#You have made this year unlike any other I have had

[emmiesoverthemoon]

⭑ come back to me

Pairing: g-dragon/ kwon jiyong x reader

Word Count: 4,550

Summary: Three years after you left your ex-boyfriend after he insulted your small modelling career, you reunite at a prestigious annual fashion gala.

Tags: second chance, hurt/comfort, slight angst, happy ending, exes-to-soon-to-be-lovers

cross posted on ao3 here

Today, you are one of the biggest names in the fashion industry, known for your beautifully authentic and original image that deserves the largest frame in an art gallery, the centre point on a stage, the brightest on a runway. Your confidence is effortless, your alluring demeanour sparked inspiration in many brands, designers, and agencies. You are the world’s muse, and clothing garments are their medium, created perfectly for you with intentions of highlighting and enhancing your natural elegance and grace.

No matter how dim a room’s lighting scheme could be, Jiyong could always spot you in a crowd. To him, your spectacular warm, inviting glow reflected upon any surroundings and ensured that any space you were to enter became infinitely more beautiful. Selfishly, all he wanted to do was bask in your luminescence and indulge himself into you, worshipping you as if you were a deity, deeming him fortunate enough for you to call his very name. He once did indulge himself, and held this to be his most favoured hobby, but he had ripped himself away from participating. He had some regrets, but some much, much larger than others.

The one that lay the heaviest on his conscious was you.

You, the one he once had the honour of calling his, and if he didn’t screw it up, he still would hold it close. You both had been an item for three years, the public being blissfully unaware of your relationship, as Jiyong knew how ruthlessly critical a portion the internet could be toward his potential suitors. He strove to keep you to himself; his sweet sweet little secret.

Of course, knowing the circumstances of his fame and career, you were okay with this. Naturally, however, you did yearn to be able to be a ‘normal’ couple; to be able to go out to dates, to hold hands in public, hell, even to just be able to leave the house together. But you never held him as responsible for your animosity towards the prying eyes of the media. You knew it was not his choice.

What was his choice, on the other hand, was how tightly he held the reins of his pride. Jiyong was a prideful man, he had every right to be, considering his achievements and successes. When you both were together, you were building yourself into the famous model you are today—attending as many castings as your manager could book you, walking as many shows varying in size as your heels could carry you, etc.—and obviously you were not as globally recognised as Jiyong. And on one evening, he made it apparent that he knew it well.

“Because you aren’t enough out there, unlike me. To them, I am leagues beyond you. I can’t have my image tainted with that."

The words sliced through your mind, each syllable lingering, replaying over and over. The weight of them felt suffocating, a stark contrast to the pleasant evening you had just shared moments ago. Not long ago, the two of you were laughing over dinner in his expansive, dimly lit home, talking about an upcoming gala. Jiyong had been invited for yet another year to one of the most exclusive fashion industry events, a cocktail affair where the names everyone recognizes congregate like icons in their own right. Your manager had miraculously secured you an invite—your first time attending. Your excitement was palpable, but so were your nerves.

This wasn’t just another party. This was your debut among the greats—the designers, the supermodels, the editors, all the ones whose names spark a fire in every aspirant’s chest. Your chance to cement yourself amongst your idols as someone who deserves their place alongside them. You were already second-guessing your wardrobe choice, wondering if your impression would hold up among legends. And the thought of possibly being seen with him, Jiyong, the elusive industry titan who you had been quietly involved with, made the evening feel like a balancing act. A part of you wanted to break the silence, make things public, even if just with a casual greeting, so that you could stop pretending in front of the world. But when you brought it up, Jiyong immediately dismissed the idea, his tone heavy with disdain.

A simple suggestion from you, one that felt innocent enough—a “meeting for the first time” in front of the cameras—was met with cold, condescending logic. “It would raise suspicions,” he had said dismissively. You tried to explain, to assure him that it would be harmless, a natural first step toward unveiling your relationship. But he wouldn’t hear it. “You” weren’t ready, “he” wasn’t ready—“the world” wasn’t ready, according to him.

And then, the words tumbled out of his mouth like a heavy, painful truth: “Because you aren’t enough out there unlike me. To them, I am leagues beyond you. I can’t have my image tainted with that."

The sting of his declaration hit you like a physical blow. You could feel your chest tighten, the air in your lungs suddenly too thick to inhale. In an instant, you stood up from the table, your chair scraping loudly against the floor, the echoes of the sudden movement cutting through the thick, glossy silence of the room. You didn’t look back. You grabbed your purse, hands trembling slightly as you made for the door. Every step you took toward the exit was a battle against the burning, threatening tears that hovered just behind your eyes. But you would not let him see you break—not now, not ever. His words had revealed something you couldn’t ignore: he had made his opinion clear, and it wasn’t one you could reconcile. You were beneath him. And you refused to let that stand.

Jiyong called after you, his voice rising, a mixture of immediate regret and desperation. "I didn’t mean it that way," he tried, but the excuses came too late. "I didn’t word it right." He sounded pitiful, but you weren’t interested in his explanation. You had heard everything you needed to.

The door slammed behind you, cutting off his voice.

You didn’t hesitate. The last words you spoke to him echoed in the cool night air: “I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for your pathetic ego. Go find someone more famous than me who can knock you down a peg.”

That was the last time you saw or heard Jiyong. And for three years, you pushed the memory of him away. But tonight, as the gala approaches again, you find yourself standing on the cusp of another year, another invitation, another flight from Korea to Paris in anticipation. The past feels so distant now, but the thoughts of him, of that night, have a strange way of creeping back into your mind.

The gala is everything you’ve come to expect from a night like this—elegance woven into every moment, a sense of timeless luxury that settles over the room like a soft velvet curtain. The ballroom is vast, the ceiling high, adorned with grand crystal chandeliers that catch the light and scatter it in soft, sparkling patterns across the polished marble floors. There’s a gentle hum of conversations, laced with laughter, punctuated by the clink of champagne glasses. The air is fragrant with an intoxicating mix of expensive perfumes, floral arrangements, and the ever-present scent of Parisian sophistication. Soft jazz plays in the background, its notes curling through the air, blending perfectly with the low murmur of voices. The walls are draped in opulent fabric, gold accents framing the large windows that offer a glimpse of the twinkling stars against the night sky draped as a veil, casting cool night air over the city.

As you glide through the room, it’s as though the very space parts for you. Your presence is magnetic, not because of a need for attention but because it’s undeniable. You've been here before, after all—many times now. You’ve grown accustomed to this world, not as an outsider, but as one of its beloved stars. Fashion knows you well, adores you, and respects you. You are a staple at these events, not just because of your work but because of the way you carry yourself: effortlessly divine and poised. There's a sense of ease about you tonight, a calm under the bright lights and all the eyes that flicker toward you as you pass. Your gown, a delicate yet striking creation of silk, catching the light with every step. It moves with you, flowing like liquid metal, the intricate beading of the fabric shimmering like constellations scattered across the dress. You look flawless—radiant, understated, yet undeniably captivating.

The whispers of admiration follow you as you walk, but there’s no need for words to validate your presence; your confidence speaks volumes. Designers, photographers, models, and influencers all acknowledge you, whether with a simple nod or a quiet compliment. To them, you are more than just a face—they know the hard work, the hours of preparation, the dedication you pour into your craft. You’ve earned your place here, not by chance, but by sheer, unmatched talent and authenticity. And as you move further into the crowd, you are greeted by those who have become familiar faces—the editors, the stylists, the creatives who have watched your journey unfold and who continue to champion you. Tonight, as always, you are the epitome of elegance, the pulse of this glamorous world that thrives on beauty, ambition, and artistry. There’s a quiet power that radiates from you, a reminder that in a room full of luminaries, it is your presence that lingers longest in their minds.

Your heart skips a moment when you catch the sound of a strikingly familiar laugh from across the room. A sweet jingle the back of your mind yearned to hear over and over again, despite the hurt. Although it had been approximately three years since you left Jiyong’s home that night, a small part of you still missed him. You were unsure if you truly missed him, or if it was the idea of what your relationship was; his effect on you, the way he spoke to you, the way he knew exactly where to touch to have your eyes widening and your heart racing. You often wondered if your mind was trapped in a prison cell of nostalgic wonder, constantly torturing you with flashbacks to moments you once held dear.

You let your eyes gracefully and subtly wander across the room, trying to spot the source of the laugh. Once you spotted him, you subconsciously let out a small flinch; you caught him staring back at you. An unreadable expression was scrawled across his smooth complexion, trailing across your face, your neck, and down your figure as he soaked in the view he yearned to see the moment you left that night.

Your heart began to race—not pleasantly, no, alarmingly, the heightened walls of the ballroom begun to constrict around you, suddenly envisioning everything becoming a whole lot warmer, tighter. Once over yonder you would dream for this warm, cozy feeling, for caterpillars to deem your stomach a safe haven for them to cocoon into beautiful butterflies, fluttering and fuelling the blood to rush to your cheeks, creating a beautiful crimson hue that he adored seeing you clad in, knowing he was the reason for its existence in the first place. But now, the warmth was smothering, asphyxiating.

You were the first to break eye contact, your eyes nervous—no; anxious and stressed. The weight of his focus on you was too suffocating, too overwhelming, just too much to handle for even a second longer. You needed an escape, a sanctuary where you can breathe freely for god’s sake. The lurching of your heart into your trachea, the trembling travelling from inside your bones through to your intrinsic muscles of the hand, which expressed exteriorly through the rattle of your fingertips, were symptoms of him—his charisma and magnetism, ones that you needed to experience not a single moment more.

You huffed, a futile attempt to alleviate some of the discomfort in your chest and lungs. You needed to get out of this room before it closed in and swallowed you whole.

You found yourself drawn to the balcony which was situated across a restaurant, playing melodic jazz music, as you gaze to the stars, a melodic saxophone is there to provide a tune rich with passion and humanity to sway along to. You had expected Jiyong to be present once again, he was the G-Dragon, you were just foolish in assuming that the ballroom would be full enough to avoid his attention.

Unfortunately, this balcony-made-haven was not as safe as you might have assumed. Your trance of relaxation with the woodwind instrument snapped, your bubble burst by the sound of a door sliding open and closed. Damn you for assuming you’d be safe.

Jiyong steps out onto the balcony, his presence immediate, like a gust of wind before the storm. You decide to give him a glance over your shoulder, and suddenly you can’t help but feel the familiar heat return, the way his eyes have a way of pulling you in despite your best efforts. Jiyong’s small grin is knowing, enticing, a familiar curve of his lips that used to be your favorite sight in the world, and your favourite place to touch with your own cheesy smile. Used to be.

“I knew you’d love the view from here,” he says, his voice like a silk thread that winds around you, pulling tighter with every word. “You would always tell me that a clear view of the night’s sky could draw you out of anywhere.”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you turn to gaze at the bustling townspeople below, feeling the weight of the moment. Your chest tightens. You want to breathe in the night air, let it fill you and wash away the old memories, the ones of warmth and tenderness that feel so distant now. But he won’t let you have that peace.

“Still alive up there?” Although his words are light and hold no room for depth, his words drift toward you like his old cigarette smoke, curling, adhesive, and insistent. An invitation for conversation you did not want to open.

You force yourself to focus on the glow of the Eiffel Tower, the steady pulse of the lights from across the Seine. It’s easier than meeting his gaze, easier than acknowledging the quiet storm stirring between the two of you. You couldn’t believe your ears; after all this time with no attempt to contact you with an apology, he opened your first conversation with him with fallacious teasing.

“I’m silent for a reason, take a hint,” you say, intending to remain sharp, but the words are too soft, too hesitant. You don’t want to give him that satisfaction, but your heart betrays you in the quietest of ways.

Jiyong steps closer, the heat of his body seeping into the cool night, his scent—familiar and dangerous—wrapping itself around you. The tension crackles in the air like static before a lightning strike.

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs, his voice lowering to a dangerous level, the kind that still sends a shiver down your spine. “Don’t pretend you’re unaffected by me.”

His fingers brush against your arm, just enough to remind you of how well he knows the geography of your body. You swallow, biting your lip to keep the words in check. You feel your heart beating, begging you to fall back into him, but you know better. You cannot betray yourself like this.

“I’m not pretending,” you say again, but this time the words are hollow, thin, as if the very act of saying them is a lie.

He moves closer still, the space between you shrinking until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your neck, stirring the tendrils of your hair you spent so long to perfect. You can almost hear the beat of your pulse in your ears, the thrum of your blood, and you hate how it betrays you.

“I don’t want this,” you say, the words carrying edge now, cutting through the fog of memories that cloud your thoughts. “I don’t want that... pain from us.”

The words hang in the air, heavy, like the scent of rain before the downpour. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, his eyes fixed on you as though he’s searching for something. A crack. A softening. A moment when he can slip back in.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, and it’s not a question. It’s a statement, as if he knows you better than you know yourself.

You turn away, arms folding across your chest as though that could shield you from him. But it doesn’t. It never has. The tightness in your throat threatens to spill over, but you won’t let him see. You won’t let him win.

The balcony creaks underfoot as he steps closer again, his hand brushing against the railing as if searching for something solid to hold onto. You know the feeling. You’re both teetering on the edge, balanced precariously between what was and what will never be again.

“You’re still angry,” he says, his voice a low hum now, vibrating in the space between you. “You’re still upset that I... said that to you. That I caused us to fall apart.”

You choose not to indulge him with your gaze, but you can feel his gaze like a weight on your back, pulling you toward him. You don’t want to talk about it. Not now, not here, not with him. But you can’t ignore the truth in his words.

“I’m angry because you didn’t care,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper, as though the confession would break you if it were louder. “You didn’t bother to try to reach out to me; I would’ve answered my phone, you should’ve known be better than that. You let me go without a fight.”

His breath hitches, a moment of surprise before he steps even closer, too close now, his body pressing into yours like an immovable force.

“I’m still fighting,” he murmurs, the words brushing the shell of your ear, trying to engrave a promise in your eardrum.

You shake your head, pulling away, forcing space between you. But the crack in your voice betrays you. “It’s too late for that.”

And for a moment, the world seems to still. The city below, the hum of voices inside, the thrum of the night—it all fades into the distance. All that’s left is you and him, tangled in the past, standing on a precipice, neither one of you willing to take the step toward what might come next.

He watches you closely, his eyes darkened by something unspoken, a regret buried beneath the surface, and for a split second, you almost think he’s not the man you left behind. But then he smiles, a slow, arc of his lips that makes your stomach twist.

He says nothing, but slowly raises his arm to brush against your waist. Slowly enough so that if you so pleased, you could move away, move him away. He would respect that.

But you let it happen.

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” He whispered, he’s close enough that you can feel the teasing, sensual tone licking against the slope of your neck where it meets with the base of your ear, reverberating through your head. He chuckles, his voice lowering, dripping with seductive teasing, forming a warm pit form in your stomach, “That is, if you want me to.”

You want to, oh god, you want to give in. You know he’s right, you were always one to give in to him; you were melting to fall right back into in his hands, and you knew it, he knew it. But instead, you don’t respond. You look out over the city once more, the lights shimmering beneath the weight of your silence. You wonder how much longer you can pretend that you’re not still tangled in the wreckage of everything you once had.

Juxtaposing your desires, you are a stubborn woman, and you need him to be aware of the pain he inflicted before he can be let in so easily. You suck in a deep breath, and your heels take one small, rushed step away.

“You know what?” you say, your voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “I’m tired of you pretending like you didn’t hurt me. You really think you can just waltz back into my life because you flash that damn grin and speak like that to me in that damn voice? Well, guess what, it’s not working anymore.”

He opens his mouth, but you don’t let him get a word in. You’re not finished.

“You said I wasn’t enough for you. And you didn’t just insult me verbally—you destroyed everything I thought we had. You invalidated and belittled everything I had worked toward at that point. Every single thing you said, every promise you made? It faded to nothing. You think you can apologize your way back in with some pitiful little look in your eyes? I’m not buying it.”

The words pour out of you, each one drenched in the venom of old wounds. You can feel the heat in your chest, the fire that’s been simmering for so long now rising to your throat. It’s so much easier to be angry than to be hurt, so much easier to tear him down than let him see how much he’s broken you.

“You don’t get to walk in here, after how high I have built myself, acting like I’m just supposed to forgive you, to fall for your charm. Do you think I’m naïve?”

There’s a moment of silence, and you take a second step back, finally meeting his eyes. But you see something you didn’t expect—something like regret, something deeper than just his usual smugness. And it stops you in your tracks.

“I’m not done,” you say, more quietly now, the edge of your anger still sharp but softer. “But I’ll tell you one thing—you don’t get me back with your words. Not with any of…” You wave your arms around, gesturing to the air between you. “This. You have to earn me back. You have to earn my trust again. And I don’t even know if I’ll let you. So, no, you don’t get to come back into my life that easily.”

You’re not prepared for the way your voice falters then, how it cracks and slips as you finish the last sentence. You hadn’t meant to break, not like this, but now that the anger is gone, the sadness rushes in. You don’t even try to hide it as the tears start to fall, hot and furious, blurring your vision. Your chest tightens, the lump in your throat suffocating you.

And there he is, standing in front of you—his eyes no longer filled with that arrogant glint, but something more raw, something that makes your heart stutter in a way you haven’t felt in months. Small tears brimming his eyes as well, he reaches out, his hand tentative at first, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

Jiyong’s hand lands on your arm, and the sensation of it feels like a remedy on a burn. He offers an embrace to soothe you, and you impulsively fall into him, not allowing your mind a chance take the wheel. You despise yourself for needing him like this.

“I was an idiot,” he says, his voice low, not the usual playful tone but something real, something genuine. “I know I hurt you. I know I hurt us. I wasn’t fair to you, and I can’t change that. I can’t take back the things I did, the things I said, but I am sorry. More than I could ever say. And I’ll keep saying it until you believe me, if that’s what it takes.”

You blink, a part of you wanting to reject it, to slap away the apology and keep holding onto your anger. But another part of you—the part that’s still so so tired—wants to believe him.

“You broke me. I trusted you, and you just let me leave. A single call would have been better than silence. I felt like you quickly moved on without even caring what your words did to me,” you softly cried, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

He steps closer, his hand still warm on your arm, and you don’t pull away, “I know. And I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I was a coward. I was selfish. And I hurt the one person I never should’ve hurt.”

You swallow, another sob catching in your throat. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect him to apologise like this, so carefully, so thoughtfully. You didn’t expect him to look at you like he was the one who needed to heal. It does something to you, something you don’t know how to handle.

“I don’t know if I can ever trust you again,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I don’t know if I can forget how easily you let me go, after such a long time.”

He nods, his gaze unwavering. “I don’t deserve that trust, not yet. But I will work every single day to earn it. I’ll show you, if you’ll let me. I’ll earn your heart again. Not because I think I deserve it, but because I want to. Because I’m sorry—and I’ll show you that I can be the man you deserve.”

You sniff, gently wiling at your face, angry at yourself for letting your guard down, for feeling even the smallest glimmer of hope. But that’s the thing with him—he has a way of making you believe in something, even when you were sure you’ve shut that door and thrown away the key.

“You’ve got a long way to go,” you say, voice hoarse, but there’s something in it that feels like forgiveness. Not full forgiveness, not yet. But maybe—just maybe maybe it’s a start.

“I know, my love. I know,” his voice was no louder than a whisper, allowing you to fill space with your thoughts over his. He presses his lips against your forehead, which sends nostalgic sparks from the crown of your head, all the way through your torso and limbs, then inside your chest, electrifying your heart.

You remain in his arms for a moment longer, the weight of it all pressing in. You don’t say anything more. You don’t have to. The words, the apology, the admission—they hang between you like a fragile thread, and for the first time in a long time, you feel a sliver of something you thought was long gone.

Maybe you can forgive him. Maybe you can let him back in. But not now. Not yet. That is not something that can happen in just one night.

And for the first time in three years, you feel something more than anger. You feel hope—faint, fragile, but still there.

hey everyone! this is my first fic here! so i hope you like it! i was a bit nervous to post this :)

if there is anything specific youd like from me please don’t hesitate to let me know and i’ll do my best! :3

[seumyo]

bro wtf is wrong with you?? every time i think i’m safe, you drop another emotional damage bomb like it’s nothing. do you thrive on our suffering??? do you sleep peacefully at night knowing you made us cry??? i swear you enjoy this a little too much. touch some grass. drink some water. go apologize to your stuffed animals for the pain you’ve inflicted on us.

…anyway, malleus angst when? ily ur works pls don’t die broski 😭

to lose malleus draconia against something you could never rival.

ps. based off of my twst oc and his relationship with malleus (male!reader)

You had always known Malleus Draconia belonged to no one.

That was the nature of the dragon fae—too powerful, too eternal, too distant for any one person to truly claim. But you had still thought—hoped, foolishly—that this would end up differently. That after years at Malleus’ side, there would be no room for another. That if Malleus was ever to let someone in, truly in, it would be you.

And yet, here you were. Watching.

The night air was crisp, heavy with the scent of roses from the courtyard garden, the flickering lanterns casting long shadows against the stone paths. It should have been a peaceful night. It should have been yours. How many times had you and Malleus walked these very grounds together, speaking of things that only beings like you could understand? How many times had you stood beneath the same sky, caught between the weight of eternity and the loneliness of it all?

But tonight, Malleus wasn’t beside you.

He was with them.

The human.

You watched as Malleus stood close—too close—to the magicless student who had somehow wormed their way into his life. Malleus was speaking in that slow, deliberate way of his, his voice like a lull of thunder just before the storm. And the human—the human—was laughing.

Bright, open, utterly unafraid.

As if they had any right.

You had been the one to pull Malleus from his solitude, to remind him that regardless what happens, he’ll always have you to turn to when things get rough. You had been the one to stand by him when even other fae hesitated.

You. Not them.

Yet here Malleus was, giving the human a smile that you had never been able to draw from him. A soft one, without the weight of anything to hold him back, without the quiet sadness that always seemed to linger in his gaze.

Malleus looked light.

Your fingers curled at your sides, sharp nails biting into your palms. The sting grounded you, kept you from doing something you would regret—like stepping forward and reminding Malleus just who had been at his side for centuries. Just who had earned the right to stand beside him?

God, you were starting to sound like Sebek.

But then, what would be the point?

You had always known this love was one-sided. You had always known Malleus cared for you, but not in the way you wanted. And knowing that should have been enough to keep you from hurting.

But it wasn’t.

A presence flickered beside you. Lilia. You didn’t look at him, but you could feel the weight of the fae’s knowing gaze.

“You’re brooding,” Lilia observed, his voice laced with quiet amusement. “It’s unlike you to sulk in the shadows. That’s Idia’s job, isn’t it?”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, but you didn’t rise to the bait. You didn’t trust yourself to. Didn’t feel yourself to.

Lilia hummed. “You know, watching from afar won’t change anything.”

You finally turned your head, meeting Lilia’s red eyes with a sharp glare. “And what would you have me do?” Your voice was low, controlled. Strained. “Drag them away from him? Demand that he look at me instead?”

Lilia tilted his head, ever the picture of effortless wisdom. “Would it be so wrong to want him to see you?”

Your throat tightened.

Malleus had always seen you. Hadn’t he?

Hadn’t he?

You turned back to where Malleus stood, the sound of that human’s laughter ringing in your ears. Malleus’ expression was soft, his gaze warm, and you felt something inside you crack. Slow, but not all at once.

You had spent years standing beside Malleus, waiting—perhaps foolishly—for the day that the dragon fae would look at you and understand. That he would realize that you had never left, never wavered, never wanted anyone but him.

But that day would never come, would it?

Because Malleus had looked at someone.

Just not you.

Lilia let out a quiet sigh, as if reading the weight of your thoughts. “Love is a fickle thing, isn’t it?” he mused, voice softer now. “It does not reward patience, nor does it care for history. It goes where it wills.”

You sighed, slumping against the overgrown marble railings of the garden. “Spare me the wisdom.”

Lilia chuckled. “Ah, but it hurts less when you hear it from someone else, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t answer. Because it didn’t hurt less. It hurt more.

The human said something, and Malleus laughed. Not a quiet chuckle, not the polite amusement he often gave others, but something real. Something you had never been able to pull from him. No matter how much effort you put into it.

And in that moment, you knew.

You could never be that for Malleus.

You could be his friend, his most trusted companion, his constant. But you could never be the reason Malleus smiled like that.

Because Malleus had never once looked at you and seen something to long for.

You had always been there. Reliable. Familiar. Expected.

But this human? They were new. They were different. They were something Malleus had never known he could have.

And you—you had always been something Malleus knew he wouldn’t lose.

So you watched.

Because there was nothing else you could do.

And wasn’t that the cruelest part?

-

You hated the rain.

It soaked through your clothes, clung to your body as a literal unshakable feeling, and turned the world into a cold, miserable blur. The water was pooling at your feet, running in rivulets down your cheeks like mock tears—because you refused to cry. Not here. Not for this.

Not for him.

Malleus stood just a few feet away, regal as ever, the rain sliding off him like it dared not touch him. Even now, with you standing before him, drenched and trembling with the weight of everything you had kept locked inside for centuries, Malleus was unmoved.

And that—that was the thing that shattered you the most.

“You—” Your voice came out hoarse, your breath uneven. Your chest ached, a deep, twisting thing that no magic could heal.

“Since when did I lose?”

Malleus blinked, his expression unreadable.

“Lose?”

A sharp, bitter laugh tore out of your throat. You tilted your head back, let the rain sting your skin, let the cold seep into your bones. You should have known. You should have known it would come to this—because you had always been waiting, hadn’t you?

Always standing just behind Malleus, always within reach but never touched, never chosen.

And you had been okay with that for a time.

Because you thought that if you had been patient, if you were loyal, if you stayed, then maybe, just maybe, Malleus would one day turn to you and realize—

But no.

No, because Malleus had turned.

Just not in your direction.

Never in your direction.

“Yes, lose,” you spat, taking a step forward. “Since when was I not enough?”

Malleus’ brows furrowed slightly, as if he did not understand—as if he had not known. “[Name]—”

“No,” you snapped, stepping closer, your voice raw with something you could no longer hold back. “Don’t say my name like that. Like you don’t know. Like you haven’t always known.”

Malleus said nothing, but something in his gaze shifted.

And that was enough.

Enough to confirm what you had feared all along.

Malleus had known.

He had known, and he had still—

You exhaled sharply, a bitter, humorless sound escaping you. Your hands trembled as you ran them through your soaked hair. “I have been by your side for years, Malleus,” you murmured, the words thick with something you couldn’t name. “I have stood with you when others feared you. I have fought for you, bled for you, given you everything—”

Your voice cracked, and you swallowed against the lump rising in your throat.

“I have loved you, Malleus.”

Silence.

The rain poured harder, like the sky itself was mourning for you. It could also be influenced by how the fae in front of you felt. Honestly, you couldn’t care anymore.

Malleus’ lips parted slightly, but he did not speak. He just watched, as if waiting for you to continue, as if he did not realize that you were standing here, breaking yourself open for him—offering your heart on a silver platter, knowing it would never be taken.

You laughed, a sharp, wounded thing. “You don’t even look surprised.”

Malleus inhaled, slow and measured. “[Name]…” His voice was quiet, heavy with something you would rather not hear. “I—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, your voice hoarse. You shook your head, stepping back, suddenly feeling so tired. “Don’t say it.”

Because you knew what was coming.

You are my dearest friend, [Name].

You are important to me.

I never meant to hurt you.

Words that meant nothing.

Words that would only twist the knife deeper.

Malleus’ eyes searched yours, and you hated that. Hated that even now, when you were falling apart, Malleus still looked at you with that quiet, unreadable expression—as if you were a puzzle to be solved instead of someone standing in the ruins of something that had never even begun.

As if he hadn’t known you well enough throughout the years.

The rain continued to fall, each drop heavy against your skin, against your chest, against the gaping wound in your heart that you refused to let bleed any more than it already had.

You let out a shuddering breath. When you spoke again, your voice was quieter. Resigned.

“I can’t force you to love me.” Your throat tightened. “And I wouldn’t want to.”

Malleus’ expression flickered—something almost like pain flashing across his face. But still, he said nothing.

You exhaled shakily, tilting your head up towards the sky. The rain was suffocating, pressing against your skin, drowning you in something you couldn’t escape.

“That’s the worst part, isn’t it?” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “That I understand.”

Because you did.

You understood.

Malleus had chosen.

And it wasn’t you.

You felt something inside you break completely, splintering into a thousand irreparable pieces. And there was nothing left to do—nothing left to say.

Because if Malleus had wanted you, he would have chosen you. There wouldn’t be a reason to choose in the first place.

But you weren’t even an option in the first place, you realize.

What a fool. Naïve, hopeful fool.

And that was enough.

You exhaled one last, trembling breath before taking a step back. Then another. Your boots splashed in the puddles forming beneath you, the water soaking into the hem of your coat.

You glanced at Malleus one last time, committing the image to memory. The prince you had loved your whole life. The man you had given everything to.

You were willing to give the world and back to.

The one who would never be yours.

The rain blurred your vision, but you didn’t blink.

“I hate the rain,” you murmured, more to yourself than anyone else.

Because it reminded you of when Malleus was sad. When you were the one to stick by him as the weather passed by each quiet night in his castle.

Then you turned.

And you walked away.

Because if you stayed—

If you stayed, you would break. More so knowing that you lost Malleus to something that you could never rival.

Genuine, unadulterated love.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[aonemanarmy]

Sephiroth watched impassively as Lucrecia made her way to the cave mouth and at long last gazed upon the full extent of his anguish and bitterness. The sight of the great Meteor filling the heavens was enough to bring any mortal to their knees - to realize that their time on this Planet was short-lived and bound to end in fiery retribution. It was a thing of beauty and one of the greatest moments of the madman's life, but he doubted anyone else could possibly see or appreciate all that he had accomplished coming from the life that he had.

To come from being a literal lab rat to a god...what greater story could there be than that?

Of course, Sephiroth didn't anticipate anyone else being capable of appreciating his accomplishments and as such he was not surprised by Lucrecia's reaction. Regardless of who the woman might've claimed to be she proved herself in that moment to be no different than any other human. They were all the same in their petty short-sighted and selfish nature, never once thinking how some things were truly greater than themselves.

“Can you hear the call of the Planet? It prays for salvation and soon it shall be granted.”

Like him, the Planet had called out for a release from its' pain and it too had been ignored. For far too long it had suffered at the hands of humanity, its' cries falling on deaf ears and despite his never being able to fully hear or speak with the Planet, Sephiroth could still understand it. But unlike everyone else Sephiroth wasn't simply going to ignore its' pleas and now he sought to set them both free once and for all.

“Hasn’t she suffered enough?”

The madman's cold and calculating gaze remained unwavering despite the ex-Turk's approach. If Vincent had sought to rebuke him then he would find no sympathy from Sephiroth as the whole concept was beyond his comprehension, but even if it wasn't he would lack the capacity to feel such a thing for someone who claimed to have wronged him in such a terrible way.

“What does she know of suffering?” He hissed, narrowing his eyes as he looked them with the gunman. “Is living a life of self-imposed isolation when you have the freedom to walk outside, to live a life you want and not having to worry about being cut open and harvested for parts truly such an unbearable torment?”

In Sephiroth's mind what made Lucrecia's situation so unfathomable was the fact that she had made this decision of her own volition. After all this time the woman could've left her self-imposed prison and made a life for herself away from Shinra, but she chose not to and Vincent made it seem as if she were a martyr. It was easy for someone to pretend to be noble and holier than thou when their suffering was self-inflicted, but it was quite another thing when it was forced upon you with no way for you to escape.

Being in that situation anyone would break eventually.

Out of everyone Sephiroth thought that Vincent would've understood, but apparently the man was unable to break away from his ties to the man he'd once been. It was actually quite disappointing that were the case as no one else could relate to Sephiroth other than his puppet, but nevertheless it served as more proof that he always was and would be something alien.

Turning his head to gaze upon the kneeling woman Sephiroth spoke once more: “Shall I show you true suffering? Do you wish to see what it was like all those long agonizing years ago? With the cells that we both share I can make it happen, and you can see what your bargain has bought.”

The woman would have fallen to her knees had Vincent not caught her mid fall. The voice of truth, however twisted and painful, would never leave her. Jenova was a part of her. Just as Vincent suffered with the voices of 4 demons, she suffered with the voice of Jenova. The pain was becoming unbearable.

“N-no I… I didn’t…” Lucrecia continued to fight the alien in her mind. “Please, enough…. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore… I just…”

…Wanted to hold you… tell you that I will never hurt you again… neither would I ever leave you again… to be there at your lowest, to let you know what love feels like… But I…

Her thoughts were cut off the moment Sephiroth’s scoff rang in her ears, drawing her attention upward to look upon his weary but sadistic set of eyes. What he said next broke her heart, as though there was indeed more to break.

The tear-stained mother followed her son’s hand towards the opening of the cave. Curiosity took over her pangs. The gesture may have confused Lucrecia, but it greatly troubled the gunslinger. He knew what Sephiroth was intending to show her… it would be yet another knife to her heart.

I’ve always been alone…

Lucrecia slowly stood up. Vincent’s grip tightened on her arm, drawing her attention momentarily. Deepest worry filled his eyes, causing her to pause.

“What’s wrong, Vincent?” Lucrecia asked, noting his expression and the grip of his hands. Though she had inquired after his concern, Vincent found it hard to inform her.

But instead of a reply, Vincent hesitated further. Those eyes were still the ones belonging to that naïve kind-hearted Turk who would panic whenever she would get a paper-cut. But then her eyes wandered to his long hair, his pale complexion, the layers of pain behind his expression, and the gauntlet pressed lightly against her sin. He too was a product of her sin. His suffering was begotten of her own hand. And yet here he was still trying to protect her…

Laying a tender yet firm hand on Vincent’s, she coaxed his grip to loosen, allowing it to release her arm.

“…It’s alright, Vincent,” her resolve was undeniable. “Whatever my son—” She bit her lip as if catching herself, or that saying the word was now more painful than before. “…Whatever Sephiroth wants to show me, I will see it. I need to know.” Her voice trembled, as though understanding what she was about to witness would only twist the knife further, but this time she was willing.

Reluctantly, Vincent released her, following close behind as she followed Sephiroth to the opening of the cave. The amber colors bounced off the walls of the crystals, creating a hue that became warmer the further out the cave she walked. Until at last, that terrible scene was within view.

An unspeakable horror filled her chest at the sight of Meteor. She understood what it was, and what it intended to do. She had read about this Meteor in one of the earlier records from the Cetra. But never had she thought that her son would decide to use the most powerful and destructive materia known in existence. It was one thing to wield the powers of Jenova. But it was another to summon the planet destroyer… a sentence of death upon the planet and its inhabitants. Including her. This was a token of his hatred for humanity. She understood…

Terror-stricken, Lucrecia fell to her knees at the mouth of the cave, burring her face in her hands as the heavens were torn by the oncoming Meteor. Distraught, Vincent walked swiftly up towards Sephiroth.

“Hasn’t she suffered enough?” Though perceptively calm, there was restrained tension in his voice. Nevertheless, Vincent knew his words were falling on deaf ears.  

[charliedawn]

I was wondering how the Hannibal family would react to the fact that they met their childhood friend, a reader? Maybe they used to be in love with her? Or were you just good friends?

Hannibal Lecter Sr.

Hannibal Sr. would greet you with perfect composure—but if you look closely, you might see his fingers tighten just slightly. You were once part of his formative years, and nostalgia is a powerful thing. But he wouldn’t let you see it. Besides, Hannibal Sr. had a terrible childhood and wouldn’t necessarily be happy reviving the memories.

"Ah…Y/N. What a surprise. Tell me, did you seek me out…or was this fate ?"

If you were childhood sweethearts, even in the innocent way, Hannibal Sr. would never have forgotten you. He’d remember everything—the way you laughed, the stories you shared, the little habits you had. Seeing you again ? It would make him remember things from his past he really would have liked to keep buried forever.

"You were always so…dear to me. I wonder, have you changed ? Or are you still the same fascinating creature I once knew ?"

Expect intense eye contact, lingering touches on your shoulder, and a deeply unhealthy interest in what you’ve been doing all these years without him. But since he is advanced in years, I would assume you are too and made a life for yourself. He would like to learn about your family and what you did during all these years. And maybe if you’re lucky…you would catch a glimpse of the nice young boy you used to play with as a child…

Hannibal Lecter Jr.

Hannibal Jr. would act like he’s completely unbothered—calm, charming, unshaken. But the moment he sees you, his mind would be racing. How ? When ? So many questions but all inconsequential next to the old feelings coming back to haunt him. Hannibal Sr. had told him you had died long ago…Obviously, he had been lied to.

"Y/N. What an unexpected reunion. You look…well."

If you were close as children, he would find it fascinating how much you’ve changed—or how much you’ve stayed the same. And if there was ever even a hint of romance between you ? He would remember every detail.

"Do you recall the last time we saw each other ? I do. Quite vividly, in fact."

Unlike his father, Hannibal Jr. would appreciate the memories of a time where things seemed so simple. He remembered when it was only the two of you at school and how excited you both were to be learning new things. If you moved on and had a life (kids, husband/wife or just new experiences) he would smile and nod politely. He would be glad you had what you always wanted…

Hannibal Jr. *takes your hand and kisses the knuckles/shakes it* : "…I have missed you, old friend. It was nice seeing you again."

Morgan Hannibal

Morgan would be completely thrown off guard at first. Let’s not forget that he was adopted quite late within the Hannibal family and he used to be abused by his old boss. He really didn’t like the man he was—weak and frustrated. But, he would hide his insecurities behind a smirk.

"Well, well. Look what the past dragged in."

If you were childhood friends, he’d be genuinely happy to see you. But if there were any romantic feelings back then ? He would be in denial. Firstly because you know who he used to be and no way would you love him and secondly, because he knows his family and would try to protect you.

"I barely recognised you. No, really—I thought you were someone else for a second. Guess I didn’t expect to see you again."

But the moment you start reminiscing ? Oh, that cocky mask would slip so fast…

"You still remember that ? Hah…yes, I guess I do too. I was a…very different man back then."

If you ever had feelings for each other ? He would smile at the past where he thought anything could be possible. And if you moved on ? He would feel sad of course but…also relieved that you managed to have a good life without him.

Kevin Hannibal

Kevin’s reaction would be immediate and emotional. He wouldn’t even try to hide it—he’d just stare at you in shock, his mouth opening slightly before he lets out an incredulous laugh.

"Holy shit. Y/N ?!"

He’d walk up to you, still blinking in disbelief, and then—without even thinking—pull you into a tight hug.

"Damn…I thought I’d never see you again."

If you were childhood best friends, Kevin would be overwhelmed by emotions. He’d immediately start talking about the old days, asking if you remember this or that, laughing as old memories flood back.

But if you were his first love ? Oh, now it gets complicated.

"Do you ever think about back then ? About us ?" Unlike his brothers, Kevin wouldn’t play games—if he still had feelings, he’d let them slip through before he could stop himself. But if you moved on ? He would respect it. Besides, he is technically still a wanted criminal so…Yeah. Not the right time for relationships.

Peter Hannibal

Peter would be stunned. Completely speechless for a few seconds, just staring at you with wide, teary eyes. And then—he’d immediately get emotional.

"Y/N ! Oh my God, it’s really you !" He’d rush forward and grab your hands, squeezing them tight like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. "I missed you—I missed you so much ! I thought about you all the time ! You—you still remember me, right ?"

If you were just childhood friends ? He’d be overjoyed to see you again, rambling about how he always wondered what happened to you. But if you were his first crush ? He’s absolutely melt and hold you tight.

"I—uh—I used to…I mean, I kind of—um, never mind !"

Peter is not good at hiding his emotions, so if he ever had feelings for you ? You’re gonna know.

[finnleyandsillys]

HAPPY NEW YEARS!!!

I've still got an half an hour as of posting this, But I hope the new year treats everyone well!

I wanted to make a little rant /pos about people under this so dont mind me 😋

I want to thank everyone in this community - I swear I have never been in a more supporting and loving group until I joined tumblr back in February.

I Have seen a few sides of this community, the good and the bad. But I Love it all the same. I've made so many friends and have been inspired by so many people I dont think I would be here where I am without.

I just wanted to say to a bunch of thanks to @oswinunknown @lexumpysfunland @bugenthusiast0 @tspstuff @thebucketdemon @slippery427 @catsupport

I've only known some of yall for a few weeks, some ive loved and followed throughout my activity on this platform. Nonetheless Its undeniable that you have changed my life for the better. So Thank you for just being super awesome human beings and genuinely being the inspiration to peruse what I love. Im so glad I get to be friends with you guys.

Happy New Year, I hope the one next is better than the last :3

[blue-eli]

Realised it’s @khoc-week so even though I don’t have the energy to do it daily have this I did a while ago but never posted.

Arxeht my beloved. They came to me in a dream where I was a replica (of multiple people but looked most like Vidar) made by apprentice Nort/Xemnas, who was the fifteenth member of the organisation and also had my knowledge of hit video games Kingdom Hearts and kept getting randomly thrown through space and time.

[neverenoughmarauders]

Let's talk! So I agree with most of this!!!

However... there are a few things I would challenge, because this post is based on a lot of interpretation, which is consistent with canon but it is only one interpretation. And I love canon. I also love opening up everything that isn't canon to explore multiple universes and situations that could be true (and see how that has ripple effects for our understanding of the story).

We do not know when the war started, but we have a window from 1965-1975

While we do not know when the war started, there are a few pieces of evidence to suggest it started in 1970, which is a year before the Marauders started, not long before.

“You can’t blame them,” said Dumbledore gently. “We’ve had precious little to celebrate for eleven years.” [Nov 1981]

Now 'little to celebrate' doesn't necessarily equate with the war, either way. Things get bad before wars break out, and things can have gotten a whole lot worse a few years into the war. Yet this is one of the first pieces of information we get in the series, so it seems probable it is JKR giving us the time of the start of the war.

In fact, late 1960s/1970 seem like a strong marker to fit other anecdotal evidence. For example, we know that by the late 1960s (which is when Molly and Arthur married) things were clearly not that well in the wizarding world.

“Well, that’s not very long! I know why it’s happened, of course. It’s all this uncertainty with You-Know-Who coming back, people think they might be dead tomorrow, so they’re rushing all sorts of decisions they’d normally take time over. It was the same last time he was powerful, people eloping left, right, and center — ” “Including you and Dad,” said Ginny slyly. “Yes, well, your father and I were made for each other, what was the point in waiting?” said Mrs. Weasley.

Another piece of evidence we have for any sort of timeframe is that Voldemort returned to England after Dumbledore became Headmaster. We know Dumbledore was not Headmaster when Remus was bitten, in early 1965. While I am a firm believer that Voldemort made bad stuff happen before he returned to the UK, I doubt we can say that the war started before his return.

Finally, we know that Eugenia Jenkins was ousted in 1975 because she wasn't seen as sufficiently capable of handing the situation with Voldemort, so it feels unlikely the war started later than that.

In any case, it is my interpretation that the war started in 1970 because that's the most direct piece of evidence we have ('last eleven years') - and my key point is that the fandom isn't wrong for interpreting it as such or around the time the Marauders started school in 1971.

Lily and James as people who made chilling choices during the war

I keep seeing this interpretation that James and Lily murdered people, and while I agree with the idea that Harry does not have the full picture of his parents during the war, it is just this - an interpretation.

Here are some of the things I rarely see discussed in relation to Sirius' view of the war, and which I (again just interpretation) view as likely to be similar to James' own views, given how close they were:

'Well, times like that bring out the best in some people and the worst in others. Crouch’s principles might’ve been good in the beginning — I wouldn’t know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort’s supporters. The Aurors were given new powers — powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn’t the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorised the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side. He had his supporters, mind you — plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamoring for him to take over as Minister of Magic.' 

'I’ll say this for Moody, though, he never killed if he could help it. Always brought people in alive where possible. He was tough, but he never descended to the level of the Death Eaters. Crouch, though ... he’s a different matter ...'

To me, it seems clear that Sirius does not view himself in the same boat as Crouch. 'Crouch fought violence with violence' 'he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the dark side'. At no point does Sirius say 'and so did the rest of us Harry.' In fact, this is very much part of Sirius' 'she’s got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron' speech to the trio.

Moody, on the other hand, Sirius seems to want to exonerate by pointing out that he never killed if he could help it. As Sirius puts it, Crouch, though... he is a different matter.

Tangent... Sirius really appears to dislike dark magic. He doesn't like people who aspire to it, and he rates people who distance themselves from it.

'Snape’s always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was,'

'Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorised the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. '

'And Snape was just this little oddball who was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts and James — whatever else he may have appeared to you, Harry — always hated the Dark Arts.'

Going back to the POA scene, I think it's an entirely merited interpretation that the fact that Sirius finally stops his plan to kill Peter, something he has been obsessed with, is because Harry is right. James wouldn't want them to become murderers.

“Get off me,” Harry spat, throwing Pettigrew’s hands off him in disgust. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it because — I don’t reckon my dad would’ve wanted them to become killers — just for you.” No one moved or made a sound except Pettigrew, whose breath was coming in wheezes as he clutched his chest. Black and Lupin were looking at each other. Then, with one movement, they lowered their wands.

I get the fun with interpreting it as them not having the heart to tell Harry that James would have been okay with murder, but it is again, an interpretation, and one which relies on interpreting how the circumstances of the war would have changed them, rather than relying on anything in canon that points to this being directly true of Lily and James. (In fact, Sirius' distaste for the unforgivable curses makes me think Harry goes further than Sirius and James by the end of the war, and that's also interesting to explore.)

In canon, we see a Lily who cries when Order members die, a Lily and James who are not at all prepared for Voldemort turning up at their doorsteps, a Sirius who still judges Crouch for using the unforgivables freely and murdering DEs unnecessarily, and a Lily and James (and Sirius) who trusts Peter with their lives (and we don't know if Lily or James ever suspected Remus). If anything, an equally valid interpretation of Lily and James is two people who grew up in war times and never let it change their values.

Hello! We need to talk about the marauders era war!

The war during the Marauders' time was far worse than most of the fandom portrays in fanfics. When Voldemort rose to power, long before the Marauders were even in their first year, it plunged the wizarding world into their version of a civil war. The Marauders grew up seeing headline after headline about the damage Purebloods (or muggles depending on your household) were inflicting on their world. They lived through supplies shortages, canceled Hogsmede trips, and saw Muggleborns hunted even in everyday spaces like Hogwarts’ halls.

At the end of Prisoner of Azkaban, Sirius and Remus wanting to kill Peter wasn’t just about revenge for betraying the Potters, though that certainly was part of it. The war had left them with trauma that Harry, only a third-year at the time of the Shrieking Shack events, couldn’t fully comprehend. It had left them with callousness, grief, and the knowledge that Harry didn’t have: James and Lily Potter would have 100% hunted down Peter and killed him themselves if they had survived Halloween.

Loyalty to the Potters—especially James—was everything. To Remus and Sirius, Peter wasn’t just a coward; he was a deserter, a double-crosser, and a murderer who had caused more death than just James and Lily’s. Peter’s spying had likely led to many of their friends dying—Remus and Sirius were smart enough to piece things together. Betrayal was the worst crime in their eyes, and they knew far more about Peter’s war crimes than Harry did. They had spent countless hours with the Order, hunting men like Peter, and knew now that Peter had ratted everyone they loved out to Voldemort.

Harry, on the other hand, grew up in a time of peace after Voldemort’s first fall. When Harry entered the wizarding world, everyone praised his parents. Everyone called them hero’s. James was brave and loyal, Lily was kind and courageous. Harry came to believe they were perfect, putting them on a pedestal and imagining they could never do anything as terrible as killing someone.

Harry told Remus and Sirius that he thought James and Lily would never want their friends to become killers. Harry told them to spare Peter’s life, in the name of his parent’s honor.

What Harry didn’t realize—at the time anyways—was that his parents had been raised by their experiences in the First Wizarding War. They, like the other marauders, had killed to protect themselves and fight for their friends. The Potter’s had defied Voldemort three times before turning 21, they were on the front lines. Although James and Lily were good people, they had to make tough choices during the war. With their lives and their loved ones’ lives at stake, their decisions weren’t always about what was “right,” but about survival.

The real difference between Harry's war and the Marauders' war wasn't just the time period in which they fought; it was how each group perceived the consequences of their surroundings and the outcomes that followed their responses to those circumstances.

For Harry, the war was about lost innocence and a chance to do things differently, to live up to his parents’ legacy. Harry’s belief that his parents would want mercy for Peter was noble, but it came from a completely different world and time.

For the marauders, the war taught them that surviving often meant making tough, sometimes chilling choices. Loyalty was everything, and betrayal at Peter’s level was something that couldn’t be forgiven. This is how the war shaped Sirius and Remus into a “loyalty or death” mentality that was shown in Prisoner of Azkaban.

[spotaus]

(hi I’m just gonna finish what I wanna say here cause the tags are getting excessive and people can only handle so many reblogs of moots gagging)

I won’t get burnt out! I’m perfectly content right now just really hyper fixated on pretender. Also he is still taller then Ozzy without heels by like half and inch. It still counts for something.

low-key wanna continue this comic but I have no idea how he’s canonically react to being kissed. Flustered yes but who isn’t? Anyway that’s it for my ramble I just finished making a quiz for a whole new fandom so. Yippieeee!

thanks spot for making Pretender and N! They’re the silliest AU’s I’ve come across. (And the most smooch able.)

Heya!! (And yeah, good call! I forgot that Asks exist lol-)

And nice! Glad ta hear you'll be good lol, I always just like to check in on folks ^^. And NICE! Tall Pretender from comic holds strong then! (Plus who knows, Pretender does shape-shift so he could totally just... change height to mess w/ ppl or tease hehe)

And Ooh!! I'd love to see where you could go with it! If ur looking for a potential reaction I might have a few? (Adding them... now: 1) Pretender kinda like, melts a lil. When he's emotional he kinda loses his shape and sinks into that purple mist, so I could totally see him just kinda getting flustered and literally deflating for a sec before popping back up with a stuttered little surprised response. 2) He's definitely Blushing, but doesn't like, react very obviously. More of a, "Well, that's a first!" Followed by a cheeky, "Usually I try to eat a human's face, not the other way around.... Not that I'm complaining!" Or something with a stupid lil grin and a wink, before he continues conversation. 3) "You sure know how to greet a new pal!" As he kinda squints at them and goes, "So, do I get a name to match the kiss?" Looking flustered for sure, but low-key smug as he jokes to cover his loss of composure. These would just depend on how competent u think he'd be in the face of a Random Wonderful Smooch hehe...) And those are just loose ideas? I'm actually not sure how he'd react to romance yet, if only because I haven't written him in that situation often enough yet hehe! U got him p spot on tho, so take any or none of these as guidance if you want! (And if not this was still a fun chance to write him some dialogue lol---)

And You're so welcome!!! Thank you for enjoying them so much!!! I pride myself on the Silly since my Serious sticks to writing, so I'm glad ya like em! (And wanna smooch em too! The rizz was built-in I suppose lol---)

[cursingtoji]

summary: clan leader!gojo needs a favor from your clan but as the leader you refuse, so he proposes to give you a child since your husband is unable to.

"and what am i to do when the child comes out with a white head of hair and blue eyes?"

“if that happens…” he undoes the knot that holds your kimono together and pushes the material down your arms with no resistance from you, “…then i’ll kill your husband myself and marry you.”

nsfw ahead cw: historical au, infidelity, pregnancy, creampie, child birth, satoru is pathetically in love. featuring samurai bodyguard geto and toji.

“i thought we had solved all our business with the gojo clan” your husband says from the door he leans on.

“and i did” you emphasize the i since the head of your clan is you and only you went to the clan meetings that got things solved. you tapped your lips a little bit more to place the reddish pigment looking at the mirror, “but satoru summoned this meeting and gave no details.”

“satoru huh?” your husband points, not letting go unnoticed the fact you used his first name without formalities.

“all right” you take one step back checking if your kimono is proper, “see you tonight” you peck his lips lightly to not ruin the tint on yours and proceed to the carriage outside.

for years the gojo clan and yours avoided each other due to some very old beef that no one remembers or even was alive when it happened, so when your mother passed and you assumed as the new head you soon decided to reach out to make peace with the current head of the rival clan and a friendly relationship was restored. more often than not you two met, sometimes with other clan members or even other clans when necessary, but today gojo insisted on being just the two of you.

toji, your bodyguard, opens the carriage door when you arrive and give you his hand for you to step out.

to avoid any issues the place of the meeting was always the temple middle way your residences. from time to time your families attended the prayers there, that’s when your husband saw satoru for the first time.

“where’s his wife?” he asked the first time you pointed the white-haired man as the clan head after you made peace.

“he doesn’t have one.”

“fiancée then?”

“i don’t think so” you both watched discreetly as he greeted the monks.

“i find that quite odd. what about the black-haired man?” he pointed to geto, gojo’s bodyguard, “could they be involved romantically?” geto leaned to whisper something to his master, a little bit too close if you might add, a few more inches and his lips would be touching satoru’s ear. his romantic life was no business of yours but you didn’t like the idea of him having any partners, didn’t seem right, though deep down you knew it was very unlikely for a handsome man like him to be alone. both men somehow found your curious gaze.

“geto” you greet the known bodyguard as you enter the temple, and he bows to you, your bodyguard nods at him as well and you’re guided to the secret room.

the conversation went on for almost an hour, satoru served you tea when he noticed you finished yours, which was unusual for a clan head to do such a mundane task but he always insisted no servant join on your private meetings. you always thought he was particularly paranoid about spies, but that suspicion was dismissed when you had your first meeting with other clan heads and he didn’t oppose the people that stayed in the back of the room waiting for their master’s orders.

“satoru we went over this on the last meeting, why am i here?” you are getting impatient, satoru always seemed relaxed when he was at the temple like it’s the one place people don’t come to him with problems, so he tended to do things without any rush at all.

“so impatient…” he smirks, “i was getting to the point but fine. i need your doctors for a few weeks.”

because of the many wars and the necessity to heal mainly the samurai your clan became specialized in healing techniques and remedies instead of combat.

“is someone injured?” you raised your eyebrow, it wasn’t likely for satoru to ask for something like this when he could’ve sent a letter.

“no. but we are expecting a conflict soon and—”

“let me stop you there satoru” you raised your hand and for a second you saw a glimpse of annoyance cross his features, “we don’t get involved with battles anymore, the healers go through extensive training and i can’t risk losing them in battle.”

“so instead of putting their knowledge into practice you rather keep them locked in a room reading books?”

“they are busy with research at the moment” you raise your chin unwilling to budge on the matter.

“is that so?” he tilted his head smiling “and how many people does it take to figure out your husband is infertile?”

you widened your eyes, this is way too personal of a matter for someone else, especially another clan head, to know.

on the other side of the door, geto and toji guarded the room, they were close enough to listen to the conversation and without turning his head geto looked at toji with his eyebrow raised, to which toji only nodded confirming the rumors.

“you’re not the only one with little birds across territories, sweetheart” his smile only seems to grow.

“that is no business of yours. besides, lending you my healers will only harm my clan and, as i said, put them at unnecessary risk” you managed to find your composure back and avoid the infertility topic.

“don’t you trust i have the best warriors? you seemed to when we came to your aid” he reminded a time you asked for their men.

“i paid for that.”

“and what makes you think i won’t?”

“we don’t need money.”

“i’m not talking about money” he drops the volume of his voice.

“listen, satoru—” you rise to your feet sensing the tone of this conversation is off.

“i’m listening, for a very long time i’ve been listening” he rises as well and takes a few steps in your direction, “you know what i listen to? the rumors about your family threatening to make your brother head of the clan if you don’t bear an heir soon.”

you take a step back.

“or the resources you’ve been spending to research a treatment for your husband. tell me, darling, can he even get it up for you?” he is too close now, you can see all the details of his insanely blue eyes.

“he— that’s not a problem” you accidentally confess.

“of course it’s not, look at you” his finger brushes your cheek and the touch makes you burn under your skin, “i could give you a child” he lowers his head to your ear, running his lips on it, “a healthy, smart, beautiful child” he presses his hand on your belly over the thick material of your clothes, “and it wouldn’t even be an effort” he presses his hardened member on your hip.

“and what am i to do when the child comes out with a white head of hair and blue eyes?” you look into his eyes challenging him to a solution.

“if that happens…” he undoes the knot that holds your kimono together and pushes the material down your arms with no resistance from you, “…i’ll kill him myself and take his place as your husband.”

you gasp, not expecting such an answer from the man you always watched trying to find a way to avoid violence.

satoru kisses your jaw then your cheek and when he gets close to your lips you turn your head, your conscience only now, in this intimate act, attacking you.

“he’s not fulfilling his duty” he whispers, letting go of the knot on his kimono, taking your hand and putting it on his chest. you open your eyes, not even aware you had closed them, and see his sculpted torso, so close to you, so warm…

“it’s not your fault, can’t you see?” he raises your chin, “it wasn’t meant to be, unlike us” you know he’s just telling you what you want to hear, but in his voice everything made sense.

“you’ll see” he picks you up and lowers his body with you back to the mat in the middle of the room, his kimono is still around his arms while yours was forgotten somewhere else, leaving only the very thin, dress-like, white undergarment that pretty much showed everything.

satoru lowers his head to your chest, his tongue wetting your nipple over the material, “i bet you’ll become even prettier” he replaces your breast with his hand, big and hot, and goes to the other nipple, “with your breasts heavy and a big belly” he sucks on you, hardly, you put your hand over your mouth.

satoru raises your legs over his shoulders, “your feet will get tired” he kisses the inner thigh, “but you’ll still come and see me” you thought it sounded like a question, it was a statement.

his head goes down, as he kisses your folds your back arches, he licks a stripe ending on your clit and flickering it.

satoru starts to lose himself, he gets too intoxicated by you, almost forgetting time is running against him here. he doesn’t have much longer until your bodyguard gets suspicious and calls for you, and by the way your hand is tight against your mouth he doubts you’ll be able to give a proper response.

he wants to make you cum before he shoots his load, suguru’s intel told him you asked one of the doctors if the woman needed to come to increase the chances. it doesn’t take much medical knowledge to interpret that question.

you cum on his tongue pulling him out of his dreams where he imagined himself doing that every night after those boring fucking meetings he has to attend at every slight inconvenience in his clan.

“it’s gonna be okay, just relax for me” he pushes his length slowly before you get the chance to see his size. you whisper his name behind your hand and he can’t stand not seeing your whole face, so he takes your hand out of the way and kisses your wet lips pushing his tongue and swallowing your moans as he goes deeper and starts to pick a pace.

satoru holds back a curse, reminding himself he’s in a sacred place and although anyone would say that’s ironic given what you’re doing in the temple he would argue that’s even more sacred than what most people prayed for.

you start to feel his weight down on you as he trusts get sloppier, he’s still kissing you, holding your lips with his when he twitches and fills your insides, in your drunk mind you think it’s so much more than what you’re used to.

after he catches his breath he pushes himself up and out of you, you allow yourself to close your eyes for a brief moment but you open them wide again when satoru pushes his cum back into you with his finger, “keep it deep and warm for me, yes?”

one hour later you pass through the door your bodyguard slides open for you to enter your chambers. on the way there you realized there’s no chance he and geto didn’t grasp on what was happening inside the room.

“toji?” you call before he can close the door and go to his personal room, he stops, indicating he listens although he doesn’t respond with the formality others usually do, “i trust you won’t share with anyone what happened today” you speak firmly looking the tall man behind you over your shoulder, his scar stretches slightly with his smirk, the man bows and closes the door.

they said it was a road accident, the horse got spooked and ran, by the time they found it there was no rider so they searched your husband and found his body down the mountain.

the ritual was long, you wore the traditional widow clothing, accepting the kind words of the clan members and the prayer of the monks. though you really were sad, all this pity was making you sicker than…

“at least you didn’t have kids, no child deserves to grow up with a dead father” an old lady says to comfort you while holding your hands.

“excuse me” you turn around walking slowly to not raise suspicions and as soon as it is just you on the other side of your home you bend your torso and throw up all you’ve eaten before the funeral.

you cough and when a tissue enters your field of vision you immediately take it and clean your mouth.

you feel your stomach empty but the light volume below it reminds you of whose fault it is.

you raise with the tissue on your lips to say thank you and the sight of the white-haired man makes you choke.

“shh, it’s okay, i’m here as an ally, to give my condolences to a friend in grief” there’s absolutely no seriousness in his tone.

“what about the war?” you ask through heavy breathing.

“that was child’s play, don’t worry, your healers will return safe and sound in a few days” he puts his hand on your shoulder to calm you down, you do.

satoru takes a second to drop his sight to your belly, it has been a month since your last encounter, and by your sensitive stomach he knows that one time was enough for you to get pregnant.

“do you think you can hide it for another month until the wedding? then when the child is born we’ll just say it was a premature birth” god, your former husband’s body was barely cold and gojo is already planning the wedding and what to say about the baby.

“why now?” you look up at his mischievous eyes, he knows what you’re asking truly.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, it was an accident right?” he touches your face, brushing away a tear that came out, more of a natural body reaction of your gagging than a sadness reaction.

“satoru, tell me” you demanded.

“i just reflect a little you know? when i said i would kill him you never asked me not to. besides, i don’t want another man to think they own what’s mine” his eyes are darker, you think he’s talking about the child in your womb but by the intensity of his gaze, you realize he’s talking about you. “if you need anything tell suguru, i’ll have him staying in the village until we announce the wedding.”

“no, i have toji, don’t want anyone suspecting geto’s intentions” you defend.

gojo doesn’t seem to like it, but he doesn’t argue either, “either way, i want to see you. meet me at the temple in five days, we’ll talk about the arrangements” he leans in and kisses your forehead before turning away and then back “i almost forgot” he reaches for something inside his sleeve and pulls out a shiny golden bracelet with gems and puts it on your palm, you know you can’t wear it now but god it’s gorgeous, “came from the west especially for you” he puts his hand on top of yours and leaves it there for a long moment as you look into each other's eyes. satoru is fighting the urge to kiss you, if someone catches you he can’t say he’s comforting his recently widowed friend, so he forces himself to let go of you and go head back to his village.

the midwife instructs you to push harder as her helper dabs a wet cloth on your forehead. you’re squatting, on your knees giving your all to push the baby out.

finally one last push is all that it takes for the little one to come out, you want to lay down and close your eyes, but you need to see the baby first so you mumble something with your arms open, the midwife cleans baby’s face through crying and screaming.

“it’s a boy” she whispers putting him in your arms. satoru enters when he hears the cries and kneels in front of you. behind him are both suguru and toji, who aren’t allowed to enter but the men are also very eager to see the child they can’t help but try to peek.

you balance the boy in your hold for a little bit till he stops crying and when he opens his eyes you see the blue sky.

“give him to the father, we’re not over” the midwife says.

“what?” you, satoru, toji and suguru ask. the last two get an angry look from the midwife and remove themselves from the scene.

“the next one will come out soon” she puts new towels below you.

“two children? at once?” you ask in disbelief then look at satoru who can only smile apologetically.

after god knows how long you’re finally allowed to rest as the babies were cleaned and fed. the second one was a girl, with identical blue eyes as her brother and father.

“i can’t believe you put two kids in me” satoru is outside the wooden tub, breaking all tradition by helping you bathe after the birth.

“can’t say i’m sorry for that” he rubs your shoulders, “you were incredible” he confesses now that there’s only the two of you. satoru refuses to even let your feet touch the floor, he takes you out of the tub once the water starts to cool down, placing you on a dry surface and getting on his knees to dry your feet, you reach out to touch his face.

“i love you, satoru” you blurt, overwhelmed by your feelings for the man who was once your rival.

he looks up from his position, taking the hand on his face and kissing your palm, then your pulse, he kisses inch by inch of your arm until his lips are on yours, “i love you.”

"pay up, pretty boy" toji approaches geto.

"excuse me?" suguru looks up from the sword he's polishing now that gojo dismissed him for the rest of the night.

"i said it was gonna be a boy."

"yeah and then a girl came out right after so the bet was invalidated."

"there's no such a thing, the boy will inherit it all anyway" toji crosses his arms, geto laughs, fishing a coin from his pocket since he knows toji will say anything to win the bet.

"and what makes you say that? there's two clans and now two heirs" toji snatches the coin as soon as he sees the silver glow.

"that's just how it has ever been" he turns his back to geto who drives his attention back to his sword.

"things are changing old man.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[thecircularsystem]

Alright! Let’s break this down.

Don’t talk about their symptoms beyond alters

When I first started in system spaces, I didn’t recall any trauma, and had a hard time even realizing I had amnesia/dissociation. Even then, how would I discuss it? “lol forgot my test today, terrified I’m going to fail out of college” isn’t what I want to post. I don’t want to surround myself with misery when life is already such shit.

So I post the positive stuff. And when I was younger (like 19-21) it was much, much harder to be positive about trauma and dissociation. It was always easier to be positive about alters.

And now, as someone in recovery… I still largely post about my parts, because I’m now integrating with them and seeing more and more about them. Now I can feel our interactions more clearly than ever. Talking about it reminds me of how far I’ve come.

So, I really think this “red flag” is frankly bullshit. It dismisses a lot of individuals recoveries, and dismisses the fact that the majority of people online are trying to escape misery.

Minors, self-diagnosed, who have awareness of parts

Describing me nearly perfectly, back when I joined system spaces. Only difference was I was a newly minted 19 year old, so not a minor. However, I had an incredible awareness of my parts since age 15 or so, and by 19 (when I rediscovered my system and learned what DID was), I had an entire google document of likes, dislikes, appearance, age, etc, and we had an incredibly vivid innerworld. I needed that to not lose my mind.

Sure, maybe it’s unlikely. But genuinely, how often are you seeing people that fit the exact criteria you’ve listed? For instance:

I always say I have had near perfect communication with my parts. And I stand by that, because we’ve always been able to communicate damn well. But through therapy, we worked out that a part that I thought split in college had been there since early high school — and we could even now pinpoint times he fronted. So that means we didn’t know all of our parts perfectly, despite thinking we did.

Does that mean I was faking DID? Or was I just wrong about my experiences with DID?

I appreciate that you’ve brought up that every system is different — but none of the things you listed even go against the criteria. None of these things would stop an individual from being diagnosed.

Anger over being told they’re wrong

I’ve now fit two of the Criteria of Faking DID that you listed. As expected, I’ve been told I’m wrong about my experiences countless times online. I was told my experiences aren’t possible with DID. I’ve been told:

My trauma isn’t real trauma.

I can’t know my alters.

I can’t remember things between switches.

I can’t like having DID.

And a thousand other things. That if I did any of XYZ, then it would immediately invalidate my existence.

… yeah so forgive me if that pissed me off a bit and made me aggressive. Because none of these things go against the criteria for diagnosis. None of what you listed is “not how DID works.” So it’s frustrating existing as a system and being told constantly that I’m not.

As for your comment about diagnosis — I can’t chime in on that one, given that I was diagnosed essentially immediately upon receiving medical care. But I will say, if they want help, they need a medical care team that they feel listens to them. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make them drink, especially if you yell at the horse and tell them they’re fake, you know? I don’t know why people get so upset about this.

id say a good 95% of people on tumblr who claim they have DID/OSDD do not actually have it, if u know anything about the disorder at all it is so easy to tell that a good chunk of people on this site (as well as apps like tiktok, discord, etc) are faking

[dollfacefantasy]

caleb x fem!reader

you and caleb used to play fight a lot, but things are different now that you're older

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, fauxcest, dry humping

a/n: um hehe just a small drabble cause i've been thinking... also i like the pipsqueak thing idgaf kiss me about it. imagine this takes place when she’s staying with him.

"isn't this around the time you'd usually cry mercy, pipsqueak?" he breathes, his smooth voice warming the air next to your ear.

a small grunt escapes you as you try to lift your arm to shove him off. your effort is pointless though. his grip tightens around your wrist, and he brings your limb back down to the floor without much effort.

“caleb, quit it!” you whine.

he just laughs at you. his body doesn’t move away an inch. he stays right where he his, hovering over your smaller frame.

the two of you used to play fight all the time as kids. you’d squabble over the remote or your toys. whiny arguments would morph into a small scuffle, a test of wills. so it felt natural today to lunge at him when he held the book you wanted to read just out of reach. getting physical made sense. you’d been so agitated with him keeping you here, you needed to blow off some steam. it just didn’t feel so good when reality set in as he wrestled you down to the floor like always.

“it’s not funny,” you say and try to jam your knee up into his abs.

he dodges the move and continues to smirk at you. “maybe not to you. but it’s pretty funny from up here. pretty cute too,” he teases.

you scowl, squirming some more. in your younger years, you’d always been able to fight back a little. you’d lose in the end, sure, but victory had been in reach a few times. now, caleb is stronger. he’s bigger, and he doesn’t fight like a scrappy high school kid but rather someone with training. you’re starting to realize you have no chance now, and part of you wonders if you ever did. or maybe he’d been going easy on you.

as if to taunt you, he slides your arms up above your head and grabs both your wrists with one hand. even with his other one free, he keeps you pinned with the same amount of force. it’s fucking humiliating. you feel your cheeks starting to heat up as he drags the back of his fingers along your jaw, cooing at you.

“you always used to get so angry like this too. so frustrated. you’d think you would’ve learned not to start fights you can’t win,” he mocks.

his thumb comes to sweep along your cheekbone, back in forth in slow strokes. he stares into your eyes while he does, almost studying you. it gets you heated for a whole other reason you don’t even want to acknowledge.

“get off of me,” you squeak, your voice much less aggressive now.

“maybe i will if you beg enough,” he taunts, “if you use your manners and say please like a good girl, i’ll consider it.”

“shut up!” you say. you kick a few more times and buck your hips to try and get loose.

in response, he grabs your hip with his free hand and slams it back to the ground. you let out a little growl, assuming you’ll have to restrategize. but then he pushes his pelvis down on top of yours.

you gasp. all the fight leaves you in a harsh blow because now, unlike any of the other times you play fought with him, you feel a solid bulge pressing between your legs.

your eyes widen, and you sputter. you’re sure you look totally stupid right now. but you don’t know what else to do. there’s no question about it. he’s got a boner, and he’s rubbing it right up against you.

“i told you. you’re not gonna win. might as well surrender,” he says. he speaks in a completely even tone, as if nothing is different.

“c-caleb. what are you doing?” you start, “don’t be weird.”

“i’m not being weird,” he defends with feigned innocence, “we always used to mess around like this. what’s got you all shy now?”

you know why he’s asking. because he knows you won’t say it. the answer is so easy, yet you can’t bring the words to leave your lips.

“you know what,” you whine softly.

he chuckles and leans in even closer to your face. “maybe i do. but i don’t think that it’s weird. we’re not kids anymore. you can’t whine and wriggle around like that and expect me not to react,” he murmurs.

your heart beats harder in your chest. you can feel every thump. before you can say anything in return, he grinds his hips again, rolling his hardened length right up against you. and this time, it feels good.

“i- caleb- we can’t,” you whimper, biting your lip.

“we can’t? we can’t what? we’re not doing anything,” he says before grinning at you, “it doesn’t count if it’s over the clothes.”

you want to smack him, but both your arms are still immobile.

“it’s still weird. we’ve never- i don’t see you like this,” you insist, though the last statement is a complete lie.

he tsks and shakes his head before pushing his erection between your legs for another time. this one draws a whine out of you. his hips jump forward at the sound, but he doesn’t let his face show that burst of desire.

“what do you see me like then?” he whispers.

silence fills the air between the two of you as you fail to answer. you know what you see him as. you know your crush on him goes back years. you know what fantasies fill your head at night when you’re alone.

but you also know how you want to see him. what you’re supposed to see him as. what you’ve tried to limit his role to for so long.

“it’s ok,” he finally says, “i won’t make you say it if it’s that hard. but i know you like this. i know you, remember?”

he grinds against you again, but this time it’s not only once. now he sets himself into a rhythm, consistent swings of his hips against your center.

“i know when you’re happy, when you’re sad, when you’re ashamed,” he says, “i know when you want something, but you’re too scared to ask.”

ducking in, he kisses your neck. you moan in response, putting no effort into suppressing the noise now.

“that’s right, princess. your big brother knows you better than anyone, doesn’t he?” he coos mockingly.

“caleb!” you whine. you internally cringe at both titles, but outwardly, your face still contorts with pleasure.

“what?” he laughs, “that’s what you were gonna say before, wasn’t it?”

“but i didn’t,” you whimper.

“but you thought it, and it’s all the same to me,” he teases.

he refocuses his mouth on your neck again. his lips move over the column of your throat while his cock continues pressing right on your pussy. it feels better by the second. maybe it’s because he’s kissing your neck too, you’re not really sure. all you know is the hot, sparkling feeling in your stomach is building.

nipping at your pulse point, he then sucks on the skin like he wants to leave a mark. his tongue laves at it for a few moments before he pulls off.

“i’m gonna let go of your arms. you’re gonna behave, ok?” he mumbles against your skin.

“mhm,” you whimper and nod. the overt submission feels pathetic, but losing the feeling of him would be even worse.

“good girl,” he praises.

he keeps his word and releases his hold on your wrists. the air feels cool on your skin that’s all warmed up from his hands. now with his other arm in use, he can snake one around your ass and boost your hips. the new angle allows him to thrust against you harder.

“fuck, baby,” he grunts. you feel his lashes brush your neck as his eyes flutter.

your arms loop over his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer. more little mewls spill from your lips. you can feel his stiff length sliding right up against your folds through your clothes. every swipe brings a blissful burst of friction to your poor throbbing clit.

“there you go. i got you. big brother’s got you,” he mumbles mindlessly. he chokes out a moan into your shoulder as his hips move like they have a mind of their own.

your body starts to squirm more. that hot feeling inside is reaching a boiling point. you clutch at his shirt, your nails digging in so hard they threaten to tear the fabric. the constant push and pull of his lower half is nearly hypnotic. it seems like you’ll be under him forever while also on the brink of letting go.

after a few moments more, he pulls back to look at you. his eyelids hang low, heavy with his desire for you.

“god, you’re so pretty. so fuckin’ beautiful now,” he says and presses his forehead to yours. his eyes shut while your breaths mingle. “i knew you wanted this too. just look at you. almost falling apart, and i haven’t even really touched you. i knew no one else could do this better.”

all you can do is whimper softly and cling to him harder. you pull on him as if trying to pull him into your body, to meld your two beings into one. the pressure down below feels dull and muted, but it’s blooming nonetheless.

“yeah… you’re gonna cum all over your pretty panties,” he mutters, “get ‘em all nice and wet so i can have some fun with ‘em later.”

“caleb…” you whine, useful words falling out of your grasp in this moment. one of your hands flies up and laces in his hair. your fingers clench into a fist, giving the strands a sharp tug.

he groans and bucks his hips extra hard. “c’mon. cum for me, baby. let me make my sweet little angel cum,” he murmurs.

it really doesn’t take much to get you there. the friction burn he’s rutting you both into works, and you feel yourself hit the high. euphoria rushes through you. a little breathy whine erupts from your lips. your back arches off the floor, but he keeps you cradled against him securely.

the whole time you’re cumming, he’s still humping you like his life depends on it. it’s when you start to come down, that he finally explodes. he buries his face in your neck, letting out the loudest moan you’ve heard so far. his arms tighten up around your frame as his fingers dig into your malleable flesh.

his hips jolt forward in random twitches now, chasing the last remnants of release while he spills inside his pants.

when he’s done, his breaths are harsh and labored. he nuzzles the crook of your neck before kissing your cheek and receding off your body. his palm runs over his face lazily.

“fuck, i gotta change now,” he says, not bothering to look down at the dark patch at the front of his pants.

without even really thinking about it, you reach forward for the waistline. you’re already craving more of him. but before your hand can get there, he takes your wrist.

“not so fast, pipsqueak. i think you should actually beat me before i let you have the real thing,” he smirks.

[astonmartinii]

other side of the moon - chapter one | formula one imagine

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

chapter one: an offer you can refuse

years of solitude has led y/n y/ln down a dark path following her career-ending injury in 2022 but one rookie seems dead set on bringing her back into the fray

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

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“have you seen this?”

it’s too early in the day to be subjected to twitter in y/n’s opinion, but her manager - the one she’s always insisted in not needing - insists upon it. sara’s hand shakes as she hands over her phone, the video already playing loudly.

the video is a poorly clipped together compilation of kimi antonelli, for no better word, gushing about her. it’s earnest and even cute, but not cute enough. the formula one paddock was a vulture pit, one y/n had only escaped three years earlier with her life - barely.

“it’s cool. that’s all it is though,” y/n moves towards the door, picking up her coat and refusing to turn back towards sara, “i’ve told you since jenson insisted i hire you, there’s no way in hell i will ever go back to that paddock. and that’s the end of it, please. i’ll do any stupid vitamin ad or female empowerment talk if it makes you happy, but i can’t go back there.”

y/n grabbed her keys and left the apartment, leaving sara in her wake. sara reached into her pocket and pulled out a tattered letter with ‘y/n’ scrawled on the front in awful handwriting. she left it on the kitchen island and left, understanding this was likely to be her last time in this apartment - there's stupid and there's what she was doing right now, there was no way she would still be employed in the morning.

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girlsonthegrid

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and 103,478 others

tagged: yourusername

girlsonthegrid: today we look back at the biggest what if for women in formula one - y/n y/ln. the 26-year-old drove for mclaren from 2020 to 2022 before she sustained a career-ending injury at silverstone. y/ln was the first ever female f1 race winner with her emphatic victory at monza in 2021 and the first ever female formula 2 champion with her win in 2019. her career lasted just 30 races and she hasn't been seen in the paddock or around any drivers since the crash. there have been reports that she has been approached about a mentor role but considering how fast her management rejected and shut down sky sports about a commentary role, this is also unlikely. what would you like to see from her if she ever comes out of hiding?

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user1: i mourn for her everyday

user2: the way she paved the way for so many but can't stand to be in the paddock to see what she did for the sport

user3: i really don't blame her

user4: doriane is the mercedes reserve and abbi is alpine's! her work is there even if she isn't and i know i'll always be grateful for that

user5: she's so overrated, if she didn't crash she still would've been out of formula 1 by now

user6: me when i'm the most wrong ever

user7: i can't believe there are still men to this day that think she wasn't great? literal world champions like max, lewis, fernando, seb and jenson have all said that she could've won a championship

user8: i mean no shade to lando but i think y/n would've made it 100x harder for max this season in that mclaren

user9: the way jenson tried to say that in the nicest way possible in las vegas lol

user10: and max agreed with him LOL

user11: the way it wasn't even proper lando shade or oscar shade like twitter painted it to be but like max just praising his bestie

user12: he does not play about her as he should

user13: i mean he's the only one we know y/n still actually talks to

user14: i can't wait for the tell-all biography that exposes half the grid because like how much have you must have fucked up for her to never speak to you again

user15: when twitter likes were public she was caught liking a bunch of tweets bout mick when he got his first points so like she doesn't even have hard feelings to the guy who put her in the barrier sooo

user16: it was proven it was break failure???? mick did nothing wrong that's why she still likes things praising him

user17: that crash really robbed us of the best ever f1 relationship with y/n and lando

user18: you know that's part of the reason that she doesn't speak to lando right?

user19: because she wished it was him not her?

user20: NO! because she hated that whole 'ship'

user21: and lando leaned into it way too much

user22: it made me a bit uncomfortable and i'm not even y/n

user23: AND she said on the beyond the grid podcast that she thought those rumours were really reductive and relegated her to just a love interest of her teammate rather than a race winner

user24: kimi antonelli please bring her back to us

user25: praying she'll listen to the literal child

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texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and max verstappen (italics)

did u give them my fucking address

my lawyer says to always deny everything?

i also actually have no idea what you are talking about…

i just got home and there’s a fucking letter from KIMI ANTONELLI on my kitchen counter

it’s creepy and a mad invasion of privacy

i did NOT give them your address?

i gave them sara’s contact details so they wouldn’t be able to directly get to you and i honestly thought she would be too scared to ask you

she showed me all the clips of him praising me.

it didn’t work.

it’s been three years y/n…

and it still hasn’t been long enough.

all i’m saying is read the letter, as creepy as it might be, he is just an 18 year old entering the lion’s den you could at least reply to him even if you don’t take up the offer

although i read they were going to pay you £10 million a year??? was that real?

unfortunately it is very real.

i didn’t think i was still worth that much

you are worth that and more, just give him a chance. we’ve both met him, he’s a sweet kid.

for now.

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it was cold in her apartment, y/n hadn’t shut the window from when she opened them that morning. in fact she hadn’t moved from the kitchen since she set eyes on the letter. it was bold she’d give him that.

the letter was crumpled as if it had gone through hell to get to her (it probably had) and the handwriting was a serious reminder of just how young kimi is. y/n had wondered if her maternal instincts would ever kick in like all the older women in her life insisted it would. sure she had felt intense feelings of love for her childhood cats and had cared her formula one cars (regina and heather, they were named after mean girls, because that is who they had to be on track) like they were children. but that true maternal feeling had never come to her, until now.

all y/n could think about was kimi. how young he was, how much he was set to lose. not everyone was her, the worst thing wasn’t going to happen to everyone - it just always seemed to happen to her.

her loud phone alarm jolted her out of her daydream, reminding her to take her painkillers. as she poured herself a glass of water, y/n slammed down the glass and ripped open the letter.

dear miss y/n y/ln my name is andrea kimi antonelli and i am going to be driving for mercedes amg f1 team in 2025. we met very briefly after i won all three races at mugello and lifted the italian f4 championship trophy. i know you were there on mclaren PR but for me it changed my life. you have always been my biggest inspiration alongside michael schumacher (i am italian, you must understand). it was always my dream to race alongside you and maybe even be teammates, i’d even betray toto and leave mercedes to make that happen (please don’t tell him i told you that). i know that can never happen now, but it could happen in another way? i know like me you grew up seeing niki lauda supporting and mentoring the mercedes drivers and i was wondering if you would be my mentor - who cares about george anyway. i know you’ve never come back to the paddock and are unlikely to do so for little old me. but if you could just think about it that would be great, if you don’t ask, you’ll never get! i hope this letter wasn’t horribly offensive, i mean it when i say you’re my favourite!!! love, kimi (p.s. i was at monza 2021, so you could even consider me a good luck charm) (p.p.s you won monza 2021 completely on merit but i was there) (p.p.p.s please don’t think i’m an idiot) (p.p.p.p.s i also loved interlagos 2020 that’s a super underrated drive)

with tears in her eyes, y/n placed the letter back on the counter, grabbed the glass of water and made her way to her bedroom. painkillers taken with a wince, she still hadn’t gotten used to the size of the pills even three years into taking them, y/n shuffled under the duvet.

the offer was there and it seemed sincere. her accountant would tell her that the money was worth the mental turmoil, even if she just did it for one season and returned to her little cave in west london.

there was no doubt she felt something for kimi - a kinship, a frienship or a maternal yearning - but was it worth ripping off all the bandages and opening herself back up to all the scrutiny again?

she would sleep on it.

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63 and 10,567,388 others

yourusername: much to think about these days. like how the fuck this app works now?

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user1: first post in three years and it’s THIS?

user2: i am not complaining

user3: i am savouring every little piece in case she goes missing for another three years

mclarenf1: the queen has returned

user4: no thanks to you

user5: how about we keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth

user6: socials admin i know it is not you specifically but i really don’t know how you can post up here like you’re completely absolved of your involvement in this. your car had break failure that broke her fucking back - it is a miracle she is even still walking! and you still don’t accept any responsibility for it

user7: i love y/n but like how is it mclaren’s fault? break failure happens all the time?

user8: well it’s in one part the fact that they were using her as a test dummy because it was a new faulty part that mclaren was experimenting with that was on her car and NOT lando’s and the fact that to this day when they feel like it they’ll heap guilt onto mick schumacher

user9: without being disrespectful there were two formula one careers that were ended that day because mclaren have kept to the narrative that it was mick that put her into the barriers eventhough siedel admitted when he left mclaren that it was a faulty break part that caused it.

user10: clock it

user11: yes clock it but maybe on a different post because it’s y/n’s return to the internet and all yall can talk about is the most traumatic event in her life?

kimiantonelli: i also love clairo

user12: what is bro doing?

user13: be quiet he’s our best hope of y/n coming back to the paddock let him cook

user14: name three songs local

kimiantonelli: bags (live), alewife and blouse

user15: this motherfucker might just do it

maxverstappen1: i miss brando :/

yourusername: you know my address

yourusername: use it since you like to give it out so much

maxverstappen1: I DID NOT GIVE THEM YOUR ADDRESS

user16: y/lnstappen friendship is BACK

user17: it was never gone?

user18: but now we get to see it :P

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when she woke the next morning, y/n knew she had to read the letter again before jumping into anything. in her sleep she was plagued with memories of the past, but not the usual ones that haunted her in the dark. there were no flames, no hospitals, no career-ending injuries. no, this time she was transported back to 2020 and her first few races of her formula one career.

march 2020.

the paddock was much bigger in formula one than it had been in formula two with hundreds more people running around, barging through crowds, hitting y/n on the way through and not even stopping to apologise. she had thought briefly that she would be making more noise as the first female racer to take part in a race since forever - y/n even thought that she’d made a bit of a splash during preseason testing, nestled between her teammate lando and alex in the red bull in fifth.

but she was invisible. even with the garish orange path to follow to the mclaren garage, y/n struggled to get through the crowds of people brandishing their paddock passes. her trainer had gone ahead to set up her driver room which left y/n to push through and arrive to briefing ten minutes late.

“i’m so sorry, i got lost and by the time i was going in the right direction the paddock had filled up?”

y/n stammered, not quite able to make eye contact with zak brown. the american wasn’t tall in comparison to the general public but he towered over y/n and the disapproving stare didn’t do much to help.

“just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

zak snipped, waving his hand in y/n’s direction, telling her to take a seat. y/n rushed to the nearest empty seat and looked for her teammate in the room. lando was sat just three seats to her right on a small table. y/n tried to make eye contact with lando but he avoided her gaze like it was burning him, so much for the ‘big brother’ act he had put on at the car launch.

the engineers stood in front of the screen and started their long-winded presentation about the prospects for the season ahead. y/n pulled her note book out and frantically started taking notes, she didn’t know if that was normal for formula one drivers, but knowing as much as possible couldn’t hurt.

y/n copied down the warnings about possible tyre wear in turn three when she heard some soft sniggers, like someone was trying to stifle their laughter. this drew y/n out of her focus on the presentation, looking around the meeting room to locate the perpetrator.

lando caught her eye immediately. he had a light blush across his face and his mouth was covered by his hand. he looked guilty, guiltier than the rest of the room who were listening intently to the engineers. y/n raised her eyebrow in question.

“i’m sorry are we distracting you two?”

zak interrupted the presentation, turning to look at y/n and lando.

“no, sorry sir,” y/n replied turning her chair back to face the screen. “lando?” zak pressed.

“i’m sorry zak but y/n was distracting me with her note-taking,” lando forced out between his boyish giggles. “i’ve never taken notes, i didn’t realise you would be sucking up to the engineers this early on?”

“i’ve always taken notes? is it a problem? i’m sorry if i was distracting you lando.”

“yeah we’ll see how much those notes help you on track, rookie.”

lando spat over the table. it was uncharacteristically mean for the lando she had seen in the mclaren social content and the lando she spoke with at the car launch. y/n felt tears prickle in her eyes but she swallowed them down, she couldn’t cry yet - or at least not in view of all the most important people on the team.

“right. we’ll get back to business then.”

the rest of the meeting went by in a blur for y/n, but despite the outburst from lando, she continued to take her notes, she would be damned if some comments from lando would fuck up her entire race weekend routine. y/n took her time when zak dismissed them from the meeting, not wanting to look unprofessional.

moving towards the door, y/n’s shoulder hit someone else’s. she looked up to make eye contact with lando yet again.

“you better not make a habit of making contact with me, rookie,” lando said, a slight smirk but a harsh look in his eyes.

“are you like okay?”

“why wouldn’t i be?” lando replied pushing past through the door.

“i don’t know, you’re just a little frosty this morning? did i do something?”

“why would i be thinking about you, seriously? this is my team, know your place and we’ll get on just fine”.

with that lando was gone and y/n was left puzzled. i guess PR really does work wonders, y/n thought before making her own way to her drivers room.

her trainer, luca, wasn’t there when she managed to locate the room but all of her gear was already neatly put away like they had discussed. y/n cracked open an electrolyte drink and opened her notebook to study the meeting points.

there was a loud knock at the door and before y/n could even utter a “come in”, the mystery visitor barged into the room. daniel ricciardo announced his arrival with a packet of tim tams thrown at y/n and a quick “howdy” before he started rifling through her stuff and studying her helmet.

“ah, another cool dude who has a cuddly guy on their helmet,” daniel said, picking up her helmet, pointing at the cartoon version of her childhood cat.

“oh that’s schumi, when we travelled for karting we always brought him up until he died of old age, but i still want him with me whenever i race.” y/n said, nervous that the heartfelt explanation would be deemed uncool by one of the coolest racers she had ever seen.

“oh that’s surprisingly cute, i bet schumi was a big hit in the paddock back in the day.”

“he sure was, he’s how i charmed max into not hating me after i took him out once,” y/n chuckled thinking back to the race where max stormed up to her with angry tears in his eyes until y/n practically threw schumi at him. in just five seconds, max had calmed down and schumi was happily purring in the young dutchman’s lap.

“that sounds like max. but speaking of the other young whippersnappers in the paddock, how is our lando treating you? i bet zak and that can’t keep up with you two…” daniel asked, slumping to the floor, taking one of her drinks from the mini fridge.

“oh. i am getting used to him, we’ll put it that way?”

“he’s not being rude is he?”

“no! well. he insists on calling me rookie and keeps making comments about me crashing into him and made fun of me taking notes in briefing but i’m sure that such the british banter.”

“you’re british?”

“well. um. yeah, you got me there.”

daniel grabbed her hands, forcing y/n to look him in the eyes rather than her very interesting shoes.

“i know lando is like some media darling, but so are you. don’t let him push you around, he may have been in this team a while but you’re just as good as him if not better. you’re here to prove yourself, not to play second fiddle, okay?”

it was the first time someone had actually tried to talk to her properly since getting to the paddock. again, tears climbed to her eyes, but this time she let one creep out. daniel wiped it away.

“we made the mistake of isolating max when he was young and new, we won’t make the same mistake - we can’t have two of you running rampant around here,” y/n let out a wet laugh which daniel returned, “just come to renault if you need anything from me. max will be there for you, you know, and seb, kimi, fernando and all the old men will listen to you. don’t rot in your drivers room or hotel suite and think you’re not wanted here.”

y/n nodded, feeling some butterflies in her stomach. she was actually here - a formula one driver. a seven-time race winner wants her here, world champions want her here. a private-school fuckboy wasn’t going to ruin her first ever race weeekend.

“thank you daniel.”

“i have to dash, but i’m serious, we’re here for you. and i would be honoured to kick that little shit’s ass for you, okay?”

the australian left in just as loud fashion as he came, but in the remaining silence, y/n finally felt some peace. this was her chance, and she wasn’t going to mess it up.

present.

y/n couldn’t let that happen to kimi. the young italian was just so unbelievably earnest in his letter that y/n couldn’t bear the thought of his kindness being taken advantage of. george russell had never been outwardly callous but with his attack on max late last season and his complete radio silence with y/n since her crash made her suspicious.

as she prepared to ask max for kimi’s number, sara (who did actually still have a job) sent her a link.

sara: zak brown believes mclaren has the strongest pairing on the grid with no more childish recklessness like in the early 2020s

sara: do you want us to put out a statement or ignore as usual?

y/n clicked on the link, even though she knew it would just annoy her to the point that her phone might become closely acquainted with the thames.

as the formula one world gears up for the 2025 season, zak brown has already stated his confidence for mclaren this season. the papaya team will be coming into the 2025 season as reigning constructors champions and lando norris and oscar piastri will be aiming to add the world drivers championship to that as well.

when zak brown sat down with us earlier this week, the mclaren ceo did not beat around the bush, stating that mclaren have the strongest pairing on the grid. with red bull promoting liam lawson in a test and, mercedes putting unproven kimi antonelli next to george russell and ferrari gambling with charles leclerc and lewis hamilton, brown might just be right.

in their journey to constructors champions, brown recognised that as a team they had straightened out all of their ‘growing pains’. this is exemplified in oscar piastri completing all laps in the 2024 season.

like they usually do, y/n y/ln’s particularly rabid twitter fans will probably detect some ‘shade’ towards the former driver. brown did touch on the prior mclaren drivers during his reign as ceo, saying that the team had some childish recklessness, but now they have a team that all know their place.

y/n y/ln hasn’t spoken about anything formula one related since her retirement, even forgoing the opportunity to congratulate the team that took the chance on her for winning the championship - something brown did not mince his words on off camera. brown lamented about y/ln’s silence, labelling her a brat and ungrateful for not still thanking him for allowing a woman to compete in formula one.

will mclaren make it back-to-back constructors championships? and will they sweep both championships this season?

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she needed that loud-mouthed american’s head on a silver platter. the letter had almost sucked her back into the world of formula one, only for the man who discarded her like a broken toy when his car had malfunctioned and smashed her and her career into a concrete wall to call her an ungrateful brat.

fuck him. fuck mclaren. and fuck that dumbass reporter for giving him the time of day.

y/n didn’t throw her phone from her balcony but pulled up her texts with max.

texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and max verstappen (italic)

have you read this absolute hogwash

zak brown believes mclaren has the strongest pairing on the grid with no more childish recklessness like in the early 2020s

i 100% get why you wanted to put him in a wall last season

you watched last season?

shut up not the time

did you text me just to call your old tyrannical boss a fraud?

i was going to ask for kimi’s number but now i’m back at square one

noooooooo

i want to be there for him, the way no one was for us.

but this is the bs they write about me when i haven’t been seen or heard from in three years, imagine the shite they come up with when i’m the paddock every weekend

WHEN?

no no no

i’ll give you kimi’s number

contact: kimi antonelli (mercedes)

you decide what you want to do

as much as i would kill to have you around the paddock again… even in the vicinity of george

i want you to do what you are comfortable with

thanks max

i’m not giving you a yes but i’m definitely thinking about it

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fin.

note: omg that's part one??????? i had this idea and have been planning and adding to it for a couple days. no spoilers but there will be multiple love interests, backstabbing and all that lovely stuff - i just love the drama !!! (yes i will finish guilty as sin at some point as well). i hope you enjoy the prose as well - first time writing that way on here lol ?! let me know if you liked it, who you'd like to see her with and what you'd like to see happen!

[yukioos]

BED CHEM

SUMMARY: viktor x reader // you and mel walk down the hallways of piltover university when suddenly, you encounter two men trying to break into a professor’s laboratory.

AUTHORS NOTE: hiii!! so sorry i haven’t posted in a while. season 2 of arcane broke my heart, but it was so cool. anyway, im working on an ashley and ada writing atm, but pls be patient. this is 1.2k words and something i randomly thought of because of a pinterest comment under a photo of viktor

WARNINGS: trying to break into a room, reader is interpreted as feminine because of a long dress and heels, reader is a councilor, not proofread

as a new member of the piltover council, you’ve been the busiest you’d been in your life. constant laws to vote on and tedious, frequent meetings could make you feel annoyed at times. however, you made a new friend, who you’ve become extremely close with in the past couple of years.

you and mel knew each other when you were younger, just never hung out as much as you do now. despite not having strong connections to one another at a young age, it opposes how you are now. she’s invited you to her nightly scouting at piltover university.

it isn’t an interesting activity to do, but you love hanging out with mel. during these times when you explore the large university for hours, you find much time to converse with the noblewoman. sometimes you and she hold your giggles after telling the other a joke, not wanting to alert a trespasser.

this night doesn’t seem to be unlike all the others. you walk down the decorated halls of piltover university with a flashlight in hand. your flowy black dress hangs low to your ankles, and your and mel’s heels clack against the tile floor.

you and mel whisper amongst one another, she asks, “have you had your eye on anyone lately?” smirking softly and side-eyeing you.

you gasp and your cheeks flush, “‘course not, mel! i just… have not found the right person yet, i guess.” your smile diminishes.

your heels continue to clack against the ground, and you feel a cold breeze on your bare arms and leg, exposed due to the slit dress. you shiver and rub your hand on your arm, keeping the flashlight in front of you.

there’s a moment of silence between you two when mel hesitatingly speaks up, “maybe jayce has a friend you will feel… attracted to.”

“eh, i’ll just not do much. maybe let the universe pull me to the right person instead, yeah? i would hate to waste my time on the wrong person—“

she places her arm in front of you, squinting and giving you a look. you tilt your head before you begin to hear voices, and you quietly turn your flashlight off. mel keeps hers on, and the two of you tip-toe closer to the noise. it seems to be close to heimerdinger’s office, if you remember the university layout correctly.

“so far, so good—“ a man with a thick accent whispers, as if trying to hide his actions.

mel turns the flashlight on, and you cross your arms. the two men shield their eyes, and you recognize one as jayce talis. you tilt your head at the sight of the other man with brown hair and a defined jawline, who is turning a key into the door labeled ‘pf. heimdinger.’

mel taunts, “hmm. willing to risk exile for your endeavor. that’s quite the conviction.”

“councilor!” jayce interrupts, “what a surprise to see you, huh?”

then, the mysterious man comes up with an excuse, “wait a minute, this isn’t my bedroom. how could i have…”

jayce stands up from his knees and pleads with you and mel, “please. we can prove that it works.”

mel comes up with a contradiction as fast as lightning, she hums, “hmm. you couldn’t do so earlier today, how is tonight any different?”

“we figured out how to stabilize it.” the pale man replies.

he eyes are sharp toward the noblewoman until his gaze travels to you. his eyes widen and his cheeks flush, he can feel himself becoming warmer and warmer. you can tell he’s observing you and your actions, as well as your attire.

god, you’re beautiful.

he doesn’t say many words over the next couple of seconds, but you smile at him, warming his heart quickly. he’s knocked out of his mind when mel speaks.

“you’re the professor’s assistant,” she refers to the man with the keys.

jayce disagrees, “no, he’s my new partner.”

you nervously chime in, sticking close to mel, “even if you manage to prove your theory, the other council members would destroy it.”

“heimerdinger will recognize the potential, miss l/n,” the handsome man says.

he knows your name!

mel scoffs, and she’s not having any of their crap, “he already does. it scares him. it scares them all.”

“what about you, miss l/n? you are on the council, correct?” jayce’s partner asks. his eyebrows furrow in curiosity, and your heart melts at his eyebrows twitching upwards.

you ponder for a few seconds, staring at him and slickly moving closer to the man. you respond, taking a few moments to think of how to form a sentence in front of such an attractive guy, “i think any worthwhile venture includes risk. and please, call me y/n.”

you hear whistling from the hallway, and you give mel a glance that makes her infer, ‘we need to make a decision quickly.’

“councilors, this technology, it’s real. and no matter what happens here, it’s going to change our world. we should be the ones to lead it. piltover, the land of progress, equality, innovation. i know it sounds impossible, but when have we ever let that stop us? please, just give us a chance.” jayce explains.

you glance at mel, and you assume she’s left the decision to you. you reply with a sigh, “one night, you two. i want to see in the morning how you have progressed your technology.”

“thank you, councilor l/n,” the one in the white tie thanks.

you quietly nod and smile, waving to them as mel gently pulls your arm and turns the flashlight off. she goes on to distract and talk to harold, the enforcer. as you step down the hall, you glance behind you to hardly see the nameless man staring at you back. he then gets pulled into the room by jayce, who seems urgent to work on the high-end technology.

as councilor medarda’s flashlight flicks off, and you and mel walk away, viktor’s still standing near the entrance of the laboratory. he sees a shine in your eyes even through the dark hallway, however, he doesn’t know if you can see him as well.

he doesn’t even notice jayce has unlocked the door until he gets pulled in by the taller man.

“you were ogling at councilor l/n.” jayce grins, teasing his partner.

“i was not. that would be unprofessional and inappropriate. plus, we are here to work on hextech,” he attempts to change the subject, “we should get working on it.”

“i’ll work with mel to set you two up.” jayce objects, rolling his eyes and chuckling at the slender figure.

viktor couldn’t pass up that opportunity.

“who’s the cute boy with the white jacket and the thick accent?” you ask mel, walking away from the enforcer.

she grins at you, showing her perfect teeth, “that was viktor. and from what i can tell, he’s interested in you.”

as you continue to walk down the hallway, leaving the university to travel toward your bedroom, you go to sleep with a happy feeling in your chest.

[starkwlkr]

she’s always a woman | max verstappen

an: this fic is a special birthday fic for my lovely friend anto!! happy birthday love!! hope you enjoy your special day <3 also let’s just pretend that lewis wasn’t battling max for the championship in 2021 instead it’s max and the reader

tw: jos mention and narcissistic mother

Max couldn’t really remember why your friendship ended. He was always there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, when you had a bad race and needed some support, etc. He was always there so when you stopped talking to him, he was confused and hurt.

KARTING DAYS

At the time, the boys you raced against hated being beat by a girl. It was humiliating! A girl was faster than them? No way! But when Max Verstappen saw how fast you were, he was amazed. You made it look so easy.

“How many trophies do you have now?” Seven year old Max asked you as you two shared a bag of gummy bears, your favorite snack.

“I haven’t counted. What about you?” You questioned.

“I haven’t counted either.” He replied.

It was a long day of practice and all Max wanted to do was spend time with you and eat gummy bears. He noticed how you only ate certain colors like red, blue, orange and yellow. He asked why only those colors and your response was that those colors were your favorites, all the other colors looked unappetizing.

Spending time with you was something Max loved about karting. Most of the boys you competed with would rather lose than hang out with a girl, but not Max. He liked being around you. And it seemed like you liked having Max around too so it made no sense to Max why you stopped talking to him.

As time went on, Jos Verstappen kept a close eye on you. He certainly didn’t want some girl distracting his son. He kept telling Max how much of a bad influence you were, but of course Max didn’t listen. Why would he? He liked you and you liked him.

Unlike Max, your mother’s words went to your head.

“He’s just like the other boys, sweetheart. When you least expect it, he’s going to leave you heartbroken.” Your mother told you one day after another successful win. She watched the way Max stood next to you on the podium and clapped for you.

“But he’s my friend.” You said lowly.

“What did I say about this sport? You are not here to make friends, they are not your friends and neither is he. He’s competition and if you want to keep winning then you need to keep away from that boy!”

The next time Max saw you, he was the heartbroken one. Every time he kept trying to get your attention, you ignored him and turned the other way.

Did I do something wrong? Maybe I forgot her birthday? No, it was a month ago and we ate chocolate cake together.

All day Max was wondering what he did to make you upset. He had even brought a tiny bag with only red, blue, orange and yellow gummy bears for you. He had spent an hour picking out your favorite gummy bears and now you weren’t talking to him. . .

Little Max Verstappen had his first heartbreak at the hands of his first love.

The next day he figured you would start talking to him, but it was like he didn’t even exist in your world. He was starting to lose hope.

“Good, now you won’t have any distractions.” Jos told him after Max mentioned how you had stopped talking to him.

“But she wasn’t!”

“She was.” Jos confirmed.

Max stayed quiet. He knew it was no use trying to argue with his father.

As you both grew up, Max was beside you at every podium even if you weren’t on speaking terms. He hoped that maybe one day you would speak to him. He also kept a plastic bag in his bag with your favorite gummy bears to share with you in case that day ever came.

2021 SEASON

Max was both nervous and excited for the last few races of the season. Both you and him were battling for the championship. It was like a dream come true for him, both of you in Formula 1 and now you’re both in the championship picture. He wouldn’t have it any other way. To Max, it would’ve been better if you could at least acknowledge him.

It was after the Brazilian Grand Prix when Max wanted to congratulate you on your win, but had to wait until you finished with your interviews. He was eager to talk to you.

The post-race interviews were a whirlwind, but the moment that caught your attention was when a reporter, eager for a headline, asked you about Max Verstappen.

“We've heard that you and Max were childhood friends. What’s the story there? You two seem to be fierce competitors now. Was there any friendship left between you, or is it all business these days?"

Your smile tightened. It was the last thing you wanted to discuss, but you were a professional, and you knew better than to let your personal life spill over into the press room. Your gaze flicked to the corner where Max was conducting his own interviews, but you quickly refocused on the question.

“Max and I... we were friends, sure," you said coolly, your voice steady but your tone sharp, almost as if you were trying to distance yourself from the memory. "But that was a long time ago. I don’t really have time for friendships anymore. Racing’s my focus. It always has been."

“But you were so close back then," the reporter pressed. "Is it hard to battle him for the title, given your history?"

You shrugged, trying to maintain your composure. "Racing's not about who you used to be friends with. It’s about who’s the best right now. And I’m focused on being the best."

“So, no hard feelings?" he asked, genuinely curious.

You didn’t miss a beat. "No time for feelings," you replied, your lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Just results."

After finishing all your interviews, you walked back to your driver’s room. All you wanted was to lay down and take a much needed nap, but the sweet voice of a Dutchman stopped you. It had been years since you heard Max say your name.

Before you could say anything, Max stood up abruptly and walked toward you, his stride purposeful. He reached out, grabbing your arm with a firm grip, pulling you into your room without a word.

“Let go of me, Max," you whispered, but your voice cracked.

“No," he said simply, his tone rough, but his eyes were soft—something in them that you hadn’t seen in years. "I’m not letting you walk away again."

Your heart skipped a beat. His eyes searched yours, that fierce intensity you remembered from your childhood still present, though now mixed with something else—pain, perhaps. The unspoken hurt you both carried for so long hung between you two.

“Max," you began, but he cut you off.

“Why did you stop talking to me?" His voice was quieter now, but the question hung in the air, sharp and urgent. “Everyday i asked myself ‘did I do something wrong? Did I say something that hurt her?’ What is is? Why?”

Your throat tightened. You took a shaky breath, your eyes lowering to the floor. "You were my competition," you muttered. "And my mother… she made it clear. She said you would take everything from me. That I needed to stop talking to you or I’d lose everything." Your chest constricted, and you felt a sudden wave of bitterness rise within you. "She said you were nothing more than a threat to my future, and I had to focus—focus on winning.” It pained you to even remember all the talks your mother had with you about Max.

Max stared at you for a moment, taking in your words. The silence that followed was thick, the air between them charged with everything unspoken. Then, slowly, he stepped closer.

“I never wanted to take anything from you." His eyes were filled with a quiet sincerity that made your stomach twist. "I never asked for this. I never asked for us to be enemies."

Your breath hitched as a knot formed in your chest. You stepped back, your hands trembling. "But that’s what she wanted. She wanted me to beat you, to prove I was better. To make sure you didn’t have what I could have." Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a flood of emotion you had long kept hidden. "I—"

Your words faltered as you felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to fall. You tried to hold them back, but the weight of it all—the pressure, the competition, the years of silence—was too much. You turned away, pressing your palms to your face, feeling the dam break inside you.

Max didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, his arms enveloping you in an instant. You stiffened at first, surprised by the warmth and steadiness of his embrace. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, couldn't think. But then, something inside you snapped, and you collapsed into him, your body shaking as the tears finally came.

Max didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just held you, his hand gently rubbing your back, grounding you in the moment.

"I’m sorry," you whispered between sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You kept repeating.

His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if offering you the comfort and understanding you had been denied for so long. "You didn’t deserve any of that." You clung to him, unable to stop the flood of emotions that had been building for years.

Eventually, the tears slowed, and the sobs turned into shallow breaths. Max didn’t let go. He stayed, a quiet anchor, as if he would hold you for as long as you needed.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were swollen, your makeup smudged, but you felt something lighter—something like relief, like a door you hadn’t realized was closed had finally opened.

“Does your dad know you’re here?” You wiped away the tears.

“I don’t really care about him right now,” Max responded. He took your hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “You need me right now.”

“Max, I don’t want you to get in trouble. You need to leave.”

“I’m a grown man. He can’t tell me who I can and can’t talk to.” He said.

“Then . . . I don’t care what my mother says either,” You declared. “You know, she said we couldn’t talk anymore because you were my competition. That I shouldn’t get too close to you. She thought it would make me weak."

“Your mom never understood that... you’re not my competition. You never were. You were my best friend. And I . . . I miss that.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Max.”

QATAR

The camera lights flickered on, and the usual hum of the media circus surrounded Max Verstappen as he sat in front of the press. Another victory under his belt, but the atmosphere in the room felt different today—slightly more tense than usual. The 2021 season was in full swing, and the rivalry between Max and his childhood best friend and fellow F1 driver, had become one of the most talked-about stories of the year.

“Max, earlier this week, someone that you knew quite well was quoted saying, ‘No time for feelings, just results,’ when talking about your past friendship. Given the intensity of your current rivalry, how do you feel about that statement?”

He took a breath and leaned forward, his voice steady but laced with an undeniable undercurrent of emotion.

“she’s one of the most focused and driven people I know. I don’t think anyone truly understands what it’s like to be in her head—how much racing means to her. She’s an artist, in every sense of the word, when it comes to driving. She doesn’t do anything halfway.”

A brief silence fell over the room. Max seemed to weigh his next words carefully.

“We’ve both been through a lot over the years, and yeah . . . I get why she said what she did. This sport can make you say things you don’t always mean. It can make you choose things—like cutting ties with people who used to be your family, just so you can win. But trust me, it’s not easy for her. Or for me.”

His voice softened slightly, the edge of competition giving way to something more genuine—something rooted in your shared history.

“She’s not the kind of person to just forget about things or people. I know her better than anyone,” He continued. It was as if he could talk about you all day and never get bored. “As for the championship, yeah, It’s just the way it is. But that doesn’t change the fact that I respect her more than anyone. She’s a hell of a driver, and I know what she’s capable of.”

Max leaned back slightly, the cool exterior of the driver once again overtaking his emotions. He was a fighter. And this season, he wasn’t just fighting for the title.

ABU DHABI

It had been weeks since your last conversation with Max, but occasionally you would sneak glances at each other. Maybe even smile at him, which caused the media to wonder if your friendship had finally been restored.

The paddock was bustling with the usual pre-race energy—team members darting around, engineers checking telemetry, and drivers preparing for what would be a pivotal race. But Max Verstappen was not focused on the usual chaos. He was standing in front of your motorhome, his jaw clenched as he faced a woman who had been an obstacle in his life for far too long: you mother.

All he wanted to do before the race was to wish you good luck but he had one problem that came in the form of your mother.

“This is a pivotal moment for her career, Max. The championship is on the line. She needs to focus.” Your mother spoke.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t need you to tell her how to focus. She’s not a child anymore. She’s not your puppet.”

She smirked, her gaze calculating. “Oh, I know exactly how to handle her. You, on the other hand, have always been a distraction. Just like you were when you were kids. I told her back then that you were competition. And look where we are now—competing for the championship.”

Max took a step forward, his voice low but sharp. “You don’t get to control her anymore. She doesn’t deserve the way you treated her. She never did. She’s not some tool for you to use to further your own agenda. She’s a person. A damn good one, too.”

Your mother raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smug grin. “And now you think you have feelings for her? After all these years? You’re wasting your time, Max.

Max’s chest tightened, a sudden rush of frustration coursing through him. He had always felt something for you—something deep and complicated—but he hadn’t realized how much until he saw you again. How could he not? The way you made him laugh, the way you understood him in a way no one else did. The way your presence grounded him when the world felt chaotic.

“I’m not wasting my time,” Max snapped, his voice rising. He was no longer just angry; there was something more vulnerable beneath his words. “I... I care about her. More than you’ll ever understand. And I’m not going to just stand by and watch you tear her down again.”

Her eyes widened, the smugness on her face faltering for just a moment. She hadn’t expected that. But she quickly recovered, her icy demeanor back in place. “You think you can just waltz in and change everything, Max? You think she’s going to forget the way I’ve always looked out for her?”

Max’s pulse was racing now. “You’ve never looked out for her. You’ve held her back. You’ve made her feel like she couldn’t trust herself. Do you know how many times she’s questioned her worth because of you?”

Before your mother could reply, Max spoke again. “If you think for a second that I’m going to back off now, you’re wrong.”

Your mother glared at the Dutchman. “I’ve spent years in Formula 1, fighting for every ounce of respect, and now I’m fighting for her, too. And I’m not letting anyone—least of all you—tell me what I can or can’t feel about her.”

His words hung in the air between them, the weight of them settling in. He turned to leave, but paused at the door of your motorhome, looking back one last time.

“Tell her,” Max said, softer now, “Tell her I’ll be waiting at the finish line. I’ll always be waiting.”

Maybe your mother would pass on the message, maybe not. Either way, Max would still be waiting for you.

The roar of the crowd still echoes in the distance, but it’s muffled, almost surreal, as you stand behind the barriers, your helmet under your arm, heart still racing from the intensity of the race. The buzz of the paddock feels far away, and your body is heavy with exhaustion and disappointment. You finished second—close, but not close enough. Max had done it. He’d won the championship, after all the drama and all the battles that had led them to this final, decisive moment.

You lift your eyes and see him, standing by his car. Max, in his usual composed way, looking like he belongs there, like he's always belonged there, standing among the team and the media, all his focus, all his attention fixed on you. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips when he spots you, but it’s the way he’s standing, waiting, that hits you. Like he said he would.

You hesitate for a moment, thinking about your mother’s words, about everything that has always been said about Max—his arrogance, his rivalry, the fact that he’s always been competition. But this, here, this feels like something different. He’s not the enemy anymore. At least, not in the way they used to think of each other.

You take a breath, and then, almost instinctively, you walk toward him. As you step closer, you hear the whisper of her mother’s voice in the back of your mind, a warning you’ve heard so many times before. Stay focused. Don’t let him distract you. He’s your competition, not your friend.

But your steps don’t falter. You reach him, and when you do, you look up at him, your gaze soft, not the hardened competitive stare it once was. Max’s grin deepens, though it’s filled with something almost bittersweet.

“I heard you were waiting for me,” You said, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your voice is steady, but there’s a touch of vulnerability in it, something you can’t quite mask.

Max’s eyes soften, and for a moment, it feels like time pauses. He looks at you as if he’s not seeing the driver, the fierce competitor, but the girl he used to know—the one he used to race against in karting, the one who once shared the same dream, the one who still, in some ways, understands him better than anyone else.

“I told you I would,” he replies quietly, his voice low and calm. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Your mind flashes back to the words he said to your mother, the promise he made—I’ll always be waiting.

“You won. Congratulations.”

Max’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a certain warmth in the way he looks at you, a quiet understanding that goes beyond just racing. He takes a step closer, his voice a little softer now. “You’re better than you think. I have a feeling you’ll take it away from me next year.”

You shake your head, but there’s no bitterness in your gesture. “Next year,” you repeat. Your fingers press the edge of your helmet tighter, almost like you’re grounding herself in this moment. But there’s something else too—a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. “Maybe. But I’m just glad you’re here.”

Max’s smile is genuine now. “I’ll always be here. Waiting for you to finally beat me.”

You laugh—a real laugh this time, one that’s not forced. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that one day,” you say, your voice a little lighter. “You should go with your team, I’m sure they’re waiting to drown you in champagne.”

Max chuckles, then steps forward. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, standing in the midst of the chaos, everything else fading into the background. You breathe in, realizing just how much this—this moment—matters more than the championship itself.

“So, Max, you’ve just won the title, but there’s a lot of talk about your competitor. She’s been called ‘too emotional’ in the past by some. What’s your take on how she handled this title fight?”

Max turns towards the reporter, a protective energy surging in him. He absolutely hated doing interviews, all he wanted to do was get back to you. “Well, for one, I think anyone who says she’s ‘too emotional’ is clearly not paying attention. She’s one of the most focused drivers out there. Honestly, anyone who thinks you can compete in this sport at the level we’ve been at, especially in the last few races, without being deeply passionate—well, they don’t understand what it takes.” He glances over at you, who’s trying to hide a smile while also looking frustrated with the question.

While you were a few feet away from him doing your own interview, you could hear Max. You tried hard to listen to the interview questions, but all you wanted to do was listen to what Max had to say.

“isn’t it a bit too much? The way she gets in her own head. She’s been—well, let’s just say, a bit of a perfectionist this season.”

Max shook his head, chuckling at the reporters words. “But, you know, that’s exactly why she’ll be winning a championship someday soon. I have no doubt about it, but I’m excited for the day she takes my championship away.”

Max could hear you burst into laughter at his words. His smile grew ten times bigger. “Seriously, though, she’s one of the most talented drivers I’ve ever known. she’ll steal the show when you least expect it. And maybe she’s a little bit hard to understand at times, but that’s exactly what makes her great.”

The reporter nodded. “Are you saying she’s like, uh, the Billy Joel song?” He asked confused.

Max grinned, clearly amused by the confusion. “She’s always a woman to me. Maybe I’m not the best person to explain it, but you get the idea.”

You chuckled once again as you heard Max. He really had a way with words.

“And one day, I’ll be watching her take the title with the same respect I have for her right now.”

That’s when you decide to step in after finishing your interview. “Maybe, Max. But for now, I think I'll let you have your moment. You’ve earned it.”

“We both did. I owe it all to you.”

[fairuzfan]

But the other images I had was like a mass refugee camp. So basically at that point in time, two months ago, about 20,000 people had sought refuge both in the hospital and outside the hospital. And these weren’t tents. They’re still not tents. They’re makeshift shelters with bed sheets or plastic bag sheets. The ones outside sleep on the floor. They’re lucky [if] they get a carpet or a mat. There was one bathroom at the time for about 200 people that they have to share. And inside, the hallways of the hospital were also made into shelters. There was hardly any room to walk, and there’s children running around everywhere. It’s important to remember all these people were not homeless. They all had homes that were destroyed. They’re all displaced people that took shelter in the hospital.

So that’s the kind of mass chaos that I encountered initially, and then I was told that every time there’s a bomb, give it about 15 minutes and the mass casualties come. That was the other thing that at the time shocked me: What we’d been seeing livestreamed on Instagram, on social media or whatever, I actually saw myself and it was worse than I can imagine. I saw scenes that were horrific that I’d never witnessed before and I never want to see again. You have a mother walking in holding her 8, 9-year-old, skinny — because they’re all starving — boy who’s dead, he’s cold and dead and [the mother is] screaming, asking for someone to check his pulse and everybody’s busy in the mass chaos. So that was kind of my initial welcoming scene when I entered Khan Younis the first time.

{...}

What I saw — I’m an eye surgeon, an eye plastic surgeon, and so I saw the classic, what I penned “the Gaza shrapnel face,” because in an explosive scenario, you don’t know what’s coming. When there’s an explosion, you don’t go like this [cover your face], you kind of actually, in fact, open your eyes. And so shrapnel’s everywhere. It’s a well-known fact that the Israeli forces are experimenting [with] weapons in Gaza to boost their weapon manufacturing industry. Because if a weapon is battle-tested, it’s more valuable, isn’t it? It’s got a higher value. So basically they’re using these weapons, these missiles that purposely, intently create these large shrapnel fragments that go everywhere. And they cause amputations that are unusual.

Most amputations occur at the weak points, the elbow or the knee, and so they’re better tolerated. But these [shrapnel fragments] are causing mid-thigh, mid-arm amputations that are more difficult, more challenging, and also the rehabilitation afterward is also more challenging. Also these shrapnels [are] unlike a bullet wound. A bullet wound goes in and out; there’s an entry and exit point. Shrapnel stays there. So you gotta take it out. So the injuries I saw were — I mean, I saw people with their eyes blown apart. And when I was there, and this is my experience, I treated all children when I was there the first time. It was kids that [were aged] 2, 6, 9, 10, 13, 15, and 16, and 17 were the ones that I treated. And their eyes unfortunately had to be removed. They had shrapnel in their eye sockets that I had to remove and, of course, remove the eye. There’s many patients, many children who had shrapnel in both their eyes. And you can only do so much because right now, because of the aid blockade and because of the destruction of most of Gaza, there’s no equipment available to take shrapnel that’s in the eye out. And so we just leave them alone and they eventually go blind.

{...}

I was on the ground, I toured the refugee camps, I went around Rafah, I saw, and if there’s an Israeli invasion, I can’t emphasize enough how catastrophic it’s going to be. It’ll be mass killing, mass destruction, because all these figures come in, 50 dead, 100 wounded. But what people don’t realize is, being wounded is a death sentence. Being wounded in this environment with no health care system, completely collapsed, is a death sentence. And the wounded often will lose everybody, like all family members, so they have no supports, especially children, have nobody left to take care of them, not even aunts and uncles. It will be catastrophic. I don’t know what to say to the world to stop an impending invasion. You’ve got to rein this prime minister of Israel in. You got to do something to stop this stupid invasion that he still wants to do, because it’ll be catastrophic.

{...}

I had one young man, about 25 years old, he lost one eye that I took out myself. He spent about five, six, or seven years, basically spent thousands and thousands of dollars in IVF treatment because he got married young and they wanted to have a child and they couldn’t have one. So he spent years on IVF treatment and finally had a baby that was 3 months old. And there was a missile attack by Israel at his home. He lost his entire family, including his baby and his wife and his parents and family. He’s by himself, single guy. I took his one eye out, and he has nobody in this world. He just kind of walks around the tent structures, just kind of walking around with no home and trying to sleep wherever he can.

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

i would love to see 1000 secrets with barty crouch or regulus 😏

combining this with another reg request!! I have one coming for Barty soon too dw 🫶

1000 secret kisses | R.B.

cw: MDNI 18+, smut mentioned, secret relationships, fwb, drinking

1000 things prompt list (closed!) | masterlist

Alright, Barty. Truth, dare, or shot,” Dorcas said, still coughing after the gulp of firewhisky she just took.

“Truth,” Barty replied.

“What's your most controversial opinion about someone in the group?” Dorcas challenged, and everyone ooooh’d.

Barty took a contemplative drag of his joint, then—“I would bet my left nut that Regulus is a virgin,” Barty said through a cloud of smoke.

“No way, look at him!” Pandora argued. “He fucks, guarantee it.”

The groups heads swiveled to Regulus, who was reclined lazily in arm chair, knees spread, a cigarette dangling from his fingertips. He looked supremely fuckable to you, like he always did.

That's why you've been secret friends with benefits for most of the school year.

You and Regulus were an unlikely pair; Reg, a certified grouch with a distaste for socializing, and you, a gifted student and natural flirt. But you found him fascinating, deeply intelligent and perceptive, with an artistic heart, even if he preferred not to show it. And he found you endearing, infectious in your enthusiasm.

You'd kissed him after a drunken night in Hogsmeade, and he'd sought you out the following day in the library. Now, you snuck away every chance you got, stealing secret moments around every corner, in every classroom, praying your friends never discovered the truth, lest you never hear the end of it.

This was just for the two of you, and you preferred it that way.

“I'm not saying he isn't sexy!” Barty argued. “I'm saying he couldn't be bothered to fuck someone, too busy reading poetry and glaring.”

“And you expect me to, what? Fuck everything with legs like you, Junior?” Regulus bit back.

“No, but like—I’ve never even seen you glance at someone,” Evan chimed in. “You've never talked about fancying someone, or gotten flustered.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.

“Nothing shakes him, and he'd never tell you half-wits if he fancied someone because you can't keep your mouths shut,” Xeno laughed.

“It's not like it's anyone's business anyways,” you added, stealing the joint from Barty and taking a puff. “It's his business who he does, or doesn't, fuck.”

“Oh, come off it. He hasn't even had a crush on you, and we've all had a crush on you,” Barty said.

You nearly choked on your hit. “You're full of shit, Junior.”

“It's true! We talked about it the other day!”

You risked a glance at Regulus while you fanned the smoke from around your face, and found him glaring down at his lap, his expression was calm, but you'd long ago learned to judge his true feelings by his pale eyes. And right now, the hostility in them could raze the castle.

That must have been the day he abruptly dragged you from your dorm and into an empty classroom. He toyed with you until you cried, begging him to get you off. And when he finally let you ride him, you weren't allowed to come until you told him exactly who you belonged to. Making you spell out his entire name, letter by letter, thrust by thrust.

Regulus Arcturus Black.

Your pussy shivered just thinking about it.

“Can we get on with the game, please?” Pandora huffed. “It's y/n’s turn.”

Barry grinned over at you, and you groaned. Why on Salazar's shitty earth did you think it was a good idea to sit next to him?

“Truth, dare, or shot, my darling?” Barty asked, his voice a seductive purr.

You really didn't want to take a shot of that lukewarm swill, and you had a hunch of what Barty's question would be: do you fancy any of us? Leaving you with one option.

“Dare.”

Barty’s eyes lit up, and he rubbed his hands together like a supervillain. “You've made a grave error, my dearest y/n.”

“Don't be an ass, Crouch. Play fair,” Regulus warned, the edge of his voice sharper than was probably necessary.

“Oh, you'll like this Reggie, don't worry.” Barty presented his palms to you, like he was offering a gift. “Treasure, I dare you to make Regulus blush.”

“That's not fair!” Pandora argued. “How is she supposed to do that?”

“By any means necessary.” Barty grinned.

You looked at Regulus, who was already looking at you. “I don't want to cross any lines—”

“And when she fails?” Regulus asked, a hint of a smirk on his pretty mouth. Baiting you.

“Then she takes two shots,” Barty wagered.

You looked back and forth between them, all eyes on you. “Deal,” you said, pushing to your feet.

Regulus' eyes widened a fraction, like he didn't expect you to actually go for it, but he vastly underestimated your pettiness. And you would love nothing more than to be the thing that made Regulus finally crack in front of his friends. A tiny consultation for months of keeping secrets.

You sashayed over to him, ignoring the whistles and shouts from your friends, focused entirely on Regulus' smug face. His eyes roamed over you, lingering at the edge of your skirt, the sway of your hips, and you caught the unmistakable sign of his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and his arrogant expression faltered.

Already, you were making him sweat.

You knew none of your regular tricks would work on him, he was impervious to flirting, but you had an ace up your sleeve.

Carefully, you perched on the arm of his chair, being mindful to not actually touch him, knowing it would bother him to have you so close without being able to touch. He shifted a little in his seat, a fraction closer to you, fingers tightening on his cigarette.

You took a pull from the joint, filling your lungs with its acrid burn. You looked at Regulus expectantly, and he smirked before tilting his head back for you. You leaned in and he parted his lips, letting you blow the smoke into his mouth.

Your friends continued to whoop and cheer, but you focused on Regulus' proximity, the hazy feeling coarsing through your blood.

Merlin, you wanted to kiss him.

Instead, when the last of the smoke left your lungs and entered his, you shifted to whisper in his ear. “Took that hit so well, sweet boy,” you purred, letting your lips brush the shell of his ear.

You felt his body hitch, wanting to cough up the smoke, but he managed to blow it out of the corner of his mouth, casting you vicious side eye. To your delight, you noticed a delicate pink stain was crawling up his neck, warming the tops of his cheekbones.

“She did it!” Evan cheered, and the rest of the group roared in approval.

“Brat,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. You knew you'd be paying for it later, but it was so worth it to know you had an affect on him no one else did.

You sauntered back over to your seat, smiling ear to ear and basking in the groups praise.

Regulus tried to play it off, but there was no going back now. And you knew he was in trouble when it was finally his turn.

“Alright, Reggie,” Pandora said. “Truth, dare, or shot.”

You already knew what he would pick: Reg hated booze, and would rather run around the common room naked than fess up to something.

“Dare,” he said, taking a bold glance at you.

Pandora caught it, of course, and a tendril of uncertainty coiled in your stomach.

“I dare you to make y/n blush back.”

Regulus huffed a low laugh. “Come on, Dora. Give me a challenge.”

You glared at him, and he winked back. Maybe it was the weed, or his competitive nature, but you'd never seen him so brazen.

Everyone ooooh’d.

“Fine, I dare you to kiss one person in the circle!”

Your heart sunk. Even if it was platonic, a stupid dare, you didn't particularly want to see Regulus kiss someone else. Your feelings for Regulus has grown over the course of the your secret relationship, and while neither of you were ready for labels, that didn't mean you wanted to share him, or vice versa if the night in the classroom was any indication.

Regulus narrowed his eyes at her. “Not everyone consents to being kissed by me.”

“I consent!” They all chorused, and you inwardly groaned.

“What? You've never fucked and you've never kissed someone?” Barty teased, ramping up the pressure.

“Fuck off, Crouch,” Regulus hissed. The game was getting to him, and your friends were feasting on his rare display of discomfort.

You'd feel bad for him if you weren't feeling so sorry for yourself. Reg would probably kiss Barty just to shut him up, and then storm off to bed. Leaving you to decipher his words and actions like every night spent without him there to prove his affection with his hands and mouth.

Shit, maybe this arrangement had gotten more out of control than you realized.

“How the fuck is Sirius such a lady-killer, and his little brother is the virgin fuckin’ Mary?” Barty was too busy laughing at his own jokes to notice Regulus get up and prowl across the circle towards him.

Barty finally noticed when Reg was almost on top of him, but at the last second, Regulus pivoted. His hand shot out to grab you by the hair, roughly tilting your head back for the bruising kiss he planted on your unsuspecting lips.

You squeaked in surprise, but quickly gave way for him, melting under his firm, insistent mouth as his tongue delved between your teeth to taste you.

As quickly as he swept in, he was gone, leaving you wide eyed and breathless as he stalked back to his seat and dropped into it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What was it you said? ‘Y/n has the most gorgeous mouth you'd ever seen’?” Regulus said, a mocking edge in his voice. “That you'd ‘give anything to taste her'?”

Barty gaped like a fish.

Regulus smirked. “I’ll have that left bollock now. And I'll take the other one if I hear my girl’s name on your mouth again, you prick.”

Everyone gasped, including you, but Regulus didn't even flinch.

“Understood?” He glared at Barty, then the others, until each one of them lowered their eyes in submission.

Regulus beckoned you forward with two fingers and you jumped up, crossing the space between you and allowing him to pull you into his lap. He threaded his fingers through your hair, pulling you in for another kiss, little more than a peck, but it still made your head spin.

“So, secrets out?” You asked, meeting his eyes.

Regulus shrugged, pecking your cheek. “It doesn't change anything,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. “I’m yours.” He kissed your nose, your temple, your lips, down your neck, until all of your friends dispersed, making disgusted noises as they fled such a public display of affection.

But you couldn't be happier, grinning like a fool as you basked in a thousand not-so-secret kisses.

© agreeeeeeeeeee 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.