he shoots, the more he finds himself paying attention to the small things. The way you absentmindedly twirl a lock of hair between your fingers. The way your posture softens after a few minutes, like you’re forgetting he’s there, and yet still poised.

The next shot clicks, and you look up at him, catching his eye.

“Is that good?” you ask, breaking the silence.

He swallows, feeling a slight tension in his throat that wasn’t there before. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

The words come out without thinking, and he can feel his cheeks flush slightly at the sincerity with which he says them. He's fiddling with his camera settings again, trying to adjust the light for the shot, as you sidle over to the small vintage record player near the window. The soft crackling sound of a jazz record fills the air.

He doesn’t expect it when you suddenly speak, your voice soft but with an underlying curiosity.

“So,” you say, not turning around, your fingers gently tapping against the edge of the record player, “I’ve been wondering… you’ve been pretty quiet this whole time. Not like the others. Why is that?”

Wonwoo glances up, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” He doesn’t look at you directly, still adjusting the focus on the lens, anything to avoid eye contact.

“I mean,” you laugh lightly, spinning the record player’s dial, “everyone else I work with is always talking. About work, about their lives, about whatever’s trending—people like to talk, especially when they’re nervous. You’re the only one who hasn’t said much about anything.”

There’s an open quality in your tone, no judgment, no pressure, just curiosity. And for some reason, that makes him feel even more exposed than if you had pried into his personal life directly.

“I guess I’m not a fan of small talk,” Wonwoo mutters, setting the camera down a little too abruptly, feeling a tightness in his chest. “I don’t really need to fill the silence.”

You turn to face him then, and for the first time, he notices how unguarded your expression is. There’s no fake smile or calculated pose—just an interested look.

"I get that," you say, your voice now quieter, almost thoughtful. "But... do you ever feel like you miss out? I mean, silence is... great, but it’s also really lonely sometimes, isn’t it?"

"Not really,” he says, not meeting your gaze. “I’m fine with being on my own. I’ve always preferred it.”

You tilt your head, studying him with an intensity that makes him shift uncomfortably. "You know," you say, taking a step toward him, your voice soft but deliberate, "I always thought I’d be fine alone too. It's funny how we get so used to being surrounded by people, by noise, by the ‘right’ kind of company—when, in the end, it’s really the silence that’s the most honest."

Your words sink into him, a little unexpected, a little disorienting. There's a weight to them—like you’ve really thought about this.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, his voice less guarded, almost teasing, but there’s an edge of curiosity there too.

You pause for a beat, a soft smile playing on your lips. There's something mischievous in the way your eyes twinkle. "Well," you begin, you're voice light, "what I mean is that maybe the real stuff gets lost when you get too good at hiding behind the quiet."

He raises an eyebrow, but before he can reply, you finish with a playful, almost theatric sigh: "Or maybe I'm just trying to get you to talk. You know, because I certainly don't want to be the only one in the spotlight in this room. It's exhausting, really."

He can't help it—he laughs. A quiet, breathy sound, but it’s real. Something about the absurdity of it all. Something about the way you deflect it all with that charming, nonchalant smile.

"You're a work in progress," you grin wider, eyes narrowing. "But I'm going to crack you open."

Wonwoo is still chuckling, a disbelieving snort of laughter he can't hide. He leans back in his chair, running his hand through his hair as he studies you with a wry smile. "Yeah, well, I’m not sure I’m the one who needs cracking open," he says, his tone half teasing, half resigned, as if he’s already lost the battle.

You pause for a moment, surprised that you've actually got him joining in on your jokes. But you don't press. Instead, you give him a sideways grin and lounge out over your statement, mustard couch. "Tell me, Mr Jeon - do you still think your opinion of me doesn't matter? Should I go back to hiding behind the perfect image for you to capture what everyone else already thinks of me?"

Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head. He can’t deny that something about you has started to chip away at his carefully cultivated indifference. "I don’t think you could ever hide, even if you tried."

The jazz record continues to hum in the background, and Wonwoo starts to wonder if he's finally found something worth shooting beyond the lens.

When he makes it back home, the camera bag feels heavier than usual, and the moment he closes his front door, he's hit when the familiar sense of quiet.

He dumps the camera bag on the kitchen counter and heads straight for his desk, flipping open his laptop with the enthusiasm of someone who’s about to dive into hours of editing. The usual dread of looking through the pictures fades as he opens the files. He didn’t think he’d be so invested in this shoot, especially not with you, of all people. But the truth is, the moment he starts scrolling through the shots, he’s a little bit stunned.

There are candid moments of you, captured so naturally. Your hair falls in your face as you laugh at something he barely remembers, the light coming in through the window bathing you in that soft golden glow like you were born for this. The quiet, unguarded moments—your fingers absentmindedly tapping against the coffee table, your eyes softened with a thought he’ll never fully know.

He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until the shot where you’re sitting by the window, gazing out at the street, completely oblivious to the lens. It’s raw. And weirdly, it’s beautiful in a way he didn’t anticipate.

With a sigh, he leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.

And damn it, now he’s got to figure out how to keep it professional when all he wants to do is scroll back through these photos of you for the next few hours.

He grabs his coffee again, takes another sip, and mutters under his breath, "What’s the point of professionalism, anyway?"

Wonwoo is not thrilled about attending the gala. In fact, he's pretty sure if he could just get lost in the crowd and pretend he's not there, he would. But, alas, work. He's there, standing awkwardly by the hors d'oeuvres table, holding the camera like it's a shield. The entire place is dripping in opulence - golden chandeliers, champagne towers, and a sea of glittering gowns and tuxedos so shiny they could be mistaken for mirrors. It's the kind of event where everyone’s either a billionaire or pretending to be one.

And then, of course, there’s you.

You move through the room like you've got a personal spotlight, laughing with people he's never heard of, shaking hands with people he has. The dress you're wearing is stunning, too, naturally - deep emerald green, with a neckline just high enough to make it look elegant but low enough to make him briefly question his entire career as a photographer. He should be focused on the job. But you're flashing that perfect smile, chatting with rich old men and influencers alike, completely different from the version of you he saw in your apartment just a week ago, laughing over a worn book.

He watches you interact with the other guests, a dance of small talk, well-placed compliments, and calculated interest, and suddenly, he feels like he’s been shrunk down to the size of a cockroach. If someone took a photo of him, An intruder in your world would be the title. The camera, which he thought would make him feel a little less out of place, feels heavy in his hands, as though it might give away the fact that he’s just not meant to be here.

You glance in his direction, catching his eye from across the room. He freezes. He can almost hear you sighing internally before you offer a small, knowing smile.

"Mr. Jeon!" Your voice floats toward him over the clink of glasses and high-pitched laughter. "How are we doing? Getting some good shots?"

He stares at you, blinking. You’re asking him in that casual, sweet tone that’s just different from your “public persona” voice. It’s like a crack in the glass, and he suddenly feels... disoriented. The contrast is so stark that for a second, he forgets how to respond.

"Uh—yeah, I mean, everything’s fine," he stammers, adjusting the camera lens like it might offer him some sort of escape from his discomfort. "Just, you know. Capturing the glamour." He motions vaguely at the glittering scene around him, feeling more awkward by the second. His fingers hover over the shutter button, but they hesitate.

You laugh, a polite, rehearsed sound. "Ah, yes. Glamour. The thing I do so well." You flash him a smile that could melt diamonds and suddenly he feels like he’s about two seconds away from accidentally snapping a picture of his own nervous breakdown.

The silence between you stretches just long enough for him to feel like the entire room is waiting for him to speak. He clears his throat. "It’s... different, isn’t it? Here?"

You tilt your head slightly, raising an eyebrow, as if trying to gauge whether he’s joking or not. "Different?" You laugh again, but this time it’s more self-deprecating. "I guess. But it’s what I’m used to. The lights, the faces. I mean, it’s all a bit much sometimes, but..." You trail off, and for a second, it feels like you're letting something slip.

But then someone else approaches you, pulling you into a conversation about some charity auction or art gala (he stops paying attention, realising he’s been trying to capture your attention too long), and just like that, the moment is over. You slip right back into the role, offering another perfect smile, your body language straightening, as if you’re suddenly filled with all the energy you didn’t seem to have a second ago.

The space feels suffocating all of a sudden, and Wonwoo wonders if he should have stayed home, maybe edited a few more of those photos, or gone for a walk—anything to avoid being a part of this gilded zoo. He looks through the lens, catching another shot of you laughing with an older gentleman, your hand resting lightly on his arm.

A loud crash breaks through the air.

Wonwoo's head snaps in the direction of the sound, instinctively lifting the camera as if it's somehow going to make sense of the situation.

He spots a waiter, wide-eyed and mortified, standing frozen next to a toppled champagne tower. Glasses are shattered everywhere, a sea of bubbly liquid spilling across the pristine white carpet like some kind of modern art installation.

The room falls into a hushed silence.

He can feel the collective tension, the people who’d been laughing and chatting a second ago suddenly stiffening in disapproval. Someone gasps—probably just for dramatic effect—but the truth is, everyone’s too rich, too important to react with anything other than mild disdain. A few uncomfortable glances are exchanged, and one of the older men starts muttering under his breath, his hands clutching his glass like it’s a lifeline.

And then, like someone flipping a switch, you’re there.

You glide through the crowd with a purposeful ease that makes everything else fade into the background. People part for you as though they know exactly what you’re about to do. The smile that had been plastered on your face during the earlier conversation is gone, replaced with a soft, serious expression, one that’s sharp in its concern.

"Excuse me," you say, your voice suddenly commanding but not unkind. Wonwoo can tell the waiter is waiting for the blowout, the yelling, the anger - but it's not there.

"It's alright, don't worry. It's just a few glasses. Are you hurt?"

The waiter shakes his head, and you kneel down beside him to start gathering up the broken shards of glass with careful motion. "Let me help, then."

The people around you are still hesitant, staring awkwardly, unsure whether they should step in or just stand back and pretend like nothing's happening. But you’re focused on the task at hand, moving with precision, completely unaffected by the sea of disapproving looks that surround you.

Wonwoo finds himself frozen again, his camera half-raised. His finger hesitates on the shutter button, unsure if he should capture the moment. You don’t seem to care about the image you're creating, not in the way you do for the cameras. Here, you’re just someone helping out, unbothered by the chaos unfolding around you.

After you finish clearing up the last of the glass, you stand up and dust your hands off, flashing a quick smile to the waiter, who looks completely relieved. You stand tall, taking in the now-silent room with a playful glint in your eye.

“Well," you say, wiping your hands on your dress, "I always knew I was good at breaking the ice, but I didn’t think it’d be literal this time."

The room goes quiet for a beat, and then, just like that, a few people start to chuckle. Someone claps lightly, another offers a small cheer, and the tension evaporates into a burst of laughter.

You throw your hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, don’t all applaud at once. Just trying to keep things interesting around here."

With that, the conversation picks up again. The guests move, shift, and suddenly, the night feels like it’s back in motion. Wonwoo watches from a distance, surprised at how quickly the entire atmosphere shifted. You just defused the room with a smile and a joke, as if it had all been part of the plan.

"Hey," you're walking up to him, stepping into his personal space as the final whirlwind of flashing cameras wraps up an evening of too many glasses of champagne and handshakes that feel more like a chore than a greeting. "What are you doing after this?"

Wonwoo looks up, startled. "Uh, I… well, I was just going to head back. Got a few edits to finish up," he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck.

You tilt your head, studying him with a slight grin. "That sounds like fun," you tease. "But I’m guessing it’s not exactly going to be a good time."

He pauses, feeling almost embarrassed for a moment, before shrugging. "I guess I could skip it."

A small beat of silence passes between you, and then you speak again, quieter this time. "You know," you start, your voice softer than before, "if you don’t have anything better to do... I’d, uh, actually kind of like to go out. No fancy people, no cameras. Just… I don't know, something normal."

Wonwoo looks at you for a beat, wondering if you're asking him to go with him, as the corners of his lips twitch upwards. "You mean no red carpets and champagne?"

You laugh, soft and genuine. "Exactly," you say, your voice laced with a touch of vulnerability. "Just, you know, being normal for once."

The way you say "normal" almost makes it sound like a forbidden word in your world, and Wonwoo feels a flicker of something.

"I’m in," he says, the words slipping out before he can think too much about them.

You give him a small, almost shy smile. "Alright. You follow me."

It’s an hour later, and you’re driving through the city, the sound of the tyres on the road mixing with the faint hum of the radio. You didn’t tell him where you were going, just that it was "something fun." Wonwoo’s pretty sure you’ve never driven anywhere that didn’t require a driver, but here you are—on a small, crowded street near the heart of the city, pulling up to a diner with neon lights flickering like they haven’t been replaced in a decade.

"This place?" Wonwoo asks, looking out the window at the 24/7 diner with its retro sign and low-key vibe.

"Yep. We said normal, right? Well, this is as normal as it gets."

He raises an eyebrow, but before he can protest, you’re already getting out of the car, leaving him no choice but to follow.

Inside, it’s a whole different world. The diner smells faintly of coffee and fried food, and the clink of mugs and chatter of a few late-night patrons makes the place feel strangely cosy. There’s a jukebox in the corner, and despite the place being stuck in a time warp, you both sit down at a booth, the vinyl seats creaking under you as you slide in.

You both sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the normal kind of silence that feels more like breathing than awkwardness. And then, finally, you speak.

"You want to know something crazy?" You say, looking down at the menu, though you made it clear in the car that you've already memorised it.

Wonwoo looks up, his brow furrowing slightly as he nods.

"This is probably the first time in a while I haven't felt like I have to perform. Which is, actually, crazy. Because I'm hanging out with a professional photographer who's being paid to capture every moment of my life." You let out a disbelieving scoff, your lips curling into a grimace-like smile.

"I get that," he replies, his voice softer than he expects. "It's different for me too. I'm not sure I remember the last time I spoke to any of my friends, other than my flatmate, who insists that we have a catch-up meeting every day."

You chuckle, the crinkles of your smile flattening out.

The waitress arrives, interrupting for a moment, and you order a milkshake without hesitation. He orders something random, revelling in the thrill of not thinking too much about anything.

"I get lonely sometimes," you say after your order arrives, so quietly that Wonwoo almost misses it. "I know it’s weird, I mean, people are always around me. But it’s like... they don’t really see me. They only see the version of me they expect."

He's not sure if you're still tipsy, although the rosy flush of your cheeks suggests so, or if you now feel very comfortable with him.

Wonwoo isn’t sure what to say, so he just lets the silence settle for a moment, letting your words hang in the air like a soft echo.

"You know," he says after a beat, his voice lighter than before, "I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who can juggle both a charity gala and a diner milkshake at 3 AM with such grace."

You snort, blowing bubbles into the drink that leave splashes of pink liquid sizzling on the diner table. The sight is enough to set Wonwoo off too, laughter spilling out of him in a way that's only possible in the early hours of the morning.

"I should take a photo of that," he chuckles as you give him a large grin, the straw still sticking out of your teeth as you mop up the spilt drink.

But he doesn't. Doesn't even think to take his camera out of its bag.

Instead, he just watches you—really watches you—for the first time tonight, as you sit there, messy and unapologetic, with your eyes twinkling. And you're not the person everyone in the ballroom thought you were.

"Maybe we should do this more often," you say, your voice unexpectedly soft as you look up at him.

Wonwoo nods, the corner of his mouth curving up in the smallest of smiles. "Yeah. Maybe we should."

You've taken a surprising interest in Wonwoo’s regular work. Since you got him to admit that this project wasn’t really his usual gig, you've made it your personal mission to dig deeper. 70% of your questions have revolved around what he actually enjoys doing, the kind of work that doesn’t come with velvet ropes or high society guests. It’s a little like watching a puzzle slowly get pieced together—a mixture of curiosity and the way you just can't let go of something that intrigues you.

So, when you mention, "I think it's only fair you show me what you usually do," it’s not entirely out of the blue.

"Alight, alright," Wonwoo mutters, realising that he owes it to you to let you peek inside his world too. "But don't expect anything glamorous. Magazine spreads don't feature heavily."

Your eyebrows shoot up in an exaggerated gasp that has him rolling his eyes. "I'm not expecting you to change into a suit and tie, if that's what you're worried about." You grin. "but if you do, I'll totally snap some behind-the-scenes shots."

"Don't get any ideas," he mutters, but there's a soft laugh behind his words.

You look like an archaeologist discovering ancient treasures as you step into the studio, and Wonwoo has to resist the urge to photograph the look on your face. He wasn't lying when he said it wasn't much, but it's quieter than the outside world, which is just the way Wonwoo likes it. The walls are lined with a few scattered prints, some framed, others just leaning against the wall, like they’ve been left to gather dust for the sake of catching a different light. The easel in the corner holds the remnants of his last attempt to paint, the workbench cluttered with film rolls, empty coffee cups, and a few stray brushes.

You pause in the doorway, taking it all in.

"So," you begin, "where's the real deal? Show me your favourites."

He shrugs and walks over to a table filled with various photo equipment, adjusting his glasses as he picks up a roll of film. "I’m not sure what you’d consider my 'thing,' but I mostly shoot for personal projects. I like experimental work. I mean..." He looks over at you, and for a second, there's a flicker of something more, something deeper. "I like showing things that don't get seen. Telling stories that don’t get told."

You step further into the room, your curiosity piqued. "The more I learn, the more I marvel at the fact that you chose to do photograph me," you tease.

He looks back at you, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "It's good to try new things sometimes. And, well ... I'm not so sure you're story has been entirely captured yet."

He pulls a print down from a shelf, careful with the edges, and walks over to where you're sitting. "This," he says, sitting next to you, "is one of my newer pieces. It’s… different from the usual stuff I shoot. It’s a little raw, a little wild."

The picture is a little hard to make out - a blur of colours and light, like a dream caught in motion. There's an image of a figure - slightly distorted and bathed in neon blue and orange, wrapped in streaks of light that seem to bend and curve in ways that don't make sense. It almost looks like the figure is dissolving into the frame itself, as though they’re becoming part of the world rather than a separate subject within it.

"It’s a long exposure," he continues, "but I played with the focus to distort things more than I usually do. You can see the movement in it—like the person isn’t static. They’re not just there. They’re changing. Becoming."

You tilt your head, your gaze flickering back and forth as you try to make sense of the image.

"It’s unsettling," you say softly, more to yourself than to him.

Wonwoo nods, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "That’s what I like about it. People always expect something clear, something neat when they look at photos. But sometimes, the chaos is what’s real. The blur, the overlap of light, it’s how I see things."

"It’s like… you know when you try to hold onto a moment, but it keeps slipping away? That’s what this is. The image is still, but everything around it keeps moving. It doesn’t stay still, no matter how much you want it to."

You reach out, fingertips brushing the edge of the frame, tracing the glowing streaks of light. "It’s almost like you’re trying to capture the space between things."

He pauses, eyes flickering to yours as if reading your expression. "It’s like that with people, too, right? You think you know them, but then they change. Or maybe you change. And all of a sudden, you’re looking at them and wondering who they really are. Who they were. Who they’re becoming."

You’re silent for a moment, but your gaze hasn't left his and it's piercing into him with all of the unspoken words.

And then you're eyes snap to something behind him, and he feels a little empty in the void of your gaze. A small smile slips across your lips. And you're gone, moving quickly out of your seat to get a closer look at whatever has pulled you away from him.

Wonwoo's head swivels around, like if he loses sight of you, you'll disappear.

"Now, this is unexpected."

Your voice is laced with that mischievous tone, and it snaps Wonwoo back into reality, his gaze darting to where you're now standing, eyes fixated on the shelf behind him.

He feels his cheeks heat up before he even registers why. The camera equipment on the shelf, partially obscured by a few stray photo albums, is a large, well-worn camera with an impressive lens. But it’s not the camera that’s got your attention—it’s the stack of photos beside it.

He swallows. "Oh, those. They're… um, just some old shoots,” he mutters, reaching for the pile as quickly as he can.

But you're already stepping closer, your grin widening as you grab one from the top of the stack. Your eyes light up as you hold it up, and it’s immediately clear why you’re grinning.

The photo is a high-end fashion shot, one of those artsy ones. It features a model—clad in nothing but strategically placed shadows and some very expensive body paint, in what can only be described as sultry poses. The subject's entire form is captured with the kind of grace and sensuality you normally associate with glossy magazines and high-end ads.

You raise an eyebrow. “So… this is what you’re hiding in here?”

Wonwoo, face flushed to a shade of pink that doesn’t belong anywhere near a professional photographer, clears his throat awkwardly. “It’s not what you think. It was a concept shoot. A long time ago. For... art.”

“Art.” You repeat the word slowly, like you're savouring it. “A concept shoot. Right.” You peer closer at the picture, almost squinting like you’re studying the fine details. “Well, I have to say, I didn’t expect you to have such a niche portfolio.”

He snatches the photo from your hands, but you’re quicker than him, leaning in just a little too close for comfort. "Come on, don't be shy. I'm sure these shots went for a pretty penny. You should be proud of them."

“It was a collaboration with a friend. We were experimenting with lighting and shadows. It wasn’t meant to be, like, that kind of shoot.”

You tilt your head and flash him a teasing smile. "Right. I'm sure it was all very tasteful."

“Stop it,” Wonwoo says, his voice a little more high-pitched than usual. He starts sorting through the other photos quickly, trying to hide the embarrassing ones. “There were plenty of clothes involved, okay? I mean, mostly clothed. Sometimes there weren’t.”

You laugh—genuine and loud—and Wonwoo has never felt more like a teenager caught in a lie.

"Don’t worry." You lean back casually, looking him up and down. “I’m not judging. Everyone needs a little fun with their camera work. Besides, I bet your models really appreciated your... attention to detail.”

“Oh my God, stop," he groans, hands covering his face.

"Oh, I know!" You jump up, the wideness of your grin setting of alarm bells in his head. Your body contorts into a lewd pose he's sure is captured in one of the photos. "Maybe you could shoot me like one of your French girls."

Wonwoo's brain is split in half between wanting to laugh at your stupid joke, and trying to stop his mind from digging any deeper into the way you look right now. He's never been more thankful for someone laughing so hard at their own joke that it gives him the time to remember to laugh too.

"Okay, okay, seriously though." You say, your words punctuated with breathy laughs. "I'd like to do a shoot in your style. Even if you don't use it for the feature, I'd like to have them - a little memory of the project."

He’s not sure what to make of it—after all, he’s never shot anything like that with someone like you. It’s one thing to let a stranger model for his more experimental projects, but someone who’s become... well, important to him? That complicates things.

You seem to sense his hesitation, so you quickly soften your expression, dropping the teasing tone. “I mean, no pressure. You don’t have to,” you add, but your smile stays. “I just think it would be fun, you know? Something a little out of the ordinary.”

He shifts on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to think of a way to deflect without sounding awkward. But then, he catches the way you’re looking at him—expectant, yet light-hearted. And he knows there’s no way he can say no. And the idea of capturing you in his world - through his lens - is far too appealing.

"Alright," he finally says, "“I could set something up. But it won’t be anything like what you’re imagining,” he warns, though the faintest glimmer of a smile tugs at his lips. “You might hate it.”

"I highly doubt it." Your grin widens, and you step closer. "The camera loves me."

He struggles to disagree.

You follow Wonwoo into a dimly lit loft space. The high ceilings make the place feel vast and open, but the shadows, thick and heavy, seem to swallow any trace of warmth. The windows let in just enough light to make the space feel like it’s holding its breath. Concrete floors, industrial beams, exposed brick—this place is a world apart from the glamorous venues he's captured you in so far.

There's no luxurious set, no artfully arranged props, no stylists running around with last-minute adjustments. Just you and him. And a collection of cameras, lenses, and other mysterious equipment scattered about the space.

"We'll start here," Wonwoo's voice is firmer than he intends, and he hopes you can hear the edge of excitement underneath his words. He’s already moving toward the equipment, setting up the camera on a tripod with a smooth, practised hand.

You take a deep breath, looking a little more nervous than he expected. "What's the concept? Just… me in a room full of shadows?” You try to make light of it, but your voice betrays a hint of apprehension.

He glances over his shoulder, catching your gaze for the briefest moment, and his lips curl into a faint smile. “Something like that. I want to capture you as you are, not as the world expects you to be.”

He steps toward you, then pauses. “But it’s up to you. You can be whoever you want to be in front of the camera.”

You take a breath, almost like you're accepting something, and step deeper into the room. Wonwoo can feel his pulse pick up just a little. Something about your movements makes it hard to look away, even as he tries to keep his focus on the camera.

As his gaze probes deeper, Wonwoo realises something. You're so used to being a perfect image that now, here, in the quiet, you have no idea what to do with yourself.

His breath catches as he presses the shutter for the first time. The soft click breaks the silence, but he doesn't lower the camera. His eyes stay on you, unable to tear away; even if he should be focused on the technicalities - the lighting, the exposure, the composition - he's not. He's seeing the cracks. The little parts of you that you've been hiding.

Another click. And another. His fingers move over the controls, adjusting the focus, framing you just so - but all the while, acutely aware of every tiny shift in your body. The way you inhale, the way you let go of something hidden, and your shoulders relax, just slightly.

"Good," he murmurs, though he barely recognises his own voice. The words are soft, his tone low, almost like a breath rather than a command.

You shift again. There's no thought to it, just a fluid movement, as if you're letting go of some invisible restraint. It's an instinctive thing, Wonwoo realises. You're not really posing anymore.

The camera clicks again, capturing the stillness in you, the way you seem to dissolve into the shadows, becoming part of the room. Part of the moment. He knows instantly that it's going to be his favourite.

For a split second, he wonders if you know what you're doing to him. If you know how you're affecting him, even without meaning to. His heart beats a little faster.

He doesn't lower the camera, not yet, not wanting to lose the moment.

"Okay, that's enough," he says finally, voice low and deliberate. Even as he says it, he's not sure if he wants to stop. He wants more. But it's not just the image he's chasing now. It's something else.

You reemerge, the colour of your confidence returning as you step out of the camera frame. "Was that okay?"

Wonwoo isn't completely sure what to say in response. If he should tell you that he wants to restart the entire feature, or that he's never felt like he's seen anyone as much as he just did. So he nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I want you to see the full vision, so I'll show you once they're edited, but I think they're going to be the best ones."

A beaming smile is released onto your face. It's heart-wrenchingly endearing how proud you are of yourself. "I'm so glad. I don't know if you noticed, but I was a little nervous about this one."

He lets out a little chuckle, his head hanging slightly as he looks to the floor, trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips. "I couldn't tell. You were," he clears his throat, hands moving to adjust the settings on the camera again, "perfect. And I mean it. It's ... not just the shot. It's you." The words come out in a rush, but even as he says them, he’s certain they’re true.

He wonders, fleetingly, if you hear the difference. If you sense the subtle change in his tone—the way he can’t quite look away from you now, the way his eyes linger just a little too long.

You don’t respond immediately, and for a brief, agonising second, he’s unsure of how you’ll take it. Will you laugh it off? Will you brush it aside with that carefree charm you wear like a second skin?

But then, your smile softens, your gaze a little less playful, and you step closer. "Do we need any more?"

"I don't think so," he pauses. "Unless there's anything you want to try?"

"Well..." You look nervous, like you're trying to make your mind up about something. Your fingers play absently with the sleeve of your shirt, tugging at the fabric as if it’s a lifeline. "Maybe ... maybe I could try something different?"

Wonwoo's eyes flicker up to meet yours. He's not quite sure what you're asking, and it both terrifies and excites him in ways he's not ready to admit. He leans back slightly, considering it.

"It's your shoot," he says softly, "If you want to do something different, we can. You sound like you've got something in mind?"

You exhale slowly, and the air feels thick, drawn tight with possibility. There’s a hesitation in the way you look at him, but then you take a step forward, your presence commanding yet gentle, a stark contrast to the vulnerability in your eyes.

"The photos in your studio," your voice is soft and low, as though the words themselves are a kind of confession. "The ones ... with no clothes." Your gaze flickers briefly, almost shy, before you steady yourself again. "I want to try that. I want to see what that feels like."

Wonwoo blinks at you, his breath hitching for just a second as the words register. His fingers instinctively tighten around the camera, but he doesn’t lower it. He can’t look away from you now.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice rougher than he intended, though it’s more a response to the sudden surge of emotions than anything else. The suggestion itself isn’t unfamiliar, but the weight of it, coming from you, catches him off guard.

You nod slowly.

He breathes slowly, trying to steady himself, but the air feels tight, like his lungs have forgotten how to expand properly. Wonwoo clears his throat, suddenly aware of the weight of the camera in his hands—of how utterly out of place it feels now. He thought he had control of this situation, of this shoot, of everything. And now he feels entirely, completely, out of control.

"Okay," he says finally, voice low, his throat dry.

You exhale, a small, almost imperceptible breath of relief, and for a moment, you both just stand there. Wonwoo watches you, his gaze tracing the small movements of your fingers, the way you breathe, the slight shift in your posture. You’re standing there, raw and vulnerable in a way that no one else ever sees, and yet you’ve asked him to witness it.

His chest tightens.

"Whenever you're ready," he murmurs, trying to sound as professional as possible, but the words come out softer than he means. He takes a step back, his heart pounding louder now, but he’s not sure if it’s from the anticipation of the shot or something else entirely.

You move slowly, agonisingly slowly, towards the chair that's hidden in the corner of the room and pull it into the camera frame. The clip holding your hair back is the first thing to go, and even watching you shake the tresses free feels like a glimpse of something he's not meant to see. Wonwoo's breath hitches as your fingers hesitate against the buttons of your shirt.

You look up at him, eyes glittering in the light of the loft. "Can you talk me through it?"

Wonwoo gulps, his brain desperately trying to keep a tether to his thoughts.

His voice is strained when he finally speaks, a quiet rasp that betrays his nerves. "I - uh - yeah. Sure." He clears his throat again, trying to steady himself. "Just take your time. There's no rush. I want you to feel comfortable."

You nod, but your gaze doesn’t leave him. It’s heavy, almost expectant, and Wonwoo feels it pressing down on him like the air in the room has thickened with each passing second.

His heart races, and he forces himself to look away from you, staring at the camera for a moment to regain some semblance of control. But when he finally glances back, there’s no denying it: you're not just in front of the camera. You're right there, your presence inescapable. The air crackles between you, an invisible thread pulling you closer despite the distance.

You slowly unbutton your shirt, each movement measured and deliberate. The soft rustle of fabric seems deafening in the silence. Wonwoo tries to focus on the camera - on the framing, the lighting - by the sight of you undoing the buttons is sending jolts through him, making it hard to concentrate.

"Wait, stop." He's struggling to get out more than a few words, but he realises he has to explain himself as your head whips around, alarmed. "That shot - if you push the shoulder down a little -"

"I'm not sure I quite get it," your voice is a quiet invitation. He doesn't know if its a test, or something far more dangerous than that.

He moves slowly, not wanting to startle you. And, if he's being honest, not sure that he can handle being any closer. But he's started now, and he can't not go through with it just because he's nervous about seeing skin. Focusing on his task, Wonwoo's hands gingerly pull the loose fabric of your shirt, draping it down the side of your upper arm, the fabric slipping with an almost unbearable grace, revealing the curve of your shoulder, the soft line of your skin. Wonwoo feels his pulse spike, his breath coming in shallow bursts as his fingers brush against the bare skin of your arm. It’s delicate, unintentional contact, but it feels like an electric shock, jarring and intimate all at once.

You hold your breath, your gaze fixed on his hands, your body still.

“Just like that,” he says, his voice quiet, as though speaking louder might shatter this delicate balance between you. “Now, tilt your head just a little to the left. Keep your eyes soft... like you're looking into something just out of reach.”

Your eyes flicker, a knowing glint passing through them. “Like I’m seeing something I shouldn’t?”

Wonwoo’s stomach tightens, a shiver creeping down his spine at the way you put it. His hands hover over the camera, but for a moment, he forgets the frame, forgets everything except the weight of the moment.

"Exactly," he breathes, almost afraid to admit it aloud, but the words escape him. He’s standing so close now, every muscle in his body taut, straining against the pull of something he doesn't know how to define.

You do as he asks, your eyes softening, lips parting ever so slightly, as if you’re leaning into the invitation.

The camera shakes in his hands, and for a second, he worries that you’ll notice the tremor, that you'll see how much this is affecting him. But you don’t. Your focus is unwavering.

“Can you… can you move your hand to your collarbone?” he murmurs, barely trusting himself to speak the request aloud. “Just… trace it, like it’s the only thing you’re focused on.”

You nod, and there’s an eerie stillness in the air as your fingers drift up to the curve of your neck. Wonwoo feels like he’s drowning, like every movement you make pulls him deeper into this quiet, dangerous place between photographer and subject, between the lens and the reality unfolding just beyond it.

Each click of the shutter feels like a bullet leaving a gun.

Your fingers are back on the buttons before he can realise that the moment has moved on, and you let the shirt fall, the fabric slipping to the floor with a soft whisper. He can’t breathe for a moment.

You stand before him, unguarded, vulnerable, and yet there’s something about the way you hold yourself—so composed, so intentional—that makes him swallow back every word that he tries to form.

Your eyes lock onto his again, and it’s like time stops. “How’s the lighting?” Your voice is steady, calm, but the tension in it is undeniable.

Wonwoo’s throat is dry as he forces himself to focus. "The light... it's perfect." He clears his throat, his voice tight. "You look perfect. Just... just keep moving, slowly. Let the camera catch it all."

You nod, your lips curling into that familiar smile that has him reeling.

Wonwoo’s pulse quickens, but he doesn’t dare look away. He’s caught in the gravity of your gaze, drawn into the quiet intensity of the moment. He raises the camera, his fingers trembling just slightly as he adjusts the lens. The click of the shutter still sounds harsh, but it doesn’t break the tension.

Wonwoo almost drops the camera when your fingers hook around the loops of your pants.

You slide them off in fluid motion, far quicker than the shirt. The smile on your face is more playful now, taunting and teasing. "What were those poses again?"

Wonwoo’s breath catches in his throat, his hands freezing just above the camera as the image of you in front of him—the subtle arch of your back, the way your skin catches the light—burns itself into his memory. He can’t look away, and it’s like everything in the room sharpens.

"Stop," he whispers, his voice shaking. "You’re—"

He cuts himself off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. How could he describe the storm he feels brewing inside of him? The way his pulse is beating in time with the shutter clicks. The way he’s watching you, but feels like he’s barely holding onto himself, like the space between him and you has closed to a point where it feels impossible to stay just the photographer.

“Stop?” you repeat, tilting your head, the playful glint in your eyes both a challenge and an invitation. "You want me to stop?"

"I—" He clears his throat, trying to force his words into something coherent. You take a step closer, and the words fail him.

You stop a few inches away from him, your breath mingling with his, and for a split second, you both stand there, locked in a stare that feels like an eternity. Wonwoo's heart races, and he can hear the rush of blood in his ears, but the sound of your breath, shallow and steady, is louder than everything else.

“Wonwoo,” you whisper, and the way you say his name—so softly, so deliberately—has his chest tightening even more.

His heart stutters for a second, and before he can think about it, before he can second-guess himself, he lowers the camera, his hand almost involuntarily reaching for you.

“Are you sure?” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t say anything at first. Instead, your fingers brush against the fabric of his shirt, dancing between the creases. The world seems to spin a little.

“I’m sure,” you reply, your voice steady but low. “Are you?”

Wonwoo’s pulse thunders in his ears, and he thinks he's nodding his head, but he's not sure. He swears he can feel the heat radiating off of you in waves. The tension is almost unbearable now, and his hands are shaking so badly that he’s not sure if he should step back or close the space completely.

Before he can decide, you close the gap for him, your lips brushing against his in the gentlest of kisses. It’s soft at first, tentative—like you’re both waiting for the other to pull away—but when Wonwoo doesn’t, you deepen it just enough to make his head spin.

Everything—his thoughts, his control, his self-restraint—fractures.

He pulls you closer, his hand finding the curve of your back as he deepens the kiss. He can feel you shiver as his warm hands trace the exposed skin. He has to hold back a guttural moan at the feeling of your body pressed against his.

Your hands have found his hair, tangling your fingers through the strands and feeding off of the reactions, tugging a little every time he grumbles against your lips. A small gasp leaves your lips as he pulls away from your mouth, burying into your neck, which stretches prettily with each biting kiss he leaves.

"Is this how all your photo shoots go?" Even with your head tilted back, voice breathy as his fingers grasp onto your waist, you still find time to tease him. A small whine leaves you as his lips abandon your skin.

"You'll believe me if I say no?" His throat is scratchy, his voice raw, and it comes out more as a question.

You laugh. "Yes - I, yes, I believe you."

The silence feels unbearably tension, like both of you are trying to blindly navigate the other's feelings. Neither comfortable enough to take the next step forward.

"What did -"

"I thought -"

Your words stumble together as you search for the right way to break the tension. Wonwoo stops, not pressing you to continue, but his grip tightens on your waist slightly, a silent question hanging in the air.

"I was just - I wasn't sure you'd want to do this, too." You finally say. You still have that teasing smile, but your voice is small, almost unsure.

"I do," his voice is low, rough, and there's something tender there too. "I really do."

Your lips twitch upwards, a fleeting smile curving the corners of your mouth as you move closer again. "Then, what happens next?"

Wonwoo's head darts around, looking around the dim loft. There's nothing there, other than his equipment and a few chairs - nothing particularly helpful in this scenario. Although, he should admit, he wasn't expecting anything like this when he'd set it up.

"We could go somewhere else, if that's what you want to do?"

Your eyes follow his gaze, realising the dilemma.

"But I'm already half undressed." You bat your eyelashes innocently, and he knows you're fully aware of what you're doing to him. Yet, that doesn't prevent his trousers from feeling way too tight.

"I-" his breath catches, his fingers digging into your side. "I guess we'll have to stay here then."

"I guess so," you grin, and he wants nothing more than to pull you back in. So, he does. It's messy, primal, a tangle of limbs as your hands sloppily undo his shirt and his look for anything and everything he can reach. He doesn't miss your noise of appreciation when his shirt falls to the floor.

Soon, his hands are wrapped around your thighs, pulling you up in one swift motion and carrying you until you hit the nearest wall. You're panting, your eyes wild and hair tangled as you grab at his neck, pulling his lips back to yours.

It's not long before the rest of your clothes join the others on the floor. He feels a flutter of shyness as you take him in, eyes roaming across his body. But you're smiling, wide and joyful, the soft flesh of your thighs squeezing tighter on his hips.

"Fuck, I always thought you were hot, but I can't believe you were hiding this underneath those baggy sweaters."

Wonwoo can feel the blush running up his neck like a schoolboy being complimented for the first time. His heart is hammering in his chest, a warm rush spreading through him from head to toe as he tries to work out what his eyes should be focusing on.

"I wasn’t expecting any of this. You... you’re making me nervous," he admits with a shy laugh, his hands feeling clammy against your skin. "I mean, I'm sure I'm not the first person to say you're beautiful, but I think you're so much more than what they see."

Your smile softens for a moment, and you reach forward, fingers grazing lightly over his arm, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. "I'd like you to know all of me."

The words are soft, tender, and you can probably hear his heart fluttering. And, all at the same time, the implication of them is making more than his heart flutter.

"You're sure?" His body presses against yours even more, pushing your back further into the wall behind you.

"Please," you nod breathily, and that's all he needs. "I want you."

His hips grind against you, head swirling at the feeling as your arms wrap around his neck for stability. "I don't have-" he manages to choke out.

"It's fine, I'm on the pill. Just - just fuck me, please?"

His head buries into your shoulder, body twitching at your words. Pushing inside of you, the pleasure is immediate. Your hips are moving back onto him as far as you can against the wall, and his hands are firmly clenched around the flesh of your ass, holding you up in an iron grip. And you sound so good, and - more than that, you feel so good, so unbelievably good, that he's gasping out your name between thrusts.

Nonsensical words are babbling out of your mouth too; hot, dirty words of praise that only spur him on further. Your nails dig into his back, and then his hair, and then back again, like you can't pick which part of him you want to touch more.

And fuck, you're so beautiful. Like a goddess in the low lighting of the room - but he's too scared to tell you that just yet. Soft and hard and warm against him, surrounding him, engulfing him.

It's not long before he can feel you clenching around him, one hand clinging onto his shoulders and the other snaking between your legs. The muscles of his arms are burning slightly, but it feels too good to stop now. You're dragging him with you, panting moans with each pulse. You press your lips against his one more time, and it's all it takes to push you both over the edge.

After a few moments, he lifts his head from your shoulder and looks at you, a tender smile on his face. His lips press against yours gently, sighing with soft pants.

"Shit," You breathe, a small giggle bubbling out of you. The sound is so sweet it knocks any remaining wind out of him.

Wonwoo chuckles, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your jaw as he holds you in place.

Your smile is warm and teasing, and you press your lips to his for a second longer. "If I had the camera, I'd capture that look forever."

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motorsportbarbie13 · 1 month ago

Text

The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - The Hardest Two Years

In which your relationship with Max is put to the test and you pass with flying colors.

Warnings: this one is heavy at the beginning. Mentions of miscarriages (no active miscarriage on the page, but discussions of them). pregnancy. babies. labor. preemie/NICU baby briefly mentioned. anxiety. Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 5k words

- The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 2 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 3 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 4 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Bonus Sessions - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - The Royal Wedding - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - The Wedding Night

(a note: whewwwwww this one has been such a labor of love. i hope you all have enjoyed reading this as much as i loved creating it!!!)

October 2026 Austin, Texas

TheYappingHour posted

293,202 likes liked by maxverstappen1, assistantshannon, christianhorner, and others. theyappinghour We're back babies!! It's been a wild year for us here at The Yapping Hour but we're so pleased to bring you a brand new interview featuring Red Bull Strategist Hannah Schmitz. I first met Hannah when Max and I were first dating and she spent countless hours answering my (often silly) questions with the utmost patience. I love talking to women in motorsport, especially women like Hannah that are sitting on pit wall with the rest of the boys. We talk glass ceilings, what it's like to be work in a male dominated field, and what it took to get where she is today on the episode. It is def not one to miss!! hannahschmitzengineer thanks for having me on, lady!! Love having you around the track more now. xo user9928 hannah gives me such good vibes. i love her sm. user011 so we're just going to ignore how @/yourpersonalinsta just ghosts for how many months after eloping, claiming she's suddenly 'too sick to work' while galavanting all over the globe with Max??? >>>user0028 I knew she was a gold digger this entire time but NOOOOO. No one wanted to listen to me! user1145 its totally fine if you just want to live that WAG life girl but be honest with us. And yourself. Marrying rich was always her goal, wasn't it? >>>user0090 ding ding ding!!

"Thank you again for coming on the show, Hannah! We get so many questions about women in motorsport so I know this episode is going to be so well received." You reach out your arms towards the strategy engineer, enveloping her in a hug.

Hannah hugs you right back, giving you an extra squeeze. The two of you have always got on really well and you were happy that she had agreed to come on for an episode. It had been a rough year so far, so having an exciting episode to edit and put out was something that you were looking forward to.

"Thanks for having me! We all miss your episodes in the garage. Everyone was excited to hear that you'd be back for at least one episode." She gives you a sad smile. Hannah is one of the few people that know the real reason behind your absence on socials this year.

"It feels good to be back. Hopefully I'll be able to do some more things in the last bit of the year. I have a few things in the works." You give her the most positive smile you can muster but it's hard with the waves of nausea that started to roll through you in the last few moments.

You barely hold it together as you walk Hannah out of the studio that you'd rented in downtown Austin ahead of the US Grand Prix this weekend. Max was back at the track finishing up some media duties but once you finish up with Shannon at the studio, you're going to head back to see him.

Inside the studio, Shannon is working on packing up once you return from walking Hannah out. "Can you do me a favor?" You ask, voice hesitant.

Shannon's head snaps up at the anxiety she can hear in your words. You two have been working together so closely for so long, you can both communicate with minimal looks and words now. She can read your mood almost as well as Max can. "Everything okay boss?"

"Could you swing by the pharmacy before going back to the hotel and pick me up some..." You pause, needing a moment to work your tongue around the next words. "pregnancy tests." Your heart hammers in your chest.

Shannon blinks at you, hesitant smile on her lips. "Of course." She says softly before reaching out to cup your elbow with a gentle hand. "You feeling okay?"

Chuckling, you shake your head, "My lunch nearly made a reappearance when Hannah hugged me just now, which is weird because we wear the same perfume sometimes and that's what set me off."

The moment that wave of nausea hit you, you had started counting back the weeks in your mind since your last period. You had instantly known because it was the kind of math you'd been doing for almost a year now, since getting your IUD out.

What a year it had been.

"I'd do it myself but there's a lot of media out this weekend and I've already been papped. There's already so much negative coverage out there, I don't want to give more fuel to the fire."

Back in June you had made the difficult decision to put production on The Yapping Hour on hold for the near future, citing health issues. Most of your fans had been supportive but there had been a lot of backlash about how you were a gold digger and were only with Max for his money. People saw you traveling a lot with Max and assumed the 'health issues' were a cop out and that you were just lazy. Everyone in your inner circle knew it was absolutely untrue but the lies perpetuated by accounts like Deux Moi the F1 gossip accounts still stung.

This year had shaped up to be the most challenging year for both you and Max, personally and professionally. With only a handful of races to go, Max was sitting solidly in second place in the drivers championship, behind a white hot Lando Norris who'd won 8 races already this year. While Max was still able to keep the fight going, the car had continued to deteriorate this year and even Mad Max could barely keep it on the road some weekends. It had been the hardest season of his entire career.

Despite all the difficulties, both personal and professional, you and Max were stronger than ever. There hadn't been any other choice after you what you had gone through together. The 'health issues' that you had cited earlier in the year had actually been the three miscarriages you had suffered back to back to back since getting married in December. Through it all, the doctors appointments, the late nights spent sobbing in pain, the terror tinged excitement at each 'positive' test, Max had been there for you. He was an unwavering and unmoving well of support for you in the darkest of hours.

Shannon's eyes go watery as she tugs at your hand. "Oh, mama..."

You chuckle darkly, "Not a mom yet, Shan."

Shannon shakes her head, "Yes you are. Those three precious babies were yours and will always be yours."

Tears sting at the back of your eyes as you walk out of the studio still holding your assistant's hand. You knew she was right. You still felt that constant ache and connection to the babies you had lost, even the first one that you had lost at just four weeks when it was barely more than a bunch of cells. The anxiety that courses through you as you get in the back seat of the car that Max had sent for you is so overwhelming you nearly ask Shannon to stay with you.

"I'll go get that stuff from the pharmacy then I'll drop them off at your room, okay? It'll be okay, boss." Shannon says warmly before shutting the door of the black SUV.

All you can do is nod in response, hoping she's right.

Hours later, you stand with your hands braced on the vanity in your hotel room. Max is caught at the track still, needing to meet with the engineering team for a bit longer than expected so you're left alone in the room just staring down at the box Shannon delivered to your door.

There's a flood of mixed emotions swirling all together in your stomach as you look at the small white stick starting back at you tauntingly. You had wanted to wait for Max but at this point, you didn't know when he'd be back and you hadn’t been able to wait any longer. You'd been through this so many times this year and had seen that little plus sign three times already, all ending with heartbreak and pain. You weren't sure if you'd be able to survive another one. But at the same time, you had to know.

Max opens the door to your shared hotel room quietly, wanting to surprise you by coming back early and taking you to dinner. You're not where he expected to see you though, snuggled up on the bed watching Netflix.

The bathroom door is thrown open and he hears muffled sniffling floating out, sending his anxiety through the roof. After the year you've had, anything that's got you upset sends him off the deep end. He finds you leaning over the counter staring at something. Max stops in the doorway for a moment, watching your body language. Your hair is tied up in a messy bun and you're wearing nothing but one of his old sweatshirts that's seen better days. The tattered sleeves fall over your wrists, only allowing your fingers to peek out. He can barely see your wedding ring peaking out from the navy sweatshirt and for a moment, his mood shifts. Here you were, nearly a year later and he still gets love struck seeing you wearing his ring. His wife. It still stopped him in his tracks when he realized how lucky he was to have you and how lucky you both had been to survive this year so far.

“Liefje?” He murmurs, leaning against the door frame. He doesn't want to scare you, so he keeps his distance at first. "Everything okay?"

You startle a bit, hand flying to your throat when you gasp in surprise. "Max!" You breathe, eyes swimming with tears that haven't had a chance to fall yet. "I...I don't know."

Max crosses the tiled floor, the cold biting into his feet through his socks. "Hey, what's got you so upset baby? Shhh..." He takes you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. You relish the warmth, your body having gone stone cold after seeing the results of the test you hadn't been able to wait for Max to take.

"I nearly threw up after hugging Hannah today even though she was wearing one of my favorite perfumes." You tell him, nearly chuckling when he looks at you utterly confused. Extracting yourself from his grasp, you reach behind for the test and hold it up so he can see it.

"I'm pregnant, Max."

The strangled sob that you choke out nearly takes Max to the ground. He folds you into his arms again, rocking you back and forth as you shake like a leaf. The miscarriages had been so hard on you, each one more difficult than the last. The memory of you, curled up on the bed when you had started bleeding during the third one, while you wailed about your body betraying you and how you were broken, hits him like a truck. He'd give anything to make this pain stop for you, to take away the fear and anguish that he can feel rolling off of you in waves.

"Shhhh, schatje." He soothes, knowing that nothing he could possibly say will quell the terror you're feeling right now.

"I can't lose another baby, Max. I can't. It’ll destroy me.” The only thing you wanted to do was protect this little life that was inside you right now, bits of you and bits of Max combined to make an entirely new human. You’d been here three times before and you’d failed. Your body had failed to keep the baby inside you safe and you didn’t know if it was going to happen again. The doctors had been baffled after every loss, telling you that there wasn’t any rhyme or reason to it, that sometimes losses happened and there wasn’t anything that could have been done about it. There hadn’t been any genetic abnormalities in any of the samples they’d taken, hadn’t been anything that you had done to make you lose the pregnancies. No, it had been completely and utterly random that your body just hadn’t been able to make a pregnancy stick.

You’d never felt more like a failure.

“My love, it will be okay. We’ll get through this, I promise.” Max wanted to tell you that you wouldn’t lose this baby either. He wanted more than anything to tell you that but the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t tell you that because he didn’t know if it was true and telling you something that might turn out to not be true killed him. “We will always get through these things together, no matter what happens.”

You pull back out of Max’s chest, needing to lose yourself in those icy blue eyes you were so obsessed with. You knew, deep down, that he was right. Max had been your constant source of support since the day you met him. You had no reason to doubt him and knew that he would get you through this even if you lost this baby too but that didn’t stop the fear from wrapping it’s sharp, cold fingers around your throat. “I’m so scared.” You whisper.

Max runs a hand over the top of your head before framing your face. Brushing the pad of his thumb over your cheek, he smiles down at you. “I know.” He admits, knowing that you need to know that he’s in this with you right now and that you’re on the same page. “I am too, but like I said, we’ll get through this. We’ve got to make a plan, sitting here crying is just going to make your anxiety worse, okay?”

You nod, grinning when he laces his fingers with yours to pull you out into the main part of the hotel room. He leads you over to the bed where he sits before patting his lap, inviting you to sit between his legs. With your back pressed to his chest, you snuggle into him as deeply as you can, enjoying the way his arms snake around you to clasp together over your tummy. “I’ll call Greg in the morning and have the jet take you back to Monaco and you can have Shannon make you an appointment with Dr. Mallkin. I’m sure he’ll get you in as soon as possible.”

You freeze. “No, Max.” You protest, heart thrumming in your throat from the panic. “No, I don’t want to leave you. Not now. What if I lose it again and I’m half way around the world from you? Please, I don’t want to leave you.” You know you sound pathetic, begging like a scared little girl but you can’t help it. The thought of being alone in your apartment in Monaco while Max finished this triple header to Mexico and then Brazil sent frigid shivers of fear zinging through your veins.

Max tucks his head into the crook of your neck, mouthing at the warm skin there. “Shhh…Okay, Schatje. You don’t have to go back to Monaco but you absolutely can’t come to Mexico and Brazil with me. The travel and stress won’t be good for you, you know that.”

You both sit in silence for a few moments, each contemplating what can be done. There was no way you were going to go back to Monaco right now but you also knew that traveling down to Mexico and then Brazil wouldn’t be good for you or the baby and you desperately needed this baby to stick.

“What if we flew you to your parents up in California?” Max suggests, breaking the silence first. “You could go spend a few weeks with them, get in to see a doctor up there to just check and make sure everything looks okay and then when I’m done in Brazil, I’ll fly to get you and we can go back to Monaco together? We have a three week break after Brazil so you won’t be alone for a bit.”

The thought of going back to your childhood home for a few weeks was immensely appealing. “And then maybe I could do Qatar and Abu Dhabi with you to finish out the year if everything is good and Dr. Mallkin gives me the okay?”

Max is quiet, not wanting to agree to any more travel than absolutely necessary but when your head swivels around to look at him, pleading look on your face, he caves. “If Dr. Mallkin gives you the okay, we can do that.”

Monaco May, 2027

yourpersonalinsta posted

yourpersonalinsta we've been hiding a little secret. baby verstappen due in july and we couldn't be more excited. (tagged: maxverstappen1) kikagomes ahhhhh i can finally talk about this in real life!! so excited for you bestieeeee >>>yourpersonalinsta love you!! user0029 ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!! baby verstappen incoming! user0445 july?! oh my god, they hid this for so long! user442 omg that's why she hasn't been at races this year! bet all those assholes predicting a divorce feel like assholes now redbullracing already have the mini f1 car in the garage for baby verstappen!!

33 weeks. You had made it pas the danger zone. That little tiny bean in your belly had dug itself in so deep that you hadn’t lost this baby, much to your delight and surprise. Those early weeks you had spent with your parents in California had been some of the scariest days of your life. Every time you went to the bathroom you had expected to see blood everywhere. But it had never come. When Max had finished with Mexico and Brazil, he had flown to get you before taking you back home. The rest of the season panned out exactly like you had expected: Lando had won his first world championship with Max finishing a close second.

A few weeks into winter break, Max had approached you one afternoon while you lounged on the couch in your Monaco apartment. There would be no long distance travel for you this winter break due to the precarious state of your pregnancy. You had been cleared to go to Qatar and Abu Dhabi to see the rest of the season pan out, but after that, Dr. Mallkin had effectively grounded you. ‘I want to retire’ was the bomb Max had dropped on you that afternoon. You had been silent for several minutes, letting the implications of his statement sink in before you had been able to respond. If there was one thing that drove you insane about Max was how he was always threatening to retire despite being absolutely awful at sitting still and relaxing so you had never taken his whinging seriously. Until that afternoon.

In the end, after several hours of discussion and back and forth, you had convinced Max to give it one more season. He couldn’t let his career end on such a low note, losing out on his sixth championship. He had wanted to retire to spend more time with you and the baby but you knew he’d be restless and that he wasn’t ready to retire just yet. In the end, you had come up with a compromise: he’d race for the 2027 season and you and the baby would travel with him for the second half of the season so he wouldn’t miss any of the big milestones. You were due sometime in July, which was perfect timing. If everything worked out, you’d have the baby right around the summer break and by the time racing started back up in Belgium, you��d be ready to take the baby on the road.

But in the end, it didn’t end up working out like that.

The Monaco Grand Prix was one of your favorite weekends, even if Max hated it. He didn’t like how busy the city became. Hated how loud and noisy the streets were. Secretly hated the track due to how difficult it was to actually race and overtake, despite dominating the track in recent years.

Earlier in the week, you had finally shared the news of your pregnancy on social media, having waited until you were nearly full term before breathing even a word of it to anyone outside of your inner circle. You had stopped traveling to races weeks ago and your presence had been wildly noted all over the gossip accounts, some even going so far as to start rumors that you and Max were already divorced. So imagine everyone’s surprise when you posted the photos of your belly gently covered by Max’s hands. People went wild.

Sunday morning, you’re in Red Bull hospitality sitting with Liam’s girlfriend Hannah and Kika while Max is in the garage getting prepped for the race in a few hours. During last year’s silly season, there had been some major reshuffling of the teams and Pierre had been welcomed back into the Red Bull stables as Max’s teammate. Liam was still driving for VCARB alongside Franco Colopinto who had taken the second seat after Yuki had left to join Aston Martin this season.

Your left hand sits lightly on your ever expanding belly as you listen to Kika gush about Pierre proposing last week during the little break the grid had had when something that feels like an electric shock snaps across your stomach. “Oh.” You gasp, sitting up a bit straighter in your chair.

Hannah immediately clocks the pain that streaks across your face and reaches for your hand. “Are you okay?”

The pain takes your breath away momentarily but as quick as it comes on, it’s gone. A few deep breaths and everything rights itself. “Yeah, just some ligament pain or something. My doctor said now that I’m further on I could start getting Braxton Hicks but that it wasn’t a huge deal as long as they’re not steady or coming in regular intervals.”

“If it happens again, I’m telling Max.” Kika says, face full of worry. Since Pierre’s resigning with Red Bull, the two of you had gotten closer and she was one of your best friends now. You knew she’d 100% tattle on you to Max, who had turned into an even more intense mother hen the closer you got to the end of your pregnancy.

“Oh, that’ll go over well.” You roll your eyes. “He’ll flat out refuse to race even if they’re just false labor pains. Mouth shut, Kiks.” You order, raising a brow in challenge.

Kika just rolls her eyes back at you, folding her arms over her chest. “Fine.”

Everything goes back to normal for the next few hours. You sit in the Red Bull hospitality with Shannon, Kika, and Hannah by your side to watch the race, not having near enough energy to stand in the garages for the race. Max had started P2 but had managed to pass Lando somewhere on lap 15 and had been in the lead ever since.

And then, suddenly, all hell breaks loose.

“Fuck.” You hiss, clutching at your stomach as Max starts the last 15 laps of the race.

Kika’s head whips towards you, panic in her eyes. “What?”

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” You mutter, standing up to look at the puddle you’ve left in the black plastic chair. “I think my water just broke.”

“What?!” Kika shrieks, causing the entirety of the hospitality suite to turn their heads in unison to look at you. “What?” She whispers a second time, just as urgent but quieter this time.

“I think I’m in labor.” You work to keep the fear out of your voice but you fail. You’re not full term yet, you can’t be going into labor. This baby needed to stay cooking for a few more weeks. Panic strangles you as Hannah reaches for your hand. A sharp, shooting pain has you crying out, once again drawing attention to your little table. “Oh fuck, I think I’m in labor. I’m only 33 weeks Hannah, I can’t be in labor.”

The pain of your three miscarriages comes charging back, terror flooding your system at the thought of losing a forth baby, this one so far into your pregnancy. The kicks, the hiccups, everything has made this pregnancy so much more real. You didn’t think you’d survive another loss.

Hannah, who just finished her first year of medical school, squeezes your hand. “Good news is, 33 weeks is viable out of the womb but we should still get to the hospital. Little dude is going to be a bit on the small side.”

“Oh for fucks sakes.” You groan, knowing Max is going to lose his shit. He’d been worried about this exact scenario more than you cared to think about. His orders had always been to have GP or Christian tell him over the radio if you ever went into labor during a race and he’d stop right then and there.

“There’s only 15 laps to go.” You glance up at the TV screen above you. “Okay, 14 now. I’m not leaving until he’s out of that car and we’re not saying a word to him until he’s taken the checkered flag.” You stare pointedly at Kika, who had leapt out of her chair when you had declared you were in labor, presumably to go straight to the garage and tattle on you.

“You most certainly are not waiting until he’s finished to leave, are you insane?” Hannah whispers, trying to avoid drawing even more attention to you. “I’m going to find a car to take us to the hospital, which should be interesting considering half the city is shut down. We might need an ambulance.”

“I am not leaving the paddock in an ambulance!” You gasp as another contraction hits you, stealing your breath from your lungs.

“You’re not going to have a choice.” Hannah turns to Shannon. “Can you go to the garage and tell GP that she’s in labor and that the moment he’s out of that car, he needs to get his ass to the hospital. Kika, stay here with her and try to keep her calm.”

While the drama is unfolding in the hospitality building, Max is working on winning his fourth race of the season, the car feeling better than it has all season. When Hannah finally finds a medical official, telling him that there’s a woman in pre-term labor that needs to get to the hospital immediately, Max crosses the finish line in P1.

GP immediately comes on the radio. “Max, we need you in right now, no cool down lap.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Confusion plays at the edge of his voice as he starts towards the pits on the other side of the track.

In the garage, GP glances at Shannon, who shakes her head. “Just get to the garage now, okay?”

In his gut, he knows it’s about you. He knows instantly just by the sound of GP’s voice. Something’s wrong, he can feel it in every nerve ending of his body. “Is she okay?”

“She’s okay for now.”

Relief floods Max’s system as he desperately tries to get back to the garages without hitting anything or anyone, which is proving to be very difficult. All he can think about is you and getting to you as fast as possible. Was it the baby? He had known it was a bad idea for you to be out in the paddock today. Had thought there was too much excitement and activity for you to be out and he was kicking himself for allowing you to be here even though deep down, he knew that you would have been here no matter what. He just hoped he didn’t regret agreeing to it.

Shannon goes to Max first and explains everything. How your water had broken with 15 laps to go. How Hannah had found an ambulance to take you across town to the hospital. How you were probably already there, Kika and Hannah both riding along with you in the ambulance so you weren’t alone. How you were scared but putting on a brave face for everyone, which Max thought was very typical of you.

Christian sidles up to Max next. “There’s a car waiting for you with a police escort to Princess Grace Hospital. That’s where they took her. Go, we’ll take care of any FIA fines or hubbub.”

Max doesn’t need to be told twice before taking off, still sweaty in his race suit. As he’s racing out of the garage, Shannon calls after him. He pauses, despite not wanting to but grins when she holds out a bag for him. “Thought you might want a change of clothes for when you get to the hospital.”

Max snags the bag out of her hands before giving her a warm smile. “Thanks, Shan.”

“Now go! Your wife is having a baby!”

There’s a reverent hush that blankets the NICU in the middle of the night. The floor is near empty, only one other baby in the little clear covered crib besides your baby. It’s been hours since you gave birth but you’re finally up and out of bed, sitting in the wheelchair Max brought for you in your room moments ago.

“The doctor says he’s a fighter.” Max murmurs, hand clasped on your shoulder.

Tears burn before spilling down your cheeks as you take in the baby in front of you. He’s only 33 weeks and a tiny little wisp of a baby, but the pediatrician that was on call when you came in is confident that he’ll be okay with some extra attention that being in the NICU will bring. “He’s so small.” You whisper, reaching up to grasp at Max’s hand.

Max had gotten to the hospital just in time. Kika and Hannah had been at the head of your bed when he had burst into the hospital room just as you had been feeling the need to start pushing. He had been white as a ghost, paler than you’d ever seen him but the moment you laid eyes on him, you had burst into tears. “Max.” You sobbed as Kika and Hannah discreetly showed themselves out of the birthing suite. They had stayed in the waiting room for the next several hours though, neither wanting to leave before knowing how you and the baby were doing.

Like he had been doing since the moment he walked into your life, Max had never left your side and had been the single source of strength you had drawn on during the entire labor process. Everything moved so quickly you hadn’t had a chance to even ask for an epidural so you had labored completely naturally. In the end, it hadn’t really mattered because your labor had progressed so quickly Dr. Mallkin had barely had time to get his scrubs on before the baby was crowning.

“What are we going to call him?” Max asks, staring down at the tiny baby boy. He still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he had come so early and that he was now a dad. It terrified him just as much as it thrilled him. He was so proud of you as well, the entire labor process something that he had to just sit back and watch in awe. If Max hadn’t thought that you were the stronger one in the relationship before, he most certainly thought it now.

“I like the name Theodore.” You say, reaching out to brush your fingers on the clear plastic that held your tiny cherub of a baby. “Theo for short.”

Max’s heart gave a squeeze. “It’s perfect. What about Theo Nicholas.”

Your head whips around to stare at your husband. “Nicholas? Like, my dad Nicholas?”

“I think it suits the little guy well, don’t you? And I like the idea of him carrying on your dad’s name. One of the greatest men I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.”

Now you were really sobbing. The fact that it had been Max to suggest giving his son your dad’s name for a middle name created this soft, gooey center in your stomach. “I love you so much, Max.” You say, choking back another sob.

Max leans down, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he watches the son you’ve given him sleep peacefully. “I love you too, schatje. I love you both.”

maxverstappen1 posted

1,208,391 likes liked by yourdad, yourpersonalinsta, kikagomes, and others maxverstappen1 baby boy couldn't wait until july to make his grand entrance. tiny verstappen is here and life couldn't be better. forever in awe of you @/yourpersonalinsta. being a momma looks good on you, schatje. love you forever. yourpersonalinsta love you more, maxie. you're already the worlds best dad to theo. >>>user9383 THEO??? that is the cutest name >>>user2993 they're literally life goals oh my GODDDDD charlesleclerc congratulations friend!! gorgeous family you've got there. redbullracing love seeing max in his dad era!

yourpersonalinsta posted

1,598,019 likes liked by maxverstappen1, hannahstjohn, assistantshannon, and others yourpersonalinsta welcome to the world theodore nicholas verstappen. you are already so loved, baby boy. (tagged: maxverstappen1) maxverstappen1 my 2 favorite people on this planet. you're already such an amazing mother, baby. love you to the ends of time. >>>user458 i'm sobbing hannahstjohn he is the cutest little turkey ever. i am so in love with him! congrats mama!!! >>>yourpersonalinsta thank you for forcing me into that ambulance otherwise we could have had a paddock baby on our hands >>>user0938 this is such f1 lore, i love it

Tags: @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago

#f1 #formula 1 #max verstappen #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x you

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cheriladycl01 · 4 months ago

Note

ANGST ( friendship ended, ego battles, Championship, Ferrari, Red Bull, Dutchman, American Girl, unrequired love, Title battle)

Y/N and Max have been friends since their go-karting days. She was a driver for Alpha Tauri and achieved spectacular results with the team and was hoping to take the second seat at Red Bull, but as other drivers are ahead of her to take that spot, she accepts a million-dollar proposal from Ferrari. Max is bewildered by her decision and breaks up a years-long friendship for a trivial reason, as she is thinking about the good part of her career and at Ferrari she has a chance to fight for titles. She is devastated by Max's reaction and his contempt for her, the Dutchman starts to pretend that the American doesn't exist and ignores her both in the paddock and in Monaco, where they live. Fans, fellow riders and the media are devastated how such a lasting friendship ended in such a heavy climate, the American media blasts Max, while the Dutch media trashes Y/N. Y/N and Max enter into a brutal and fierce dispute for the 2024 championship, more tense than 2021, due to the entire context that involves the two. Max felt betrayed by her leaving Red Bull and by her never realizing that he always liked her, but now she's the one who doesn't want anything to do with him in her life anymore and she's going to do whatever it takes to be world champion. They arrive in Abu Dhabi tied and in the wheel-to-wheel dispute, Y/N becomes world champion, and Max realizes that he made a mistake with the love of his life and is humbled by her forgiveness.

This is the story of us! - Max Verstappen x FerrariDriver! Reader

Plot: In the style of a documentary find out what really happened in the year of 2024 between Max Verstappen and Y/N Y/L/N.

“Audio test in the studio please Y/N” the Documenter asks from behind cameras.

“10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1” you say your face on camera as some continues to fix your hair.

A News Broadcaster pops up from 2023 on Sky Sports News.

“Today the shocking news has come that rather than signing with Red Bull Y/N Y/LN has made a million dollar move to Ferrari”

“Y/L/N to drive in Red for the 2024 season”

“Red Bull decision to not sign Y/L/N leaves them out no options says Adrian Newey”

News articles play in overlay over each other as they get more frequent about your career change 2 years ago.

“Hiya Y/N” the interviewer for the documentary asks.

“Hello” you smile back politely on the footage.

“So this documentary is about the Formula One season of 2024 and … your intense battle for the championship”

“Mmmmm all very interesting no?” You joke before serious music comes on. Showing some shots of you racing, and some of the radios that came from that season.

“This isn’t right! Why isn’t my team working together” your voice come through.

“Y/N it’s time to back off. You can’t win this one”

“I’m never going to give up, it’s me or him in this dust and I don’t care which as this point as long as I know I pushed”

“Y/N are you okay? Y/N?”

“What the fuck was that?”

“Guys this is my last chance let’s put it all in”

“FUCK THIS GUY MAN”

“Yes it was … a heated season for sure” you chuckle.

“So start by telling us about your early life” she asks after a small compilation of early photos of you karting before it’s edited to flick back and forth between your interview and clips of you karting and in the feeder series.

“I started karting from a very young age, around 6 and worked my way up like any other driver. Eventually Red Bull … saw potential in me and decided to sponsor me and make me a part of their Young Drivers Programme. That eventually fed me into a seat in AlphaTauri or what is now Visa CashApp RB” you start, hands clenched together.

“I saw everyone else get a chance at that Red Bull seat before me regardless of my performance. And when they signed Sergio Perez, someone from a different team, that tipped me over the edge” you admit, knowing that it was one of the hardest heartbreaks you experienced.

“And that’s when Ferrari came in?” The interviewer asks.

“That’s when Ferrari came in, they wanted something fresh and new and I’d pretty much grown up with Charles just like I had Max, so there was no concern about us being Team-Mates. It was … despite Ferraris struggles in recent years, my only way forward” you nod your head, before the documentary shows your driving in your AlphaTauri and your incredible win in that car, that should have been the reason Horner wanted to sign you.

“Max … wasn’t happy with this decision” she asks and you nod.

“He wasn’t … i thought if anything was to ruin our friendship it would be an external relationship that didn’t appreciate our bond. Not … because of a job” you laugh thinking of his reaction and how he’d cut you off in all aspects of life.

That year was difficult for you, even though you’d had more people around you than you’d ever had in your life you had never felt more lonely.

Max had pretty much axed you out of his life. He’d blocked you on every social media, every messaging platform and even put your emails into his junk folder. You thought it was a step too far writing to him so, you left it.

You left an eleven year friendship to just go down the drain. You didn’t realise until he was actually gone how much of an impact Max Verstappen had on you and your life. He was there for you for every major thing that happened in your life and this move to Ferrari felt like your next step. But he had no longer wished to be a part of that.

“What did it feel like when you announced going to Ferrari?” Your asked and your paused for a while before you face the interviewer.

“I think everybody dreams of driving for Ferrari, no matter what team your currently with as … it’s the pinnacle of motorsport. But to be the first female to drive for Ferrari is a statement. The day I made the announcement and it went onto the F1 page that my contract was up with RedBull and AlphaTauri for the 2023 season I couldn’t have been happier because it felt like I was finally moving forward and not stuck in the same spot” you answer and she nods.

“And how did that affect your friendships?” She asks and you almost scoff.

“Why didn’t you just say Max” you chuckle before sighing. You never mind talking about it especially now, of course you were upset and heated back then. You normally tending to be after racing if it didn’t go your way anyway, but when it came to Max leaving you there were times you were pretty nonchalant about it because you didn’t know how to react.

It was the later reaction that was more frightening.

“Well, that would spoil that kind of answer, clearly there’s more of an issue here than with any other driver” she asks.

“You’ve done your research, you know exactly what happened”

Media floods in the documentary American News anchors sending hate to Max Verstappen especially when he came to home turf for a race and the Deutch fans butchering you in the Netherlands.

SkySports -

“Max Verstappen is brutal, can’t imagine ever being as petty as he is”

ESPN News -

“And today we have news that Red Bull Driver Max Verstappen has cut all ties with new Ferrari Driver Y/N Y/L/N, for her change of team”

Fan at the Track -

“You know Max is incredibly overrated and childish for what he did to our American pride and joy”

News in the Netherlands

“ze is gewoon een vreselijke chauffeur”

Fan at Zandvoort

“neuk haar”

It pans back to you looking down at your hands before the interviewer speaks up again.

“So before the season started did you and Max have any heated arguments that contributed to the start of the season?” She asks and you shake your head.

“He blocked me on everything, I was with my ex-boyfriend at that point and we were travelling during the winter break so it didn’t bother me too much. I tried to keep myself distracted knowing I had great support around me, a new team to get to know and work with.

But as the 2024 started to get closer and you came back home to Monaco, sensing Max had disappeared from your life finally sunk in. You had many days at home wrapped up in blankets crying, wondering where it all went wrong.

Making you feel lonely in Monaco was one thing, but it only got worse in the paddock when racing resumed for the testy 2024 season.

A video plays of the Bahrain testing in 2024 you on track in a semi fast Ferrari that people cannot tell whether you are sandbagging or not Max breezing past you.

Strangely that was the closest you’d been to Max in months.

“Monaco was different now that you didn’t have your best friend … how did you occupy your time instead?” She asked.

It showed videos of you partying in Monaco with Charles your soon to be team-mate, Lando Norris and Daniel Ricciardo.

Then it flicked to you and Lando golfing with Max Fewtrell, while vacationing.

It flicked to a very public argument between you and your boyfriend which proceeded to your breakup.

“Well, it was an interesting build up to the season. Let’s just say that” you smirk knowing at the start of 2024 before preseason testing you caused a lot of chaos all to try get your mind off the absence of Max.

“Then we find ourselves at Bahrain 2024… a race I think that will be in the history books as one of the most tense season openings ever” she admits writing something down on the notepad she had that she really didn’t need.

“Yes, it was an interesting race. I think that was the first time I was in equal machinery to Max, at the start of the season we didn’t start off as good as RedBull but Charles and I were giving him a run for his money” you admit knowing Sergio Perez didn’t have the greatest start to the season and now that you were locked into Ferrari, Red Bull were beating themselves up over the loss of you.

“So Max took pole and you were only 0.003 seconds behind him, what a margin! You started P2 both front row” she smiles and you nod.

“Yeah I think that’s the most scared I’ve ever felt in a race car, P2 has been my best qualifying position and I couldn’t let it go to waste. But having Max next to me with everything that was going on was a massive headache” you tell her and there’s a clip of you looking over at Max sat next to you just before the formation lap was about to begin.

“Let’s talk about turn 1 Bahrain …” she asks and you nod.

“I mean, I was racing and I was racing hard. I gave Max plenty of room, I had the inside line and I got past him and led. It was a good overtake and the team didn’t exactly tell me not to go for it” you explain and she nods.

“But after your pit stop stuff got real” she adds and you nod with a roll of your eyes.

“Tell me about it” you laugh.

“AND VERSTAPPEN GOES FOR THE OVERTAKE GOING INTO TURN 5, Y/N DEFENDING BEAUTIFULLY AND HE GOES AGAIN EDGING HER INTO TURN SIX AND OMG HES OFF INTO THE GRAVEL! MAX VERSTAPPEN IS OUT IF THE BAHRAIN GP” it shows the commentary from Crofty when this was all happening showing Max getting out the car and slamming his helmet down.

“WHAT THIS Y/N HAS DAMAGE THERE WAS IN FACT CONTACT AND SHES HAD TO PULL OVER NOT MAKING IT BACK TO THE PITS FOR A NEW TYRE” is shown also you getting out of the car, your escorted back to the pit wall while Safety Car is deployed.

“Yours and Max’s argument that day while the race was still underway and Charles was leading, was intense who actually started it?” She asks.

“Oh Max did 100%. I was just talking to my race engineer and he came over all pissy and yelling in my face. Seeing him so red and angry was funny though” you admit.

“I think that’s the first time people had seen seriously Mad Max since the Ocon incident”

“I guess I just bring that side out of him” you admit with a nod.

“What the fuck was that” Max came over to you, you took a step back hoping to defuse the situation knowing their was cameras around and you didn’t really want to bring attention to either of you.

“Look Max we were both racing hard. It happens, you went into me, we both ended up out the race … it happens” you explain and the camera men all get closer.

“You went into me! Are you having a laugh!” He says until he starts ranting in Dutch and his PR manager and a Marshall take him away from you.

“Bahrain was incredibly dramatic for a race. The champion of last year was sat at the bottom of the leader board and Charles, Lando and George were looking at the top spots. How did the make you feel?” She asks and you nod.

“Obviously it’s concerning. Coming back isn’t easy after a feat like that, so we knew we’d have to come back in Saudi and make it better than it was. It’s also hard to come back from something like that mentally? Yano. So Saudi was hard especially all the media around me” you explains and it cuts to clips of all kinds of media swarming around you asking you stuff about Max and your race in Bahrain.

“In Saudi you and Max raced hard but eventually it ended up with Max in P1 and you in P2 and Lando P3… that podium was tense” she explains and a video of the podium came up, showing Max celebrating with everyone but you. You ending up leaving him and Lando and leant over the fence of the podium to spray your team down below.

“Lando and Max are close, but you and Lando are aswell so how did it feel having no celebration up there with you?” She asked.

“Lando is actually the sweetest person I’ve ever met. He cares about everybody and everything and he worries when he thinks he’s upset someone. He messaged me after that podium, apologising for leaving me out of the celebration and he didn’t even realise he had as he was so caught up in Max spraying him he thought it was both of us. I obviously replied saying I wasn’t upset and that it was okay. I had my team and that’s all I really needed at the end of the day” you nod knowing it WAS a hard podium to be up on but you made the best of a bad situation.

“The comes Australia, and this is your first time to regain the points lost in Bahrain. So what did you do?”

“Man … the first time I won was so nice … that I just had to do it twice” you quote Anthony Joshua with a little laugh. Before it shows you’re victory.

“AND FOR THE SECOND TIME IN HER FORMULA ONE CAREER THE AMERICAN TAKES HOME THE CHEQUERED FLAG TAKING VICTORY IN AUSTRALIA, TEAMMATE CHARLES LECLERC BEHIND HER IN P2 WITH LANDO NORRIS CLOSING UP THE PODIUM” Ted commentates.

“It was an incredible feeling, knowing I was now making my way back up the ranks and was in P3 in the championship, Max was behind me and I felt like I was back in the game. To DNF’s for him was almost laughable.

“The points were very amusing come China, you were leading the championship and Ferrari were at the top for the constructors championship. And Max, Lando and Charles were all on 76 points and you were on 78… how tight!?” She adds.

“Yes, it was crazy how varied this season was with wins, especially with how RedBull were insanely dominant the year before and RedBull took all wins bar Singapore. At this point I wasn’t just fighting Max in he championship there was word at Ferrari that team orders were going to come into play to help Charles win but when we were both so close in points it was easier to just let us race” you explain happily, knowing that it was a fun season to be a part of.

“But after China was a sort of turning point for Max correct?” She asks and you nod again.

“It was for both of us. After China it was a constant change between me and Max of who was going to win, Lando and Charles remained close, but not enough to win.” You explain but her look tells you you didn’t give her the answer she was after.

“I meant about Max trying to rekindle that friendship you both once had” she asks and you scoff.

“Mmmmm you’ll have to ask him about that… at the time I could only assume he wanted to be my friend to distract me from what was important … winning” you answer.

“Hello Max” the interviewer says as their special guest for the documentary comes in. He takes a seat, a stoic nod as he does.

“So, Y/N didn’t seem to be able to tell us what happened after the Chinese Grand Prix, it seems from sources that you unblocked her on everything and attempted contact?” She asks and Max nods.

“I- I did. After seeing her wins, and her face once she realised it was a full fight this year and how excited that made her I knew I was in the wrong for ever letting our bond go. I don’t think she even cared about the championship that year, just being in a team that was letting her drive a good car, with a good team and actually help her improve. I was in the wrong but at this point … she was only focused on racing” he sings and a compilation of videos of the pair of you arguing on track came up.

“It was just affecting you guys either was it?”

“No, it was hard especially for Lando, Daniel and Charles, we’re all so close and Lando and Y/n are like siblings so when it came to the both of us not talking it was difficult for them. Y/N being … well Y/N didn’t want to make it a big deal and started hanging out more with her other friends like Yuki, Logan, Zhou, George and Alex but it still meant it was … awkward to say the least” he admits.

“Yeah, that sounds rough, do you ever regret it?” She asks and he nods.

“For a long long time, I didn’t think that I would be able to reconcile our friendship like Nico and Lewis did” he admits.

“But you think that now?” She asks and he smiles.

“I know so” he smirks

It was the end of the season, you and Max were tied in points so for fans it was like Abu Dhabi 2021 all over again. Max was starting P1 and you were starting P2, you’d overtaken him down the straight having better straight line speed than his car did. You were practically flying round the track, Max chugging along behind you eventually setting the fastest lap, and you just knew the cheer from the crowd would have been phenomenal if you could hear it.

After great strategy from Ferrari you ended up winning that race, along with the Championship. Getting out the car was a feeling like no other, you bend down by the wheel of your car, tears streaming out your eyes and dripping on the still closed visor as your knees give out from a tricky and hot race as you sob.

You run over to the Ferrari team, them all pulling you into hugs along with Charles and his girlfriend who looks so excited to celebrated with you.

“OMG” you cried into Fred’s arms. What surprised you the mot was a tap on your back and a blue race suit. You were silent looking at Max.

“Congratulations” he says and tears are still in your eyes. You just nod at him politely.

“Please Y/N I’m so sorry, I - you deserve the seat and the championship. You’ve done so well this year and I’m so proud of you” he smiles and more tears flood your eyes. All you’d wanted to hear was those words.

“Do you ever think you could forgive me, because I love you Y/N and I cannot loose you” he says tears brimming his own eyes.

“I forgave you a long time ago Max, this was all really stupid” you smile at him. Before your team I pulling you away to get you to the podium.

“After the podium, come meet me at the bay, 3rd yacht along… okay I have to tell you something” he shouts after you and you nod grinning.

“What happened on that boat Max?” The interviewer asks.

“That’s for me to know and no-one to ever find out …” he smirks before laughing and giving you as kiss on the cheek as you come back into the room.

“Y/N?”

“Mmmmm I’m with Max, but let’s just say … we rekindled” you laugh and the cameras cut out the documentary ended.

“So you guys are obviously together … what changed?” She asks off camera curiosity getting the best of her.

“We worked out that we had feeling for each other for a very very long time before the fight!” You answer and well, that was that.

Taglist:

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caruliaa · 2 years ago

Text

can be rly petty and vauge post abt some mutual in laws who i have had long standing issues with but that i told myself i would leave firmly in last year but here we are. in my defence its not abt them specifcally and more abt an issue in fandom spaces in general they perpetuated.

#ill make it a seperate post so its not linked to me vuage posting them but also like. when i post it i feel like u guys will b like #yea wtf bc like. yea wtf !!! like everything else w them iv been like. fine whatever ig ill get over it but this has still been like.#utterly insane that you chose this to be the most intense hill you die on. like at best who gives a shit at worst you are indistinguishable #from ppl who have issues with that due to being actually bigoeted. bc they also use the exact same arguments #but ig its worth it to feel superior over others over a nick cartoon huh !!!!#okay sorry ill calm down. like i said i wanna leave that shit in last year #but i do hope (bc theyre mutual in laws via mannyy ppl) ppl who were like. passivly on their side when that was a big thing on their blog #see that post and r like hmm that was acutally pretty messed up. bc like it was !!! like when i lay it out plainly it was and it is !!#flappy rambles #edit: no longer calling it petty that was such like. gross shit being so mean and having a superority complex over something like that #even if i dont want to focus on those two in paticualr its something that in general deserves 2 b called out

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miley1442111 · 10 months ago

Text

the problem with arguing

a/n: Hi, this is my first story, any constructive criticism is welcomed. This had not been properly edited nor read through because icba lmao :) also I wrote it for a fem!reader but I don't think there's much mention other than Jack calling reader 'mom' so... yeah :)

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader, platonic BAUteam x reader, motherly(If that's a word?)reader x teen!jack hotchner

summary: aaron and you are in a fight, but what happens when a meeting with a witness goes south?

warnings: criminal minds levels of violence, angst, fluff, couple fighting, reader in distress, reader getting injured, mentions of knives, mentions of being stabbed, mentions of being tied up, mentions of hospitals, mentions of killing, mentions of general injury, mentions of guns/shooting, minimal use of y/n.

1.6k + words.

“We’re here, we’ll update you if anything comes of it,” Morgan promises Hotch over the phone as we walk to the front porch of one of our witnesses. Something about his story is messed up and we were the unlucky ones who had to go talk to him. It’s a pretty house I guess, a little expensive for what a 26 year old man could afford, and what he would want to buy. It’s all fifties style, the entire estate is. Big-enough bungalows with pastel walls and inviting doors with a small porch, just enough for the entry-way and a chair. I knock on the door, exhausted from the past 72 hours. Aaron and I got in a fight before we got to Ohio, it was unnecessary, but we fought all the same. He was mad at me for giving Jack advice that led to a fight between them. I just wanted to kiss and make up 3 days ago but he won’t budge. Maybe it’s because he knows I’m right and doesn’t want to confront it or maybe it’s because I took it too far and overstepped. Jack calls me ‘mom’, I live with him, and Jack came to me for support, he wanted guidance and I gave him it. He was mad at his dad because he missed meeting his girlfriend. His girlfriend, Ava, was a lovely girl, I had been the one there when Jack brought her over for dinner, I was the one trying to suss out if they actually liked each other, and I was the one Jack sat down with for 2 hours after and told everything about her to. All because Aaron was too busy with paperwork in his study. Jack was hurt, which is difficult to do because he’s such an understanding 16 year-old boy. It was also hard because I saw both sides. I’ll be the first to admit that what Aaron did was wrong, but our job is hard and demanding, especially his since he’s the leader of our team… But Jack just wanted 2 hours of his time, not even, just a dinner. A dinner to meet his girlfriend, and Aaron still couldn’t make it.

I knock again as I huff.

“Everything alright?” Morgan asks, the regular playful glint in his eye.

“Tired, mad, over this job. You?” I sigh.

“Sounds about right,” He chuckles. “How’s Jack doing?”

A smile spreads across my face. “He has a girlfriend,” Morgan’s face lights up in a smile.

“My man,” He smirks and I chuckle. “You two met her yet?”

My face drops again. “I have, Aaron… couldn’t make it to the dinner though. She’s lovely, perfect for Jack. It's so funny, it’s just opposites attract. Jack is so sporty and outspoken and she’s one of the quieter, more into her studies kind of person.”

The door swings open and we’re met with David, our witness.

“You two know what time it is?” He yawns.

“Oh trust us, we know,” Morgan sighs. “Can we ask you a few more questions?”

“It’s 10pm at night? Can’t this wait ‘till the morning?”

“It’ll only take a few minutes,” I reassure.

He looks between us for a moment, then sighs. “Quickly.”

We walk inside and are immediately hit with an awful smell. I know that smell. That’s when I see it, a body.

And that’s when it all goes black.

I wake up in a new room, tied to a chair. I don’t see Derrick anywhere. I don’t see David anywhere. I’m all alone in this grey room. I don’t see a door but I notice a camera, and a screen in front of me. I see Penelope on the screen, then a sign above it with “Don’t make noise” scribbled. I look to my left and see a plastic window, I see Morgan through it, tied up too. He sees me.

“Y/n? Y/n?! Where are you?” Penelope squeals. I shake my head and she picks up her phone and tries calling mine, it rings and I feel something go into my side. I scream out in pain as I see the blood start trickling out of me. Penelope drops her phone, then picks it up, dialling someone else’s number.

I get switched to a joint call with Penelope, and the rest of the team, excluding Aaron.

“Y/n?” Spencer asks and I nod, sobbing in pain. Spencer runs off-screen, leaving Jj and Emily to stare in horror at me.

Spencer comes back with Aaron and we make eye-contact through the screen, and he starts breaking. He’s shouting orders at the policemen in the precinct, he’s shouting orders at the team, and he’s trying not to cry. I know that. I also know I’m the only one who knows that. He hides it pretty well but not from me, not after all of our years together. His eyes squint, his eyebrows furrow more than usual, he starts biting at the skin around his nails.

“We’re coming to find you. We will find you,” he promises me. I nod slowly as the pain in my side becomes unbearable as the knife is pulled out.

“Is Morgan with you?” Emily asks and I nod as I bite my lip until it bleeds to stop myself from making too much noise.

“Is he in the room with you?” Spencer asks.

I shake my head no. After what feels like an eternity of yes or no questions, they think they’ve located us.I hear banging on the door and then it opens. Spencer is standing there with an entire Swat team behind him. I shake my head to tell them to not make noise but they talk anyway and another knife is put into my leg, I don’t have the strength to stay quiet this time and another finds its way into my arm. I pass out.

I wake up in a hospital bed, an IV in my arm, Aaron on one side and Jack on the other. Aaron’s asleep in a chair on my left, I grimace, knowing his back will hurt.

“Mom?!” Jack exclaims as he sees me open my eyes. “Mom!” His eyes fill with tears as he gets up and wraps his arms around me on the bed.

“Jack,” I sigh in relief.

“You’re okay! You’re awake!” He smiles brightly, happy that I’m alive.

Aaron wakes up from the commotion and rushes to my side. “Honey?” He takes my hand and squeezes. “You’re okay.”

I smile at both of them.

“I’ll go get the doctor,” Jack smiles and he rushes off to find a doctor.

“Honey I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have-” He starts but I cut him off.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he sighs, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Don’t go all soft now Aaron,” I joke.

“You make me soft,” He smiles and presses a soft kiss to my cheek.

Jack comes back in with a doctor. She tells me that I lost a lot of blood and that I will be out of the field for a few months, with 2 weeks of mandatory bedrest, then 4 weeks of physical therapy.

The next day, the team come in to visit.

“Hey,” Spencer smiles, walking in first. I’ve always been close to Spencer, he’s always felt like a little brother to me.

“Hey,” I smile and wince when I hug him, but I know it’s worth it. The rest of the team filter in, smiles on their faces.“So what happened after I went out?”

“Well, they got me, no injuries apart from a concussion,” Morgan says.

“We got the guy-” Emily starts.

“Aaron got the guy,” Spencer interrupts. “He saw him and just shot him-”

“And then he beat the crap out of him,” Jj says. “It was pretty intense.”

I nod along as they tell me the story, and then we just talk about whatever until Aaron comes in and says visiting hours are over. Spencer leaves me a few more books to read and Jj brings Jack to Ava’s house for the night. Aaron walks in with my dinner on a tray.

“Hungry?” He smiles.

“You shot someone for me?” I ask as he places my tray down.

“Yes.”

I roll my eyes and smile at him. “Is he alive?”

“No.”

My face drops. “Oh.”

“It was the combined bleeding and head trauma that killed him.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I did.”

I look at my food. “I understand you wanted to protect me-”

“I did that because he doesn’t get to live after doing this to you. Honey, you and Jack are the most important people in my life and I would do anything if it meant that you were safe and sound. Do you want to know how it felt to have what could’ve been my last words to you be ‘stop bothering me’? I was an asshole to you over the Jack situation because I knew you were right. I knew it wasn’t fair to not go to dinner when I was in the house. I knew it was important and it just felt too real. It felt like he was growing up and I just couldn’t take it because I missed so much of his childhood! So I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry that I said everything I said and did what I did, but I am not sorry about hurting that fucking monster,” He takes a deep breath. “Now eat up, it’ll go cold.”

“I love you Aaron, it’s ok. It wasn’t your fault, being a parents is hard.”

His eyes fill with tears and he looks at me like an injured puppy.

“Come here,” I smile and move over, allowing room for him to sit with me. He climbs into bed beside me and wraps his arms around me, being careful of my wounds.

“I love you,” he whispers as I slowly eat my food.

“I love you too.”

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rae-writes · 4 months ago

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⊹ Candles [reversed] ⊹

since it's my birthday, I wanted to do a little special self-indulgence, so here's this! || 2.k || written with poly!Mc in mind + our son Luke

4 am

Early in the morning, before the faux light has even spread across the Devildom, Mammon is in your bed. He’s pushed his way through your door, half asleep himself, stumbled over and climbed underneath your covers (that he swears are softer than his), and has pulled you into his arms.

Every year, he insists on being the first person to wish you a Happy Birthday, and if not that, then the first who gets to tell you in person— so he's found that coming to your room before the day even begins gets him his title of ‘first’ and gives him alone time with you.

It’s much too early to be awake right now, so he’s content with falling back to sleep with you. His body is in complete contact with yours and he sleepily swears not to let go because he loves you too much.

5 am

An hour later, or maybe even less than, Asmo comes to sneak you from his brother’s grasp, gently hauling your barely conscious frame to his room. He wants you to keep getting as much beauty sleep as you can, but he still wants to start getting you ready for your big day!

Of course, Azzy’s been planning this for weeks, so he has everything prepared and laid out. His alone time with you consists of him lowering you into the steaming bath and massaging you well, scrubbing your hair and body until you’re squeaky clean and practically shining, before toweling you off and dressing you in the clothes he’d set aside.

Your skin care is done and your hair is fixed flawlessly, nails cut, filed, and painted; everything is all done up by the man himself and he tops it all off with excited kisses and pictures now that you’re [mostly] awake.

6 am

After you’re ready for the day, Lucifer takes over and hides you away in his study, selfishly holding you on his lap as you both drink coffee to get properly started. The drink is as bitter as ever, lips glossy with the remnants of it as you both chat quietly.

He’s your soft start to the day, the calm before the lovable chaos, and the first born makes sure to whisper sweet words alongside the comforting crackle of the fireplace. His hour of alone time is lazy and physical, because he can’t go more than a few seconds without running his gloved hands over you.

If anything, he’s unwilling to let you go, but Lucifer knows it would throw a wrench into the day’s layout and cause more fuss than necessary— plus, he has some things to do before tonight, so he’ll let you go with a slow kiss.

7 am

You’re handed over into Beelzebub’s capable hands, ensured to be served with a filling breakfast. He’s more than excited to show you what he, personally, cooked for you (even if there are just a few bites out of some of it). His cheeks are stuffed and a cute little smile is spread across his cheeks as he points to all the things on your plate.

When your plate is spotless, and your tummy is full but not too full, Beel guides you on a small little walk around the house corridors to make sure you digest properly. He’s still eating, of course, but his pleased hums are filling the air comfortably, making for a nice atmosphere.

Your little walk ends at the entrance hall, where he bids you goodbye with a cozy little hug, and a promise that you’ll love every second of your special day.

8 am

With a hand at the small of your back, Satan leads you out of the house and straight to a bookstore, wanting to keep a slow start to the long day. With it having just opened, only the two of you and a few others are inside, giving plenty of room to stroll and browse (and goof around).

He points out things you’ve had your eye on, new editions that weren’t there the previous visit, or special copies that were for limited time. The fourth born wants at least two books in your hand and a little collectible maybe- or a bookmark. Can’t have too many.

Once he’s spoiled you a little, and after you’ve both pet the local cats outside, he’s reluctantly handing you over with a lingering kiss to your hand, and a promise to read one of your books together soon.

9 am

Levi took his place, fingers lacing with yours, as he raved about a nearby anime store, gushing over the items he saw online that reminded him of you. By the time you get there, you know every section that’s going to be inside, yet it’s still exciting as you get pulled in.

You both get lost in the cool merch, having to wave your hands over the stands or jump in place to find each other occasionally, but end up staying side by side for the most part, whisper-shouting with big smiles.

Leaving the store, there is a pretty good sized bag on your and his arm, but he couldn’t be more thrilled about the lightness of his wallet since he got to spend money on you. He takes your bag, and your previous bag, in a promise to tuck them safely in your room, before giving you a location.

10 am

Waiting for you outside of a small little amusement park is Diavolo, who is positively beaming in anticipation. He’s already got two colorful wristbands in hand, which he latches around your wrist, and lets you do the same to him, before heading inside.

There are rides of all kinds and he lets you choose each one of them, pointing out ones he thinks you’ll like as you pass. You play a few booth games, getting a pretty flame salamander plushie as a prize, or totally failing and having a good laugh.

His only request is the photo booth, which you both do two different times, to get a silly border and a normal border. He pouts a little as he walks you out, assuring you’d see him later, before leading you a few blocks back into the townsquare.

11 am

For lunch, Simeon takes you off the paths and to a somewhat secluded gazebo, where a sweet little picnic was spread out; celestial realm dishes were rationed onto baby blue plates, two shiny cups on either side, with polished silverware.

The breeze is just right as the two of you eat, chatting and sitting closer than usual. Butterflies go by, and your eyes follow, as you both take turns pointing out different kinds you see and what flowers they seem to like better.

You take your time neatly packing everything up, fingers brushing and shoulders bumping, before he parts with a, dare you say it, angelic kiss to your forehead.

12 pm

Luke, naturally, is in charge of dessert, promising a light, yet satisfying, treat as he leads you down the sidewalk and into a cute looking bakery. He wants you to save room for the many things that were cooked and baked for your party, so he gets a little pile of oreo balls and other small things like that.

He holds nothing back as he tells you how happy he is to be spending your birthday with you, how he’s so very glad he met you, and anything else along those lines. He has to get them all out now, just in case he doesn’t get the chance to later!

The sweet angel is nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet as he leads you to your next location, waving excitedly as he promises to help make your party one of a kind.

1 pm

You’re actually given to Raphael next, who’s standing outside of a library with that barely perceptible smile on his face. He explains that he wanted somewhere quiet and cozy to wind down with you, suggesting that you shouldn’t do too much before the big celebration.

The very back corner of the library becomes yours for now, complete with a pretty view of swaying trees. The archangel almost shyly asks if you’d sit closer, loosely holding your hand as he begins reading to you.

He stalls a bit at the end, toying with your fingers, before telling you that he’ll see you later…but he’d like to do this again, sometime, okay?

2 pm

Hocus Pocus becomes your next destination, Solomon wasting no time in wrapping an arm around you as you browse the store. It’s slow and unhurried and drawn out as he talks about certain items, explaining a few origins, and listens to how your day’s been so far.

He dabbles a bit in glittery, washable, body paint, joyously painting random shapes onto your skin (even rolling his sleeves up so you could return the favor). The sorcerer makes it a point to paint his name along your wrist, taking a picture of it, before helping you wash it all off.

With a quick spell, he takes away any aching your feet might have, or any sort of headache, teasingly kissing at your jaw, before wagging his fingers as he teleports you somewhere new.

3 pm

A familiar shade of gold greets you as you're sent sprawling out onto the Castle’s floors. Barbatos chuckles and chides Solomon’s delivery as he helps you up, dusting you off gently. He makes sure you’re alright, boldly carrying you anyway, regardless of your answer.

A soothing, palate cleansing, tea spread is set out on the table as he settles you into the chair, pouring it as delicately as ever, before joining you. Instead of adjacent, he sits beside you, eagerly listening to anything you have to say.

He may or may not cheat time, prolonging his alone time with you just a little, unwilling to let you go now that you both finally have a minute together. He does have much to get done still, however, and with a [deep] kiss, he politely escorts you through one of his portals.

4 pm

In the heart of the forest, amongst a wave of flowers, lies Belphie. He’s not asleep, but it’s clear he’s just woken up, as he gestures for you to come lay down, offering a peaceful break.

Instead of star gazing like usual, he settles for cloud gazing, lazily pointing up and whispering descriptions here and there. It’s serene and quiet and, in his opinion, the perfect way to kill time.

While he doesn’t want to get up, he does at least hug you and nuzzle close in a send off, watching you go, before flopping back down.

5 pm

Mephisto is more than ready, and honored, to be the one escorting you to your big birthday bash. He takes you on the long path through the forest, deciding that if the others got time alone, surely he could have his own slot, too.

He keeps close, talking about daily matters, continuing to take small detours as you both make your way through the Devildom. His eyes don’t leave your face much at all as he basks in the moment.

With a grand, flourishing gesture, he officially announces your arrival, and presents you to your birthday party!

6 pm

Confetti, balloons, changing led lights, and glitter are everywhere. There’s a long table with many presents littering the surface, and another one next to it with small party snacks and desserts. Music plays faint in the background, not really needed over the fun and chaos that comes from the party games picked out, or from the karaoke.

When the time comes, a cake as astonishing as the previous ones is brought out and magically lit up prettily. Voices harmonize as they all sing you happy birthday , none being able to fight the smile on their faces, but…you couldn’t either.

And as you circled around the cake, blowing out each of your candles, you wished for what you did every year since coming here: to always be able to stay with your boys.

With cake and presents over, it delves into more chaos as they all argue over a) who you’re going home with tonight (and that it would be no fair if Mephisto took you, since he’d have you alone), and b) if you went home with a group, who’s room you would be staying in (Solomon taunted Mammon so much, you swore he’d blow a gasket).

Oh, yeah. You loved them to death.

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simpee9000 · 6 months ago

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Not Just Friends - 5 -

M.List : Prologue : Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Not edited : 10k words !!!

Childhood best friends turned into something more, at least with the label. Katsuki Bakugo, a fast-rising hero and fast-learning guy who is ever so slow in getting attached to and loving someone. Even three long years into a relationship, and your friends even forget you're even dating. Nothing happening, spare a few kisses.. like 3 kisses, during high school. Graduated and living together, and you guys have done absolutely nothing to further the relationship. Are you sure you're not just friends? CW: Smut, brief domestic violence discussion, virginity loss, aggressive flirting from creeps, gore with pro hero stuff (lmk if i missed any) Applies to all chapters regardless of it is in said chapter.

Katsuki and his closest friend decided to make a tradition of camping during the summer. The group mainly just inviting themselves in on his hiking trips and making it a bigger deal. You remember at first that he looked at you for help, only finding that you were already discussing with Mina about sharing a tent. You and the girls all shared a tent that year, in celebration of graduation.

But now, only a year later, the tradition stuck. It was beginning of August and the group of you were all getting packed. Preparing to meet at the camping site at separate times due to schedule errors. It was a small campground in all, you only knew of it if a local told you, so you had no idea how Katsuki got on the good side of a local, but he did. It was barely in service, just enough for phone calls, but Katsuki had a strict no phone rule.

Despite him being a grump about everything, the campground is beautiful, a lake in the middle of it all but surrounded by many different hiking routes. You were excited to spend this camping trip next him rather than the girls, curious about all the ins-and-outs of this campground.

You often tagged along next to him for his hikes, it was the main way you guys spent your off days. He always needed something to do, and you wanted to be near him, so you followed.

It created countless stories between you two, either inside jokes about one falling over a tree or just the deep conversations you shared as you hiked the trail.

After the hour drive out of the city, you were met with the lush campgrounds. It was just as breathtaking as last year. Just being in view of it, lifted a weight off your shoulders. It felt like you could breathe better overall.

The two of you were the first ones there. Arriving just before sunset. The rest of the group said they'd be here soon. You attempted to convince Katsuki to wait so you could share a ride with Kirishima and Mina, but he was too impatient.

Once your foot was out of the car, Katsuki started handing you things to set up. Giving you some of the tents he brought and to place them near the already made fire pit. He brought most of the camping supplies for the group, everyone else would just have to bring the things that they wanted.

You decided to wait to put up the tents until others got here, unsure of the pairing. So you and Katsuki got to work on putting up the fold up tables and some chairs out. Grabbing the ice chest filled of your food and setting it near the camp fire, which Katsuki quickly had going. Thankfully the campsite sold firewood, so you had no worries of running out.

The rumble of Kirishima's super duty truck made you turn you're head. Soon enough Mina barreled out of the truck and came running to you.

"Hi," she squeeze you into a hug, "Haven't seen you since the party!" You squeezed her back, it has been a while since you've seen her, the party was almost a month ago.

"Of course you guys show up after we finish setting everything up," Katsuki grumbled, dragging his feet as he walked to Kirishima's truck to help grab ice chests.

Kirishima gave a cheeky smile, rubbing the back of his neck, "Sorry man, I'm free to help now though."

"Whatever," Katsuki scoffed.

Kirishima gave you a wave, "Anything I can help with?"

You looked around, finally pushing Mina away from the hug, "We haven't set up any tents, so maybe that? I just don't know who's sharing and stuff yet."

Kirishima and Mina shared a quick glance, turning a shy red in their cheeks. "Well," Mina dragged out, "E and I are sharing, Bakugo and you are sharing, so we can start there."

"Wait," you paused them confused, embarrassed about sharing a tent with Katsuki.

"Huh?" Kirishima turned towards the tents laying on the ground, "Denki and Sero can share, I doubt they mind. They can set up another if hey have that big of an issue."

"We only packed three air mattresses," you pointed out.

"They've shared a bed before, it's fine. They're bros," Kirishima shrugged. He wasn't getting the point. You looked to find were Katsuki went and saw him grabbing stuff from Kirishima's truck, not having heard a lick of the conversation.

By the time you look back over to Kirishima, him and Mina were already off to the side of the campsite and setting up their tent. Mina struggling to stand as she laughed, hitting Kirishima with the tent pole constantly.

It was enduring to see them mess around, especially since they were finally getting ahold of their relationship. Both of them have been struggling with a label since the second year.

You looked back at Katsuki, who grabbed all he needed from the truck and was now crouched and working on the fire again. You walked over to stand next to him, bumping his shoulder lightly with your hip to get his attention, "We needa set up our tent."

He scrunched his eye brows, looking over to were the tent were then to were Kirishima was. "They sharing?" he nodded his head in their direction. You hummed, rocking on the ball of your feet, stuffing your hands in your pockets. This felt odd.

" Okay," he stood up, brushing the remains of wood of his hands. You stepped away slightly, giving him room to stand without bumping into you. "Where do ya' want it?"

You looked around the campsite. It was quite big, plenty of space for anything. Trees lined the dirt center that was meant for parking cars and the rest of the camping supplies. Where the trees lined the dirt, there was plenty of open grass plots for a tent. Kirishima and Mina already taking one of the grass plots near the cars. So you walked to the other side, leaving the ones in the middle for the boys to chose.

Katsuki picked up the tent and followed you, dropping the tent bag where you stopped. It was quite the distance from the cars so you would have to move the car briefly so you could blow up the air mattress.

You went to unzip the bag, handing Katsuki the poles to connect together while you pulled out the actual tent to space out. Switching jobs so he could anker it to the ground. You quickly saw why Mina was laughing so hard. The pole you were connecting broke apart in one spot and swung to hit Katsuki in the back of the head.

He wiped his head around, "The fuck?" he barked at you. You hunched over laughing, his face was so mad, it was as if you took a dogs bone. "Asshat," he grumbled, turning to finish the last anker. Before snatching the pole from your hand and threading it through the tent. Ordering you to help connect it on the other side despite you still laughing slightly at him.

The two of you did the other side without much issue, putting the rain cover up as well as threading the pole over the door to keep it steady. He quickly trudged off to bring the car. Mina joining your side as you two watched Katsuki set up the air mattress. "I hate tents," she grumbled.

You looked at her tent, seeing it messily set up, all their stuff being thrown in as well, fully set up. "Why?" you asked.

"Can't really make noise if y'know what I mean," she wiggled her brows, nudging her arm into yours.

"I better not hear that," you made a face of disgust.

"Same to you," Mina laughed, "Though I am curious as t-"

"Don't," you raised your hand to stop her, "I don't even want to know."

Katsuki called you over to the tent, currently fighting with the air mattress.

"What even happened?" you laughed the second you peaked inside the tent, he was currently struggling to get the air pump connected to the air mattress.

"Can't find the hole," he sighed frustrated.

Mina erupted into laughter, "That's what she said!"

You stifled a laugh, moving Katsuki to the side as you pushed the mattress into a better angle. Getting the mattress blown up easily. Katsuki getting out of the tent to place the bedding and your guys stuff in the tent to the side. It was a large tent, plenty of space for you to stand up straight, Katsuki only had to slouch slightly to not hit his head in the middle.

He moved the car and left you to set up the bedding once the mattress was fully inflated it. Knowing it go cold at night you threw a large open sleeping bag over the top of the mattress to sleep on top of, knowing that the air mattress would be insanely cold otherwise. Just throwing your pillows at the end of the bed and then half-assly throwing heavy blankets on top before shuffling out of the tent, hearing Sero and Denki pull up, music blasting.

Katsuki was instantly barking orders at them.

"Chill man, we brought the booze," Denki laughed, opening the truck and pulling out a cooler, Sero doing the same.

"How fucking much are you planning to drink?" Katsuki went wide eyed at the two full coolers of booze.

"We'll probably have to buy more," Sero shrugged.

"Huh? How?" Katsuki looked dumb founded.

"I mean," Sero pointed and count the group, "there six of us, five of us wanting to get drunk nightly this weekend. We all need to drink a lot to get drunk as well."

Katsuki whiped his head to you, "You drinkin'?"

You shrugged, "I mean yeah- wait Sero?"

"Yeah?" he looked up from where he was fishing a beer out of the cooler.

"Did you pack my wine?" you stepped closer to him.

"In the car," he nodded towards the car. You quickly skipping over and grabbing a bottle to drink for the night. Katsuki was busy yelling at everyone to watch how much they drunk, they still had work monday.

Mina groaned at him, lulling her head over to you, "Can you get the stick out of his ass? He's acting like he hasn't been laid in years."

Your face flushed but you laughed to cover it, "I think it's too far up there for me to help."

"Fuck off," he barked at the two of you, causing you to laugh harder.

The group was standing around the fire, Katsuki making sure it stayed steady. Once you got the wine bottle open you joined them, taking the seat next to Katsuki, stretching your legs onto his arm rest of the chair, knowing he wouldn't mind.

"Y'know, sometimes I forget you two are dating," Denki point at finger between you and Katsuki, that same hand also bringing a beer up to his mouth to take a swig. "I only remember when you do shit like that," he gestured to your legs.

"What do you mean?" you tilted your head.

"Well he'd kill anyone else for that," Denki shrugged.

"Ah yes, you bagged quite a man, one that'd kill some one from breathing wrong," Mina laughed at you.

You flushed, embarrassed that even the ones closest to you barely saw the relationship. You looked over to see how Katsuki took the joke, seeing him staring intently at the fire. Poking at it with a fire stick.

"What's our plan for tomorrow?" you looked around the group, taking a sip of wine straight from the bottle. Wanting to skip past any talk about your relationship.

"I'm going for a hike," Katsuki said, setting down the fire stick and leaning into his chair, arms cross.

"Okay," you dragged out, seeing if anyone would add their plans. When no one added you continued, "So Kats and I are going for a hike in the morning, then we'll be back and we can all go to the lake?" you suggested.

"Sounds good, I would go with but I need sleep, works been rough," Kirishima sent an apology to Katsuki, only to be shrugged off.

"Have you been taking better care of your support gear?" you nagged at him, annoyed about the amount of times you've fixed it just this month.

"Yes mom," he groaned.

"Oh shut your mouth," you scolded. The group laughed at your bickering with Kirishima.

The group quickly fell into an banter, all thankful they got the weekend off from hero work. Glad they could escape out of the city. It was refreshing. The view of the camp ground and their faces. They looked a least a little more carefree than normal. Tonight was the calm of the camping trip, tomorrow night would be all chatter and drunk games. It was only Friday night and you guys would be staying till Sunday, with work on Monday. It was a short get away but it was all the agencies could agree too. Everyone already ate their meals during the drive here, so all that was to do was set up.

By the time the fire was out, Sero and Denki still hadn't put their tent up. They'd have to do it drunk and in the dark. Katsuki was already well past tired and demanded to get up early, so you couldn't join them. So you had Kirishima promise to watch for them.

With the rest of the group taken care of, you and Katsuki walked off into your tent. Well he walked, you stumbled and grabbed onto his arm, drunk from drinking the whole wine bottle. He unzipped the door of the tent, holding it open for you and closing it behind himself.

"What side y'want?" Katsuki huffed, reaching for his backpack.

You looked at the options for a moment, "The one near the tent wall, I don't wanna be by the door."

"Ight," he was still digging through his bag. You walked over to your side, just about to sit down before he yelled at you, "The fuck y'doing? Change your clothes, I don't want our bed to smell like wine and campfire."

"But you literally smell like a campfire," you pointed out, "And I don't smell like wine."

"I saw you spill it over yourself, and I don't care. Change," he ordered.

"How am I supposed to change with you in here," you grumbled back at him.

"I'll turn around and so will you," he pointed out blandly.

So after grabbing your pjs, you both turned around and changed. You felt the urge to turn and catch a look but you knew that it'd be all you thought of. You laughed slightly to yourself, amused that you've been dating for three years but have yet to change near each other.

"What?"

Your head almost spun to look at him, but you remembered before you did, "Nothin."

"Why'd you laugh?" he asked differently.

You sighed, " Just the fact we are turned away from each other right now," you shrugged your pj shirt over your head, unhooking your bra from underneath it, just in case.

"Want to watch me get naked?" he teased.

A hot wave flashed through you, "Shuddup," you coughed out after a moment. Quickly putting on your sleep shorts. "You done yet?"

"Have been for a minute," he replied. With the okay to turn around, you quickly climbed into bed. Only then did it sink in that you'd be sharing a bed for the first time. Seeing him lift the covers and joined you excited you. It was a first, and it was thrilling, even if it was just sleep.

"Y'know," you moved closer to where he got comfortable, "We've never shared a bed."

"I'm aware," he peered down at you. He had his head rested on the pillow, arms above his head as he laid on his hands.

"It's weird," you whispered, like you were admitting a secret. You moved yourself to lay onto your stomach, propping yourself up with your arms.

"How?" he asked softly, matching your tone. He adjusted himself, getting into a better position to look at you. Even in the dark, you could see his vibrant red eyes peering at you.

"Like," you looked away from him, overwhelm, picking at the blanket that was over your shoulders, "Feels different, we live together but we don't share a bed, but now we are. Feels like a new step without the other foundations in a way."

"What other foundations would we need?"

"Well none I guess, but we didn't choose this one fully," you shrugged.

"I knew we were going to share, did you not?" he nudged your calf with his leg, grabbing your attention.

"Not really, I'm happy we are, just," you paused, "I don't know."

You heard Denki and Sero laughing from their tent, clearly in a struggle to set it up.

"I get it," Katsuki said after a moment, "Feels like we are doing things in a weird order."

"Yeah," you yawned.

"Go to bed," he order softly.

"Goodnight," you muttered, plopping your head onto your pillow.

"Night."

---

Katsuki woke you up just before sunrise, slightly shaking your arm till you woke up. He already has his hiking bag made, filled with stuff for the both of you. Shoving you a granola bar and a protein shake before he left you to change.

After slipping into some pants, aware of the brisk mornings. Katsuki having warned you while you packed. With your legs warm, you threw on a tank-top with a hoodie over it. Tying your shoes before fighting your way out of the tent, meeting Katsuki at the end of the campsite road.

"Finally," he immediately stepped off, following the tree line. Having you jog slightly to catch up to him.

"Do you sleep okay?" you questioned, worried you kicked him or something in your sleep.

"Yeah," he replied. Well, at least he didn't sleep bad. "You?" he looked over at you briefly, before looking back up, turning into a trail that went out of the main camping area.

"Yep, best in a while actually," you followed him.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, trailing through the forest. The trail seemed like it faded in and out, clearly not used often enough to keep a path.

Leaves brushed past your pants as you walked through, following each step he made, keeping up with his steady pace. He often looked back to make sure you were still behind him before he made a turn slightly off path, getting yourselves deeper into the forest. It was a steady up hill for the most part, up until you hit a rocky area with a steady climb.

Katsuki easily jumped up the first step, even with it at waist height, reaching down a hand to help pull you up. He let you walk in front of him from then on, just pointing you towards where to go. Letting you climb up the slight rocks, prepared to catch you if you fell, even if it wasn't higher than five or so feet. Soon enough you were standing taller than the rest of the camp, being able to see the lake and even our campsite from the top of the rocks you climb.

"This is," you let out a breath, "wow."

"See, if you didn't get wasted last time I could of shown you then," he reminded.

You ignored him, watching how the sky was slowly gaining color from the sunrise, a faint pink and orange hue barely kissy the horizon.

"This isn't even the best part," he tugged on your arm, lightly dragging you away from the cliff edge. He went in the opposite direction from the cliff, walking through the small forest that coated the top of the rocky mountain you were on. He held unto your hand until you heard the faint noise of running water. Pulling you in front of him as he guided you to the small pond that ran off the cliff edge and into a small creek.

"Why didn't you drag me with last time," you slapped his arm lightly, walking over to the water, crouching down to feel the water. It was freezing.

"You were bitchin'," he shrugged. Setting his backpack down near a tree.

You started untying your shoes, taking them off along with your socks. On a whim deciding to unbutton your pants.

"What are you doing?" he hissed. You turned your head toward him, his face was flushed as he looked away.

"I'm getting in," you shrugged.

"You're wearing a swimsuit?" he looked back over, still red in the face.

"Nah," you pushed your pants down, "I just wear my underwear, it'll dry."

"It's fucking freezing in that water," he pointed out, looking away once again.

"Scared to join?" you teased, folding your pants and setting them on top of your shoes, doing the same with your hoodie and tank top.

"Oh fuck you," he groaned. Not wanting to back out on a challenge, he tugged his shirt and pants off quickly, leaving them on a rock near his shoes. Joining you just as you started stepping into the water.

You flinched at the temperature but forced yourself to fully get in, letting the water reach your shoulders. Hair tied up to stay dry. Katsuki was by your side after a minute.

It was funny to think that last night you changed facing away from each other, but now you were only clad in underwear and in a random pond. It wasn't a first to be around each other in underwear, you've lived together for a little over a year after all.

"Water's not too bad," you commented.

He shot you a glare, "I hate the cold."

"Ice baths are good for you though, lots of health benefits," you chimed, knowing he hated being told something he hated was good.

"Fuck em," he grunted. He let his face fall into a pout as he stared at the water as if it was his enemy. His arms crossed to hold in any warmth. Butterflies filled your stomach as you looked over his feature. He was made but he looked soft. The worries of the hero world gone, if only for a moment. He looked back up at you, "What?" he bit out.

"Nothin'," you shook your head, "Cold?"

"Obviously," he rolled his eyes.

You stepped closer to him, having stuck at arms length from him. "Hug?" you offered.

"How will that help?" he coughed.

"I don't know, body heat?" you stepped closer.

"But you're fucking freezing too," he pointed out.

"Come on, Kats," you held out your arms for him. With a pout of your lip, he groaned and stepped into your arms. Wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you towards him. "See, not to bad," you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He nudged his head into your shoulder, "Shuddup." The tips of his ears stayed red from his blush, the heat from his face warming your neck. "Your warm," he muttered, pulling you impossibly closer, his watch scratching your back lightly.

You scratched at his hair, letting your hands play with the strands at the nape of his neck as you looked around. Soaking in the moment. The sky was slowly waking up, the orange and pinks that were barely visible before, took up the entire sky. A steady blue warming in as well. Katsuki let his shoulders sag into your touch as he pulled his face away, catching your attention.

"You're beautiful," he mumbled, embarrassed as he let his eyes track over your face.

"What's up with you?" you laughed shyly, "All boyfriendy recently."

"Just getting used to things more I guess," his voice was soft, but rough from his daily screaming matches with the boys.

"Took three years?" you pointed out. Watching his eyes as he looked over yours.

"You said I can do what I want right?" he asked, referencing your words from the other week when he kissed you for the first time since graduation.

You flushed, "I did."

He looked over your features again before his eyes fell to your lips. Letting his hand unhook from your waist and gently cup your cheek, just as it had that night. He admired your features for a while, letting his thumb barely trace your bottom lip before he leaned in himself. Letting himself fall into the kiss.

You tilted you head and pushed into your toes, letting yourself get impossible closer to him. Letting your body curve into his, fit alongside his perfectly. You let your hands hold unto his hair, pushing him deeper into him. Grasping onto his hair when you felt his tongue trail alongside your bottom lip. You're mouth falling open, begging him to continue the kiss.

Whining when he pulled away, out of breath and eyes lidded. "You're fine with this?" he asked hoarsely brows still furrowed from how he kissed you.

You just tugged him closer to you in response, locking your lips against his. Luckily, he quickly ran his tongue over your lip again, letting it slide into your mouth slowly. The kiss left a buzz going through your body, making your fingers twitch tighter into his hair, wanting nothing but more. Air could wait. You let your tongue fight with his for a moment, playfully toying with the new feeling of kissing him like this, before you gave in, letting him take over the kiss completely.

His hand dropped away from your face, falling back to your hip and he pulled you closer, fully into him. Groaning lowly when your thigh hit him, it falling between his legs.

The groan snapped you into reality. You were making out with Katsuki, and you felt him against your thigh. Clearly enjoying it. Just in attempt to see his reaction, you move your thigh slightly, making another groan fall from his lips and into your mouth before he pulled away from the kiss. Lazily look down at you, "We should probably stop before we.." he trailed off, his eyes falling on your lips again.

"Yeah," you nodded in agreement, looking down at his lips, plump and rosy from kissing.

Both of you sat in a daze of staring at each other, only breaking out of it when you heard faint talking in the distance.

You quickly scrambled off each other and to your clothes. Throwing them on as quickly as possible, wringing out as much water as possible beforehand. You did not want to be caught half naked in a random pond. It would wreck his hero image.

With clothes thrown on you quickly walked back towards camp, running into the couple you heard from the pond on your way down. Stopping when they asked for a picture with Katsuki. Which he was in a good enough mood to agree to.

After getting out of earshot, you started giggling to yourself. "We are so lucky we heard them."

He laughed breathlessly near you, "Yeah, would of gotten an exclusive photo otherwise."

"Your fan girls would have my head instantly," you added.

"You'd kick their ass."

You smiled at his faith in you, "Thank you, that's what I've been saying. Mei thinks I'm crazy."

After only a few tumbles, you were back at the campsite, letting the laughter from the previous conversation flow out of you. Everyone was awake when you got back. All prepared to head to the lake.

"You guys were out for a while," Mina commented, a hinting tone to her voice, "Why are your clothes wet?"

You looked down at your hoodie, the fabric of your bra having soaked the front of your shirt, just as your underwear soaked your pants. Katsuki was in the same boat.

"I took a dive in the water for a moment," you shrugged, "I'm going to put on a swimsuit, we can head out after."

And you did just that, Katsuki doing the same just after you.

You met up at Mina's side, she was in the middle of teasing Denki for how he applied sunblock.

She eyed you, "So, you guys were gone for a whileee."

"Yeah? We went on a hike?" you asked back, confused at her tone.

"You left at 6, it almost 10," she pointed out. You paled at the realization.

"It was a long walk," you defended.

Denki snorted, "Yeah a long 'walk'," he did air quotes.

Lucky enough, Katsuki was in time to hear that comment and swatted him upside the head. Denki squawking at him.

---

The lake was calm, water a perfect temperature along with the weather. Only a few other campers were at the lake but they were a good distance away. You would be able to mess around with your group without having to worry about being too loud or press getting photos.

You guys had set out chairs next the shore and some coolers, one filled with alcohol and the other having food. When the sunblock was all applied and dried, you and Mina instantly ran in. Her challenging you to a race and easily beating you.

"Mina!" you heard Kirishima shout before he tackled Mina into the water. You stepped back from the two, seeing them actual start to drown each other.

"Hey."

You squeaked, scared of being dunked. Turning to see Sero smirking at you.

"Scared of some water?" he teased.

"I'm scared of being drowned by a pro hero, yes," you turned back to watch Mina and Kirishima start to calm down. Unfortunately seeing them start making lovey eyes and leaning in.

"I'm so thankful you and Bakugo don't do that," Sero cringed, turning away from the site.

Memories from the pond flashed through your mind, shooting a quick glance at Katsuki, who was leaned back in a foldable chair. Legs stretched out and arms crossed over his stomach. Head fully leaded back and face the sky, with a hat blocking his fat from the sun.

"I doubt me and him would ever do that," you agreed, shaking your eyes off of Katsuki.

"You guys were gone for a while this morning," he elbowed you.

You scoffed, "It's a long walk."

"Yeah sure," he laughed, "At least we didn't have to hear it."

"Nothing happened," you shoved him into the water.

Sero started making kissing noises.

"Shut up!" you hushed, looking to see if Katsuki heard. When you aw him lift his hat slightly to peak at you, you jumped Sero. Submerging him under water as you smiled back at Katsuki.

Once he put his hat back over his head you let Sero go.

"I know I'm a hero and everything but damn your strong," Sero laughed, coughing some water out.

"Don't cross me," you jokingly threatened.

"You guys seem to be doing better though, he didn't throw your shoes off his chair last night," Sero commented, voice low so others didn't hear, "Was he just off that party?"

"No, he just doesn't like his hands touched for too long," you shrugged, "He always shakes my hands off after a couple minutes."

Sero hummed, "Well I'm getting a beer, want any?"

"Nah, I'll drink the rest of my wine tonight though," you twisted in the water, letting the water swish near you.

Soon you heard Mina start giggling, so you turned and saw her and Kirishima obviously flirting. "Guys!" faked throwing up, "Get a room."

Mina groaned, "You're just like Bakugo," she stuck her tongue out at you, you doing the same.

Before you saw anything more you decided to bug Katsuki, walking out of the water and grabbing a towel to wrap around you shoulders before walking to his seat. With the new shade you moved his hat off his face.

"Hi," you smiled down at him, happy to be here.

"Hey," he returned, "Why ain't you in the water?"

"Missed you," you shrugged, "you should join us."

He hummed, looks around the lake. "We brought the paddle board right?"

"I think Kiri set it up," you looked around for it, seeing it leaned against the picnic table, "Yeah he brought it."

Katsuki stood up, stretching slightly before moving over to it. You had trouble keeping your eyes off the way his back rippled with each movement. He grabbed the paddle board and placed it in the water, "Hold it will ya?" he gave you the foot strap, making you keep it from going too far away as he walked to grab some fishing stuff.

It was small hobby he hardly got to do, but he loved it all the same. Once he grabbed a fishing pole and the right bait he walked back over to you. Setting his stuff down to the said as he grabbed the foot strap from you.

"Get on," he directed, holding the board still. Unaware you were going with you quickly put your towel down before carefully getting on, keeping yourself near the front so he had room on the back.

He handed you the paddle and his fishing gear before he joined you on the board. Taking the paddle from off your lap and pushing you guys off the shore and into the waters.

"Don't fuck on that paddle board! I want to use it later," Denki shouted from his spot next to Sero.

"Shut your damn mouth," Katsuki wacked him with the paddle once close enough.

Denki and Sero crackled out a laugh as Katsuki paddled away from them, further out into the lake.

He was mumbling under his breath. Before he could let it consume his thoughts more you spoke out, "It's beautiful here."

You looked around the lake, it was surrounded by greenery, cliff formations closing the lake in, making it feel closed off from the rest of the world. It was peaceful, Cottonwood trees shedding and filling the air with small puffs of white cotton, it looked like a dream.

"Yeah, last year you were too drunk to remember anything," he poked. Reminding you of how last year you were stumbling around half the time. You hardly remembered that trip, just the bruises that followed when you got back. You had countless scratches covering every inch of you.

You turned to shoot his a glare, seeing him looking amused at your frustration. "Well at least I had fun, you had a stick too far up your ass to have any," you shot back.

He glared at you for a second before letting his face rest again, paddling you guys into a small cove, good for fishing and still in sight of your group. Slowly you turned to face him, careful not to shake the board much.

Katsuki was tying on a hook, looking down intently at the knot. His brows furrowed as he focused. You watched as he tied it off and attached some bait before throwing it in.

Only then did he look at you, finally feeling your eyes on him. "What?"

"Just funny watching the symbol of strength tie a knot," you grinned.

He rolled his eyes. Silence took over for a moment, a heavy breath falling from his lips, "It's still all crazy to me."

"What is?" you shuffled slightly, leaning back on your hands rather then having your back hunched.

"Everything," he looked around, "Like, I really am number two."

"Yeah, you are the shit," you joked.

He shot you a look, sighing, "Not even just that, I'm second and I'm fine with it. Obviously I'll beat Deku soon, but for now I'm content."

Feeling the shift of the conversation, you joined in, "Well you've grown up a lot, you're not who you used to be in middle school anymore."

"It's weird," he looked down. Playing with the string at the end of the pole. "So much has changed but so little at the same time. I've become a top pro hero but I'm still closest to our class in UA."

"Yeah," you nodded along, watching how the sun hit his hair, " I mean, I'm in the top of my business yet I'm still dating you," you teased wanting to lift some weight from the conversation.

He looked up at you, keeping his head down, "No idea why you are. Our relationship is one of the things that haven't changed at all."

"Which is good," you finished for him.

"I mean at all," he added on, "We haven't changed our relationship since second year."

"That's not true," you frowned at him, "We've grown closer, we live together now, we go on dates," you started to list.

"You know that wasn't what I meant," he raised his head, moving to reel in the fishing pole, no longer in the mood for it. Connecting it to the side of the paddle board, securing it so he didn't have to worry about it. Same with the paddle, letting you guys drift with the wind.

"Then what do you mean?" you were trying to get him to say it. He's been hinting at it for ages but hasn't actually said it.

He raised an eyebrow at you, "Need me to spell it out?

"Yes actually."

"We've kissed five times in the total of three years, having know each other since we were fuckin' five," he explained.

"Yeah and?" you pushed.

"E' and Mina have been dating for all of three weeks officially and have probably done everything under the sun," he stated.

"What does that have to do with us?"

"It's just my fault, you've apparently have been wanting to and I've been holding you back," he confessed, shame filling his eyes as he looked at you.

"I'm fine just with you by my side," you answered, leaning up to grab his hands. A spark shooting out before you could.

"Fuck sorry," he dipped his hands in the water, then turned his watch on and his quirk off.

"Have you figured out why you spark?" you wondered, looking at his hands.

He looked back up at you, his eyes clearly searching for a way out of the conversation. His quirk activating clearly setting him far from the idea of talking about it anymore. "I just was trying to keep the watch off to test it earlier," he shrugged.

"No," you shook your head, " I meant overall."

Katsuki paused, looking back down at his hand. You wanted to comfort him, he was obviously not willing to talk about his quirk but you wanted him to confined in you.

Before you could cut in, his hands shot out and grabbed you by your knees, pulling you into him. He smirked at you, wearing his classic grin he wore in battle. The one that made you weak. Your hands flew to his chest to keep balance. "What are you doing?" you squeaked.

Instead of giving an answer he leaned down and crushed your lips in a kiss.

In just the span of a month, you doubled your kiss count with him, and made out with him.

You held your hands steady on his shoulders, letting yourself fall into the kiss, bones melting into his hold as his teeth nipped at your bottom lip.

A gasp left your lips as you tied to deepen the kiss, pushing yourself more unto him.

Unfortunately in the process of doing that, you pushed both him and yourself off the paddle board. Breaking apart before you hit the water.

You came back up laughing together.

---

Everyone only got tired of the lake way into the afternoon. Finally decided to go back for dinner. Which would take a while to set up as it is. Especially with Katsuki wanting to cook a steak on the fire. While he seasoned the steak he left Kirishima to start the fire.

You took your wine out of the cooler, quickly taking the cork out. Everyone, minus Katsuki, was well over tipsy. Having been drinking since the start of the day, so you needed to catch up.

Mina stepped to your side as you poured yourself a cup. "So," she swayed, "Bakugo's a lot calmer today than yesterday."

"Okay?" you focused on how much wine you poured yourself, having a third of your wine in one cup.

"And I saw you two on the paddle board," she hinted.

"Okay?" you took a sip of your wine, finally looking at her.

"Saw you kiss too," she stated.

You flushed, "What are you getting at?"

"Did you guys do it in the forest?" Mina asked excited.

"What?" you coughed, "No!"

"Come on, you can tell me," she pleaded, "Me and E have a bet going."

"We did not have," you lowered your voice, "sex in the forest."

She huffed, "Lame, did you at least do something?"

"Mina," you groaned, embaressed.

"You did!" Mina squealed, "What did you do?"

Katsuki heard the squeal, being only ten or so feet away, and turned his head, "You did what?"

You lost all color in your face, throat going dry. He only just started kissing you. You didn't know how'd he react you telling Mina of all people. You didn't even know if Katsuki talked about that stuff to other people, he didn't even talk about it with you.

"She's just telling me what you guys did in the forest," Mina teased.

Katsuki face flushed red.

"I didn't tell her anything!" you cut in, "She's just making stories to herself."

"Get your nose out of it racoon eyes," Katsuki spat.

You were relived he wasn't mad at you. You didn't know how you would handle that.

Picking up your cup, you decided to drown out the thought with some more alcohol. Switching to listen to the boys banter about who could get a brand and be plain faced during it. Clearly it wasn't wise to keep them near the fire. Deciding to no longer watch that shit show, which Mina joined to egg them on, you walked up to Katsuki. He was still seasoning the steaks, eyes focused as he carefully chose what to add. You stood being him, uttering a small hi before you raised on your tip-toes and rested your chin on his shoulder. Getting his view of the steak.

"Is Mina giving you a rough time?" he mumbled, voice low so the others wouldn't hear.

"Not really," you wrapped your arms around his waist, "she just really thinks we had sex."

He scoffed but didn't add anymore, he just let you watch him. Only pulling away when it was time to put the steak on the fire pit, having them hover on a small grate to cook fully.

---

You stared up fascinated by the stars, they covered the entire span of the sky. With the pollution in the city, you hardly saw the stars unless you were out in the mountains like you were now. It was a breath of fresh air in so many ways. It calmed your soul.

Every part of this camping trip did. You and Katsuki got time together, away from the stress of the world, and you got to spend it surround by your closest friends. They were always lively but you could tell they were even more alive with this trip. It's been the thing you guys talked about all summer. Planning every moment so you could live it up to the fullest. Yet, typical to the group, you guys didn't follow a single plan. The only plan you did follow was getting drunk each night. The group will have downed every last drink in the cooler by the end of tonight.

You looked back down towards the group, they were laughing at the old stories they shared from high school. It was a bond you didn't have with them. After the first year, you were back to a somewhat normal high school experience. And you'd rather forget that year, everything went horribly. You looked at the back of Katsuki's head, watching as he shook his head at what Sero said. You don't think you'd ever forget how you had smeared Katsuki's own blood on his face, trying to keep him with you. Fighting to stop his blood from flowing out of him before he pulled your hands up to his face weakly.

Tears blurred the look on his face, and you hated that you might of forgot his face. Might of had your last moments with his face foggy with tears. It ate you up inside.

The wasn't the only time you've seen him like that, and it wouldn't be the last, but it definitely set a dark tone for each day he left for work. Worried he wouldn't come back that same night. Wouldn't be there to yell at you for reading too much and not there to complain about your shows. The fact that you'd have to eat his last premade meals without him.

You worried about your friends too. You glanced at Mina. There was a day where each of your friends almost died. Mina have burned her own skin off with her quirk. It was a fate that shattered your heart, yet it happened in the hero world all too often. Denki constantly fried his own brain within an inch of life and Kirishima has broken pieces of his skin off after rough villain encounters. Hell, even Sero was almost strangled with his quirk.

Dark memories flooded your brain. Each day they sacrificed themselves yet they were sitting here without a care in the world as they sipped on their drinks. Sometimes it felt like you were the only one that cared and felt the toll, but Katsuki came home drained enough times for you to know that just isn't true. They find that saving others is worth ripping themselves apart. You shook your head at the idea. It was selfish of you, but you knew they wouldn't be selfish of themselves, so someone had to.

Not allowing yourself to fall deeper into that long fall, you took a deep breath and watch how alive they were right now. The biggest thing about knowing heroes, was that you had to live in the moment rather than the what ifs. Those would tear every inch of you apart.

The trees framing the campsite didn't look nearly as alive as your group did. They sat around the fire, poking fun at each other any chance they got. Bringing up Denki's horrible pick up lines and Kirishima's brick of a head. Their very much alive laughter echoing around your campsite.

The group was stuffed full, sitting around the campfire as they told stories. Alcohol stirring up their blood warm.

"No I swear," Denki laughed, "Bakugo literal came up to the photographer and barked."

"Shut it," Katsuki growled at him.

You were gathering supplies to make smores, craving them with the energy of camping. Arms full you walked back to Katsuki and dumped everything on his lap. "Thank you," you hummed, ignoring his protest.

Grabbing the graham-crackers from his lap you cracked one for a smore. "Can you prepare one for me too?" Katsuki asked, putting a marshmallow on a stick for both you and him.

"Breaking your diet?" you quirked a brow but prepped a smore for him as well. Placing less chocolate on his than yours because you knew he didn't care for sweets.

"Haven't had a smore since I was a kid," he confessed, handing you your stick.

"Seriously?" you were shocked, "Are you talking about that summer from when we were seven?" Recalling the last time he made a smore well. He boasted about his skills until he dropped his second one into a fire.

"Yeah," he followed your movements and put his marshmallow above the fire, letting it slowly melt.

"You guys are so cute," Mina gushed. Honestly, you were so wrapped up in your conversation with Katsuki and the memories, that you forgot about everyone else.

You felt the warm of your blush in your ears, grateful that it was dark and no one could poke fun.

"I'm serious," she whined at your silence, thinking you were disagreeing, "Childhood best friends to lovers, I mean come on! Who doesn't love that trope?!"

It was obvious she was drunk.

"Mina, you're drunk," Katsuki shook his head.

"I don't know, I agree with her. It's admirable," Kirishima followed.

"Thank you," she huffed happily.

"I don't know how you've stayed loyal for so long," Denki said, fumbling when you all gave him a weird look, "In the sense of never having a relationship with someone else before, not cheating."

Sero hummed, "Yeah, weird to know you guys haven't dated anyone but each other."

Katsuki shot you a look, you returning it all the same.

"Wait," Sero leaned forward, "Have you guys dated other people?"

"I haven't," Katsuki side eyed you as he focused back on his smore.

Mina whined your name, "Why haven't I been told this?"

"Did we go to school with them?" Denki butted in.

"It had to of been during first year right?" Sero analyzed.

"Oh my god," you shot Katsuki a glare, annoyed he pushed you into the wolves, "It was middle school." He was smug, seeing his friends basically gasp in betrayal before they heard the 'middle school.'

They let out a series of 'ohs.' The dots easily connecting for them. They never heard you mention anyone in first year, plus you dormed with them so their was no way they wouldn't of noticed someone you were dating.

"See. Not a big deal," you kicked your foot into Katsuki's. Annoyed at how he made it seem. They didn't know before because it was irrelevant. You often forgot about it entirely until he threw it in your face as a joke.

"Still, didn't you have a crush on him then?" Sero pointed out.

Making Katsuki turn his attention back on you, "Did you?" Another thing that wasn't shared

"Yes," you looked at him for a moment, "Hence why the relationship was nothing." You and Katsuki never got deep into the discussion of when your feelings started. Just deciding to date after agreeing on mutual feelings and never really resurfacing it.

You looked back at your smore, you've been absentmindedly rotating it, a little too low into the fire. It was charred. You pulled it back to sadly put into a smore. Looking at Katsuki ready marshmallow before making yours.

"Awh," you pouted, "Can we trade? Your looks better," you basically pleaded.

With a huff he gave in, "Fine."

"Thank you," you smiled at him happily. Putting your mostly charred marshmallow into his less chocolatey smore and putting his golden brown marshmallow into your chocolate heavy smore.

You looked back at the group after handing Katsuki his smore. Happy with the new arrangement.

They were in disbelief, Denki speaking up first, "We're not just moving past your previous relationship, are we?"

"Why does it matter?" Katsuki butt in, confused about how this turned into an entire conversation.

"How does it not matter?" Sero shot back, "Your entire relationship is a lie."

Katsuki rolled his eyes, "Not really. It's one small thing that you didn't know."

"It was a dumb middle school relationship," you filled in.

"Yeah, a relationship before Bakugo," Mina added on, "I need details."

Now you were rolling your eyes, "I don't even remember his name at this point, it's been like five years," you dismissed.

"You player," Denki cut in. You gave him a 'really' look, "Hey! I remember their names."

"I dated him for a week before we 'broke up,' it was hardly a relationship. I think we just dated for a school dance," you shrugged, biting into the smore Katsuki made for you. Melting into your seat at the sweet taste.

"Why'd you break up?" Kirishima questioned for the first time.

You smirked, glancing at Katsuki who was already shaking his head. Glad that the conversation could be flipped back onto him. "This dude," you pointed your thumb at him over your shoulder, looking at the group to see their reaction, "Scared him off by barking. Seems like a habit he hasn't lost."

Denki started cracking up, hunching over and spilling his beer sightly, "Why do you do that?" he laughed harder seeing Katsuki's face scrunch.

"He was dropped on his head," you answered for him.

Denki fell over sideways in his chair, the alcohol clearly making him laugh harder than usual. He always laughed when you and Katsuki bickered, but never this hard.

"Fuck you," Katsuki spat at you, "Shouldn't of given you my smore."

"You're the one that started this conversation," you shrugged, patting your stomach, "Smore was delicious though. Would of been a waste on your lame tastebuds."

"My tastebuds are normal," he argued. Kirishima laughed. "What?" Katsuki growled at him.

"Bro, you chug protein drinks and don't even wince," Kirishima answered.

"Cause I'm not a little bitch," Katsuki defended.

You and Mina cringed. "I can't believe you kiss that guy," Mina looked at you face holding pure disgust. You snorted out a laugh at Katsuki's face.

"Me either," you agreed, likely for different reasons.

"That's it," Katsuki stood up, standing in his classic gremlin stance. Arms out, hands up, and knees bent. He sparked his hands briefly, which made you oldy relived. It was nice to know he didn't have the watch constantly turning his quirk off, that wouldn't be good for him. "I'll kill you all," he stepped straight past you and marched to the others.

Denki scrambled behind a chair, pointing out at you when Katsuki stormed past you, "How come she doesn't?"

"She has to go home with me, she'll get it," Katsuki stomped towards the electric blonde. You blushed at the way Katsuki said it, knowing the others would think of it the same way as you.

"Ew," Sero gagged, "I don't want to hear about your sex life."

Katsuki's hand sparked brighter, "That's not what I meant!"

"Sureee," Mina teased, sending you a wink, "Hear that, you're gonna get it later."

You were bright red at this point. "Shut it," Katsuki all but shouted, running towards Mina. Quickly chasing her around the campsite. Mina using her acid to slide further away from him.

---

After Katsuki successfully singed everyone at least one, they gave in. Kirishima, Sero, and Denki all having cried 'uncle' when Katsuki twisted their arm behind their back. Winning easily due to them all being wasted. Katsuki quickly yelled at them to go to bed. Wanting them to sleep before the group hike early tomorrow so they were back in time to pack up to go back home.

Just like everyone else, you stumbled into the tent, similar to how you did the night before. Barely able to unzip the tent to get in, having Katsuki open it for you

"You're a mess," Katsuki chuckled, zipping the tent close behind him after he saw you stumble in.

You grumbled, grabbing the ends of your shirt and raising it above your head. It was dark enough so he'd hardly see as well as anything he would see, he saw earlier in the pond. Which was a lot more intimate than this. You also had the liquid courage of wine in your system.

"What are you doing?" Katsuki hissed.

"Huh?" you turned to look at him, shirt off your head and in your hands.

"Oh god," Katsuki snapped his head the other direction, his quirk sparking off before he quickly fumbled for his watch, turning his quirk off. "Put a shirt on."

You reach to grab your bag off the floor, setting it on the bed to put your shirt back in, grabbing a sleep shirt, "Why does it bug you?"

"Your half naked," he exclaimed in a hushed tone, not wanting the others to overhear despite them being at least twenty feet away.

"Need I remind you of the pond?" you raised your brow at him, but followed his wish. Pulling your shirt back over your head.

"That's different," he argued, looking back at you.

"I was also in a swimsuit all day," you pointed out, unhooking your bra from under your shirt.

He flushed so bright you could see it well even in the dark, "Will you stop that?"

"I'm just getting cozy," you shrugged, "You could do the same y'know?"

You pulled off your pants to slip on your sleep shorts.

"Oh my god," he groaned. You would of laughed at his dramatics but he was covering his eyes at this point.

"What's so bad about it?" you asked softly.

"You're half naked," he repeated.

You crossed your arms over your stomach, "And that's a problem?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed. Exclaimed. Eyes still covered.

"Y'know," you paused for a shaky breath, "you make me feel so insecure."

"What?" he dropped his hands from his eyes.

You looked down, "You're acting disgusted by my body."

"What?" he repeated, "That's not what-"

"Yes it is Katsuki," you cut him off. You could physically feel like heart drop at you calling him his full name and not just Kats. "You're covering your eyes and telling me to cover up. You'd think my boyfriend," you emphasized, "of three years wouldn't be appalled at the idea of my body. "

"You've got it all wrong," he step towards you, you taking a step back.

"Do I?"

"Yes, extremely," he nodded, frustrated.

"Then explain it to me," you offered, "Jolting away from my touch and hugs all these years and now wishing me to not show my skin."

"Fuck," he rubbed his hand over his face, taking a step closer to you, "I just can't handle it. It's too much for me," he admitted.

"I'm going to need you to elaborate."

"It's overwhelming, becomes all I can think about," he took a step closer, and you let him. Arms still crossed as you looked up at him. "I want you more than anything, fuck, more than being number one."

You dropped your arms to your sides, "What?" you asked softly.

"I can't let you touch me for too long because then I just want more. Can't look too long or I'll want to see more," he spoke softly, "it's fucking annoying."

"Then why haven't we..." you left off, knowing he got the hint.

"I'm fuckin scared," he ran his hands through his hair.

"Kats, there nothing to be scared of, " you tried to comfort, "What could the symbol of strength possibly be scared of?"

"Of just that."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm worried I'm going to fuckin' blow you up or something," he blurted.

You paled, expecting anything but that.

"Fuckin' see?" he sat down roughly on the air mattress, resting his elbows on his knees as he held his head in his hands.

You took a seat next to him, rubbing a hand up and down his back. "Why have you never told me?" you asked gently.

"Didn't want to bother you with this stupid shit," he slapped his hands down, looking over at you.

"It's not stupid," you shook your head at him.

"I should be over it at our grown ass age," he huffed, his eyes were getting bloodshot.

"How are you going to get over something you've never addressed?" you pointed out. Dragging his hands away from his eyes when he tried to rub at them. "Why do you think you'll do that?"

"I can't fucking control it, you see my quirk go off," he stared down at his hands.

"Do you know why it does?" you were trying to figure him out, for his sake and yours.

He sighed, "I get freaked out," he paused for a while, "I get nervous then I start freaking out about my quirk going off and it does."

"I don't see it happening in interviews?" you questioned, knowing he gets anxious in those.

He gave you a blank stare, "What are you? Stupid?"

"Hey!"

"I get nervous around you," he spelt out, "This shit only happens around you."

You flushed from head to toe. All you could do was stare at him dumbly. Mei was right. His quirk went off because of you. You couldn't help the light smile that crossed your face.

"The fuck you smilin' for?"

"I honestly just relived," you confessed, "I thought your quirk going off meant that you wanted me as far away as possible, since when I got too close you pushed me away."

"You'd think your quirk would help your dumbass brain but it doesn't," he looked at you in disbelief, "Why would I be with you?"

"It's also why I thought you kept bring up the physical touch thing," you shrugged, "Thought you were using it as your way out of the relationship."

"Why would of put up with your shit if I didn't want you?" he pointed out.

"Y'know, Mei brought up the same points," you laughed.

He groaned, "Mei knows?"

"Sorry," you apologized, "It was eating me up inside."

"It's fine," he brushed off, "I'm sorry too, didn't really think about what you thought was going on till recently."

"It's fine," you stifled a yawn.

"Tired?"

"Very," you admitted.

"Sleep, we have an early mornin'," he motioned to the bed. You happily moved up the bed, happy to get cozy under the covers next to him after he changed into his sleepwear. Watching the way the small light of the flashlight, used to light your way to the tent, created shadows over the span of his back. It was always a welcomed site to see. It felt even better now, knowing that he wanted you in the same way you wanted him.

"It's fuckin' cold," you mumbled, holding the blanket over your cheeks as you curled up.

Without saying a word, Katsuki pulled you into his side. He was a human furnace, so you instantly melted into his side. Flushed with the closeness. Having gone three years with no touch, to making out in a pond and cuddling in bed together in the same day.

The relief the conversation gave you was insane, you no longer felt disgusted and you no longer felt like he wanted out of the relationship.

This camping trip lifted more than a small weight off your shoulders, but all the insecurities and worries of your relationship along with it. Progress in the right direction could finally be made, rather than the stand still you've been at this entire time.

You let out a sigh of relief, curling into his side more as you let sleep cloud your brain.

-Next Part-

I did not expect this to be so damn long, fuck. I've written this in two days and it's literally the longest thing I've ever written for a chapter. I hoped you like the camping trip, it was fun to write and I hope I illustrated it well enough. Thank you <3

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