#being the change I want to see in the world

[snoopyracing]

it’ll pass // mv33

pairing: max verstappen X engineer!reader

word count: 18.5k

warnings: cursing and alcohol use. this is about the 2024 season and while i tried to make things as accurate as possible some things are tweaked for the storyline. so just read for the vibes and not biblically accurate season info :)

includes: right person wrong time, childhood friends, hidden relationship, a little friends to lovers, and ANGST

summary: when you think you've finally gotten everything you want in life... it goes and shows you just how unfair it can be.

playlist for the fic: apple music | spotify

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Not many children are certain on what they want to be when they grow up, especially at age nine, but you were an exception. Sure – millions of children say they are going to be a veterinarian or a doctor when they grow up, but how many of them actually end up being that? Life happens, plans change, and reality sets in for the majority of Earth’s population. Although you never planned on any of that happening to you. There was never a doubt in your mind that you were going to be anything other than a race car driver, but even the most determined and strong willed people get dealt a shit hand at some point in their life.  

You’d been surrounded by racing your whole life – a perk of your Dad being a successful rally car driver. The sound of the engines and the smell of the exhaust were ingrained into your brain by age five. You were a wild child, a thrill seeker and definitely your Father’s child according to your Mother, but you knew even if your Dad wasn’t a racer that you would have still found yourself drawn to racing one way or another. For a good chunk of your early childhood you claimed to want to be a rally driver like your Dad, much to your Mom’s dismay, but that all changed when you attended your first Formula 1 race.

F1 wasn’t a foreign concept to you, your family watched and attended lots of different kinds of racing, but you’d never been to an actual Formula 1 race before. The atmosphere was completely different to anything you’d ever experienced and watching it on TV was nothing compared to seeing it in real life. You were enthralled by the sounds and hustle and bustle of everything. Not to mention how fast the cars actually were. The little adrenaline junkie in you was on cloud nine and by the time the checkered flag was waved and the car crossed the finish line you knew you wanted to be the one driving it. 

Luckily being brought up in a motosports family meant you somewhat had an upper hand. You were blessed to have the finances to start karting and not to mention a very long list of connections. And sure having all these things help you, but you’ve still got to have the talent. Which in your case was never an issue. You were a menace on the track, a force not to be reckoned with, and your Dad taught you not to take any shit from any of the insecure little boys. Trophies and medals lined your walls and there was never a doubt in your mind that you couldn’t make it to the top, that was until you got older. 

As your brain developed more so did your understanding that a lot of people and your competitors didn’t think women belonged in racing. Sure when you were younger some of the boys teased you, but it was never anything that bothered you much. It wasn’t until you were around fifteen and looking to move over to single seater racing that you faced your first real case of self doubt. Even with you being one of the best drivers in your division you still had to work ten times harder than the worst male driver to prove to everyone that you were worthy to be there. It was exhausting to constantly be ridiculed, to hear people say you only had gotten this far because of who your Dad was. It amazed you how you had won all these championships and races and people still didn’t think you had the raw talent that you so clearly possessed. 

Even with spells of self doubt and days where it felt like the world was against you, you’d somehow made it to Formula 2. That Formula 1 seat that you’d dreamt about since a child was almost in your grasp and you were more determined now than ever to prove that you were one of the 20 best drivers in the world. You knew that this season was your make or break, if you didn’t put in 110% then what were you even doing here? You needed to make a statement, but even the most astronomical statement couldn’t help the fact that your fate was decided when you were born a female. 

It didn’t matter that you had won basically every championship in the previous feeder series or that you were clearly on your way to win the F2 championship. It didn’t matter if people claimed that you were the future of Formula 1 or if Susie Wolff was your mentor. It didn’t matter that you had meetings with just about every F1 team about the possibility of a seat next year or that you had a well known last name. None of it mattered because at the end of the day no one was actually ready to sign a woman as a driver. Sure, they’d string you along and give you the false hope of somewhat talking about a contract and then go and sign a driver who you could lap with your eyes closed. Sometimes you just thought they liked the publicity that the team got from the news of you being in talks with them and couldn’t care less about actually giving you the time of day.

Finally accepting that you weren’t going to get a seat in Formula 1 was a devastating out of body experience. You were sat in an uncomfortable chair in between Susie and your Dad as they tried to bargain you a seat at Williams. Although it wasn’t your first choice, you had thought and prayed that with a female CEO and Susie having ties there that Williams would be your saving grace. It was your last option at this point and as you sat there their voices became background noise and the longer you studied Claire’s body language you knew this was the end. You had zoned out, your fingers bloody from subconsciously picking at the skin around your nails as your mind wandered to a place that wasn’t this meeting. 

Ever so often you’d hear a statement from one of them and it only made you more catatonic.��

“She’s in a league of her own, Claire. I mean she’s a million times better than I ever was as a driver.” 

“Her stats alone should tell you everything you need to know. She’s more qualified than the drivers you’ve got right now. I can tell you that.” 

It’s what comes out of Claire’s mouth next that brings you back to reality and what also seals your fate. “We could offer you being a development driver like Susie was or possibly a reserve.” 

Your eyes focus on her as you sit up in your chair. “I don’t want to be a development driver or a reserve driver. I want to be in the car every race weekend. I want to be an actual driver and I know I’m more than qualified to be one.” 

You can feel your Dad and Susie’s eyes on you, surprised at your sudden brashness, yet they didn’t reprimand you. Both of them knew you deserved better than what you were getting dealt. You watch as Claire clasps her hands together and a tight lipped expression forms across her face. “I hate to say this, but we just can’t afford to take the risk.” 

“The risk?” You question, fully knowing what that risk is. 

She clears her throat, her eyes darting from Susie to your Dad and then finally landing back on you. “Yes you have talent, but we can’t take the risk as a team right now to sign a female driver. We are barely holding on the way it is and signing a female– it just– we can’t be the team to experiment with that right now, no matter how good you are. I’m sorry.” 

“So a woman can run a racing team, but just can’t drive for one? Got it.” You’re trying to be professional, but you’d already heard that sorry excuse so many times before and your dreams were literally getting crushed right in front of you, so who can blame you for being a little shitty.

“It’s not just me making this decision Y/N. There’s a million other factors and people that go into this decision. If it could be different I promise it would be.” The strained look on Claire’s face does nothing to ease the ache in your chest, if anything it makes it worse

There’s an awkward silence that fills the room and you want nothing more than to be out of this suffocating room. Your emotions are starting to bubble over and the last thing you want is for someone to spot you looking less than thrilled. In society a man is allowed to react and a woman can only overreact. There’s been countless times where your quote on quote emotions after a difficult race are used against you in an attempt to prove you shouldn’t be racing. 

The wooden legs of your chair screech across the floor as you get up and even though you don’t want to, you reach your hand out towards Claire. “Thank you for your time, it was nice talking with you.” 

“My offer still stands. I think it would be wise to think it over.” Her grip on your hand is firm as she speaks, but it does nothing to change your mind. 

You give her one last thank you before swiftly exiting the room and making your way out of the building. It’s not until you’re in the safety of the blacked out SUV that you finally let yourself fully feel your emotions. And once the first tear falls there’s no stopping the ones that come after. You’re angry that even with the talent you so clearly possess, no one will give you a chance. That you’d worked this hard, gave up your childhood and the possibility of having a normal one to do this. Spent hours, days, months training and being away from home just to get to this spot in your life. Your one dream in life was almost in your grasp, your fingertips could brush against it, that’s how close it was. Yet on a sunny afternoon on a random Monday it was ripped away from you.   

Sobs echo through the empty car and you’d never felt more hopeless than you do right now. You spot your Dad talking with Susie outside the building and a short minute later he’s walking towards the car. You try to pull yourself together, you don’t want your Dad to see you like this, but when he gets into the driver's seat you lose it all over again. You somehow feel like you’ve let your Dad down, he’s been your biggest supporter during this whole journey and you not getting a seat felt like the equivalent of you being the worst child ever.

Your Dad couldn’t be more proud of you though, he’d never seen someone work so hard to accomplish their dreams and he was always going to be in your corner no matter what happened. His heart breaks when he gets into the car and sees you so upset and defeated, he’s half tempted to march back in there and demand that they sign you. But right now he knows you need him more than anything. He reaches over the center console and pulls you into him the best he can. His little girl deserved so much better than what you had been dealt and he only wished he could take that hurt you were feeling right now away from you. 

“Darling I know this hurts right now. If I could, I’d make a whole racing team from scratch just so you could fulfill your dreams, but this isn’t the end for you. Maybe you could try different kinds of racing? Indycar? Endurance? Maybe follow in your old man's footsteps?” His hand gently rubs against your arm as you sniffle into his chest. “You never know, maybe if you take the reserve spot you could get a seat the following year.” 

You lift your head up, your eyes bloodshot as you make eye contact with him. “Dad, we both know that's not true. They’d just string me along.” You lean back into the leather seat as you close your eyes, already feeling a headache coming on. “I know life isn’t fair, but this is some cruel level of unfairness. I wish I had been born a boy because I know I would not be in this situation right now if I was.”

“You’re correct, if you were a boy you wouldn’t be in this situation right now. But that is only because you wouldn’t be half the racer you are as a guy. You’ve gotten this far and you’ve got the talent you do because of who you are and that includes being a woman. I like to take credit for your skills, but honey all your will power and strength and smarts and hell just about everything else you get from your Mother. The guts to be in love with dangerous racing I will take credit for though.“ He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear before resting his hand on the side of your face, gently wiping away your tears. “Listen, people may be blind and ignorant now, but when they finally realize just how good women can be in motorsports and stop being pussies and take that risk, they are going to regret waiting so long.” 

His words do nothing to calm the raging storm in your mind. “I know, but I wanted to be that person. I wanted that realization to happen now. I worked so hard and what did I get in return? To be passed over by someone who’s absolute shit? It hurts so bad.” 

His hands reach back over to yours, enveloping your much smaller ones in his as he tries to comfort you in any way he can. “That feeling will pass. It hurts now, but it’ll pass. I promise you.” 

The feeling never truly passes. 

You learn to deal with it, trying to find the positives in life, but the ache is still there. It's like a bad knee that hurts when it’s cold outside. It’s not there all the time, but certain moments take you back to that awful day. It hurts when you win the F2 championship and still don’t have a seat in F1. It hurts when interviewers ask you about what your future holds. It hurts when you see people you raced with as a kid be that one of twenty that you want to be so bad. 

Once the F2 season ends you honestly have no idea what you are planning on doing with your life. You really don’t want to dabble in other forms of racing, but you know if you take a year off your chances of getting that golden seat become even more slim. 

It’s not until the FIA Gala that you come to the conclusion that maybe you should take up the offer of being a reserve driver. You know you’re going against every word you’ve previously said and every stubborn bone in your body doesn’t want you to do this, but there’s nothing you want more than to be a Formula 1 driver. And if there is even a .1% chance that you could get that seat by doing a year as a reserve first, then you’d be dumb to not try. You know all the odds are against you and maybe you’re betting on a losing dog, but you needed to at least believe in yourself if no one else was. It’s a choice that you’ve mulled over for what seems like an eternity, but it’s a certain Dutch driver that makes you take the final leap off the edge. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You’ve known Max since you were kids in karting. The two of you were pretty close friends as kids, often seen attached at the hip around the track during race weekends. He’d found solace with you and your family, something that looking back now, you were glad to have been able to give him. He was the only other person who you truly considered competition back in those days. It was always a fun time when you raced against Max, mainly because he treated you like an equal, but also never downplayed your talent. He knew you were good and he expressed that many times– something that meant a lot to you back then and still does today.

As you two got older your friendship started to fade for no reason other than taking different paths. When he skipped F2 and went straight into F1 you were pissed, but he had the talent, you couldn’t deny that. You’d sometimes see him on weekends when F1 and F2 raced together, a few short words spoken in passing, but it was never like the old days. Your lives didn’t necessarily coincide anymore, he was making waves as the youngest F1 driver to exist and you were stuck in F2. So when he approached you at the Gala you were surprised. 

You’d been playing good racing driver and making small talk all night, talking to sponsors and random rich men who loved to hear  themselves talk. You’d finally escaped the tortuous sea of networking and found yourself at a somewhat secluded table with a flute of champagne in front of you. You hadn’t been at the table for very long  before you heard a familiar Dutch accent coming from behind you. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

You turned to see the one and only Max Verstappen standing there with his hand on the back of the seat next to you. Your eyes scanned across the white linen tablecloth to the several empty chairs surrounding the table and then back to Max. “I think they all might be spoken for, but I’m sure they can find another table to sit at.” He lets out a little chuckle as he sits down and you notice him fidgeting with his tie, clearly trying to loosen it. “It’s weird seeing you in anything other than your race suit or team kit.” 

His movements halt as his eyes comb over you and it makes you squirm slightly in your seat. “Could say the same about you.” 

He’s not wrong though, the dress you’ve picked out for tonight is nothing shy of stunning, but it’s not you. You always felt like these events were a form of torture more than anything and having to get all dressed up was just the cherry on top. 

“I saw that you had a good season.” You state before taking a sip of your champagne. 

Max’s eyebrows raise in surprise towards you, like you’ve just said the craziest thing. “I don’t think we should be talking about my season when you’ve just won a championship.” 

You lean back in your seat, crossing your legs as you adjust your dress. “It’s only an F2 championship Max.” There’s still a part of you that’s slightly bitter about him leaving you behind and you wonder what this night would be like if you were an F1 driver like him. 

“It still means something.” His baby blue eyes narrowed at you as he spoke. 

The remaining champagne in your glass is gone in seconds, this isn’t where you wanted this conversation to end up, but somehow you knew it was inevitable. “It doesn’t mean much if it can’t even grant me that seat I want. I won that championship basically halfway through the season, but can’t get anyone to offer me anything higher than a reserve driver. How does that mean anything?” 

Max shifts in his seat, he knows this is a sensitive subject to you and he knows what he’s about ready to tell you will probably get him slapped, but he has to at least try. 

“It could mean something and I came over here to talk to you about it.” Your eyebrows furrow at his words, confused as to what he could possibly mean. “I want you as my teammate.” 

You can’t help but laugh slightly at him, the Dutchman had clearly had one too many glasses of champagne tonight. “Did you think to express that to Red Bull before I had that world shortest meeting with them months ago? We all have dreams Max and yours is nice, but it’s a pipe dream.”

He shakes his head and scoots his chair closer to you. “It’s not a dream. It can happen. The team wanted to see how the rest of your season played out, but they for sure want you now.” 

“Where is Daniel going then?” A waiter comes past and you snatch another flute of champagne off of their tray. “And why is this not being discussed in a formal meeting setting?” 

“The team thought you might be more willing if you heard about this from someone you knew pretty well first. You know I’ve always been in your corner.” Max knows this is where the conversation will either go south or you’ll hear him out and he fears the latter isn’t the most likely scenario. “ And Daniel isn’t going anywhere” 

It takes you a moment to understand what Max’s words mean, your glass of champagne hovers near your lips as you slowly realize what he’s insinuating. And this time you actually do laugh at him because how could he think that after your disgruntled conversation just moments ago that you would want the one thing you were dissatisfied with? 

“Max, you've got to be kidding me.” You feel like this is one big prank and your tone is more defeated than upset at this point. 

Max on the other hand is trying to figure out how to convince you that this is your best option without making you throw that glass of champagne in his face. “Just hear me out ok? I know being a reserve is the last thing you want, but I also know that you’re one of the best drivers out there right now. And yes– you should have that seat already and it sucks that they are making you jump through so many hoops, but I’m trying to help you out in any way I can. So please just take Red Bull’s offer. You’d be a reserve for a year and then when Daniel’s contract is up at the end of the season you’d be the number one contender for his spot.” The only thing you can find yourself to do is blankly stare at him. It’s not a guarantee that you would be getting Daniel’s spot, you’d just be a contender and to you that means you would be just used for headlines and never actually considered. 

“You really think this is the best thing for me?” 

A sigh escapes past his lips, he should have known this wouldn’t be as easy as he hoped. “What are you really going to do if you don’t take this offer? You can’t do another season in F2. I mean, you’re driving laps around these guys for fun. You’re wasting your talent here and you’re also wasting it by being so determined to not take this opportunity.” 

Your arms defensively cross over your chest and you want what he’s saying to not make sense, but it is and it’s making you even more irritated. “I could seek out other forms of racing.” 

Max can’t help but roll his eyes at how stubborn you’re being. “You won’t though. You love rallying and yes it’s in your blood, but you lack the experience that you need. Endurance just isn’t you. Indycar is the closest thing to F1, but at the end of the day it’s not Formula 1, so I know you won’t actually seek it out. F1 is what you want Y/N and I’m trying to help you get there.” 

You know what he’s saying is true and it’s a tough pill to swallow, but you still can’t bring yourself to actually accept that this is your best and to be frank your only option at this point. Max can see the gears turning in your head, your teeth chewing on your bottom lip. “Y/N.” He’s trying to get you out of your head and bring you back to him. His hand reaches out and gently lands on your knee and that simple action has your eyes focusing back on his blue ones. 

“How do you know for sure? How do you know that I’ll actually be considered for Daniel’s seat?”  

A heavy sigh comes from Max and you know he’s not going to say what you want to hear. “I don’t. You know the racing world –  just because something is said doesn’t mean it’s true, but there’s a high probability. And I think if there’s even a slim chance and you don’t take it then you’d be dumb. You know I’ll always be in your corner and I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you as my teammate.” 

You still don’t know what to say to him, you’re torn between staying true to your values and not taking anything less than what you deserve and realizing that you may have to accept that this is the only way to even get close to your dream. “Stop making the guys in F2 cry and come join Red Bull, please.” 

A small smile finds its way onto your face when you realize Max is recalling all the boys you used to make cry when you beat them when you were kids. 

“Think you’re the only one I haven’t made cry yet, Verstappen.” 

Max mirrors your smile, the memories of old karting days also replaying in his mind. “Don’t see it happening anytime soon either.” A small chuckle escapes past his lips as he speaks. 

The atmosphere between you two had lightened and as you stare at the smiling Dutchman in front of you there’s really only one thing you can say to him. 

“I’ll think about it.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

After much deliberation, a handful of meetings, and finally accepting that this was unfortunately your best option, you found yourself dressed in a Red Bull team kit three months later in Australia. 

Being a reserve driver was not where you expected to be right now, but you were trying to be more positive about the situation. If it wasn’t for Max you’d probably be sitting at home wallowing in self pity. At least with being a reserve you get to still be around the one thing you love. It was tough though, to be a part of the race weekend, but not actually be able to race. You’re in the team meetings, you occasionally do media, you train like a driver– you do everything that a driver would do on a race weekend except actually drive the car. You sometimes feel like you’re just being taunted, like an animal with a treat just out of its reach. It's hard mentally sometimes, but you push through with the help of a therapist and the hope that this suffering now will be worth it in the end. 

Being a reserve meant you spent basically all of your time on race weekends in the garage. It wasn’t a foreign place to you by any means, but you’d never really been in the garage while the race was happening. You were more accustomed to being the one out on the track and not in here, but you’d grown to love the behind the scenes work. The one thing in particular was the role of race engineer. You were very familiar with them, your own engineer had been with you all through Formula 3 and 2 and you had fully planned on taking them with you into F1 if it was possible. The bond between racer and engineer is a special one, you’ve got to have the utmost trust with one another, know how eachother thinks and trust that they are doing everything in their power to help you. It sounds a little dramatic, but truly what is a racer without their engineer? 

Throughout the season you’d found yourself lingering more and more around the engineers. The occasional times where GP let you sit on the pit wall during practice sessions or qualifying you found yourself glued to the seat next to him. To see how effortlessly Max and him communicate and the level of trust is amazing. It’s a completely different atmosphere and there’s somehow a calm adrenaline that comes over you when you’re on that pitwall. GP makes it look like a piece of cake— looking at data, having multiple people in your ear at once, thinking about strategy. It sounds like a nightmare to some, but you grow to love it. The analytics make the gears in your head turn and the little racing nerd in you can’t seem to get enough. 

You seem to be focusing more on the engineering side of things more than racing at a certain point in the season and maybe it’s because subconsciously you know you aren’t going to get Daniel’s seat so you’re trying to distract yourself with something else. There are some moments during the season that give you hope that perhaps you will be considered, like the couple times you get to drive Max’s car in FP1. That hour you get where it’s just you, the car, and the track in front of you makes you realize why you fell in love with this sport to begin with. It’s just that when that hour is up you’re brought back to reality and you don’t want to get out of the car, but the proud look on Max’s face and his insistent rambling about how it was a no brainer that you finished with the fastest time each session made it a little easier. 

But even with the slivers of hope, Max constantly advocating for you, and not to mention just your raw talent– the team still decides to go with someone else. They don’t come right out and tell you, but you hear the whispers around the paddock and online that Pierre Gasley is who they want. Your name is barely mentioned in talks and when the announcement finally happens at the end of the season you aren’t even surprised. In all honesty yes it hurts, but you knew when you signed that contract that there was the tiniest chance that you’d get that seat and so throughout the season you built your walls up and prepared yourself for the inevitable. 

If it was even possible Max seemed more upset than you about it, but when you tell him over winter break about the other deal you struck he seems to forget all about how you once again had been wronged. Somehow by not getting a racing contract you managed to sign a different one. It was a long depressing month during the end of the season of coming to terms with the fact that your racing career very well may never go any further than F2, but you’d realized that you can still experience your love of racing, just differently, by becoming an engineer. You’d fallen in love with the behind the scenes work during your year as a reserve and GP had somewhat taken you under his wing.

So when the two of you had an actual conversation about you possibly taking the steps to become one it just seemed to click. You’d signed a contract alright, but it wasn’t the one you’d imagined to be signing. The little girl with a dream of being nothing other than a race car driver couldn’t believe that this is where she was headed, but here you were. You were no longer Red Bull Racing reserve driver, you were now a Red Bull Racing apprentice engineer. Even with your knowledge from being a racer for some time, you’d still need to go to school and you somehow managed going to school while working under GP. How you managed that work load you’ll never know. 

Max was thrilled that you two still got to work together and was proud that you’d seeked out a new path for yourself. He’d still be holding out hope that one day you’d get to be teammates, but for now he couldn’t be more happy for you. Especially because you seemed happy with how your life was turning out. 

As the years pass you only grow closer with Max. It’s like you’re joined at the hip sometimes, but you come to realize there’s no one else you’d want to spend the majority of your year with. It feels like your old karting days, he gets you and you get him and for you two that’s just enough. You’re there for his first WDC and you don’t think you’d cried as much as you did then, seeing the boy you raced with as a kid win such a prestigious title. But you also cried for yourself, because as much as you were so proud of Max, you couldn’t help but still mourn the fact that it could have been and should have eventually been you winning a championship. It stings a little less when he wins his second, but that’s mostly because you got so drunk you couldn’t really remember much of it. When you graduate with your degree in engineering Max is there cheering you on, dressed in something other than his team kit for once. You don’t remember much from that night either, but you can’t seem to forget how genuinely proud he seemed of you and how he couldn’t seem to be anyplace other than right next to you. 

The following year with a degree and years of experience now under your belt you get a promotion, mainly because GP got poached by another team for the following season. So for the 2023 season that is truly an iconic one for Max you’re practically his race engineer, but GP is still there right next to you offering his knowledge when needed. 

When it’s finally official that you’ll be taking over the role as Max’s race engineer in 2024 the news is mostly positive, but of course there are some people that think you couldn’t possibly be capable of taking on the role. That a three time worlds champion shouldn’t have a woman as an engineer, let alone one that was around the same age as him. It was funny truly, you were more than qualified to be an engineer. You’d done the schooling and had the experience, yet once again because you were a woman people thought you didn’t deserve the job. 

Max on the other hand was ecstatic that you’d be filling GP’s shoes. He’d had a good run with him, but he couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t sure that you two would make an incredible duo. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“So maybe this wasn’t how I’d imagined us being teammates, but I did tell you I wanted us to be teammates didn’t I? And I think it’s safe to say I always get what I want.” Max stated as the two of you tried to hide in the corner of this end of season/Max's WDC party/your promotion party. Well technically it was Max’s WDC party, but of course he had to bring you into it and show his appreciation to the team as always. 

He’s clearly had one too many gin and tonics and the goofy smile on his face only got wider as he spoke.

“Cocky much huh? I think that third championship is getting to you.”  

He leaned in closer to you and those pretty baby blues narrowed in on you. “Well when we get my fourth title next year I’ll show you just how cocky I can be.” That was gin and tonic talking and you knew it was time for Max to retire for the night. 

“Alright champ. Think it might be time to call it a night.” Your hand wraps around his bicep to try and guide him towards the exit, but he’s a solid man and he doesn’t even budge. 

“No, it's still early! We haven’t even begun to celebrate you yet!” He’s being loud and pouty and all up in your personal space, classic signs of drunk Max. And truth be told you don’t want the attention on you whatsoever, hence you hiding in the corner. Which of course Max had invaded as soon as he could.  “Come on just one more drink?” 

You know one more drink is never just one more, but for whatever reason tonight you can’t tell him no. And so hours later when you’re both making your way down the fancy hotel hallway towards his room you don’t even recall wanting to leave early. Both of you tipsy are always giggling messes and when Max can’t seem to get his key card to work to get into his room it’s apparently the funniest thing on earth to you. Which in turn has Max laughing and you don’t realize how loud you two actually are until the door across from his opens and a disgruntled elderly man is stood there in his robe. 

“Sorry!” You barely squeak out to the man as Max finally gets his key card to work and you’re pushing him into his room before the old man can respond. When you hear the door click behind you, the both of you are stood in silence staring at each other for a moment and then laughter erupts out of both of you. 

Max plops down on his bed and you take that as a sign that he’s safely made it back to his room and you’ve fulfilled your duty as his friend tonight. “Alright. You’re safe and sound which means I’m gonna head to my room. Goodnight Max.” 

He quickly sits up on the edge of his bed at your farewell, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as he wonders if he should go through with the idea that’s been consuming his brain for some time now. He had enough liquor in him now to justify even considering it. It’s not until your hand touches the door knob that he finally speaks up. “Y/N. Wait.” 

Your head whips around at the sound of his voice and by the time you’re fully turned around he’s inches away from you. “If this is you trying to convince me to rally and head back out I’m convinced you want me dead, Verstappen.” 

“No no, it’s nothing like that.” His voice is soft and you can almost feel the energy in the room change. 

“What is it then?” You throw him a questioning look. 

He’d cracked the can of worms and if he didn’t fully open them soon he doesn’t think he’ll ever get the chance again. “Um- there’s something I-” How was he supposed to tell the girl who in less than a month is going to be his official race engineer that he has feelings for her? He’d been somewhat harboring them since they were kids and as he got older and the feelings seemed to lessen he figured it was just a silly little childhood crush. He’d only then realized since becoming as close as the two of you have ever been these past couple years that those feelings were not just ones of a silly little childhood crush.

Sure it started out as that and yeah his feelings may have just gotten pushed down when your lives started to go in different directions, but now that he had you with him all the time and your relationship had blossomed into something more than just two kids on the kart track. He’d come to the conclusion that those feelings never actually went away. And he knows he should have said something sooner because this new phase in your relationship and your work relationship takes priority over his romantic feelings, but Max can’t help but be greedy. The three time world drivers champion surprisingly wants to have his cake and to eat it too.

The alcohol coursing through his veins isn’t really helping him in thinking that clearly, he can’t seem to muster up the words in the order he wants, it’s all jumbled up and he starts speaking in Dutch without realizing it. 

“Max, you're making no sense. You’re drunk, just talk to me in the morning or guess I should say afternoon by the way you seem to be sounding.” He’s tipsy, not drunk. He could hold a conversation, but apparently not when it came to confessing his feelings. The liquid courage he thought he had possessed was clearly no longer working in his favor. It’s only when he feels your hand touch his forearm that he pulls himself together. “When I signed that contract to be your race engineer I didn’t think it would include babysitting.” You slightly teased him as you tried to guide him back to his bed, but like back at the party his feet stayed planted to the plush carpet. 

You knew drivers and their engineers were close, you had to be, but there was something definitely different about Max and yours relationship. Maybe it was because you had known each other since you were children, but you two were for sure closer than the average duo. Case and point– the situation you two had currently found yourselves in. You didn’t know of any engineers and drivers who went out and hung out outside of work like you guys do or even party like you two do, but for you guys it was normal. So perhaps things would have to change when the season officially started. 

“If you’re going to be so stubborn then you can put yourself back to bed.” Your hand drops from his arm as you turn towards the door to leave when you feel his much larger hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you back towards him. “Max-” 

Your faces are inches apart and his pupils are so dilated that those pretty blue eyes that always stare back at you resemble something more of a black hole than a spring sky. “I may regret doing this, but I think if I don’t I’ll regret it even more.” 

And it’s in this moment that everything between the two of you changes and your lives are forever altered. 

You don’t even get to question what Max is talking about before you feel his plump pink lips against yours. Your brain short circuits and it takes you a second to realize what is actually happening, but by the time your brain catches up with your lips he’s already pulled away and cursing. 

“Fuck I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Clearly you don’t feel the same-” 

Max doesn’t even get to finish his rambling before your grabbing at the material of his shirt and pulling him back towards you. Your lips crashing into each others and this time he’s the one surprised. His hands reach up to cradle your face as he deepens the kiss, your lips moving in perfect synchronization. The night's drinks linger heavy on your tongues and they begin to mix as his tongue slips its way into your mouth. He’s dominant yet soft with his actions and you find yourself becoming enthralled with them. 

When you two finally pull away you’re both breathless with rosy cheeks and giddy smiles on your face. There’s a silence between you, no one wants to be the first one to say anything. To bring you back to reality and ruin this moment, but Max is the first one to burst the bubble. “I hadn’t really planned on kissing you. I actually had a whole speech planned out, but guess this did the trick just as well.” 

“A speech?” You question. 

“Was gonna tell you that I may have had a crush on you since we were kids in karting and how I thought it was just a childhood crush for the longest time, but then we became so close ever since you joined Red Bull and I realized that I’ve always been enamored by you. We just get each other and being around you is so easy. You’re my person Y/N.” 

You weren’t going to lie to yourself and say you didn’t have a crush on Max when you were kids too or that you’d perhaps sometimes in the middle of the night when your mind wandered thought that there may be something a little more between Max and you than what you let on. But you’d always pushed those thoughts aside as quickly as they arrived. You didn’t allow yourself to be distracted with silly crushes when you were racing let alone now when this new dream was at your fingertips. But the fact was that it wasn’t just a silly little crush. Max is just as much your person as you are his. He’s your biggest supporter and embarrassingly the person you think about the most. And perhaps you do find yourself staring at his pretty blue eyes or the way his eyes scrunch up when he’s really happy or laughing hard. The way his lisp becomes more prominent when he gets excited or how you love to hear him “maxplain”. 

So perhaps you were more down bad than you had let yourself believe, but it was no use dwelling on it. You were colleagues and soon you would be his race engineer. This was just a drunk mistake and Max was only caught up in the moment– at least that’s what you kept telling yourself. This couldn’t happen right now and you know you know you shouldn’t have kissed him back, but god kissing resembled the same feeling of when you overtake on the track. That adrenaline rush that starts in your stomach and travels up to your chest. It’s addicting and as he stands there in front of you, those swollen pink lips of his keep shutting down everything in you that tells you to not let this go any further. 

Max gently reaches up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering as he tries to figure out how you feel. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung this on you. It’s alright if you don’t feel the same, but I mean after that kiss… there’s got to be something.” The sly smirk on his face only has you rolling your eyes at him, but he knows from the small smile your donning that the eye roll was nothing of significance. “I just had to tell you. It’d been eating at me.” 

His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across the top. You practically melt into his touch and as your eyes flutter shut a deep sigh escapes past your lips. You know this can’t continue, you know you’ve got to be the one to set the boundaries, but god damn if this wasn’t something like a dream. 

“I’m not going to lie and say I don’t feel the same because I do. Perhaps even more than you at times, but this was absolutely the worst time for you to do this. Before you know it the season is going to start and I’m going to officially be your race engineer. We can’t mix pleasure with business.” 

He knows what you’re saying is true, but to hear you say you feel the same as him has him willing to risk it all. “I know I should have told you sooner, but I think we could make it work.” 

“Max.” You’re trying to get him to think rationally for just a second. 

“We don’t have to put a label on anything and no one will know until we are ready. We will just take it slow. Nothing would have to change between us or the people around us. Work will always come first.” 

His hands move down towards yours and your fingers intertwine as you try to make sense of all the things flying around in your brain. You’ve never felt this way about anyone before like you do Max. You’d been burying it, trying not to let it get in the way of your job, but it had been there subconsciously the whole time. Now that you’ve come to terms with it and found out he feels the same, how the hell were you two going to move forward with this?

“Things will change Max, even if you say they won’t we both know they will. We’ll have to be careful about how we interact and sneak around. This isn’t some little make believe play time kind of thing. This is real life Max.” You squeeze his hand as you speak, trying to convey just how serious you’re taking this and how he should be too. “I also have a lot more at stake than you do Max. I’ve gone through hell and back to get where I am today, I don’t want it all ruined in the blink of an eye.” 

Max so badly wants to make this work. He understands your apprehension regardless of how strong your feelings are for him, but he thinks you guys should at least give it a try. 

“I understand what you’re saying. I also think what we’ve got here is pretty special. It would be a shame to not pursue it.” 

Your brain is telling you to choose your career and your heart is telling you to choose both your career and Max. Everything could work out fine and he could be the guy you end up marrying and living happily ever after with or it could all blow up in your face and you could lose your career and your man. But if you would have never taken the risk of becoming a reserve for Red Bull then you wouldn’t be here in this position. So you take the risk and decide to go with your heart. 

“Alright let’s see how this plays out Verstappen.” 

His eyes light up at your words. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

And for the third time that night you feel his soft lips pressed against yours. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The 2024 season starts out with a bang. Max puts it on pole in quali and wins in Bahrain and the same thing happens in Saudi Arabia. You’d been practically shitting yourself in the weeks leading up to the start of the season. There was an insane amount of pressure from the public and media for you to do well, but also an insane amount that you had put on yourself. You wanted to prove to people that you were good at your job, that you deserved to be there. So when the first two weekends went smoothly and your communication went well with Max you couldn’t have been happier.

Not to mention how well it was going with Max. You two had been nothing but careful when it came to your radio messages, but also your behavior in the garage. The fleeting glances or smiles thrown your way only mean that much more considering you two are the only ones who know their true intent. And the evenings spent in each other's hotel rooms are like your own personal getaway. It’s just you two once that door is closed behind you and it makes the kisses even sweeter. 

Although the following week in Australia you weren’t expecting to be dealing with a hiccup so soon, but that’s the world of Formula 1 for you. It started off normal, Max took pole in qualifying and the race started great. Everything is normal on the pitwall and then you see Carlos overtake Max on lap two. It of course is not what you want to see, but it was only the second lap and you weren’t that stressed at the moment, but then you hear the dial of Max’s radio.

“I just lost the car. Really weird.” Max’s voice fills your ears through your headset. 

“Yeah no problem Max. Still early.” 

You watch the data closely as the race continues and you can see his time dropping ever so slowly.

“Fuck. The car is loose.” 

“I know. Try and hold on, we are working on it.” 

His time keeps dropping and you're combing through everything trying to figure out what could be going on. As you glance at the monitor with the race coverage you notice smoke coming from the back of the car and not a second later his voice comes through your headset once more. 

“I have smoke. Fire fire. Brake my brake.” 

“Copy. Try and make it back to the pits.” 

Fuck. This could not be good. You’re first real issue as an official engineer and it’s only the third race of the season. You turn in your chair as you see him rolling down the pit lane, his rear brake on fire. Your stomach drops and you know it's a DNF for him. Thankfully it wasn’t a crash, you think you would have been going to the medics with him if that was the case. 

Your headset is off and you’re making your way across the pit lane as soon as you see him get out of the car. You’re nervous considering this is the first race issue you’ve dealt with while being “together” or whatever you two are calling it and you aren’t sure how Max is going to handle it. 

He’s in the garage taking off his balaclava as you walk up to him and you want nothing more than to wrap your arms around him, but you know you can’t do that. There’s clearly signs of disappointment on his face, but he’s trying to keep a poker face when he spots you. “You alright?” You question as you lean against the counter. 

“I’m fine. Car isn’t though.” He’s short with you and you probably should have let him decompress on his own before coming over here, but you couldn’t help yourself. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve seen him in a less than cheerful mood, but it’s the first time since coming to terms with how you felt about each other and you being his engineer.

“I know, I’m sorry.” 

He shrugs his shoulders at you, his hand running through his dirty blonde hair. “Wasn’t your fault.” 

You feel like it is though. “Are we good?” You ask with a low voice. 

Max could barely hear you with the sound of the mechanics and when he sees them moving the car into the garage he grabs you by the elbow and leads you towards the back of the garage towards the paddock entrance hallway. It luckily was empty for the moment, the garage too busy dealing with the car. 

“Why would we not be good?” He lowers his voice too. 

It’s your turn to shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s just that it was the first issue of the season and I wanted to make sure you weren’t upset with me or something.” 

“Schatje.” The term of endearment always has butterflies fluttering about in your stomach, no matter how many times you hear it. “It was not your fault. It was a mechanical issue.” 

He can see the worry across your face and he knows the amount of stress you’ve been feeling about everything. The last thing you need is to be worried about how your relationship is going. He quickly checks both directions and when he sees the coast is clear he pulls you into his arms. It’s what you both needed after the shit show that was this race and even if it was brief his actions told you everything you needed to know. “We’ll talk more tonight, yeah?” 

You simply nod at him, both of you knowing you have to go back to your respective roles in the team before someone comes around the corner. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before disappearing behind the corner and back into the garage. You lean your head against the wall as you let out a deep sigh. There was something in you that had a feeling that this season wasn’t going to be an easy one. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Japan and China have you guys back to regularly scheduled programming and then Miami comes and turns everything upside down. When Max wins by the skin of his teeth in Imola the following race week you know something is not right with the car, but you can’t seem to pinpoint it. You know Max and you know he’s driving the car to its full ability and he somehow manages to secure the win in Canada and Spain, but not without being vocal about how shit the car is over the radio, to which you can only reply copy that Max.

It’s clear to you and probably everyone else that this season is not looking to be a dominant Red Bull season and it makes your stomach churn to think about the headlines about you. There’s not a doubt in your mind that everything will be blamed on you, especially after the horrible weekend that is the Austrian Grand Prix. 

It doesn’t start out bad, Max puts it on pole in qualifying and he holds the lead throughout the majority of the race. It’s not until lap 48 that things start to fall apart. 

���I can’t hold this much longer.” Max’s voice sounds through your headphones. 

“A couple more laps Max.” 

“The tires are fucked.” 

You don’t want Lando to undercut Max and you know if you don’t time this pitstop right that it may very well cost Max the race. On lap 52 you call Max into the pits and McLaren pits Lando also. You need this pitstop to go well and of course — it doesn’t. A stubborn left rear wheel nut is what brings the gap between Max and Lando down to two seconds. 

There’s not a bone in your body that wants to relay that information to Max, but you’ve got to, it’s your job. 

“Gap to Lando is now two seconds Max.” 

“Fuck.” 

“I know, but you can hold him off.” 

As the time began to shrink between Max and Lando your confidence in Max holding him off was dwindling and you knew he wasn’t going to just let Lando pass him. He was going to hold Lando off for as long as he could and when the racing started to get sketchy you were sure you wouldn’t have any fingernails left by the time this race was over. 

“Keep it clean Max.” You tell him after a particularly close call. 

“Something is wrong with the car.” He replies. You can tell he’s got no grip, but he’s also trying to defend like his life depended on it. 

As the laps go by the two drivers seem to be getting more desperate as both of them are pushing track limits and each other. You know it’s not gonna end well and you can only do so much from the pitwall. It’s Max who makes the final decision out there regardless of what you say. 

It’s been a tiring back and forth game with them and when they finally make contact on lap 64 your stomach drops for the man you care for, but you shake your head as his engineer. Both of them have punctures and somehow Max is able to make it back to the pits and still finish fifth. It’s quiet on the pitwall and the cheers from the Mercedes team drown out anything that might have been said. You don’t know what to say to Max when you see him. As his engineer you know he was defending (rather recklessly in your opinion) but as his ‘girlfriend’ you want to slap him for being so reckless. 

You know it’s better to just let Max decompress on his own and at this point you somewhat need to also. He’s got media duties to deal with and you’ve got your own responsibilities. You don’t even bother in waiting around for him like you usually do after a race. Once your tasks are done you’re making your way back to the hotel and for the first time that weekend you actually go to your room. Nothing sounds better at the moment than a nice long hot shower and so you let the water help wash away the stress from this weekend. That is until you hear a rapid knock on the door as you’re wrapping yourself in the hotel branded fluffy white robe. You know exactly who it is, but considering you’re dressed in nothing but a robe– you check the peephole. To no surprise there on the other side stands a disheveled Max Verstappen. His hand runs through his hair obsessively and you can tell he’s not in the cheeriest of moods. You open the door and he wastes no time in coming in. 

“Why aren’t you in my room?” He immediately asks, his tone almost reads as offended that you were here instead of three rooms down. 

“A girl can’t use her hotel room?” 

“You know what I mean.” 

You sit down on the edge of the plush bed as Max remains standing. 

“I just wanted some alone time. To decompress after this weekend, specifically today. Figured you could use some too.” 

He’s standing in front of you now, his fingers lightly toying at the collar of your robe. “All I wanted to see when I came back to my room was my girl waiting for me.” His voice is soft and you can tell this weekend has taken a toll on him. He plays the tough guy act during racing, but at the end of the day he’s just a man who wants and needs love and comfort. And so without a second thought you're sneaking off to Max’s hotel room like a couple of teenagers trying to not get caught. 

The warm embrace of Max’s arms is one of the places you feel the most safe and tonight is no exception. Austria is clearly a weekend to forget, but you know the media will be dragging it out for weeks to come. “The only thing I’m gonna say about today is that you’re lucky all that happened was a puncture. As your engineer and girlfriend you put me through the fucking ringer today Verstappen.” 

He doesn’t even register you somewhat scolding him for his driving today, all he can seem to focus on his you referring to yourself as his girlfriend. Of course you’ve been nothing less to him in his mind, you were exclusively his and no other woman would compare. But with the somewhat tricky situation you’d found yourselves in you’d never really put a label on it and that was fine to him. In fact he’d been the one to suggest it in the beginning, mainly because he knew how nervous you were about exploring the relationship between you two. But to hear it nonchentaly come out of your mouth that you’re his girlfriend is perhaps the best thing he’s heard in a good while. 

“Girlfriend?” He questions, his tone somewhat teasing you. 

Your head leaves its home on his solid chest and moves to look up at him. You hadn’t even realized you’d referred to yourself as his girlfriend, but after six months of you two just going with the flow or whatever you wanted to call it. There was no doubt that you two were exclusively one anothers. 

“I mean– that’s what I am right?” You pray you haven’t just made a fool of yourself, but you know he feels the same. 

His hand cups your cheek and he looks at you like you’re the most breathtaking thing on the planet. You can feel the butterflies erupting in your stomach and just by the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, there’s no way he doesn’t feel the same. 

“Yes, but only if I’m your boyfriend.” His voice is sweet like honey and the butterflies are about ready to escape your stomach at this point.

“We sound like two 13 year olds right now.” 

Your laughter is like music to Max’s ears and he can’t ignore the swelling feeling in his chest. It’s terrifying, but thrilling at the same time and it’s a feeling that he’s sure he never wants to be without. 

“Well ok then I need to know if we are actually boyfriend and girlfriend.” Giggles fill the hotel room and you would have thought you two had been drinking with how ridiculous you two were acting, but you were really just lovesick fools. 

As the laughter dies down you can sense a shift in the atmosphere as you two lay there and stare at each other for a moment. In what seems like no time at all your leg swings over his waist and a second later you’re straddling him. His hands instinctively move to your hips and your hands lay flat on his chest as you lean forward. “I think it’s safe to say that you’re mine huh? My boyfriend?” 

Your lips hover just above his as you whisper to him and you can see his pupils dilating and feel the grip on your hips getting tighter. 

“I like hearing that.” He whispers back, his lips jutting out to connect with yours, but the tease in you has you pulling back ever so slightly. 

“Hearing what?” A playful smirk adorns your face as you sit up with your hands still splayed across his chest. 

He sits up too, but it’s clear you’ve ignited a fire in him. His hands snake around your waist as he holds you close to his chest. Your hands now resting on his shoulders. “That I’m yours.” 

And in one swift motion he’s flipped you onto your back as his large biceps bulge while he hovers over you. His head leans down towards your ear and his breath tickles your neck. It’s like every nerve in your body is heightened and you’re aware of every single thing he does to you and himself. “And that you’re mine.” 

A shiver runs up your spine as he whispers into your ear and by the look in his eyes you know it’s going to be a long night. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

To say you were looking forward to summer break was an understatement. The mere idea of having a month off was the only thing that got you through those last three races. Silverstone wasn’t horrible, but Hungary and Belgium were nothing to write home about. The team had figured out that the upgrades that were brought to the car weren’t working correctly, but now it was trying to figure out why they aren’t working and how to correct them. But even with potentially corrected upgrades it still seemed like the car would be a pace behind McLaren or Ferrari. You’d been stressing trying to work on a new strategy with Max and trying to figure out how to make the car faster with basically nothing to work with. Not to mention the headlines that had your head on a spike claiming “Red Bull’s downfall” was because of you. It was truly tiring and so when the checkered flag waved in Belgium you were one happy girl. 

It’s not everyday that you get to send a week on a private island with your boyfriend, yet here you were. When Max had mentioned something about getting away during summer break you had figured Saint Tropez or Bali or really any typical F1 driver vacation spot. You had also figured you’d be spending some time apart considering it would be a little weird to be spotted on vacation together. The last thing you wanted was for rumors to start flying around, but Max surprised you with the unexpected. 

When Max told you this was a private island you figured there’d be maybe a handful of other people, but it was literally just you two and the staff for the villa. It’s truly paradise on Earth and you have to pinch yourself sometimes to see if you’re dreaming. Days spent on the beach and in the ocean. Nights spent tangled inbetween the sheets and mornings spent waking up to the gentle lull of waves crashing onto the sand and alright sometimes it is spent tangled in the sheets. Decadent food at the snap of a finger and the feeling of the sun on your skin everyday. It’s just what you needed, what you both needed to help you recharge for the second half of the season. 

On one of your last nights on the island Max and you find yourselves cuddled up on one of the giant loungers outside. The ocean had calmed for the night and the moon’s light cascaded over the water and onto you two. For once Max had sought out comfort in your arms and you thought you had put him to sleep from running your fingers through his hair until he spoke up. 

“I’m glad we found our way back to each other.” 

Your movements stilled, you weren’t expecting him to say that. Sure Max is a lot more loving than people would expect, but he isn’t one to be overly sappy. “Me too.” There’s a beat in the conversation and your hand finds its way back to his hair. “I don’t think as kids we saw our lives ending up like this though did we?” 

“Career wise or us being together?” Max questions. 

“Both I guess or at least it was that way for me.” You can feel Max slip his hand under your shirt and his finger start to mindlessly trace patterns on your abdomen. “If you would have told the girl who hated your guts for a while after you left me behind in F2 that I would be on a romantic getaway with you years later, I would have laughed in your face.” You can sense the shit eating grin on Max’s face. “I also fully believed that I was going to be a Formula 1 driver. There was nothing that you could have told me back then that would have changed my mind. Hell even five years ago I was still holding out hope. Guess I should have known better.” You’d turned the conversation in a different direction, but it was Max and he was the one person who you could have these kinds of talks with in confidence.

Max knows this is still a very sore subject for you and how could it not be? He couldn’t imagine having gone through all the shit you have just to be denied over who you were. He may have had his fair share of shit to go through as a child and some other things, but in the end he got to achieve his dream and no one denied him of it because of who he was. He knew you had to look at him with envy more times than not and he wished he could only go back in time and somehow by the grace of the racing gods get you a seat. “There’s no such thing as “knowing better” you had a dream and the talent to back it up. There was no reason you shouldn’t have been able to achieve it schatje. Life is just one cruel fucker sometimes.” 

“But I guess without that happening we probably wouldn’t have ended up together then?” You try to change the subject to something less depressing than your failed racing career. 

“Everything happens for a reason.” Max states. 

You nod in agreement, it’s something you’d told yourself quite often to try and cope with your dreams getting crushed. 

“I do love my job now and however shit my luck may be it can’t be that bad. I still get to enjoy racing and I’ve managed to acquire you in the process.” 

Max lets out a small laugh at your statement. “Didn’t know I was some prize to be sought after.” 

“You were like an added bonus that came with the job.” 

Max playfully scoffs and after a few moments of silence he changes the subject.

“Maybe we should just stay here for the rest of the season.” He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s been dreading for summer break to end and to go back to driving a car that wants to disagree with everything he does.  

“It would be nice, but we have a championship to win.” 

Max looks up at you and even with the moon as your only light source those baby blues of his still sparkled. “You really think we still have a shot at it?” 

You know this season has been weighing him and the whole team down and as much as you’ve been stressed you still have faith that you guys can pull off the WDC. ‘I’m gonna tell you something my Dad used to tell me. Whenever I had a difficult race or was upset or even when I was getting rejected for an F1 seat he’d always tell me ‘it’ll pass’. You may be feeling like shit right now or hopeless, but after some time things get better and eventually that feeling of despair will pass. This rough patch we are in right now– it’ll pass Max. You’re gonna win again, especially if I have anything to do with it.” 

The overwhelming desire he has to tell you he loves you right now is something he can’t ignore. He’s never had someone in his corner like this before. Had someone that he cared about so deeply and loved be so involved in securing his success, but also reassuring him and instilling confidence back in him. It’s something you were good at as kids too, he couldn’t recall how many times he’d snuck off and hung out with you and your family during your karting years. If he hadn’t had a particularly good race he always knew you’d be there for him no matter what others in his life said or did.

But as much as he’s confident in his true feelings about you and the fact that he really hadn’t felt this way about anyone before, he decides to keep it to himself for the time being. If you by some chance don’t feel the same he doesn’t want to ruin this nice moment or vacation by blabbing his mouth about how he feels. So for now him pressing his lips against yours and the feeling of your hands on him will have to suffice instead of ‘i love you’. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The first race back after summer break is Max’s home race and you both want nothing more than for him to win this one. The usual cool and collected Max has some nerves to him this weekend. You’d been nothing but reassuring and supportive this weekend because you truly think with the little tweaks the team had made to the car and some new strategy techniques that you may have this weekend in the bag, but Max can’t seem to shake the doubt in his mind. He’s of course thrilled to be racing at his home race, but the fact that he hasn’t been winning and that his family is going to be here has his mind working on overdrive. The little boy who hated to be a disappointment is still inside of him no matter the size of the nonchalant facade he tries to put on. 

When Max qualifies P2 you know he’s going to be upset, but you know you guys can work with P2. You two go over the best possible strategy techniques Saturday night and come Sunday morning you’re both feeling good about the race. 

“Alright Max twenty seconds until the formation lap. Be smart and safe.”

Your voice travels through the headset and Max smiles at the last part. It had become a habit of yours to always tell him to be smart and safe over the radio. It’s your way of telling him you care and perhaps subconsciously that you love him and he wants to tell you he loves you back every time, but he knows everyone can hear what is being said, so he settles for the old stand by. 

“Copy.” 

When the lights go out you don’t realize you haven’t taken a breath until Max overtakes Lando on the first turn and you’re breathing out a giant sigh of relief. This is what you guys needed and now all Max needed to do was get some distance between him and Lando and pray for it to be a boring race and he’d be taking that top step. 

“Beautiful Max.”

You know the reassurance over the radio will have him smiling like a fool under his helmet. 

It doesn’t take long though for your confidence about the race to start to diminish. Lando wastes no time in trying to gain his position back and you can tell Max can’t hold him off much longer. He eventually overtakes him and the gap that Lando starts to create is making your stomach turn. You knew if Lando got out in front and into the clean air it would be game over and that’s exactly what happens. With only ten laps left you don’t even want to tell Max how big the gap has gotten, but from his radio silence and him not outright asking, you figure he already knows. 

22 seconds. 

That’s the gap between Lando and Max when the checkered flag waves. Your stomach is in knots as you take off your headset and make your way towards the crowd already forming for the podium celebration. Max still ended up with P2, but to be beaten with a 22 second gap at your home race has got to be killing him. You watch him from below and you can tell his mind is going a mile a minute, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins and the disappointment from losing the race is written all over him. 

After the podium celebration and the team debrief and every other responsibility that you have on a race weekend, you finally find yourself back at the hotel. Usually you’d be flying back home on his private jet, especially on a weekend like this, but Max opted to fly out first thing in the morning. So while Max finished up the last of his responsibilities you opted to torture yourself some more and go over countless amounts of data from this weekend.

Technically this isn’t even your main job, but if you can somehow figure out what the hell is wrong with this car then you’ll take on whatever job you have to. You don’t even realize how long you’ve been sat at this small hotel room desk, papers scattered everywhere as you hunch over your laptop. The sound of the door opening and closing doesn’t register in your mind and it’s not until you feel two strong hands on your shoulders that you are brought back from the world of tire degradation and sector times. 

“Baby, come on, let's go to bed. We can’t solve this in one night.” His fingers work slowly into your tense muscles and a sigh of relief comes from you as you lean back in the chair, eyes fluttering closed as he continues to work his magic. 

And as good as this feels, your brain wants to talk about the elephant in the room. “So we are gonna pretend like you didn’t get beat with a 22 second gap at your home race?“ His movements halt and you realize you probably could have worded that better. 

“Well I’d actually like to forget about it if that’s alright.” He moves away from you and chooses to sit down on the edge of the bed. His body language is nothing shy of defeated and you could kick yourself for how you spoke. 

“That’s not what I meant to say. It came out wrong. I was just trying to say that I’m trying to figure this out so it doesn’t happen again. We can act like it didn’t happen but it did and there’s clearly a reason here in this data.” 

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you blankly. 

“I’m sorry if this isn’t what you want to be hearing, but I’m trying to get you a winning car again Max. I mean this is my first year as your actual engineer and I feel like I’m gonna lose my job if you aren’t winning races. The car is shit and we can’t seem to figure out a good strategy to work with the shit car. I don’t know what the fuck happened from last year to this year but I’m losing my fucking mind. People already think I shouldn’t be here and by not cranking out wins I’m just giving them more ammunition to use against me.” 

You hadn’t realized you’d started crying until you feel Max’s thumb wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Fuck I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go on some rant and have a breakdown.” 

You bury your head into his chest as his arms wrap around you, enveloping you in his strong warm embrace. “It’s fine. It’s good to let it out.” One of his hands moves to gently stroke your hair and when you finally pull your head back to look at him, he’s pressing a kiss to your forehead and it tells you everything you need to know. 

“I know we’ve both been under stress, but I didn’t know it was this bad baby. I wish you would have talked to me sooner before it resulted in this.” 

You shrug your shoulders at him. “Didn’t want to be a burden.” 

“You’re never a burden to me. We are a team, remember? Regardless of actually working for the same team, at the end of the day it’s still you and me. Don’t ever feel like you have to bottle things up because you’re worried it will stress me out. We’re in this crazy ass world together yeah?” 

A sniffle comes from you, but your tears had subsided. You find yourself just staring at him, getting lost in those ocean blue eyes and you know you’re so eternally grateful to have a guy like Max in your life. If only the world could see just how compassionate and loving he actually was. 

“Don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

“Probably be miserable.” 

And there was the smart ass Max that you knew all too well. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The season was coming to an end in a little over a month and you and Max and the whole team had been working overtime in trying to get the cars back up to the normal Red Bull standard that everyone had come to know. Max hadn’t won a race since Spain in June and with only four races left in the season the media had been in a whirlwind over a possible title fight between Max and Lando. You tried not to pay it much mind, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Max wouldn’t win his fourth championship this season. Even with a less dominant car he still went out there and gave it everything and his talent truly showed this season, to see him pulling that car up to podium level multiple times told everyone what they needed to know 

Brazil was this weekend and it’s always a fun race in your opinion. Rain is always expected at least once throughout the weekend and the teams prepare for it, but this weekend it seemed that mother nature didn’t want this race to happen. Qualifying had gotten moved to Sunday morning which made things a little more complicated. If Max wrecked it didn’t give the mechanics much time at all to make any repairs. To make things even worse he was already starting with a five place grid penalty due to power unit change, so he had to make the most of this qualifying. 

The garage is alive preparing to send the cars out for qualifying, but you can see how wet the track is and you can’t lie– you’re nervous. Usually you’d be on the pitwall by now, but you’re lingering in the garage waiting for Max. When he sees you he’s surprised and when you pull him to a somewhat less busy spot of the garage he’s worried that something is wrong. 

“Everything alright?” He asks. 

“Yes. Just wanted to tell you in person to be safe. It looks nasty out there.” 

A smile creeps its way onto his face and before he can tease you about being a softie his head mechanic comes up asking him a question. You take that as a sign to get your ass over to the pitwall before anyone overhears anything else. With your headset on and your nerves at bay for the moment you turn around in your chair to see Max getting into his car. 

“Alright. Green light at the end of the pitlane. Be smart and safe Verstappen.” 

“Always am.” 

You roll your eyes at him and prepare yourself for what could be an interesting qualifying session. When the first cars go out you know there’s going to be multiple crashes, you can just tell. Luckily Max makes it to Q2, but that's where everything goes wrong. A late called yellow flag has Max qualifying P12 which is actually P17 and you know when you hear the static in your headset that what comes out of his mouth is not going to be pretty. 

“What the fuck? Why did they wait that long to pull out the flag? Should have been red to begin with, he went into the wall!” 

“I know Max. We will discuss it later.”

You’re trying to not let himself get more community service, so the less he talks on the radio the better. 

Max is raging as soon as he exits the cockpit of his car and you can tell from the pitwall that he has a bone to pick, but the race is in a few short hours and you have work to do. He can rant all he wants later, but you’re on a mission to somehow get him to win this race all the way from the back of the grid. He doesn’t come and find you for some time, but when he does you two don’t even mention the drama from qualifying. He’s clearly cooled down and you two know it’s now time to lock in and make this strategy work. You two go over three possible strategy plans, but you can tell from the fire in his eyes that he’s planning on pulling out a little bit of Mad Max today. 

There’s maybe a half an hour until lights out and you take that time to go and find your parents who had been invited to attend the race this weekend. You like to think their very cool race engineer daughter is the reason they are here, but unfortunately you are a nepo baby and your Dad was invited because of who he was. Unsurprisingly you find Max and your parents chatting in the garage, Red Bull lanyards hanging from their necks. They greet you with a hug and kiss and Max and your Dad continue to talk while your Mom and you head out into the paddock. 

“How’s the engineer life been treating my baby?” She asks as you two stroll down the paddock. 

“I can’t lie, it's been stressful, but I love it. Helps that I’ve got such a good driver to work with though.” 

“It’s nice to see you two reconnect.” There’s an inflection in her voice and you know there was a totally different meaning behind her words. 

“What is it Mom?” You groan. 

“Nothing. All I said it was nice to see you two reconnect. You two were close as kids and I’m not surprised that you found your way back to each other.” 

You stop in your tracks, turning to face her. “Mom.” 

“It’s truly nothing. It’s just a little bit of Mother’s intuition.” You stare blankly at her– waiting for her to continue. “I’ve heard how you talk to him over the radio, how you two look at each other in pictures, and I’ve witnessed firsthand how you two have acted today. You’re in love with him aren’t you?” Your heart starts to race and you don’t know what to tell her, of course your Mom would know this. She links her arm with yours and you two head back towards the Red Bull garage.

As you two walk through the entrance you find your Dad and Max still talking. Your Mom lowers her voice as she speaks to you. “Your silence tells me that I’m correct.” When Max spots you his whole face lights up and he’s waving for you to come join him and your Dad. “And I’d say it’s pretty safe to say he’s in love with you too.” She whispers to you before heading towards the two men.

You’re dumbfounded as you stand there in the middle of the busy garage, but the sweet sound of a familiar Dutch accent hollering for you has your legs moving before your brain catches up. 

In what seems like no time at all you’re back on the pitwall and the cars are lined up on the grid. After a mess of a formation lap the five lights finally go out and the race is underway. Max wastes no time in making his way through the field and you’re crossing your fingers that this rain on the radar goes around the track, but as the first few droplets fall you know this is about to get interesting. 

Max had made it up to second thanks to a combination of VSCs, other teams pit stops, and then by the grace of the racing gods a red flag. Which gave you guys a free pitstop and allowed for him to hold his P2 position. Things were looking up, but when the red flag lifted it seemed like the rain was only getting heavier. You knew at this point that this was the ultimate test of trust between Max and you. He was blindly following your orders and praying that what you were telling him wasn’t going to have him end up in the wall like so many others. 

“No red flag? This is getting dangerous, even for me.” 

“No red flag.” 

“What the hell?”

“I know. Anything can happen out there. Please be careful.” 

Your fingernails are non-existent at this point and you’re sure you’ve aged ten years from this race alone, but eventually Max overtakes Esteban and after more safety cars and yellow flags it’s down to the last lap. Max has got this and you can feel the happy tears starting to well up in your eyes. And when that checkered flag waves and he’s the first person to see it the whole pitwall and garage erupts into cheers. You would have thought he’d won the championship the way everyone was acting, but he was just reclaiming his spot at the top.

You can’t make your way over to the barricade fast enough and to see the pure joy on his face as he climbs out of the car makes your heart swell with happiness. It had been a long time coming this season and of course his first win in what seemed like forever was one hell of a drive. He comes running over to the team and when he spots you you’re the first person he’s hugging and practically pulling over the barricade. You can feel the happiness radiating off of him and you know that after this that he’s got the championship in the bag. 

The podium celebration was one for the books and to see him radiating up there and smiling down at you had you forgetting that you’re keeping this relationship a secret. But the one thing you know you won’t forget is how in love you felt and what you don’t realize is how bad it’s going to hurt. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The two week break before the triple header that ends the season has you spending some time at headquarters. It's just the usual end of the season stuff, but when an email pops up from HR wanting to schedule a meeting you’re a little concerned. You don’t mention anything to Max, figuring it’s just maybe something silly, but when you walk into the HR office you can sense that it’s not something small. 

“Y/N, so glad you could work this meeting into your schedule. I know you’re a busy woman so I appreciate it.” 

You sit down in one of the plush chairs in front of her desk and you try to calm yourself, if it was something so bad then why would she be so cheery towards you. “Of course. What did you need to discuss with me?” God, could you sound any more robotic? 

Her cheery demeanor turns more serious and when she clasps her hands together on her desk you know this is the moment that someone has found out about you and Max and you’re about to be canned.

“I don’t know how to really go about this, but I’m just going to come right out and say it. There was someone who got into contact with us and claimed to have pictures of you and Max engaging in less than professional activities after his win in Brazil.” 

You’re stunned for a moment and don’t know what to say, you’d been mentally preparing yourself for this moment, yet when you actually hear it you realize you didn’t actually believe that this was the reason you were being called in. You two had been so careful about maintaining professional boundaries while at work and out in public, but apparently not that weekend. 

“I can assure you that’s not the case with Max and I. Did they actually have the photos to back up their claims or is this all just hearsay?” You weren’t going to immediately give it up in case this was a test, but when she pulls out an envelope and slides it across the desk, you know it’s over. 

The envelope though it weighs virtually nothing – feels like the heaviest thing in the world.

When you finally work up the courage to open it you feel like you’re going to throw up. Your palms are sweaty, mouth is watering, and you feel light headed. There in your hands is the thing that is going to ruin your career– pictures of you and Max kissing outside his hotel room in Sao Paulo. How could you two have been so dumb? You aren’t sure if you want to cry or scream or throw up. 

“There’s no denying that it’s you in those photos, but I’m here to give you your options.” 

“Options?” Your eyes are still locked to the photos that are still being held in your shaky hand. 

“Listen. I admire what you’ve accomplished as a woman in a fully male dominated sport. I also know what happens to women who let things like this go public. Their hard work is diminished to becoming their partner's significant other or your hard work could only have been accomplished by selling your body in exchange for promotions. Luckily, I was the one who saw that email and I squashed it early enough to where we won’t have a scandal on our hands, but I need something from you in exchange.” 

You’re like a deer caught in headlights and there's so many things going through your brain that you can’t even communicate with her. 

“I get that this is overwhelming and the last thing you wanted to happen, but right now it’s only you, Max, and me that know about your relationship at Red Bull and we want it to stay that way. I also know that you’ve gotten offers from McLaren and Ferrari to work for them next year and you’ve ignored them.” How did she know about that? You hadn’t told a soul, not even your parents. You’d been mulling over it for some time. You didn’t want to leave Max and you had made a home at Red Bull, but McLaren especially had been so adamant about getting you to join the team. Your contract with Red Bull was only for a year, but you figured they’d resign you, now it doesn’t seem that way. “So, you’re only real option here if you want to continue to make a name for yourself in this world is to break things off with Max and accept one of those offers.” 

Your eyes snap up towards hers and you can feel your heart about ready to beat out of your chest. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but my higher ups will not want to deal with this scandal if you two continue to be careless. There will be no workplace romance, you will be gone and your hardwork will be for nothing. I followed your journey Y/N, you deserve to be out there racing with all of them, but life gave you lemons and you somehow made some damn good lemonade. Now don’t let them drink your lemonade.” 

She takes the photos and the envelope out of your hands and you hear her put them through the paper shredder. You feel like you’re frozen in time, like how you felt back in that meeting at Williams all those years ago. “I’m sure it’s nothing too serious between you two anyways. So this shouldn’t be a hard decision.” 

You’re brought back to reality and the words are slipping past your lips before you even realize it. “It’s not serious.” 

Yes it is. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The following days leading up to Vegas are a blur, you try to drown yourself in your work and Max can’t seem to leave you alone. It’s not that you don’t want to see him, it’s just that you’re waging a war in your mind right now and he’s at the root of it. 

You try to ignore the impending doom hanging over your head and actually enjoy this weekend. If Max finishes one place ahead of Lando this weekend he’s going to be a four time World’s Driver Champion. It’s the thing you guys have worked towards the whole season and to see it finally come together might be one of the highlights of your career. Vegas as always is a spectacle, the lights, the parties, the celebrities. It’s nothing like any of the European races or really any other race if you were being honest. 

When the sun sets and the track lights come on your mind only focuses on the task at hand and not the ultimate ultimatum you’ve been given. Qualifying goes somewhat to plan, Max didn’t manage to get pole but he does qualify ahead of Lando, which puts him in a great spot for tomorrow. He’s buzzing once he gets out of the car and when he finds you he can tell there’s something slightly off with you. Your energy isn’t necessarily what it usually is, but he figures maybe you’re cold and tired, so he doesn’t press the matter. 

You try to follow the script the following night, but the longer this thing festers in your brain the more you can’t keep on your poker face. 

“Twenty seconds till formation lap. Be smart and safe.” 

“Copy.” 

The race thankfully is pretty unremarkable. The main goal tonight was to just beat Lando, if you managed to score a win also that would be great, but the Championship was what you were going after tonight. 

And that’s just what Max does. 

The roars from the crowd and the team as Max crosses the finish line before Lando are deafening and you can feel the mixture of happy and sad tears streaming down your face. 

“Max! You’re a four time champion!” 

It’s nothing but pure glee back from him across the radio and you can’t help but laugh at the simply lovely through the tears. You managed to pull yourself together and accept the congrats from the rest of the pitwall and make your way through the crowd to see if you can find Max, but he’s already trying to find you. The crowd makes space for you to get to the barricade and when Max spots you there’s nothing but love in his eyes and it absolutely kills you. He pulls you up over the barricade and envelopes you in the most bone crushing hug you’ve ever experienced. There’s millions of cameras around so you have to be careful, but you savor the moment for as long as you can. “We did it!” Max exclaims and you can see the happy tears threatening to spill out of his eyes. 

“We did! I told you it was gonna happen, didn't I?” 

Seconds later you two get into a Rolls Royce with a cameraman that takes you along the track. You look over at him and he’s radiating with happiness and the ache in your chest only seems to grow. “I’m so proud of you Max.” That smile that you love so dearly beams back at you and you want to reach out and caress his cheek, but you know you can’t.  

“I couldn’t have done this without you. This championship is as much yours as it is mine. I hope you know that.” He goes to reach for your hand, but then remembers the cameraman and quickly snatches it away. Silence fills the luxurious car and you know Max is trying to take in being a four time back to back champion, while you’re coming to terms with the fact that not too long from now you’re going to not only break the man you love’s heart, but your own. 

That little girl with a dream is still inside of you, she’s with you every race weekend. You love Max more than you should, but you know if you continue on with this you’ll be the one losing your job and not him. It’s not fair, but you learned that life isn’t fair early on and you’ll be damned if you allow yourself to lose something else that you worked so hard to achieve. So if that means losing Max and moving teams then you guess that's how it has to be. Your Dad’s words replay in your head ‘it’ll pass’ and you know that nothing ever truly passes and that all you do is learn to live with it. The ache gets weaker over time, but it never truly goes away.

Even though you found a new dream to pursue you still have moments of truly missing racing. Like when you see the pure excitement and joy on Max’s face when he wins a race or when you see the adrenaline radiating off of him when he gets out of the car, you can’t ignore that ache in your chest. You can’t help but sometimes still think that should be you and you know you shouldn’t feel like that about the man you love, but you’ve never been able to live through him. He’s told you so many times that his wins and now this championship are as much yours as they are his because without you he wouldn’t be able to win. But those words do nothing to heal the teenage girl who got her dreams shattered just because she was a girl. You want to be able to have your dream and keep the man you love, but the career you chose doesn’t allow for you to have both. So for that little girl that still lives inside of you, you choose your dream. 

You attend all the team celebrations and end up getting soaked in champagne more times than you can count and you try to savor every last moment you have with Max and that includes going out and celebrating and coming back to his hotel room and celebrating some more. You savor it all fully knowing this is the last time you’re going to make love to him and kiss him and be held by him. And when he finally decides to fully bare his heart to you as you lay in his arms that night, you stick your knife right through it. 

“I love you.” 

You don’t answer him for a moment and you know this is how it’s got to happen. The longer you wait the harder it’s going to be. 

“It’ll pass.” 

Max isn’t sure he heard you right and he’s choking on his own words trying to form a coherent sentence. “What are you talking about schatje?” 

The tears are already falling down your cheeks and you know there is no coming back from this. “Please don’t call me that.” 

Max removes you from his grasp and sits up in bed. “Why not?” 

“It makes this harder than it needs to be.” 

He’s more than confused at the moment. His heart is racing and you’re crying and he doesn’t understand what is going on. He just won his fourth championship and finally told the woman of his dreams that he loves her and she replies with it’ll pass? “Y/N what the hell is going on? I love you and I know you love me back. I see it in your eyes when you talk to me or when you look at me. I hear it when you tell me to be safe as I line up on the grid. Am I a fool or something? Have I been blind this whole time?” 

“I love you more than you could imagine.” 

“Then why are you sobbing and telling me it’ll pass and asking me to not call you schatje?” In the back of his mind he knows, but he doesn’t want to come to terms with it. 

You just want to pull him back into your arms and kiss him and take back everything you’ve said so far, but you can’t and you wish this wasn’t your reality at the moment. “We can’t be together anymore Max.” 

He furrows his eyebrows at you, he really can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. “Are you being serious? Like are you being totally honest with me right now? Because we have something special here Y/N. I want to know why you’re throwing this away so easily.” 

You take a shaky deep breath and sit up next to him in the bed. “Someone got a picture of us kissing outside your hotel room in Brazil and Red Bull’s HR got wind of it. I got called in and she showed me the pictures. They squashed it before it got out, but Max, she basically told me that if we were to come out as a couple that I’d lose my job. I can’t afford to lose out another dream of mine Max. You don’t understand what it’s like.” 

He grabs your hand and the simple feeling of his skin on yours has more tears rolling down your cheeks. “Listen, I’d give away every championship every wi-” 

“You don’t mean that Max.” 

He’s up out of the bed at this point and you fear it’s only going to escalate from here.

“For fucks sake yes I do! I know we’ve made things a little complicated, but we can make it work. I mean I’m Max Ver-” 

“Exactly, you’re Max Verstappen. You won’t have to worry about losing your job over this. You’re F1’s golden boy, world famous Max Verstappen. It’ll be a little slap on the wrist for you, but for me in this boys club? It’ll be hell. I’ll be painted a whore, a girl whose only way to have gotten into this position was to have had sex with every guy I had to. You don’t know what it’s like to be one of the best drivers of your generation and not get to follow your childhood dreams simply because no one wants to take the chance on signing a female driver. I’ve had to give up one of my dreams and I’m not about to have to lose another one. So yes, I love you and it’s fucking killing me inside to do this, but sometimes we have to let go of the things we love. This horrible heart wrenching feel we are both experiencing will pass. I promise you. You deserve to be with someone who can give you their all.” 

He sits down at the end of the bed, your words finally sinking in and he feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. Like he's gone into the wall at full speed. “I don’t want anyone else but you Y/N.” You crawl to the end of the bed and wrap your arms around him and it’s at that moment you realize he’s crying too and the last little bit of your heart that’s intact finally breaks. “I’m not gonna be able to convince you to stay am I?” 

You press a chaste kiss to his bare shoulder. “No.” You whisper. “I’m probably always gonna love you Max, but this is how it has to be.” 

His hand reaches up and grabs yours and a shaky breath escapes from him before he speaks. “Guess you finally made me cry didn’t you?” 

FIA Gala 2025 

The black gown you’ve chosen to wear tonight is stunning, but you’ve still not grown accustomed to wearing them. And you haven’t grown to like these fancy Galas either, but you’ve got to go to it though. You’re being honored for being the first female engineer to win back to back WDCs with two different drivers on two different teams . Your season with McLaren this year was nothing shy of spectacular and people actually started to recognize your talent.

You’ve been nursing this glass of champagne for some time now, listening to the team talk about the season while all you can think about is taking this dress off later. They get called over to a different table to talk with some sponsors and you take the alone time to scroll through your phone. You’re just about ready to go and see if there’s anything here other than champagne when you hear him speak from behind you and that all too familiar ache blooms in your chest.

“Is this seat taken?” 

[conkreetmonkey]

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"I desperately need more workers!" says man who just fired 35% of his entire talent pool and permanently burnt bridges with them to pad quarterly report

Incredibly rich man who's fumbled 5 marriages says divorce and abortion should be outlawed to boost birthrates (and for no other reason)

END OF THE ENTIRE FUCKING WORLD? Landlord who owns 37 properties only sees 1.5x profit increase this year, as opposed to last year's 2x

Why [country that's doing far better than America in terms of median quality of life, stability, and happiness]'s economy is crumbling due to Not Pursuing Growth Recklessly Enough

Special: we pretend the cost-of-living crisis is a complex issue and not a simple matter of monopolistic, state-backed price gouging for 13 whole paragraphs! Experts A. Bushbeater, H. Emandhaw, and Wish E. Washi are consulted to meanderingly talk about how complicated and unsolveable things are!

Is the solution to the climate crisis for you to live, eat and work in ways that would be considered abuse if done to an animal despite more than enough resources for everyone being produced, but a huge fraction being discarded to create artificial scarcity?

Why housing prices going down will actually cause housing prices to go up somehow, and you should give up all hope and learn your fucking place as a serf in the neofeudal oligarchy we're building on your backs. (but pretty please have at least 3 children)

Why it's their own fault they're in inescapable debt and we should shit on them for it: the then-18 year olds we swindled into taking massive, high-interest, non-bankruptcy-eligible loans that all their parents and teachers pushed or forced them into SELFISHLY want to be free of this burden after 40 years of barely scraping by! Here's 10 reasons why a contract you signed as a teenager should bind you until you die.

From eating your pets to selling pieces of your body to drinking your own piss for pay-per-view fetish content: 15 tips for saving cash this December!

Unemployment drops to all-time low! (after the government changed the definition to exclude anyone who's ever eaten an apple from counting as unemployed)

[Billionaire Owned News Media Voice]

Is getting enough sleep actually harming you in the long run? We spoke to an Economics Expert who says: Yes!

Eating! The newest luxury fad you should be skipping out on.

What's it like for the working class? We spoke to Three Trust Fund Kids to find out!

Feeling burned out? Our sources suggest the answer is working more!

10 Reasons why an Equitable Humanitarian Utopia would actually be a total bummer!

This billionaire CEO is just like you! His bones definitely do not taste delicious.

[felixbit]

chestnut

pairing: hyunjin x gn!reader w. 0.8k genre: comedic fluff summary: your boyfriend, hyunjin, comes home on christmas day from sbs gayo daejeon after surprising you with a new look. he's shaved his hair and gone blonde. warnings: reader mourns the long hair but is very supportive. playful teasing a/n: this is literally just how i'm coping rn

New year and comeback season always meant new looks and fresh things. However, this was not expected.

You were at home, as always. Christmas was a busy day for Hyunjin, away at SBS Gayo Daejeon performing and looking pretty for the cameras. It was routine, but you always enjoyed tuning in and seeing the talent from him and his group as they performed.

There was a red carpet to unveil looks, but you were preparing some food for dinner that night. Things were getting hectic in the kitchen and time passed you by.

But your phone started to buzz. And buzz. And buzz.

Unable to ignore the repeating notification noises, you stopped what you were doing to figure out what had your phone blowing up. Notifications from posts and texts from friends... what was happening?

Everyone was talking about Hyunjin. As normal as it was for him to get the world's attention, the sheer amount of notifications was concerning. Something was obviously going on.

So, you opened your feed. It didn't take more than a single scroll for the picture to hit your timeline. On the red carpet, looking sharp and stunning, was Hyunjin. Beautiful outfit, many piercings, eyebrow slit fresh.

Oh, and his head was completely shaved and dyed blonde.

You stared at your phone in shock for what felt like forever. The two second clip of him looking stunning for the cameras replayed over and over as your brain tried to pick up the pieces.

You knew he wouldn't have his phone on him and able to look at it for a bit, but that did not stop you from blowing up his texts. Nothing outrageous or upset, but a lot of spammed questions and confusion got the message across pretty well. It was the least you could do.

Reeling from the overwhelming knowledge of your boyfriend's look, you decided to put your phone down and get back to cooking. You had to take your mind off of it or you might go insane.

The whole time, all you could think about was him. How drastic it was, how hot he looked, the whole bit. Hwang Hyunjin was taking up your entire mind.

Any task that you tried to do seemed impossible to entirely focus on. Every moment had you wanting to grab your phone and scroll, finding every possible photo of him. Hyunjin being a world-famous idol did not make this any easier.

Giving in, you resigned to doom scrolling. If you weren't able to focus, you wouldn't get anything done. Might as well just drool over how good he looks, you thought.

When he finally got done with the show, he was able to text you back briefly. He returned your texts with spam of his own, a bunch of apologies and letting you know when he'd be back.

Waiting for him to come home seemed impossible. The performance that the group gave was phenomenal as always. However, nothing could prepare you for seeing the look in person. Time passed dreadfully slow.

As you had finished up dinner, you heard the door swing open. You turned around to see Hyunjin out of breath. He waved to you, a shy smile on his face as he hung up his coat and took off his shoes. He approached slowly, looking uncertain.

"Do you... like it?" He finally asked, his voice shaky and small.

Staring at him for a few seconds, you smiled and nodded. "Of course I do, but why didn't you tell me?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise! A Christmas gift, you know?" Hyunjin tried to explain, breathing still heavy from running, "I thought it was a really big change, and I was worried you'd say no."

You looked at him incredulously. "Why would I say no to you wanting to try something new?"

"I... don't know." Hyunjin climbed into a chair, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as he fully caught his breath.

You watched him for a few moments, quietly observing his new look for yourself. He looked stunning, his sharp features accentuated by the new hair and the piercings grabbing your eye.

Although, you had something on your mind. "Oh, your poor hair," You lamented jokingly, "If you had warned me, I would've cherished it more if I knew it was the last time I'd see it."

"Aish, you'll see it again," Hyunjin groaned, standing up and looking at you, "Just not for a while."

"You better grow it back out," You retorted, walking over and running your fingers through his soft, short hair.

Hyunjin grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "We'll see."

"Hwang Hyunjin."

"Okay, okay, sorry."

As you plated your dinner with him, you looked over and snickered. "God, you really do look like a chestnut. Changbin was right."

"What did he call me?" Hyunjin scoffed, "I'm not a chestnut."

"Chestnut, dumpling, flour boy. You're becoming the real grocery list."

"I am not!"

[imtryingbuck]

My Saviour

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Buckys just received some news from the love of his life.

Word count: 6,269

Warnings: angst. fluff. suicidal thoughts. Bucky’s past mentioned. insecurities. scars mentioned. Bucky being madly in love. reader being an angel. past cheating and domestic abuse. pregnancy (it’s me im sorry) me not knowing anything about courts/sentencing.

Translation: ты мой спаситель - you’re my saviour (if wrong take it up with google translation)

Masterlist

Bucky wished Steve was still around so he could talk to him about things. He wish that his best friend was still there to see the progress he was slowly making. Wished to know if his best friend was proud of him.

But most importantly he wished Steve chose to stay with him and Sam so he could have met the person who brought him back to life, who brought his long existence actual meaning other than jumping from fight to fight. He knew Steve would have loved her and probably would have thanked her for everything.

But sadly Steve went to live a different life without him so he had to deal with Sam all alone.

For a year after Steve left Bucky struggled to go out, he struggled to find his path in a world that he wasn’t suppose to be apart of. He should have died that day when he fell from the train.

His therapist tried to get him to go out into the world and meet people, Bucky would say ‘next time’ until Dr Raynor eventually gave up on trying.

For a whole year Bucky moved with the motion, just existing, alive and breathing but just barely holding on to that invisible thread.

That was until six years ago. Six years ago everything changed.

** six years ago **

“Buck please-“

“Don’t call me that! How many times do I have to tell you”

“Oh I’m sorry Sir Bucky! But like I said please just come with me? It would do you some good to get out of your apartment, wait Bucky are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m listening. I do get out-“

“To see your therapist and that’s it”

“I’m still going out aren’t I?” Bucky responds snappily, rolling his eyes as Sam groans through the speaker.

“Please Bucky, it’s just coffee!”

“God sake, okay. I’ll be there. Bye” He really didn’t want to go out and get a coffee with Sam but he ended agreeing knowing that he would not have stopped, probably even going as far as coming to his apartment just to drag him out of there. Since Steve left, poor Bucky had been left all alone on with Sam, okay it wasn’t as bad as he made it out to be but still he had been left with a man that annoyed him more than anything.

Groaning inwardly he slides his phone into his jeans front pocket before shoving his gloved hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, as he walked down the street he kept his head down so he didn’t make eye contact with anyone walking by. It was safer that way. For him and those around him.

“James Barnes” he spoke roughly to the receptionist who made a habit of always pushing her chest out so he could get an eye full of her cleavage.

“Take a seat” she responds batting her eyelashes with her chest pushed out. He thought after the tenth time of him rolling his eyes at her not so subtle attempt at flirting she would get the hint.

He was not interested.

“S-sorry is this seat taken?” A soft timid voice from a woman pulled Bucky out of his staring competition he was having with the fake plant by the water dispenser.

“Huh?”

“Is-is anyone sitting here?”

“No. No you can sit”

“T-thank you” Bucky smiled and nodded softly instantly curious as to why she was also seeing a therapist. Bucky found himself getting lost in the smell of her perfume, the sweet smell creeping up his nostrils and into his senses. His eyes focused on the slow motion of her leg closest to his bouncing in time with the ticking of the clock.

“S-sir?”

“Huh? Yeah?”

“A-are you um are you J-James Barnes?”

Great just great. She knows who he is and from the way she stutters his name she clearly knows what he’s done and is scared of him. “Yes that’s me” he finally answers.

“Y-your names b-been called sir” she points over to where the receptionist is and sees her waiting for him to follow her down the hallway to Dr Raynors office.

Oh. Oh okay he got it wrong. “Oh, thank you”

“Y-your welcome sir”

Bucky offers her a small smile that she responds with the same and follows Lila down the corridor. He has no idea that the small smile he gave her meant a great deal to her. Nor does he know that she talks about him to her therapist that was two doors down from his.

Neither one realises that one small smile would make such a massive impact on their lives.

Over the course of four months, twice a week Bucky would see the woman whose name he had yet to know, every time they sat patiently in the waiting room they would find themselves sitting next to each other. Always quietly asking if the seat next to them was taken. Even if there were other available seats.

Dr Raynor had quite enjoyed hearing about the woman who seemed to have taken residence in Bucky’s mind. And Dr Harlow was proud of hearing that her patient was seeing someone new. She laughed when her patient blushed and began stumbling over her words that she was not seeing this man in that sense.

Bucky walked in to the waiting room expecting to find the woman whose presence he had become content being around only to frown at seeing the two seats that became unofficially theirs empty. The whole time he waited for her but she never showed. His name was called, as he followed Lila he kept turning his head back to the double doors in hopes that he would catch a glimpse of her. Walking into the room he frowned at seeing Dr Raynor and another woman sitting down. This was new.

“James, this is Dr Harlow.”

“Hi?”

“Hello James”

“What’s wrong? I didn’t do-“

“No, no James it’s… well you know the woman you’ve been telling me about?” Raynor cuts him off and waits for him to nod “well Dr Harlow is her therapist, Y/n was rushed in to the hospital early hours this morning-“

“Y/n? That’s her name? Wait… what happened to her? Is she okay? Where is-“

“James, she’s okay. We can’t disclose anything about what happened but-well you see Y/n has been talking about you in her sessions, nothing bad don’t worry, and you’ve been talking about her so we agreed that we should let you know”

Bucky sat there staring at his doctor as his mind raced with questions. She was in the hospital? Her name suited her perfectly. Why was she in the hospital? Who hurt her? She talked about him? ‘Nothing bad’ the good doctor stressed. Is she okay? “James?”

“Yeah erm, are you sure she’s okay?”

“Yes. We, well we talked to each other” Raynor points at between herself and Dr Harlow “and we think it would be a great opportunity for you to talk to her, maybe offer her some support-“

“Why me? Aren’t you two the therapists?”

“Yes we are but James I don’t think you realise how much those smiles and a few quiet words mean to Y/n. Nor she with you, now in my opinion I think it would be nice if the pair of you had someone to lean on when you don’t have a session.”

Thinking it over for a few minutes he nodded and agreed. Dr Harlow said Y/n had mentioned that she felt safe with him which made his heart race faster than usual at hearing that a complete stranger felt safe around him when he was so use to it being different. No one felt safe around him, hell he didn’t even feel safe with himself but yet she did. Not even ten seconds after the door closed behind Dr Harlow did Bucky start questioning his doctor about what had happened or where she was so he could go and see her, he just wanted to make sure she was fine but Raynor held strong and didn’t back down from the harsh glare he was sending towards her. She never did though to be honest.

Ten minutes later Dr Raynor thought it was best to cut their session short, though promised him that she would make out that they did the full hour.

Two weeks. Two whole weeks it had been since he was told that she was in the hospital and he hadn’t seen her. That day he thought it wouldn’t be any different to the other days where he expected to see her, until he turned his back on Lila who thankfully now took the hint that he wasn’t interested in her. His eyes squinted at seeing someone sitting in their seats.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked quietly, hoping that the woman in front of him would raise her head and smile as she said ‘no you can sit’. And when she did. Well… let’s just say that what he wanted to do to whoever had caused such pain and suffering to his Y/n he wouldn’t have pinned it on the Winter Soldier. No because Bucky Barnes would have happily admitted to shedding blood that wasn’t his own. Happily and proudly.

“N-no you can sit” she responds with that smile he sees when he closes his eyes at night.

“Doll-“ Lila cuts him off by calling his name signalling that it was his time, he nods at her then faces Y/n. “After your session I’m going to be waiting right here okay, and I want to take you for a coffee.”

“O-okay” Y/n says with a shy smile. Bucky smiles back before going up to Lila, eyebrows burrowing when she doesn’t lead him down the corridor. And that’s when it finally hits him. He had never seen her doing that to any of the other patients.

He tells Dr Raynor that Y/n was back, told her the bruises that littered her beautiful face, told her what he had said to her and her response. “Go easy on her James, don’t try and rush her into telling you all of her secrets okay” but in the same breath suggests a nice place for him to take her.

Forty five minutes after his appointment had ended he was now sat a cross the table from Y/n with a black coffee in front of him and a hot chocolate in front of her.

“You know what I’m going to ask you don’t you?” He says with a gentle smile, she nods. “Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fi-fine now sir”

“Bucky, call me Bucky. How long was you in the hospital for?”

“A few d-days, Dr Harlow told me that she told you what happened”

“Not exactly they just said that you was in the hospital, wanted me to know since you talk about me all the time” winking at her when she blushed.

“I-I d-don’t”

“All the time they said, said that your obsessed with me”

“Well y-you talk a-about me too!”

“Me? Never!” Bucky was ninety nine point nine percent sure that he had died right there and then and went to heaven when she laughed. He was sure of it. Her laugh could only described as angelic. God he wanted to hear it again and again until he dying breath.

“I-it was my ex” she whispered. She wasn’t stupid she knew what he wanted to ask.

“Where is he now?”

“Jail still, h-have to go court in-in two weeks. My lawyer said h-he’ll be going to prison for a long time, he broke the protection order an-and well this” she said gesturing to her face.

“You had a protection order against him?”

“Yes, throughout our relationship he was abusive the o-only way I managed to get out was because he had been cheating on me with a friend of mine, he left me a-and I was so happy because it meant that I didn’t have to suffer no more but the friend didn’t want him anymore because the fun of sneaking around had gone”. Taking a deep breath before sipping on her hot chocolate she continued. “He broke into my apartment and attacked me because I said no to taking him back, police was called by my neighbour and I got the restraining order against him because I could do that then, he went to prison and h-he got out three weeks ago, he broke into my apartment again and did this b-but the police arrived quickly as I already rang them”

“Doll… I’m so sorry”

“It’s okay. I’m okay now”

“It’s not okay Y/n”

“It is what it is, he’ll be going to prison for a long time and I’ll be able to live my life again.” She smiled.

“W-when is it that you have to go to court?”

“In two weeks, why?”

“Can I come with you? To offer my support” With her lack of response he knew he overstepped. Of course she isn’t going to want the former Winter Soldier to come with her to face another monster in her life. He’s about to apologise until she smiles once more and nods.

“I would really like that. Thank you Bucky” Bucky smiled and nodded.

Their second cup of hot drinks had slowly grown cold as the conversation flowed effortlessly between the pair. Bucky loved the way she no longer stuttered or stumbled over her words the longer they spoke. She was about to say something when a bang from the window startled the pair of them.

“Great.” He muttered.

“D-do you know him?”

“Who the crazy guy with his face squashed up against the window? Unfortunately” Y/n giggled at his words then looked at the man who did in fact have his face squashed up against the window, his eyes moving back and forth between herself and Bucky. Waving shyly at the man who waved excitedly back Bucky rolled his eyes. “You do realise you’ve just basically invited him in, don’t you? Oh see now he’s entering.”

“Stop being mean”

“Didn’t expect to see you here Barnes. Hi I’m Sam, Bucky’s best friend in the whole world”

“Hi Sam, I’m Y/n” she shakes his hand and smiles at Bucky who sits there rolling his eyes for the umpteenth time.

“Scoot over then Bucky. So how did you two meet?”

Bucky looked at Y/n to see if she was comfortable with letting him know, she just smiled. “We met in therapy”

“Oh, are you a therapist?”

“No, no I’m a patient”

“Does it help?”

“Sam!”

“What? I’m just asking”

Giggling at the two men “it’s fine Bucky, it has been helping. My therapist is really nice and understanding”

“That’s great. So did you two meet from group therapy or?”

“No we actually sat next to each other in the waiting room”

“Aw that’s so cute!” Sam winks at her whilst Bucky grumbled under his breath.

Sam ends up convincing Bucky and Y/n in getting something to eat not that he puts up to much of a fight as both of them were hungry themselves. Once again conversation flows effortlessly, even Bucky joined in with the laughter.

After food was eaten and an argument between the three about who was going to pay - Y/n winning when the two men were still arguing over the bill - they walked her all the way to her apartment. Bucky’s heart clenched painfully seeing her front door with dried blood on it. Sam noticed too and smiled sadly at his friend.

Two whole weeks passed, in those two weeks Sam kept “bumping” into the pair, the three of them would walk around talking about their lives, both of the men noticing that she was very vague about her life but neither one pushed her into saying more.

Today was the day where Y/n was going to court, as she stood outside she checked her watch worrying that Bucky wasn’t going to show up, not like he needed to he didn’t owe her anything anyway. She turned around to head up the many steps when her names called, turning she sees Bucky running over towards her. Sam following closely behind.

“Hey, hi, sorry we’re late I tried to shake this one off but he’s persist-“

“No it’s okay, I-I really appreciate the pair of you coming today. It means so much”

“You’re welcome sunshine, you’ve got our support” Sam smiles wrapping his arms around her squeezing slightly.

“Y/n? We need to go in” her lawyer says from the large brown double doors.

Sam nods to the pair and heads up the steps, Bucky smiled “me and Sam are here for you, it’s going to be okay”

“I’m scared about seeing him again b-but I-I can do it” Bucky’s hand reached out to hers that shook.

“I’ve got you, I promise”

“T-th-thank you Bucky”

Hand in hand they head up to where Sam was waiting patiently and followed the lawyers lead into the courtroom. Bucky’s knee wouldn’t stop bouncing from anger as Y/n bravely stood in the witness stand and gave her statement, hearing all the things that the bastard did to her made him want to attack him. Sam knew what was going through his friends head, honestly? He wasn’t going to be far behind him.

Three hours later her ex received a ten year sentence. Bucky watched as her body relaxes by hearing the judges words. He and Sam smiles at her when she turns around, her eyes moving along the rows to find where they sat, smiling as soon as she lands on them.

After leaving the courthouse Bucky took her hand in his again and the three of them went to the restaurant that Sam had suggested, in a way to celebrate Y/n’s new found freedom. Neither one of the men mentioned about what they heard or the photos they saw in the courtroom, other than telling her that they were proud of her bravery.

Six months had passed before any of them had realised, both of the therapists were proud of seeing completely different people sitting in front of them in their sessions. Bucky opened up more and so did Y/n, not only to their therapists but to each other.

The knock on the door pulled Bucky away from his bickering with Sam as his friend argued that pineapple on pizza was nice. “I’ll ask Y/n and see what she says! Hey doll”

“Hey, sorry I’m late”

“You’re not, don’t worry. Hey does pineapple belong on pizza?” He asked taking her coat and hanging it up on the hook.

“I’ve tried it and I like it” she waves to Sam.

“See! Sam I told you it was nice”

“But you said-“

“Shut up. Sam said that it was wrong but I said it was nice”

“No yo-“

“So how was your day?” Sam looked at Y/n mouthing ‘he’s lying’ making her giggle, she goes on to tell them all about her day which had Bucky hanging on to every word she spoke.

Halfway through the film Sam had picked Y/n went to the bathroom, Bucky eyed Sam curiously as the latter was sitting there grinning at him. “What?”

“Whens the wedding?”

“What wedding?”

“Yours and Y/ns”

“We’re not getting married? Why are you smiling like that?”

“If you say so, hey when are you going to tell her you love her?”

Choking on his beer Bucky shook his head “I don’t love her Sam”

“Okay, how about you telling her that you’re in love with her?”

“Sam shut up.”

“Nope. So when are you going to tell her?”

“I’m not going too alright. It’s just-it doesn’t matter alright just drop it”

“Drop what?” Y/n asked walking back into the living room.

“Pineapple being on pizza” Bucky says quickly his eyes going wide looking at Sam.

Laughing she shakes her head sitting back down next to Bucky “we’re not having this argument anymore boys”

“Try telling him that Y/n/n” now it’s Bucky’s turn to have a grin on his lips as Sam’s eyes squint at the pair.

“Sunshine has Bucky told you yet?”

“Told me what?”

“That he loves y-“

“Yogurts.”

“You… love yogurts?” She asked him with her eyebrow raised, Sam struggles to contain his laughter seeing Bucky become a stuttering mess.

“Yes… I love yogurts, problem?”

“Nope no problem here” If Y/n wasn’t snuggling into his left side Bucky would have throttled Sam.

The knock on her door startled her from the tv screen in front of her - it didn’t help that she was watching a horror and that a jump scare was about to happen when the knock came.

“Bucky? Hey, are you okay?”

“I-I was just in the neigh-neighbourhood a-and I thought that I’d st-stop by”

“Yeah come in, James is everything alright?”

“Yeah, w-why?”

“It’s just that you’re stuttering… and I’m just worried that’s all”

“S-someone said something about me, it-it wasn’t good” he admitted twisting the bottle cap from the water bottle she had gave him.

“What did they say?”

“It doesn’t matter, I-I just wanted to see you-you know because I was in the neighbourhood”

The truth was he wasn’t, he had finally listened to Dr Raynors advice and go out. His plan was to go down the corner store to get some essentials in. Get in, get out that was easy and simple. He could do it. Until he heard two men who were talking clearly and loudly about him their conversation attracting the attention of others passing by them. And that’s when he realised his second mistake that day, the first mistake being to agree to go out, the second being that he forgot his gloves. The comments were harsh and unkind.

His first response was to put his head down shoving his hands into his pockets and walk all the way to Y/n’s apartment. Even if it was a forty minute walk.

Bucky needed to see her, he didn’t care if they sat in silence just as long as he was with her, he didn’t care if she forced him to watch that terrible tv show.

“Come on let’s watch something and have cuddles”

He was safe with her. Calmer. Happier. More comfortable and relaxed.

“Have you asked her?”

“No Samuel I haven’t”

“Why?”

“Because I haven’t seen her today”

“Why?”

“Because she had her session with Dr Harlow”

“Why?”

“Sam, I’m going to punch you in the face”

“Wh-“

Bucky rolled his eyes and put the phone call down. He couldn’t bear to hear why one more time. He was too busy going over what he was going to ask Y/n, so many things could go wrong she could say no, it would be weird as they’ve only known each other for a year now. She’s going to say no. Of course she is. He can’t ask, he just ca-

“Buck? Open up my arms hurt”

Buck. Buck, the name Sam was not happy about hearing slipping out of her mouth. He had tried years to call him that but always got shot down. It wasn’t fair.

“Buck? Shit are you not in?”

“No! No I’m in doll, hi, hello, hi”

“Hi, hello, hi to you too” Bucky laughs taking the bags off her arms carefully, then takes them into the kitchen. A month ago Y/n moved in to his apartment with him after the landlord put up the rent making her struggle to keep paying the higher rent, Bucky caught her looking for a new place to live when he suggested her living with him, she first denied but Bucky swore and promised that he was more than happy to let her stay with him, she ended up agreeing, Bucky could have cried with happiness all night but managed to contain himself.

“Did you get everything?”

“Nope, forgot absolutely everything you asked for” sticking her tongue out at him, he laughed.

God he loves her weirdness.

“So I- god sake Sam, hold on pretty girl. What now Sam? No I haven’t. Because she’s just walked in. You’re so needy do you know that? Okay I’ll ask now. Yes I’ll do it whilst you’re on the phone. Y/n, do you want to come to Louisiana with Sam and I?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, we’re going for a week to see his sister and nephews and we want you to come too”

“Will his sister mind me being there?”

“No. So?”

“Are you guys really sure?”

“Absolutely”

“O-okay, that would be nice”

His smile doesn’t just take up his face but Sam’s as well “good, good. Did you hear Sam? Okay see you later” chucking his phone on to the counter he turns back to Y/n. “We leave tomorrow”

“Tomorrow? Oh god okay, I’ll go and pack now”

Two days later they arrive in Louisiana after both men took it in turns to drive, it was long and tiring for them but Y/n loved it. She had never been out of New York before so she was taking in the sights. When Bucky wasn’t driving he would watch her from his seat, seeing her face lit up made his heart tingle.

“Are you sure she won’t mind me being here?”

“I promise, she’s excited to meet you” Sam reassures her as he pulls up the gravelled driveway.

Greeting his sister and nephews, Bucky doing the same Sarah turned her attention to Y/n instantly engulfing her in a warm embrace. “It’s so nice to finally meet you”

“You too” she smiled softly.

Later that night after putting their things away they all sat outside watching as the sun started to set, Sam was manning the grill and Bucky were chasing the two boys around making them squeal with laughter and excitement. Sarah and Y/n were talking when Sarah asked the woman sitting in front of her something that made her choke and splutter on her drink.

“W-we aren’t to-together”

“Are you sure? The way he looks at you makes me think differently”

“No, no we’re just friends. Plus he wouldn’t like me so”

“Do you like him?”

“I-yes. But I would rather have him as my friend than not have him in my life”

“Tell him how you feel”

“No I can’t do that!”

“You can”

“No I can’t”

“Can’t what?” Bucky’s voice comes from behind her. Sarah has to stifle her laughter as Y/ns eyes went as wide as saucers.

“I-erm nothing.”

“Okay? Hey there’s a crab down on the beach that the boys have found, want to come and see it?”

“O-okay” Bucky smiles and holds out his hand for her to take, helping her stand he keeps his hand in hers as they walk towards the two boys.

“Is she in love with him?”

“I think so, hopefully they’ll admit their feelings because they’re so cute together” Sarah says with her eyes trained on the two fading figures, Sam smirks before flipping the burgers.

Later that night Y/n got startled when she went into the bathroom seeing Bucky standing motionless in front of the mirror. “Shit! Bucky you scared- hey are you okay?”

“I-I’m fi-I’m not okay Y/n/n” Y/n moved so quickly wrapping her arms around him, both falling on the ground.

“It’s okay, it’s okay” the sobs wracked through his body making her body shake. She kept repeating those words like a mantra.

“M-my hair”

“Your hair? What about it?”

“I-I want it gone, please, please help me g-get rid of it”

Her heart broke at hearing him sounding so small, in the whole year of knowing him he had always sounded so strong, and confident. Also she loved his hair and they both knew it, on nights where they cuddled up together on the couch watching movies her fingers would always end up playing with the soft strands of hair.

“A-are you sure?” feeling him nodding against her chest “okay, let me find some scissors and a clipper and I’ll do it for you okay?” Trying to stand was difficult especially since having a super soldier clinging to her. “Buck, I need to stand”

Finding the scissors was easy, it was just finding the clippers she had a difficult time coming up on. Cheering silently in triumph when she discovered them in the fourth draw. “Should we go outside so we don’t wake everyone up?”

“O-okay. Leave the light on Cass is scared of the dark, Sarah leaves the bathroom light on for him” Bucky whispered wrapping both of his hands around her free one.

Outside with only the porch light illuminating them, Y/n started cutting his hair the shorter it got the more Bucky started to relax. When it came to trimming his hair Bucky’s left arm reached around to tug on her waist, bringing her around to stand in between his legs, he smiled shyly up at her. Without thinking she leaned down as she placed her lips to his forehead. His arms snaked around the back of her legs squeezing lightly.

“I-it’s done, maybe Sam can fix it up later if it’s bad?”

“I bet y-you did a good job”

“Would you be mad if I said you had a massive bald spot right on the top of your head?”

He laughed and shook his head “no I won’t be mad”

“It’s a good job that there isn’t one isn’t there?”

“Y/n, thank you, i-it means a lot to me. Thank you”

“You don’t need to thank me. D-do you want to talk about what happened?”

“It was a nightmare. Just about my past” leading her over to the hammock on that swayed ever so lightly from the night breeze. “T-they did bad things to me, made me do worse”

“I’m here if you want to talk about it” she says squeezing his hand.

“They made me kill people, even when I completed the mission to their satisfaction they would still punish me and I never knew why. The chair was the worst, I-I did what I was told to do and I was still punished.”

Looking at the water he breathed deeply, he was about to tell her something to no one else knew, not even his therapist. “I-I’ve wanted to end my life since coming back from Wakanda b-b-but not since I met you I swear!”

“Oh Buck”

“It was easier to end it you know? But I couldn’t do it, I needed to try and make up for all the damage I caused.”

“Bucky it was-“

“It was though, wasn’t it? It was me the whole time”

“It wasn’t. Bucky you wasn’t in control of your own mind, your a good man, an incredible man - don’t scoff at me mister - you are, if you don’t believe me think about Sarah, even though I don’t know her all that well she seems to have a good sense of judgement, do you really think that she would let you be around her babies if she thought you was a bad person?”

Thinking her words over he had to agree with her words about Sarah even Sam wouldn’t let him anywhere near his sister and his nephews. Hell Tony wouldn’t have allowed him near his wife or daughter if they believed he was the monster that he still believed he was. “Y-you’re right”

Now it was her turn to think over the words from Sarah earlier that night. It was most likely going to blow up in her face and she was going to lose him as a friend forever but maybe just maybe Sarah could be right. “I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you if you were a bad person Buck”

The silence that followed was killing her. She should have just kept her mouth shut.

He however couldn’t believe his ears. Surely she was playing a trick on him. There was no way this perfect angel as he always described her would ever feel the same way as him. Surely.

“I’m sorry Bucky, I-I’ll go n-“

He cuts her off by pressing his lips against hers. The kiss was soft, timid at first before they both gained their confidence their tongues dancing a slow dance together. Pulling away reluctantly Bucky leans his forehead against hers, both smiling widely at each other.

“I’m in love with you too” he whispered.

Nothing else was said. Nothing else was needed to be said.

Sam walks on to the porch with his hot cup of coffee that morning, his feet faltering when he sees Bucky and Y/n curled up together on the hammock fast asleep. Pulling his phone out he took a photo of the pair before running back into the house showing Sarah the photo.

As soon as they were back in New York Bucky asked Y/n out on a date, then another and another until he asked her to be his girlfriend. And soon enough she had moved into his room with him.

The first time she saw him topless was when he came out of the bathroom wearing grey joggers, he thought she was still in the living room. He heard the quiet gasp, he looked up to see her standing there and his stomach dropped.

“Y/n-“

“Your body… did the gods sculpt you? I-is that, two, four, six yep that’s an eight pack, how do you get an eight pack?”

Hearing her words he blushed with a little chuckle. “T-the scars-“

“Beautiful”

“Don’t lie to me”

“I would never lie to you Buck, everything about you is beautiful”

That night they made love for the first time, each of them taking their time in admiring the scars that littered their bodies. The second she pressed her lips delicately against the rough, raised patch where skin meets metal he honestly thought his heart was going to stop beating.

“ты мой спаситель, did you know that?” he whispered one night placing kisses on her bare shoulder.

“What does that mean?”

“ты мой спаситель?”

“Yeah”

“It means… your smelly”

“No it doesn’t” she laughs.

“No your right, it means you’re my saviour”

“Buck-“

“You are Y/n/n, you’ve saved me you’ve made me happier than I’ve ever been before a-and I know I wouldn’t still be here if it wasn’t for you”

“I’ll be with you until you want me to leave”

“So never” he laughed, pulling her body even closer to his. “I love you Y/n/n”

“I love you too Buck”

Bucky wished Steve was still around so he could talk to him about things. He wish that his best friend was still there so he could tell the blond about how nervous he was. He imagined Steve’s reaction as he fixed his tie for the ninth time within five minutes.

A year had passed, on their year anniversary Bucky got down on one knee and proposed, three months later he was standing in the spare bedroom of Sarah’s house in his suit as Sarah helped Y/n with her dress.

He really wished Steve was there to see him marrying his love.

A month before marrying both Sam and Bucky retired, both men tired of the bloodshed and nightmares. Sam told Bucky that he was going to move down to Louisiana, he even brought up a business proposal, Bucky had to admit it did sound tempting he promised Sam that he would run it by Y/n.

“Sam’s moving closer to Sarah, you know now that we’ve retired.”

“Oh, right”

“He erm he brought up a proposal to go into business together-“

“Did you say yes? Please tell me you said yes!”

“Why? Do you want to move to Louisiana?”

“Yes! I mean I knew Sam was going to move back there so I may or may not have been looking at houses down there…”

Sam cheered loudly down the phone when Bucky rang him to tell him that they were coming too.

“You ready Bucky?” Sam asked popping his head around the door.

“Yeah, yeah I’m ready”

Bucky faltered walking out of the house only expecting to see AJ, Cass and Roy - the man who was going to be marrying them - but yet all the people Y/n and himself had befriended over the two years they had been going to Louisiana, had showed up to watch them become one.

Being announced as husband and wife had their hearts doing a double take. They were married and neither one could believe it. And neither one could wipe the smile off their faces.

“ты мой спаситель… wait did I pronounce any of that right?” She panicked as they slow danced to the live music from a local band.

“Di-did you learn that just for me?”

“Yes” she giggled “so did I say it correctly?”

“Yes you did мой спаситель”

The celebration went on well into the night.

** present time **

“Buck?”

“Huh?”

“Did you just hear what I said?” Y/n looks up at him lightly nibbling on her bottom lip looking nervously.

Of course he had heard the words that came out of her mouth but those exact words made him think about how they met, and how far they both had come from being complete strangers who met in the waiting room of their therapist building to now being a happily married couple whose love continued to grow as the days passed.

“I did, but tell me again, please”

Oh how he can’t wait to tell his best friend Sam the news he had just received.

Taking his hands in hers she placed them on her still flat stomach and smiled.

“You’re going to be a dad.”

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama | @capsbestgirl77

[empty-movement]

Someday, Shine With Me...

It's Christmas Eve. It's 1997. You actually went to see the AWESOME Utena Musical over the weekend, and you have rewatched your VHS tape recordings of the last episode a dozen times.

You've been jamming out to Internal Clock, Municipal Orrery. You obtained a time machine to pour over episode commentaries by Ikuhara and Saito that cover the last three episodes. You've already stolen the script from be-Papas' office. You've even got a screencap gallery of it!

You've been watching along with some other internetizens, because forums are cool.

You've been staring at the insane art drop by Akemi Hayashi for this month's Animage Magazine:

You've been pouring over the to-be-released creator commentary, transcribed by Vrai Kaiser, whose articles about Utena have been living rent free in your future head all year:

There are two meanings to the Japanese word utena. One is “the calyx of a flower.” That’s also the meaning of the title, of course. The thing that supports the beautiful petals; the one with the noble heart. And the other meaning of utena is “tall tower or pedestal.” We translated this into a visual: the tower at the center of Ohtori Academy, the one with the Chairman’s room on the top floor. And the dueling arena located deep in the woods is the same. In the early stages of production, when the story wasn’t firmly established yet, this was one of the aspects I most wanted to visualize and produce for the screen. A world where demons roam. In its center, a tower called the “Tower of Revolution.” Whosoever can remain victorious in his battles against the demons can reach the pinnacle of the Tower of Revolution, and at the same time receive the power to revolutionize the world; the power that changes the rules of the world. However, when he reaches the pinnacle, he learns the world’s governing laws. He faces the ultimate choice: will he stay nobly, beautifully powerless? Or will he accept ugliness into himself and gain absolute power? He desired both. Or rather, perhaps he couldn’t choose either. His mind in anguish, he divided himself in two. His “noble heart,” and the “adult with absolute power.” And so. With one last wish that the day would come when someone would awaken him, the “noble heart” that had lost its body, in other words the prince, fell into a deep sleep. Early on in the series’s conception, I kicked around the idea of placing something like the above at the heart of the story. Later, after several changes, it became the tale as you know it, but without a doubt, he did reach the pinnacle of the Tower of Revolution. It was a place where “eternity” dwelled. And “eternity” turned out to mean perpetual sleep. The prince (Akio) who became an adult while in perpetual sleep lost something. What he lost was “the power to create an enjoyable future.” Revolution means gaining “the power to imagine the future.” The prince chose to sleep on, and the princess chose to wake up. At the top of that tall tower, the princess bid farewell to the prince. No – she wasn’t the princess any longer. She quit being “a person (thing) ruled by someone.” The victory bells rang, but there was no “tower (rule)” beyond them now. She’d learned where freedom lay. She crossed the threshold of that “Door of Revolution” which had always been closed to her before, and began walking. The “girl’s revolution” lay in the girl’s future. “Wait for me…Utena.” The world (the stage) is free and wide.

You're not ready for Utena to end. Which is good, because it isn't going to. Not for you. Decades from now, Utena will still be here, speaking to you. Challenging you. Changing you.

[instantpansies]

oh my word THANK YOU!!! i've been trying to say this since the wicked movie repopularized all of the "wicked is canon" stuff, but you've put it in a way i wasn't able to. YES. certainly wicked is allowed to be a derivative work that recontextualizes Oz. assuming that whatever is in wicked retroactively and automatically changes details about the story (ie, that the scarecrow and the tin woodman knew each other before the events of Wonderful Wizard and/or the MGM film) is simply incorrect.

i'm all for incorporating a body of work that may not be fully compatible into a coherent canon that works as an alternative parallel to the original. i think it's completely fine and understandable that people are hooked on wicked and will want to understand some characters through the lens of wicked. but assuming that wicked's popularity makes it truly canon, or assuming that the history it presents is accurate to Baum's Oz, is ignorant to both the original context of the Baum books and the long history of Oz adaptation.

i'm also a bit of a hater, as i personally believe that understanding Wonderful Wizard characters through a lens of wicked, especially the musical but also the book, is a less interesting way of analyzing the text and symbolism present in that story than either the Baum novel or the MGM film presents as each stands alone.

wicked is, certainly, its own thing. of course it exists in the context of over a hundred years of adaptation before it, but that context is simply not known by most people. it must be able to stand on its own, and i believe it does. but when this retroactive wicked lens is applied to that context and history uncritically, we will run into problems.

i almost want to blame the seemingly recent, but really just more visible shift in fandom to a need for everything to be canon and confirmed? like, it can be difficult to reconcile in our minds that so many different versions of oz are allowed to exist and don't have to be compatible. wicked "confirms" things viewers are left wondering about after the mgm film, so therefore it must be canon, and therefore it's appropriate to correct people on facts they "get wrong" when they contradict wicked canon. that's how the thinking seems to work, at least in my observation. and that way of thinking seeps its way into the secondary or deeper oz fandom, which has led to (in my view) a sort of soft shift from Baum-centric understanding of oz as a whole to a binary star system where Baum and Maguire are seen as co-creators of a more true or real world and story. i'm exaggerating, certainly, but i've seen this shift occur over time. i hesitate to bring this up bc it sounds like i'm whining about the fandom's natural changes and how things aren't the way they used to be, and i guess i am. i digress.

anyways, your original point. yes!!! while oz became baum's most profitable endeavor, and throughout the series you can see him sort of wishing his other books were more profitable so he could expand in different directions, that doesn't mean he didn't care about continuity or cohesion at all. i'd argue he cared more about cohesion and telling a story that made sense and continued to make sense as it was expanded, than he cared about maintaining particular canon details through the whole series. oz changed as baum's tastes, needs, and audience changed, and that is just as important as the changes that would be added by adaptation later on. (hell, many oz fans don't think of the 1902 musical or the silent films as canon, despite them being created by Baum, both because they're less well-known and because they do change things up to better fit their respective media and contexts). this sense of inconsistency, whether overblown or minimized, doesn't mean that wicked is canon compliant with the baum novels. wicked directly contradicts baum's work in some cases--which again, is completely fine. it's a derivative work that takes certain aspects of the original books and the mgm film, synthesizes them in a grimdark expansion on especially the political aspects of the world, and seeks to tell a unique story that allows you to think about Wonderful Wizard and MGM in a different way. but it is not itself an explanation for Baum's supposedly undercooked or unfinished world. it is not itself a part of the original story (i mean this in the context of canonicity of baum's work. oz fans know how complicated oz canon is.) but instead is--as it claims to be--another branch on the complex tree of oz adaptations.

tldr. wicked does not "explain" anyone's actions in Wonderful Wizard or MGM. it seeks to provide an alternative context, or an alternative explanation, certainly. but it does not retroactively "fix" the story. it's perfectly fine to think about the original story or the mgm film in the context of wicked, if you like the alternative history it provides. policing others' adaptations and understandings of the story, or implying or directly stating that wicked should be incorporated into others' headcanons or interpretations or adaptations, or claiming that wicked is canon simply because baum didn't care about canon so everything is canon, is not helpful or productive or good. in fact, that actively makes oz analysis less fun, in my opinion. i hope my point is made here i've been trying to say this for months but as usual i was completely unable to get my thoughts across until acted on by an outside force (seeing this post). so thanks!!

I've seen a lot of people lately harping about how "Wicked isn't canon to the Oz universe", "it's just glorified fanfiction", etc., and I can't express how silly that is, and how annoyed it makes me every time I hear it, lol. Baum's original Oz books were never meant to be some canonical series — they contradict each other constantly; Baum called it a "fairy story" with loose cohesion at best; and it only became a series at all because the first one got popular enough that Baum felt a duty to the fandom to keep making more (even after he had wanted to end it). And the 1939 film is every bit as much "fanfiction" as Wicked — it changes the story in both major and minor ways, including a complete shift of framing (i.e., making Oz into a dream rather than a real place).

Maguire's great contribution to the overarching legacy and lore of Oz was to harmonize the very weak "canon" of the older works with a different shift in framing: recontextualizing all of the prior Oz material as a revisionist history (going off of Baum's own idea framing of himself as a "Royal Historian of Oz"), and attempting to tell "the true story" behind the other works (fictively of course — we're never meant to literally think Maguire's version preceded Baum's, irl). In literary studies, this is called an urtext. The Wicked Years and its adaptations are as much "fanfiction" as the 1939 film: it's just self-aware of that fact in a way that earlier works weren't, and uses that perspective to deconstruct the material and explore deeper (and darker) themes — not simply adapting or reimagining the original text (as the 1939 movie did), but actively challenging it; interrogating it. It's not meant to be "canon" as such: it asks you to ask whether (and why) there is such a thing, and what that might say about the stories that we are meant to literally believe in, in real life.

[16novvs]

in this together ˖ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

arcane season 2 spoilers!

councilor!sevika had a particularly rough day and her assistant (you!fem) not only stands up for her, comforts her, but also encourages sevika that everything is going to be alright. angst with comfort!!!! AND FLUFF???i honestly made this to cope with how the arcane ending fucked sevika over.. my beautiful wife T_T hope you enjoy!!

1.5k words (currently editing)

You had been there during Silco’s reign, working alongside Sevika, managing the details and data that went unnoticed by others. After the fighting ended, you followed Sevika into a new chapter as her assistant, trading the chaos of war and survival for the stream of governance.

The council chamber was as cold and unwelcoming as ever, the polished surface of the circular table reflecting the sharp, impassive faces of Piltover’s councilors. Sevika sat stiffly, her broad frame filling the chair that felt more like an insult than a seat of respect.

You sat at Sevika’s side, trying to take notes and keep track of the conversation as best you could, though your attention was split between the meeting and Sevika herself. You could see she was trying to shrink into herself. To others, she may have looked stoic, but this was your Sevika. You could tell she wasn’t comfortable at all. To make matters worse, Sevika had left her mechanical arm at home. Weapons weren’t allowed in the council chamber bullshit, and that left her feeling annoyingly vulnerable. Next meeting, you will encourage her to wear it regardless of what they think.

Today’s meeting was completely and utterly nonsensical. The past few weeks, the council members had been running in circles, with the main focus being on making Piltover and Zaun into a true partnership between the two cities. Sevika didn’t care about that, and neither did you. What you wanted were resources: systems in place to get kids a proper education, to get the homeless off the streets, to provide proper jobs and healthy diets. You both wanted Zaun to become a place one could live in, not fight to survive.

Sevika’s patience had worn thin hours ago, but she stayed, gritting her teeth as Piltover’s officials changed the topic every time her concerns for Zaun came up. They cloaked their disregard for her in polished semantics and false promises, but Sevika saw right through them.

You, on the other hand, were practically fuming. You’d stopped writing a while ago and didn’t care to hide the contempt on your face anymore. You’d think the world nearly ending would be enough to make people change their ways, but I guess not. Before you could continue your inner monologue, your thoughts were rudely interrupted by some pompous ass sitting next to Sevika.

“You know, Sevika,” he said, leaning in close and taking advantage of the bustle in the council room, “I admire your… confidence to sit here today. It’s rare to see someone rise so far above their means. It’s almost inspirational, really.”

Sevika didn’t respond, her eyes narrowing at she processed the veiled jab. You, however, understood it right away and couldn’t hold back. Your hand slammed the table between the two of them, a sharp noise ringing through the room.

“With all due respect,” you leaned in, your voice calm but sharp, “if Councilor Sevika hadn’t come to rescue this craven city, half of you would either be slaughtered or under the Herald’s control. If you truly admire her, maybe you should show it by addressing the issues at hand instead of throwing thinly veiled insults.”

The Piltover councilor blinked, clearly not expecting a response from you, let alone one with such bite. Across the table, a few of the other assistants exchanged glances, some looking shocked, others impressed. Sevika’s head turned slightly toward you, her eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. You could see the tension in her shoulders ease just a little, the corner of her mouth twitching in what could almost be a smile.

“Well,” Shoola, another councilwoman, said, clearing her throat, “Perhaps we should move on.”

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur of tense exchanges and unresolved issues, but Sevika held her head high, bolstered, you hoped, by your words. When the meeting finally adjourned, Sevika rose without a word, nodding to Shoola. You followed her out, the quiet tension between you growing heavier on the way home.

The apartment was dimly lit, the faint glow of sunlight filtering through the blinds. The heavy clunk of Sevika’s boots echoed against the floor as she stepped inside, her mechanical arm sitting limply on the coffee table. She didn’t say a word as she sank onto the couch, her head falling into her hand. You set your bag down by the door and crossed the room, kneeling in front of her. The council meeting had drained her; you could see it in the way her broad shoulders slumped and the faint tremble in her arm.

“Sevika,” you said softly, resting a hand on her knee. “Look at me.”

When she did, the sight broke your heart. She looked tired, worn down, like she was carrying the weight of Zaun on her shoulders—and she was. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Sevika refused to cry even when she found out Jinx was gone, and now the floodgates had opened. Your poor girl.

“Oh, come here, baby.” You planted yourself beside her, allowing her to sink into your embrace. And for the first time in a long time, Sevika finally let go. She cried for Jinx, for Isha, for Silco, and for Zaun. She cried because her strength, the one thing she’d use to make change, was useless here. She cried for the Zaunites who’d lost their lives fighting alongside her, and she cried because she was afraid it would have all been in vain.

You leaned back, cradling her head against your chest as she sobbed. With gentle hands, you traced soothing circles on her back, your soft reassurances and sweet murmurs helping to steady her breathing. The weight of her pain slowly eased as you held her. You stayed like that for a while, the sound of her muffled sniffling and quiet whimpers eventually fading into the stillness. When she was ready, Sevika sat up, brushing away the lingering traces of tears on her cheeks. You could see in her eyes that she felt lighter.

“Back in the council chamber,” she said finally, her voice low and gruff. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” you replied immediately, meeting her gaze. “They don’t get to talk to you like that. Not while I’m here.”

For a moment, she just stared at you, softness in her eyes. Then, to your surprise, she let out a short, dry laugh. “You’ve got guts,” she said, shaking her head. “That goddamn room is so stuffy.

You laughed. “It is, isn’t it?” you said trying to draw her out of the dark cloud that seemed to hang over her.

She didn’t respond right away, but she did slip her hand into yours, intertwining your fingers and caressing the back of your hand with her thumb.

You broke the silence gently, your voice steady and warm. “Sevika, you’re doing everything you can. I know it doesn’t always feel like it’s enough, but it is. Zaun has someone in their corner who truly cares—someone who fights for them every single day. That’s more than most people in that council can say.”

Sevika’s gaze dropped to your intertwined hands, her thumb brushing soft, absent patterns across your skin. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted in a whisper. “Silco, Vander—they always had a plan. Me? I’m just... figuring it out as I go.”

“And that’s okay, this is all new to you— to us,” you said firmly. “Silco and Vander weren’t perfect, Sev. They made mistakes—lots of them. You’re allowed to stumble or feel lost. What matters is that you care, and you’re still here, fighting. That’s exactly what Zaun needs.”

She let out a bitter laugh, her lips twisting into a faint, humorless smile. “What’s the point of trying when they won’t listen? When they look at me like I don’t even belong there?”

“Then you make them listen,” you said, squeezing her hand. “You’ve fought for Zaun every step of the way, and you haven’t stopped. They might not see it, Sev, but I do. I see everything you’re putting into this, even when it feels like you’ve got nothing left to give.”

Her hand shifted slightly, her fingers brushing against yours as she slowly lifted her head. When her eyes met yours, the vulnerability there made your chest tighten. Still, you could see the faint spark of resolve returning.

“You always know how to say the right thing, don’t you, doll?” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Just telling the truth,” you replied, your own smile soft but steady.

“Come here.”

This time, you let her pull you into her arms, the familiar weight of you on top of her chest allowing her to relax. Her strong arm wrapped around your waist, the warmth blossoming against your waist and back.

“Thank you,” she said softly, nuzzling into your neck.

“Always,” you whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to her jaw. “We’re in this together, I promise.”

For the first time in a while, she let herself believe things would be alright. Wrapped in your warmth, the weight of the world seemed to ease, just a little, as she sank into you and allowed herself to breathe.

so this was supposed to be straight up fluff but i couldn’t help myself w/ the angst!! i apologize if this felt rushed + i barely proof. i hope you enjoyed reading nonetheless and i’d love to read your comments on this if you have any <3

[yuwuta]

YOU AND I TOGETHER, WON’T YOU HOLD ON TO ME — YUUTA OKKOTSU

cw mentions of children, pregnancy. so much of yuuta being happy and sappy :(( sorry i haven’t shutup about my little depressed lovesick boy making it out and living a full life. probably won’t anytime soon actually. satoru is alive and well in all my renditions of happily ever after and that won’t change either i fear  

Yuuta talks about the future often. A future with you, and him, and your friends, and a family where you’re all together forever and he gets to love you until the end of time. 

Sometimes, you think he doesn’t realize what he’s doing—dreaming about forever with you; but you can never find it in your heart to break his illusion. The boy who used to dread his next waking moment is dreaming and dreaming and dreaming, and making all of yours come true. 

It’s quiet in this part of the Gojo compound. The gentle sounds of a stream running through the garden, and chirping of birds are the only noises that disrupt your daydreams. 

Or, perhaps, fuel them. 

“I hope our kids aren’t afraid of birds,” Yuuta muses, wide eyes looking past your face up to the tall trees, full of happily singing bluebirds, “There’s so many of them here.” 

You’re gentle when you stroke his hair, taking advantage of his head in your lap to pull the longer pieces out of his eyes. 

Your smile is giddy, unfiltered. “Kids? Plural?” 

Yuuta hums with smile. His eyes remain on the sky, chasing a pair of birds that flitter between long branches. 

“Yeah. At least two, so they don’t get lonely,” he says, “They’ll have us, and their cousins, and sensei, and our friends, but they’re going to need each other at home.”

Yuuta lets his eyes fall to you at the end of his sentence, a sparkling smile on his scarred lips. 

“I see,” you smile, “At least two so they can be friends.” 

“Best friends,” he revises your statement, “So they can train together, too, if they want to be sorcerers. Or not. It’s fine, either way.” He blinks, eyes warm, “I hear that four is the happy medium for a family, but I think three is going to be easier inheritance wise, if sensei is serious about making me clan head someday.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Yeah, but if a fourth comes along, I’m sure we’ll figure it out.” 

“I’m sure sensei will have made more than enough money for them by then.” 

Yuuta giggles, earnestly in your arms at that. “Of course he will.” 

You pause for a moment, committing his laugh to memory. His features flush slightly under your gaze, and you lean down to kiss his scarred forehead. You let your hands resume petting his hair, following in his gaze to look up at the birds. 

“Tell me more about them.” 

Yuuta doesn’t waste a moment, closing his eyes; letting you paint the picture in the sky for yourself as he talks. 

“The gap between the oldest and youngest is six or seven years. I think five might be enough, though. So, that means our middle one is about three when our littlest comes along.” 

“Unless a fourth happens.” 

Yuuta hums in agreement. “Unless a fourth happens. But we’ll have time.” 

You’ll have time, you nod. You have time now, you and him; all the time in the world. 

“A three year old and newborn sounds like a lot of work.” 

“Maybe. But we’ll also have a seven year old. He’s going to want to help with the baby, so we’ll have an extra hand,” Yuuta says, “And that’s not even counting sensei and the rest.” 

“He?”

“I think he’ll be a boy, the oldest. He might look like me, but he’ll act like you, so he’s going to be Kugisaki’s favorite.”

You find yourself choking out a genuine cackle at that. When you look down, Yuuta’s got a smile wider than yours. 

“He sounds wonderful. Like his father,” you confess, “But the idea of pregnancy thrice in a seven year span sounds exhausting.” 

“We can use surrogates. Or adopt. Or whatever,” Yuuta tells you, “Gojo-sensei will help us figure it out if we need help.” 

You have no doubt about that. And now, when you look back up to the sky, you can see vignettes of Gojo-sensei with your your seven year old on his shoulders, your middle child on his hip, and the baby gnawing at his legs. 

And then Yuuji is skipping into the scene, cooing at the youngest, picking him up and consoling him effortlessly. He carries the baby over to a crib with another crying newborn that looks eerily like Megumi, whose green eyes go wide at the stranger, then smile gummy as both babies reach for each other. 

Maki is there too, tapping your eldest on the shoulder with her staff and pretending not to have done it. Nobara holds up a shirt to the middle child, brassy in questioning Gojo why she told her that the baby would fit in this size that’s obviously too big, meanwhile the toddler ignores them both, fascinated with the marks on Toge’s cheeks as he plays peek-a-boo. 

It’s not hard to imagine. The scenes in your head aren’t wild fantasies or unattainable dreams—not anymore. 

“You want a big family.” 

Yuuta nods, reaching for your hand and pulling it away from his hair, and to his lips. “We have the resources for it now. Not just financially—we have time, and lots of friends, and lots of love.” 

Yuuta presses a kiss to the back of your hand, and you smile. He’s right, there’s more than enough love to go around. 

[thedensworld]

Kiss a Friend | K. Mg

Genre: angst, fluff, smut (18+)

Summary: Mingyu was obsessed with his ex fiancee who had left him on the altar. To get her back, he paid all your debt to help him.

It started with a kiss.

Mingyu had warned you to arrive at 7, sharp. Punctuality, he said, was non-negotiable. He despised people who couldn’t respect time. But tonight, you wanted him to hate you, to see the look of irritation flash across his usually composed face. So, you walked in at 7:50, deliberately late, wearing the plainest dress you could find in your closet. It was all part of your plan to embarrass Kim Mingyu, a small act of rebellion against the man who now held a claim over your life for the next three months.

You sighed, an inexplicable tightness in your chest. Mingyu was more than just the imposing businessman he had become; he was your childhood nemesis. To be fair, your parents had been friends long before you were born, so you and Mingyu were forced into each other’s lives. You spent your childhood squabbling over the smallest things—who was faster on their bikes or who could get highest score in Math. It was always a competition, and Mingyu always found a way to win, leaving you rolling your eyes and muttering curses under your breath. Then, he left for the States to study business and fulfill his destiny of taking over the family empire. The distance was a relief, a clean break from the constant rivalry.

Meanwhile, you had chosen a different path. You found joy in acting, even if it meant playing minor roles or being in small films. You cherished the freedom it gave you, the knowledge that you weren’t bound by family legacies or the weight of expectations. Your life was yours, simple and light—or at least it was until last month.

Mingyu returned from the States a changed man, celebrated and respected in the business world. He no longer resembled the carefree boy from the neighborhood, and communication between you dwindled to polite nods and rare encounters. Then, the invitation came: a wedding announcement for him and his fiancée of two years. You’d laughed to yourself, amused by the thought that Mingyu, the annoying kid who used to trip you on purpose, had grown up enough to commit to someone. The thought of him managing to woo a woman seemed almost comical.

But everything shattered on the day he was left standing at the altar.

The chaos that followed was unforgettable. You ran to his parents, finding his father pale and clutching his chest, too stunned to speak. The paramedics arrived moments later, rushing him to the hospital. You stayed behind, holding his mother’s trembling hand and feeling the weight of Mingyu’s world as it crumbled around him. Hyorin—his fiancée, now ex-fiancée, ex-bride; you struggled to decide what to call her—left only a short letter behind. In it, she confessed that she’d run away with another man, admitting she’d been unfaithful and choosing to leave Mingyu for good.

Days later, Mingyu appeared at your door. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and his usual confident posture was nowhere to be seen.

“Help me,” he said, voice low and raw.

You blinked, unable to piece together what he meant. “Help you with what?”

“Help me get Hyorin back,” he clarified, leaning against the doorframe as if the effort of standing was too much. “I need you to be my girlfriend—just for three months.”

Your mouth dropped open. The idea was absurd. “Are you serious?”

“Hyorin is possessive. She won’t be able to stand seeing someone else with me. I know her. If she thinks I’ve moved on, she’ll come back,” he explained, desperation creeping into his tone. His eyes held yours, unyielding. “And besides, she hates you. That’ll add fuel to the fire.”

He sat comfortably on your couch, surveying your small apartment with an expression that was almost amused. It was a stark contrast to the sleek penthouse or sprawling home he had planned to share with Hyorin. You sat on the floor across from him, disbelief clouding your expression as you struggled to take his proposal seriously. Date Mingyu? It was laughable. He was too entangled in your childhood memories to ever be considered a romantic prospect, even if he had changed into a confident, sought-after businessman. Every time you looked at him, you couldn’t help but picture the mischievous boy with a grin that spelled trouble.

Yet, Mingyu was relentless. The proposal kept coming, woven into daily conversations and backed by small gestures. He pampered you in ways you didn't expect, bringing you coffee, making sure you were eating, all because he couldn’t find anyone better for this crazy plan of his.

“And besides, you’re a great actress,” he said one evening, leaning back into the cushions with a smirk.

You narrowed your eyes, recognizing the manipulative edge in his tone. “I know,” you muttered, barely containing your frustration.

Before the conversation could spiral further, the sharp ring of your doorbell echoed through the apartment, followed by a series of frantic knocks. Alarm bells went off in your mind. No. Not now.

“Hide,” you whispered urgently, pulling Mingyu up by the arm and shoving him into your room before he could protest. If the person at the door saw Mingyu, it would be a disaster you weren’t prepared to deal with.

“Open up, Y/N! I know you’re there!” a familiar voice shouted from the other side, slurring slightly. Your heart sank as you recognized it. The door barely clicked open before it was pushed with force, slamming you back a step as Boemjae stumbled into the room. The stale scent of alcohol and cigarettes clung to him, making you wrinkle your nose.

“Not today, Boemjae,” you said firmly, hoping to sound braver than you felt.

He laughed, a low, menacing sound as he stepped closer and pressed you against the wall. “Who are you to tell me what to do, bitch?” His voice was a venomous whisper, and the sharp pain of your back hitting the wall made you wince. He swaggered toward the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle, taking a swig as if he owned the place.

“Leave,” you tried again, your voice strained but steady.

Boemjae’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “No. I need my money now,” he snarled, his tone shifting from casual menace to a sharp demand.

“I don’t have it now, but I’ll send it later,” you promised, your voice barely above a whisper. Before you could brace yourself, Boemjae shoved you with enough force that you stumbled and crashed into the coffee table, pain searing through your side.

“I need it now,” he repeated, bending down to yank you up by the collar as if you were nothing more than a ragdoll. His laugh was harsh and mocking. “How are you even planning to pay me back, huh? Sleeping with random men? You can’t even land a decent acting role!”

Before you could respond, Mingyu’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. “Let her go.”

The room fell into a tense silence as Boemjae turned, surprise flickering in his bloodshot eyes before he barked out a laugh. “So, this is the man you’re sleeping with? How much is he giving you? You’d better hand it over right now,” he sneered before shoving you roughly to Mingyu’s side. Relief washed over you as Mingyu caught you, holding you steady with a firm arm around your waist. The old Mingyu would have never stepped in, but this Mingyu—this confident, determined man—was different.

Mingyu’s expression hardened as he stepped forward, towering over Boemjae, his height and presence imposing. “I’m her boyfriend,” he said, voice cold and commanding. “And I want you out of this house. Now.”

Boemjae’s laugh faltered, turning uneasy as he took in Mingyu’s stance. “Boyfriend? Don’t kid yourself. I know her, and she doesn’t have a boyfriend. I’m her important person,” he said with a sneer.

Mingyu’s jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “If you were truly important, you’d know who I am,” he said, taking another step closer until Boemjae flinched. “Leave now, or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Boemjae swallowed, the drunken bravado evaporating under Mingyu’s glare. He backed away, muttering curses under his breath before stumbling out the door.

The silence that followed was thick, your shallow breaths the only sound in the room. Mingyu’s eyes bore into you, sharp and intense, the anger still radiating off him in waves.

“Who was that? Why do you even know someone like him? Is he your boyfriend?” he fired off questions, his voice clipped and filled with barely contained rage.

“It’s none of your business,” you mumbled, wincing as you gripped your arm where it throbbed with pain.

Mingyu’s brows knitted together in a fierce scowl. “It is my business if you’re going to be my new girlfriend,” he declared, the conviction in his voice making your head spin. When had you ever agreed to this? Why was he speaking like you’d already signed some invisible contract?

“I never said yes,” you muttered, exhaling shakily as the adrenaline in your system began to ebb.

Mingyu’s eyes softened just a fraction, but his determination remained. “Who is he? Why does he come here?”

“I owe him money,” you admitted, your voice a strained whisper. “He shows up whenever he needs cash.”

A tense silence followed as Mingyu processed your words. “How much?” he asked, his tone commanding.

You bit your lip, irritation bubbling up at his demanding attitude. “It’s none of your business!”

“How much?” he pressed, leaning in, eyes searching yours for an answer.

You hesitated, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Thirty-five billion,” you finally said, the weight of the number hanging heavily in the air.

Mingyu’s expression flickered with surprise before settling into one of resolute determination. The silence stretched between you, almost suffocating, before he spoke again, his voice calm but firm. “I’ll pay it,” he said, the finality in his tone leaving no room for argument. “But only if you agree to be my contract girlfriend for three months. That’s all the time I need to get Hyorin back.”

The room seemed to shrink around you, the enormity of his proposal pressing down on you. This was more than just a game to him; it was a desperate gamble. And now, it was your move.

*

The last day of owning your own life felt strange, surreal even.

You sat uncomfortably in Mingyu’s office, surrounded by the scent of polished wood and subtle cologne, a stark contrast to the chaotic familiarity of your world. The sterile office setting, with its pristine glass walls and neat rows of desks, was foreign to you. You were never an office girl. You were the adventurous one, the free spirit. So when Mingyu called you in to meet his lawyer and sign the contract, you weren’t prepared. Not mentally and definitely not in the way you were dressed—in just a plain shirt and worn blue jeans. If you had known the gravity of this moment, maybe you would have chosen something more formal, something that wouldn’t make you look so out of place among the sleek suits and pencil skirts.

Mingyu, now a commanding presence as the director of his father’s company, sat across the long mahogany table. He was the picture of cool composure, suited up impeccably, his gaze sharp but carrying an odd familiarity. The lawyer spoke up, cutting through the hum of your racing thoughts.

“As you can see, Mr. Kim will give you the agreed-upon sum tomorrow, and the contract will last for three months. If you have any questions, now would be the time to ask,” the lawyer said, his voice professional but devoid of emotion.

You glanced down at the document in front of you, your fingers brushing the paper lightly as you read. Years in the entertainment industry had taught you the importance of dissecting every line in a contract, ensuring that nothing would come back to bite you.

Halfway down, your eyes widened at a clause. “I have to move in with you?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, disbelief clear in your voice.

Mingyu cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair, his expression stoic. “Yes. It’ll create the right image. The media will go wild if they find out a woman moved in with me just a month after being left at the altar. Hyorin will hear about it. She’ll be furious, maybe even desperate enough to come back.”

You frowned, your thoughts racing. “And if I don’t want to?”

A chuckle escaped Mingyu, a sound that brought a flicker of childhood memories—those endless debates, the playful bickering that now seemed like a different lifetime. “Then we’ll negotiate. But I can promise that all your needs will be met. Besides,” he paused, his eyes narrowing just a touch, “Beomjae wouldn’t be able to harass you at my place.”

The mention of Beomjae sent a chill down your spine, your discomfort deepening. You didn’t like how easily Mingyu had brought up that night in front of his lawyer. It was a memory you’d hoped to lock away and never revisit. Still, the thought of escaping Beomjae’s shadow was tempting, more than tempting.

“And just so we’re clear,” Mingyu continued, his voice dropping to a serious note, “you’re not sleeping in my bed. The house has more than enough rooms.” He said it matter-of-factly, but the unexpected implication made your cheeks burn. You felt a wave of embarrassment rush through you as if the contract itself was some guilty secret.

The lawyer pointed to another clause. Intercourse was strictly prohibited; anything more intimate than staged public displays of affection would void the agreement and terminate the contract immediately. You breathed out slowly, relief mixing with an odd nervousness. The contract laid out your new reality in stark, unyielding terms, yet there was no malice hidden in its words. Mingyu might have been many things, but he wasn’t deceitful. He wouldn’t trap you with fine print. And the money? The staggering sum of thirty-five billion won seemed almost absurd, a price you weren’t sure you deserved for playing pretend for three months.

Mingyu’s gaze softened as he spoke, almost as if he could read your mind. “This role is harder than you think, Y/N. It won’t be easy.”

You glanced up at him, a blend of challenge and resignation in your eyes, before signing your name. The final stroke of the pen echoed in your ears like a tolling bell. Tomorrow, everything would change. You weren’t just Mingyu’s childhood friend anymore.

You were now his girlfriend. His thirty-five-billion-won girlfriend.

*

As you stepped into the birthday party hosted by Mingyu’s uncle, Kim Jaejoong, a wave of self-consciousness swept over you. The dazzling lights reflected off shimmering gowns and sharp suits, making you feel more out of place than ever. You were dressed simply, far too simply for such an event, and each glance cast your way seemed to gnaw at your self-esteem. You gave your name at the entrance, "Kim Mingyu's plus one," and the attendant nodded, letting you through with barely a glance.

The room was filled with South Korea’s most influential figures, a crowd where power was worn as naturally as their tailored suits. You scanned the room, trying to find Mingyu's familiar silhouette among a sea of business elites. But everyone here looked alike in their uniform of suit and tie, making it more challenging than you'd expected.

Then you spotted her. Wi Hyorin.

Hyorin, the heiress of Wi Finance, one of South Korea's most prestigious financial empires. The very woman who had left Mingyu standing alone at the altar, igniting a wildfire of gossip across the business world. The alliance that their marriage would have cemented had turned into a scandal overnight, the fallout reverberating through boardrooms and society pages. But why was she here, now, at Jaejoong's event? Was she trying to rekindle something? Your chest tightened as you watched her glide gracefully across the room.

Your eyes found Mingyu. He stood tall, commanding attention in a circle of businessmen, his smile practiced and confident. But as Hyorin moved toward him, you noticed a shift in his demeanor—a flicker of recognition and tension. The past month of living with Mingyu as his so-called “gold digger” girlfriend had been surreal. Tabloid stories had painted you as an unknown actress who somehow caught the eye of the jilted billionaire. Kim Mingyu’s New Flame: The Mysterious Actress After the Altar Scandal. The stories practically wrote themselves, and you, once a spectator to such dramas, were now the unwitting star.

You took a deep breath, a rush of impulse taking hold. If Mingyu’s plan was to make Hyorin jealous to win her back, then a bold move was justified, right? No harm done if it served the goal.

You walked steadily toward him, the room seeming to shrink as your heartbeat drummed in your ears. Mingyu noticed you, his eyes lighting up with a practiced warmth as he lifted a hand to wave, playing the devoted boyfriend role perfectly.

“Meet my girlfriend, Ji Y/N. She’s an actress—”

Before he could finish, you acted. Your hand reached up, pulling him toward you as your lips met his in a sudden, daring kiss. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, the clink of champagne glasses pausing midair. You felt Mingyu’s initial shock; his body stiffened, and he pulled back, eyes wide with surprise.

The room was a frozen tableau for a heartbeat, but it was Hyorin’s voice that shattered the silence. “So, you’re dating your childhood friend now, Mingyu?” Her tone was soft, almost melodious, but it carried an edge that cut through you like a blade. The implication in her words stung more than you expected. How dare she, after abandoning him?

But before you could react, Mingyu stepped away from you, turning to Hyorin with an almost desperate urgency. His hand reached for hers, a gesture that made your stomach drop. “I didn’t kiss her back, Hyorin,” he said, his voice clear enough for anyone nearby to hear.

The world seemed to tilt, his words echoing in your mind. Your heart plummeted as the realization settled in: Kim Mingyu, the man you once called your friend—no, the man you were now pretending to be in love with—was still devoted to the woman who had humiliated him in front of the entire country. And he had just proven it, publicly.

The plan was to make Hyorin jealous enough to return to him. It was working. You’d done what you set out to do, so why did your chest ache like this? You told yourself it didn’t matter. You had no right to feel this way. This was a job, a role to play, nothing more.

You stepped back, your face a mask of practiced calm as you retreated to the quieter corner of the venue. The din of conversation swallowed the silence you left behind. You reached for a glass of wine, the cool liquid promising a momentary reprieve from the chaos in your mind.

“So, you’re Ji Y/N, the one everyone’s been talking about?” A voice interrupted the solitude you had wrapped yourself in. You turned to see an unfamiliar face—a man you had never met before. He was striking, with sharp features and an air of effortless confidence. He introduced himself as Yoon Jeonghan, a college friend of Mingyu’s. The name registered immediately; he was the CEO of Yoonique, a luxury fashion brand that had been making waves locally and internationally.

“If you’re his girlfriend, I should’ve met you by now, especially with all the news swirling around. But here we are, meeting for the first time,” Jeonghan said, his tone light but with an undercurrent that suggested he knew more than he was letting on.

You felt your heart tighten. This conversation was more layered than you were prepared for, and the probing curiosity in his eyes made you reach for your wine again. “I’m not in a position to answer that,” you muttered, the rim of the glass brushing your lips.

Jeonghan chuckled, a low sound that somehow put you at ease and on edge at the same time. He leaned against the railing beside you, his eyes shifting to the city lights that stretched beyond the venue’s grand windows. “Mingyu’s a fool sometimes. I can see that now more than ever. I’m sorry you got caught up in this mess,” he said, his voice softening, making you turn to look at him.

“He told me about his plan—to win Hyorin back. I never thought it was a good idea, but I see now that you’re his partner in this... charade?” He paused, waiting for a response that you didn’t have. Your silence was answer enough.

You sighed, the weight of the night pressing down on you. “I’ve known him since we were kids. This is the least I can do, especially for his parents. They’ve been under so much pressure since the wedding incident,” you whispered, careful not to let anyone overhear your conversation.

Jeonghan’s expression shifted, a blend of understanding and something else you couldn’t quite read. He nodded slowly, acknowledging the burden you both seemed to carry. The quiet between you was a welcome reprieve from the noise inside, where murmurs and sidelong glances threatened to pull you apart.

You sipped your wine again, eyes drifting over the dark, sprawling skyline. Out here, you didn’t have to hear the whispered gossip or feel the eyes boring into your back.

“Mingyu ditched his girlfriend for his ex-fiancée?”

The thought sent a shiver down your spine, not because it wasn’t true, but because you knew people were cruel enough to say it aloud. Even if you were okay with being in this position, it was still humiliating to be part of such a spectacle.

Jeonghan’s voice brought you back. “Are you free tomorrow? Would you be willing to meet me at my office?” He asked, his eyes catching yours in the window’s reflection, the city lights dancing in them like embers.

You turned to face him, a flicker of curiosity sparking in your chest. What could he possibly want from you? Whatever it was, the idea of visiting Yoonique’s CEO office sounded intriguing, an unexpected twist in an already complicated story.

“Sure,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips. You weren’t sure where this was heading, but for the first time that night, you felt a sliver of excitement cut through the haze of doubt.

*

"You ran away," Mingyu said as he stepped into your room, his voice low and sharp. The door clicked shut behind him, and you glanced up to see him in a half-dressed state—his suit discarded, an expensive dress shirt clinging to his broad frame, and a loosened blue tie draped around his neck. The sight was disheveled, raw, and too close for comfort.

You sat on the edge of the bed, the script for your newest and most promising role—a second lead that could finally catapult your acting career—resting in your hands. Your eyes met his, refusing to show the tumult of emotions twisting in your chest.

“You didn’t knock,” you said, trying to maintain an even tone. It was a feeble attempt to set a boundary, one you knew he would ignore.

Mingyu’s eyes darkened as he took a step closer, his presence overwhelming the room. “As far as I remember, this is my house. And this room is technically mine.”

A retort sat on the tip of your tongue, bastard, but you swallowed it down. The weight of the day hung over you like a shroud, and rest was all you craved. You placed the script on the nightstand and sat up straighter, facing him.

“Yeah, I know. You’ve made it abundantly clear that I’m living in your place. So, technically, this is still your room. Want to sleep here tonight?” You threw out the jest, trying to shift the tension, but it landed wrong.

Mingyu’s jaw tightened, and he took another step forward, eyes blazing. “You kissed me and now you’re asking if I want to sleep with you? Is that how cheap you are, Y/N?” His voice was harsh, each word slicing through the space between you.

The accusation stung. It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room. “You think I kissed you for that?” Your tone cracked, disbelief laced with hurt.

“You kissed me in front of everyone and caused a scandal! You really thought that would help my plan?” His voice rose, frustration spilling over like an overflowing dam.

You met his glare, eyes narrowed. “The plan was to make Hyorin jealous, to make her want you back. Didn’t it work?” Your voice was low, trembling with controlled rage.

Mingyu ran a hand through his hair, exasperation etched across his face. “Making her jealous and actually getting her back are two different things, Y/N! Your impulsive stunt just pushed her further away. It showed her that I’m willing to move on. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Your chest ached as you watched him unravel. “And whose fault is that?” you shot back. “You practically shouted to the world that you didn’t kiss me back. Right in front of her, in front of everyone. That’s how stupid you are, Kim Mingyu!”

For a moment, silence fell, crackling with unresolved tension. Mingyu’s eyes widened in disbelief, as if he hadn’t expected you to fight back. His anger morphed into something deeper, something unreadable.

Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed your arm, pulling you to your feet so swiftly that the room spun. You gasped as he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin.

“So I’m stupid because I didn’t kiss you back?” he whispered, the proximity making your pulse race. Before you could respond, his fingers found the nape of your neck, and he closed the distance between you. His lips crashed into yours with an urgency that stunned you.

Your mind screamed at you to resist, but the battle was fleeting. He was too strong, or maybe, you were too willing. Maybe it was because deep down, this was what you had wished for when you kissed him earlier—this reckless, unrestrained moment. Your hands found their way to his chest, and you felt yourself giving in, kissing him back with the same intensity.

The kiss became a desperate clash, more a battle than an embrace. Mingyu's hands gripped your waist with an intensity that left you breathless, fingers digging into your skin as if trying to mark you, claim you. You gasped when he pulled back, his eyes dark with something raw and unapologetic, searching your face for any hesitation.

The only answer you gave was a tug at his shirt, buttons flying in reckless abandon as you exposed the heat of his chest. He smirked, a hint of danger playing at the corner of his lips, before he pushed you back onto the mattress, following you down with a deliberate slowness that made your heart race. His body pressed into yours, all hard planes and coiled tension, a silent reminder of the power he wielded.

“Mingyu,” you breathed, the sound half plea, half challenge. He caught the way your voice faltered, and his smirk widened, leaning down to brush his mouth just below your jaw, trailing fire wherever he touched. Your hands found their way into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, the sound vibrating against your skin and igniting a reckless thrill.

He hovered over you, his eyes boring into yours, the heat between you searing. “Tell me to stop.” he rasped, a taunt that made your pulse quicken. Before you could answer, his lips claimed yours again, hard and consuming, leaving no room for second thoughts.

Clothes slipped away in a flurry of heated motions, the cool air biting at your exposed skin for only a moment before he was there, pressing into you, suffocating and electrifying all at once. The room was filled with sharp breaths and quiet gasps as he explored, each touch setting off a chain reaction you couldn’t control.

Every move was a silent challenge, a push and pull of dominance and surrender. His teeth grazed your collarbone, earning a shiver that he answered with a dark chuckle, fingers tracing paths that left you arching into him. Your nails raked down his back, pulling a hiss from him that made something dark and thrilling coil in your chest.

The space between you became suffocating, bodies moving together in a rhythm that left no room for tenderness, only hunger. Every gasp, every whispered name, was laced with defiance and something deeper, something both of you refused to name.

"The contract..." you muttered, the reality of the situation cutting through the haze that still clung to your mind. The gravity of what just happened settled between you like an uninvited guest.

Mingyu's expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He scoffed, the sound low and bitter. "Fuck, my lawyer doesn’t need to know about this," he said, half to himself and half to you, the implication hanging heavy in the air.

*

"So, did you sleep together?"

Jeonghan’s sharp question made you choke on the sip of tea his secretary had brought in moments earlier. You managed not to spill any as you placed the delicate cup back on the table, eyes locking with Jeonghan's. He was grinning, eyes sharp and teasing as they assessed your reaction.

"No..." he continued before you could answer, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I mean, I heard you moved in." He restated, though the pointed look in his eyes suggested he already suspected the truth.

"It was a business contract, Jeonghan," you responded evenly, though the words felt flimsy in the air. Jeonghan, who insisted you call him by his first name as though he wanted no reminder of his father’s legacy, hummed, tilting his head as if inviting you to elaborate.

"A three-month contract to get Hyorin back," you said, your voice steadying. "You probably already know this, but he wanted me to play the role of his fake girlfriend." At the end of your words, Jeonghan let out a dry chuckle, the sound mirthless.

"I can't believe he's that childish," he muttered. His gaze shifted, scrutinizing your face as if trying to read between the lines. "And what did you get out of this little arrangement?" he pressed.

You hesitated before muttering, "He paid my debt... 35 billion won."

Jeonghan’s eyes widened briefly before he masked his surprise. "That's a lot of money for three months," he said, watching you nod in agreement. "That’s life-changing."

"I plan to give it back when the contract ends," you admitted, almost shyly.

Jeonghan's brow lifted in disbelief, as though you’d just declared you were planning to burn the money. "Don't give it back. Keep it," he said, leaning forward with sudden intensity. "At least take that much from him after everything."

You let out a small, hollow laugh. "I helped him because he's my friend," you said, your voice tinged with a bitter edge. "And, as I told you yesterday... for his parents. I’ll work hard and pay my own debts."

Jeonghan went quiet, his eyes narrowed in contemplation, taking in every word as if filing them away.

"May I know what kind of situation landed you with that much debt?" he finally asked.

You bit your lip, the weight of the past pressing down like a heavy cloak. It was complicated, a story rooted in tragedy. "It wasn’t originally my debt; it was my father’s," you began, your voice tight. "He owned a production house and partnered with a young director, Lee Beomjae. The project was ambitious, with a promise of 100 billion won. Beomjae even invested his own money, but then... everything collapsed. The company went bankrupt when my father died in a car accident, and my mother... she couldn’t bear it and took her own life. The business fell apart, and no one wanted to pick up the pieces. That left me with 35 billion won I couldn't escape."

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. You took another sip of tea, anything to break the tension that stretched between you and Jeonghan.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes studying you with newfound understanding. "Here’s what I think, Y/n," he said, voice soft but unwavering. "Mingyu wanted you to be his contract girlfriend, paid you a fortune, and you signed up for it. Yet, you didn’t take the money. I don’t know any friend who’d go to those lengths for someone."

He paused, his eyes narrowing as a knowing smirk spread across his lips.

"Unless..."

"You have feelings for him."

*

You were certain you didn't have any feelings for Mingyu. That much you knew. But whatever had happened between you and Jeonghan earlier in the office was beyond your control. The way his presence felt so imposing, so suffocating—it was like being caught in a storm you never saw coming. Jeonghan was a menace. You could tell just from the way his eyes glinted with malicious amusement, always reveling in the discomfort or pain of others. And that included his friend, Mingyu.

"Okay, let's say you don’t have feelings for him." Jeonghan's voice cut through the tension, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as if he'd already dismissed your objections.

Without warning, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. His thumb slid across the screen, and it lit up with a name that made your stomach drop—Mingyu.

What on earth was Jeonghan up to? Why was he calling Mingyu? Your heart began to pound in your chest as the phone rang, the sound impossibly loud in the stillness of the room.

The line clicked, and Mingyu's familiar voice came through, bright and casual. "Jeonghan... What’s up?"

The friendly tone was jarring to your senses. This was the voice of someone you'd never heard since you threw yourself into this mess with Mingyu. Certainly not the same voice from last night, the one that had been cold and cutting. The same man who, earlier that morning, had made his feelings crystal clear.

“I would never kiss you like I like you, Y/N. You’re a cheap woman. And even if you were the only woman in this world, I still wouldn’t kiss you like I liked you. You understand?”

The words echoed in your mind as if they were still fresh, still raw. The anger, the frustration—it didn’t hurt as much anymore. It was just a painful truth you had come to terms with: he had turned into a bastard. And that realization, as much as you tried to deny it, was freeing.

Jeonghan, however, seemed to savor every moment. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes dancing with mischief as he spoke into the phone.

“I’m with your girlfriend now,” he chirped, his voice dripping with amusement. He glanced over at you, his gaze mischievous. "I invited her over, and she came. She’s a beautiful woman."

There was a long, tense pause on the other side. No immediate reaction. You weren’t expecting one. There was no way Mingyu would get upset that you were here with Jeonghan. He had no reason to. His obsession with his ex, Hyorin, was enough to blind him to everything else.

Jeonghan’s eyes met yours again, but now there was something almost predatory in them as he leaned in closer. “I feel like I don’t deserve his money…” you had told him earlier, confessing a doubt you had never voiced before. And Jeonghan, with his wicked grin, had been quick to respond.

“I’ll help you feel like you deserve it, Y/N,” he’d promised, the words laced with an implication you were too afraid to fully understand.

The phone call continued, Jeonghan now speaking directly to you. “What do you think of my office, darling?” His voice was low, too casual. "How about that... table? Do you like my table?"

You were growing more confused by the second. What the hell was he trying to imply with these questions? Was it a game to him? Did it even matter?

But it was the next question that threw everything into chaos, sending a rush of heat to your face and tightening your chest.

“What do you think about Mingyu?” Jeonghan’s voice was calm but probing. "Do you like being his girlfriend?"

The silence from Mingyu on the other end only made everything worse. You could feel him listening, silently absorbing everything Jeonghan was about to say. The pressure was unbearable, and you found yourself biting down hard on your lip, trying to suppress the tension building inside you. You didn’t want to answer, didn’t know how to.

But you saw the glint in Jeonghan’s eyes. It was playful—too playful—and you knew that once that look took hold, there was no turning back.

“And how about being mine?” Jeonghan’s voice was a low, smooth whisper, the words hanging in the air like a threat, a challenge.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. Mingyu still hadn’t said anything. The silence between the three of you was suffocating, thick with unspoken implications. You could almost hear Jeonghan’s smirk widening, could almost feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, daring you to react.

*

Mingyu pounded into you with an urgency that felt primal, as if his very existence depended on it. Just an hour earlier, he had stormed into the house, eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite name—desperation, jealousy, rage. You'd barely finished toweling off from your shower when he burst through the door, demanding to know why you had been with Jeonghan.

“I was with Hyorin when you called,” you said, the confusion in your voice palpable.

His jaw clenched at the mention of Hyorin. So it wasn’t just Jeonghan's presence that set him off, but the fact that he was with Hyorin?

The realization simmered between you like a storm on the verge of breaking. But then, without another word, Mingyu had closed the distance, capturing your lips in a kiss that silenced your questions and pulled your body flush against his. It was as if Hyorin had never stood between you, as if she didn’t matter at all. The intensity in his eyes told you everything: he was lost, consumed, and somewhere beneath that, afraid.

Why, then, did he hold you as if the world might end in two months?

Was Hyorin really the cause of this frantic need?

Or was there more that he hadn’t told you?

Mingyu gripped your waist and lifted you onto the dining table, the hard edge pressing into your thighs. The table Jeonghan had mentioned in passing just today, in a tone laced with mischief.

Was this what Mingyu had been stewing over? The idea of Jeonghan touching you in his office?

“You’re mine the moment you signed that contract,” he growled, the heat of his breath grazing your ear as he buried himself inside you with an urgent, unrelenting rhythm.

His hands moved up to cup your breasts, fingers curling possessively around them as his voice dropped, husky and rough. “Gotta make my 35 billion worth it, right?"

*

The next morning, you woke up in Mingyu's arms, the remnants of the night clinging to your skin like a whispered secret. The blaring sound of your alarm shattered the silence, signaling the beginning of a day that promised exhaustion and long hours on set in another city. You shifted slightly, feeling the ache from the bruises on your body.

“Did I do that?” Mingyu’s voice, unexpectedly soft, cut through the tension hanging in the room. His eyes were wide with concern as they traced the discolored marks along your skin.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, surprised to see him fully awake, studying you with an expression you hadn’t seen in a while. He was too caught up in his own world to notice these things — too focused on himself last night. You almost wanted to tell him that they weren’t his doing, that it was Beomjae’s cruelty imprinted on you, but you knew better. Mingyu wouldn’t care. Or would he?

“No, it’s not you,” you whispered, the lie slipping out as easily as breathing.

Mingyu sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist, and reached out to touch the edge of a bruise that crept up your shoulder. “Who did this to you?” His voice was strained, eyes darkening. “Isn’t it painful? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

You looked at him for a long moment, searching for a hint of sincerity behind his sudden worry. He looked almost unrecognizable, stripped of his usual indifference, as though the man you once knew was peeking through. A weary sigh left your lips as you pushed yourself up and wrapped a robe around your sore body.

“It’s none of your business, Mingyu,” you said with a practiced coldness, shielding yourself from whatever softness he was trying to show.

“It is my business. You’re my girlfriend,” he protested, his tone almost petulant, as if he truly believed his own words.

A bitter chuckle escaped you. “Are you even listening to yourself, Kim Mingyu?” The disbelief in your voice echoed through the room as you moved to the vanity, tying your hair with mechanical precision. In the mirror, you caught a glimpse of his confusion, brows furrowed and eyes clouded with something unreadable.

“Just stick to being yourself,” you added, the edge in your tone slicing through any pretense of warmth. Before he could respond, you turned away and began preparing for the long day ahead, leaving whatever half-formed thoughts he had unspoken.

You arrived at the shooting location on time, weaving through bustling crew members as they prepped for the day. Greeting everyone with polite nods and smiles, you slid seamlessly into your work. Without the support of a label or company, there was no manager trailing behind you. Every break was spent alone, sitting in your old, worn-out car, waiting for the next call.

“Everyone knows they cast her just because she’s Kim Mingyu’s girlfriend.” The whispers were never far, a constant background noise you had learned to ignore.

You pushed through the two or three scenes you had, monitoring them closely on playback to ensure your performance held up. It was in places like this where you soaked up everything you could, learning and growing, despite the limitations of playing minor roles. The space for growth was narrow, but you squeezed through whatever cracks you found.

“Hey, I’m Boo Seungkwan.” The voice was friendly, and when you looked up, the assistant director stood before you with an open, sincere expression.

You stood and bowed politely. “I’m Ji Y/N. Please take care of me.”,

Boo Seungkwan was a familiar presence on set, a talented and respected assistant director who had built a strong reputation despite his young age. You knew he wouldn’t approach you without reason, which made your heart race with a mix of anticipation and dread.

“Are you the daughter of Ji Jinkyung?” The question hit you like a cold wave.

Your breath caught for a moment. How did he know? You had spent years avoiding this truth, never mentioning your father’s name to anyone. The rise and fall of Ji Jinkyung had been a scandal splashed across headlines when JiPH declared bankruptcy, a tragedy soon followed by your mother’s death. You weren’t ashamed of your past; you were haunted by the guilt of the lives that crumbled alongside your family’s fall.

Seungkwan’s eyes softened with a mix of curiosity and sympathy. “I remember seeing you on set with him every weekend,” he said, nostalgia lacing his voice. “And I saw ‘Morning Mourn.’ You were incredible in that film.”

The memory stung, but you masked it with a practiced smile. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Driving home, Seungkwan’s words lingered like a dark cloud. If Lee Beomjae was spreading the truth about your identity, the ripple effect could be devastating. If the rumor reached the media, the production team could drop you without hesitation. Seungkwan’s heads-up was a lifeline, a warning to prepare yourself.

You parked outside and dialed Beomjae’s number, the cold metal of your phone pressed against your ear as the night air seeped into your bones. You had to confront him, to make sure he understood that spreading rumors would ruin everything—whatever thin strand of normalcy you were clinging to while trying to repay the impossible debt he held over you. You felt foolish, lost in the labyrinth of his manipulation. Was the debt even real? Or was it just another tool he used to torture you, to remind you of your powerlessness?

The vibration of an incoming message pulled you from your thoughts.

“Come to my parents’ house. There’s something they want to discuss with you.”

Mingyu’s text sat on your screen, an unexpected summons that left you staring, uncertain of what awaited you on the other side.

*

“I don’t remember raising you like this.” Mingyu’s father stormed out of the room, leaving behind an icy silence that wrapped around his wife, their son, and the woman who had walked out on Mingyu at the altar just two months ago. Mingyu released a heavy sigh as he sank deeper into the couch, feeling the weight of the room pressing down on him. Next to him, Hyorin sat with her head bowed, looking as fragile as porcelain, having come to his parents earlier to plead for their acceptance—an act that had summoned Mingyu here in a rush.

“Your father’s right, Mingyu. You’re crossing a line,” his mother said, her voice taut with disappointment. “When we heard you had a girlfriend, we assumed it would be someone we didn’t know. But imagine our shock when we found out it was Y/N. She’s like a daughter to us, Mingyu.”

Hyorin’s confession had unraveled everything. She had exposed Mingyu’s plan to win her back, even spilling the details to his parents. Mingyu had thought he could play for time—hold Hyorin off just long enough to make his next move. He hadn’t expected her to take matters into her own hands and throw everything into chaos.

“She agreed to it, Mother,” Mingyu defended, his voice low and strained. “She needs money—a lot of it. And she’s not the same Y/N you remember. She’s changed.”

His mother scoffed at his justification, a sound filled with disbelief and disdain. “Listen to yourself, Mingyu. Do you even hear how ridiculous you sound?” She stood up abruptly, the soft rustle of her skirt filling the silence as she followed her husband out of the room.

Mingyu’s heart sank deeper into his chest. The finality of his mother’s parting words echoed back at him as she turned at the doorway, her gaze steely and resolute. “This conversation isn’t over. I will speak to Y/N myself.”

Mingyu slumped back against the couch, the tension in his shoulders not easing even a bit. He glanced at his phone. The text he’d sent you over an hour ago remained unanswered, and now your silence gnawed at him with fresh urgency.

“I’m sorry,” Hyorin whispered, her hands trembling as she covered her face. Tears threatened to spill, and she struggled to hold them back. “I didn’t mean for it to get this big. I was desperate.”

Mingyu’s eyes softened, a sigh slipping past his lips. “No need to apologize, Hyorin. It’s done.”

“I promise I’ll do better,” she said, her voice breaking. “But please, stop this, Mingyu. Let’s go back to how things were. Let her go and come back to me.”

Mingyu drove home with a storm of thoughts churning in his mind. Frustration clenched his jaw tight, fueling his anger. You hadn't shown up when he needed you, and the disappointment gnawed at him. His parents refused to have a conversation without you; they cherished you, even after all these years apart. And Mingyu despised you for that. You were always the one they looked at with warmth, while he stood in the shadow of their expectations.

As he pushed open the door to the apartment, prepared to unleash another round of arguments with you, a familiar ritual that often ended with the two of you waking up next to each other in uneasy silence the next morning, he froze. His anger drained as he took in the sight before him. You were lying on the couch, eyes closed, face bruised and lips swollen.

“Who did this to you?” Mingyu’s voice cracked with urgency, his earlier frustration transforming into a different kind of rage. He crossed the room in three quick strides and cupped your face, startling you awake with his touch. The worry in his eyes felt foreign, almost out of place, but it was there, unmistakable.

You blinked at him, dazed and confused, mumbling something he couldn’t quite catch. But Mingyu wasn’t listening. His eyes traced the darkening bruise on your cheekbone and the split in your lip, and an irrational fury bubbled up inside him. The idea that someone had hurt you like this made his blood run hot.

“Tell me who did this to you,” he pressed, his tone leaving no room for evasion. His fingers gripped your jaw just tight enough to draw your gaze, his own eyes blazing. He didn’t know what he would do once he had a name, but he was too far gone in his anger to care.

“I fell during shooting and hurt myself,” you whispered, eyes darting away from his.

Mingyu’s shoulders slumped slightly as he exhaled, the tension simmering down just enough for him to think. Without a word, he stood and retrieved the first aid kit and a bowl of ice cubes, kneeling beside you and insisting on tending to your injuries.

“How was the meeting?” you asked, breaking the heavy silence as he dabbed an antiseptic on your lip with more gentleness than you expected.

“Is that really important right now?” he scoffed, pressing the cloth to your bruised cheek. “We need to go to the hospital.”

You shook your head, a stubborn glint in your eyes. “It’ll heal.”

Mingyu’s movements faltered when you added, “I heard Hyorin was there. Did you get back together?”

He stiffened, setting the ice aside as his eyes met yours. “How do you know?” His tone was sharp, a thread of suspicion woven through it. “Were you there?”

You nodded, wincing as the motion pulled at your sore skin. “I came by for a bit. The maid mentioned Hyorin was inside, so I stayed back. I waited for over an hour, but I realized it would take longer, so I left.”

Mingyu’s frustration returned, tinged with a different emotion this time. “With your face looking like this? Are you always this stupid, Y/N?” His voice cracked, half-worried, half-angry.

You flinched but kept your gaze steady. “So, did you take her back?”

Mingyu ran a hand through his hair, the action filled with exasperation. “Is that what matters right now? You’re hurt, Y/N. I didn’t even know until I walked in the door.”

A confused look crossed your face as you whispered, “But that’s why we’re doing all of this, Mingyu. We need Hyorin back, for your sake.”

Mingyu stared at you, the weight of your words sinking in and tying knots in his chest. Your face was a mess of bruises, but there you sat, so focused on his plan, on helping him, as if your own pain didn't matter at all. The guilt gnawed at him, tearing apart the flimsy walls he’d built around himself.

Maybe what Mingyu feel about you lately is just a guilt. He just... pity you, that's it.

*

One month left before you’d be officially disboyfriended Mingyu. The term you coined mocked you with its bitter humor as you called Jeonghan, settling into the driver’s seat of your car. The air around you was heavy after your meeting with Hyorin. She had been surprisingly composed, delivering her message with a practiced smile: Mingyu and she were getting back together. Mingyu had even promised to escort her to the Jeon annual event this weekend, a public confirmation of their rekindled relationship.

You gritted your teeth, the irony not lost on you—did Hyorin know that for the past month, Mingyu had been tangled up with you, both in mind and body? The betrayal tasted metallic on your tongue.

Jeonghan picked up on the third ring. “So, what’s up?” His casual tone brought a semblance of calm to your frayed nerves.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself for what you were about to commit to. “I’m in,” you said, voice low but firm.

There was a pause before Jeonghan chuckled, the sound both amused and intrigued. “What are you implying?” His voice took on a more serious edge, probing for clarity.

“I’ll take your offer,” you clarified, the weight of the words sinking in. “The offer to make me feel like I deserve his money.”

Jeonghan’s laughter came through, rich and approving. “That’s my girl,” he said with a hint of pride. “Alright, listen. Here’s the plan: meet me at my store in Gangnam after lunch.”

A few hours later, you stood under the warm glow of boutique lights as Jeonghan’s keen eyes assessed you. The racks around you were adorned with high-end pieces—silk, satin, tailored elegance. He moved from one option to another, fingers sliding over fabrics, before selecting a few and holding them up against your frame.

“Change into this,” he said, gesturing to a piece that was an explosion of jewel-toned fabric. You nodded and disappeared behind the velvet curtain of the fitting room. The process repeated: outfits changed, critiques delivered. A disapproving headshake here, a muttered comment there—“Not good enough,” he’d say, or a more frustrated, “We need an emergency meeting with the designers. Yoonique has to fit everyone.”

Then, you stepped out in the last dress. Jeonghan’s eyes lit up, and he gasped, genuinely taken aback. The black satin dress hugged your body like a secret, long-sleeved and sleek, with an open back that hinted at danger and a neckline that dipped tastefully. A slit ran high on your thigh, exposing just enough skin to catch anyone’s attention. It was bold yet elegant—perfect.

“That’s it,” he said, satisfaction curling his lips into a smirk. “It’s yours.” He stood and circled you slowly, eyeing the bruises that marred the expanse of your back. His smirk faded, replaced by a frown. “We’ll need to cover these. Is this from Beomjae?” he asked, his voice tight with concern.

You nodded, catching the muttered “that bastard” that escaped him. Jeonghan’s eyes met yours, a silent promise lingering there: no more bruises, not after today.

On the day of the Jeon annual event, you arrived with Jeonghan, knowing full well the storm of media attention it would draw. 'Mingyu's girlfriend seen with Jeonghan, while Mingyu arrives with the ex-fiancée who left him at the altar.' The headline alone promised chaos and scandal.

Jeonghan had made you two promises. First, he would help you with Beomjae. His legal team was already working on investigating the debt that bound you to that abusive man, ensuring you wouldn't owe a penny and that Beomjae would face justice for what he had done. Second, he would help you reclaim yourself—to feel whole and worthy, with or without Mingyu in the picture.

“Tell me, since when?” Jeonghan’s question came out of nowhere as the two of you drove back from his store that day. The question made your heart stutter.

“Since when what?” you asked, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

Jeonghan scoffed lightly, his eyes flickering with a knowing glint. “Since when did you start liking Mingyu?”

The silence stretched, and you searched your memory, trying to pinpoint the moment. Since when? Had you even realized you still liked him? Or was it a relic of the childhood crush you’d once harbored? Memories trickled in: Mingyu as the boy who would lose every game with his friends but somehow always win when he played with you—because you let him. That’s what you remembered most clearly. The rest blurred into moments that felt as if they had always existed.

In high school, things shifted. Conversations became sparse, reserved for those rare moments when home felt stifling, and you’d climb into each other’s bedroom windows just to share the silence. Then, without warning, he had to leave. Distance stretched across miles and years, and life pushed you apart. Your father’s passing forced you to sell your phone, cutting off all contact. What once felt close turned distant, and the feelings that remained had never been addressed.

You exhaled shakily, unable to meet Jeonghan’s gaze. “I...I don’t know,” you admitted. Shame colored your voice—shame that after everything, after being discarded and treated like an afterthought, you still cared for him.

Jeonghan’s arm encircled your waist as the two of you stepped into the grand ballroom, the low hum of whispers swelling as eyes followed your entrance. The whispers said everything you were thinking. Why was Mingyu’s girlfriend with Jeonghan when Mingyu had walked in with Hyorin? The question echoed in your mind too.

Jeonghan, ever composed, treated you like royalty throughout the event. His voice dipped to a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned in. “Just follow my lead,” he instructed. If anyone knew how to navigate this social minefield, it was him.

But when you excused yourself to go to the restroom, a hand shot out from the shadows of the corridor, pulling you into a quiet corner. Your back hit the wall, and you were met with Mingyu’s fierce gaze, a tempest swirling in his eyes.

“Why are you here with Jeonghan? He’s my friend,” Mingyu hissed, voice laced with anger barely contained.

You lifted your chin, meeting his glare head-on. “Am I not allowed to be here? Is it because of my status?” The pointed question carried the sting of Hyorin’s earlier remark: ‘You’re not on Mingyu’s level, Y/N.’

Mingyu’s brows pulled together in frustration. “What? That’s not what I meant! I’m asking why you’re with Jeonghan.” His voice strained as he pressed you lightly against the wall.

You took a steadying breath, finding a surge of confidence within yourself. “Because you didn’t invite me. Jeonghan did."

“Everyone knows you’re my girlfriend!” His voice cracked, the desperation seeping through.

You scoffed, your eyes narrowing. “But you showed up with your ex, so tell me, Mingyu, what’s the difference?”

He faltered, searching for words. “I didn’t come with her. We just met here!”

“Does it even matter?” Your voice dropped, quiet and weary. The fight in you waned as reality set in.

Mingyu’s eyes blazed with anger as your words echoed between you. He took a sharp breath, fists clenching at his sides. “What’s gotten into you? Are you even hearing yourself? We’re still in contract!” he reminded you, his tone harsh and commanding.

“So what? We already broke the contract the moment you put your hands on me, Mingyu,” you shot back, holding your ground. “There’s nothing in the agreement saying other men can’t do the same.”

His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened as he stepped closer, the space between you suffocating. “Did you sleep with Jeonghan?” The question came out as a growl, possessive and edged with jealousy.

You tilted your chin defiantly. “It’s not your business, Mingyu. I can do whatever I want.”

“No,” he said, voice low but brimming with fury. “You’re my girlfriend. I paid you to be my girlfriend, and you should listen to me. We’re going home.”

The statement cut through you, reminding you of the transactional nature of what was supposed to be a façade. It was true, he’d paid you to play this role, but somewhere along the way, the lines had blurred. Your heart thudded in your chest as you wondered what awaited you once you returned to his house. The memory of last night lingered—how your bodies had moved in sync, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

But tonight, the air was different, thick with tension and unspoken truths. You swallowed hard, worrying if there were still any condoms left in his house, remembering using the last one in a moment of impulsive passion. Your pulse quickened at the thought of what this confrontation could mean, unsure whether it would spiral into a battle or ignite something deeper.

*

Hyorin had asked you that one time, "Are you two sleeping together in our room?" Her question was layered with implications. Was she trying to confirm if you and Mingyu had crossed that line? Or was she mocking you by emphasizing our room, as if to remind you that she once had ownership over that space, even after she left him on the altar? Your mind raced with anger and confusion. The only thing you wanted to do as you sat across from her was to slap that smug smile off her face. How dare she come back after everything she'd done?

“Why?” The word slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it.

Hyorin’s smile widened, cruel and taunting. “Well, he doesn’t like anyone else in his bed, so I was wondering if you sleep there, in our room. I mean, the master bedroom. I’m sorry…” Her tone dripped with insincerity, and you knew she wasn’t sorry at all.

The memory stung as you woke up before dawn. You were back in your own room, while Mingyu lay sleeping beside you. The events of last night still echoed in your mind. After he dragged you out of the event, you had dared to ask him, almost pleading, if the two of you could sleep in his room instead.

“No. I don’t like when someone else enters my room,” he had said, his voice cold and detached.

“But you said I’m your girlfriend,” you had whispered, trying to understand where you truly stood.

Mingyu’s gaze darkened. “You’re just a girlfriend I paid for. Don’t ask for more.”

The words cut through you like a blade. You sighed and gently pulled yourself from his embrace, a hollowness settling deep inside. It was time. You couldn’t ignore the truth anymore.

He had Hyorin back. The proof sat on the nightstand—his check for 35 billion won, neatly tucked under his phone. Your job was done. Everything you had endured, every humiliation and compromise, had led to this. And it wasn’t enough to let you into his real space, his heart. You knew then that Jeonghan was right; staying by Mingyu’s side would only continue to break you.

You packed your essentials silently, fighting the lump in your throat, and slipped out of the house before the sun rose. You drove aimlessly, just needing to be far away. Your apartment wasn’t safe with Beomjae still lurking; Jeonghan had warned you that it might take two more months to gather enough evidence to protect you in court. He urged patience, but today you had none left.

All this time, every sacrifice you made for Mingyu, every part of yourself you gave, it was never enough for him to let you into his true sanctuary. It was time to go, time to leave behind the pain and reclaim whatever was left of yourself.

Mingyu woke up to an emptiness that gnawed at him immediately. He reached out instinctively, expecting to feel your warmth beside him, but his hand met only cold sheets. He sat up, confusion creasing his brow as he glanced around the room. The stillness was unsettling, the house too quiet.

“Y/n?” he called out, his voice breaking the silence. He listened, hoping for the sound of your voice or even the light shuffle of your footsteps. Nothing. A wave of irritation surged through him as he threw back the covers and stood up, the cool floor beneath his feet doing nothing to temper his rising anger.

He strode through the house, checking the kitchen, the living room, even the guest room. Empty. The frustration that had simmered inside him since the event now boiled over. Why would you leave without saying anything?

As he stormed back into yout room, something on the nightstand caught his eye. The check he had written for you sat there, staring back at him like an accusation. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened. The sight of it made his blood run cold and hot all at once.

It was the final insult. You hadn’t just left—you had left him with the one thing that symbolized the transactional nature of your relationship, the thing that once gave him control but now mocked him with your absence. He clenched his fist so hard his knuckles turned white. The implications of you leaving the check behind sent a spike of panic through him, laced with anger. You were rejecting everything: the arrangement, the money, him.

“Damn it, Y/n!” he roared, sweeping his arm across the nightstand. The check, his phone, and a glass of water crashed to the floor. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the room, mirroring the turmoil inside him.

He paced back and forth, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The idea of you walking out without a word gnawed at him. You had always been the one constant in his chaotic life, the one person who, despite everything, was there. Now, the emptiness felt sharper than ever, and he realized too late how deep your absence cut.

Mingyu grabbed his phone from the floor, ignoring the cracked screen as he tried to call you. The call rang once, twice, and then went straight to voicemail. Frustration clawed at him as he dialed again, the unanswered call only fueling his desperation.

“Pick up, damn it,” he muttered under his breath. The third call met the same fate, and it was then that a sinking feeling set in. This wasn’t just you leaving for a break. This was different.

He stared at the check on the floor, now crumpled and stained with water. The reality of your departure settled heavily on his chest. You were gone, and for the first time, he felt the weight of what it meant to be truly alone.

*

Mingyu stormed into Jeonghan's office first thing in the morning, his eyes dark with urgency and frustration. Jeonghan, who had been informed of his sudden arrival, greeted him with a polite smile that quickly faded at the sight of Mingyu’s tense expression.

"Where’s Y/n?" Mingyu demanded, his voice sharp and accusing. Jeonghan’s smile faltered as confusion clouded his features. What did he mean?

"She’s gone, Jeonghan. And you were with her last night," Mingyu continued, his tone carrying a hint of accusation, referencing the moment you arrived at the event on Jeonghan’s arm.

Jeonghan’s brows knitted together, a flash of realization and disbelief crossing his face. "No," he said firmly, shaking his head. "You were the one who took her home. You dragged her out of the event, remember?"

Mingyu’s expression darkened, and he muttered a curse under his breath. "Shit."

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, studying the man in front of him. "What’s going on, Mingyu?" he pressed, his voice steady but probing. The room felt heavy with the weight of what was left unsaid.

Mingyu bit his lip, his eyes darting around as if searching for the right words. "It’s... complicated," he finally mumbled, his shoulders tense.

Jeonghan tilted his head, his gaze sharpening. "What could possibly be too complicated for me to understand? The contract? The debt? Spill it."

Mingyu’s eyes widened slightly. He knew? Did you tell Jeonghan everything? After a moment’s hesitation, Mingyu nodded, acknowledging Jeonghan’s knowledge. His mind raced as he tried to piece together what you might have shared.

"I wrote her a check for 35 billion won. She was in debt, so I helped her, and in return, she helped me with... well, everything. But now she’s gone," Mingyu’s voice cracked as he threw his hands up in exasperation, his frustration palpable.

Jeonghan was silent for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, with a deep sigh, he said, "She didn’t take the money."

Mingyu’s heart skipped a beat, disbelief flickering across his face. Did you tell Jeonghan that as well? The thought of you leaving behind the money he had given you felt like a slap in the face.

"If she’s gone, she’s really gone, Mingyu," Jeonghan said quietly, a hint of empathy coloring his tone. "You have Hyorin back, don’t you?"

Mingyu’s eyes flashed with something close to desperation. He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it further. "This isn’t about Hyorin," he said, almost growling the words.

Jeonghan nodded slowly, a knowing look settling on his face. "I know. You're confused right now, I can tell. But maybe you need to ask yourself why it’s not about Hyorin anymore."

Mingyu paced back and forth in Jeonghan’s office, his mind racing with thoughts that tangled and frayed like a rope under too much pressure. Every moment that passed without you felt like sand slipping through an hourglass, a reminder of how close he was to losing you for good.

“Jeonghan, tell me where she went,” Mingyu’s voice cracked, a rare vulnerability shining through his usually composed demeanor. He wasn’t used to feeling so out of control, and it gnawed at him.

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, watching him with a look that was part sympathy, part indifference. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you,” Jeonghan said, his tone as calm as ever. “You need to figure this out for yourself, Mingyu. Chasing her without understanding why she left won’t help either of you.”

Mingyu’s jaw clenched, frustration coursing through him. “I don’t need a lecture, Jeonghan. I need answers,” he snapped, his eyes narrowing. “You said you knew everything, so why won’t you help me?”

Jeonghan sighed and stood up, walking over to the window where sunlight filtered in, casting long, jagged shadows across the room. “Mingyu, you’re looking for her like she’s an answer to a problem. But she’s not an answer—she’s a person who needed more than you were willing to give,” Jeonghan said, turning to face him. “And if you don’t understand that, you won’t find her in any meaningful way.”

Mingyu’s breath quickened as anger and panic warred inside him. He wanted to shout, to lash out, but deep down, he knew Jeonghan was right. You had left, and it wasn’t just because of Hyorin, or the contract, or the money—it was because he hadn’t given you what you truly needed. A place in his life that was more than just obligation or arrangement.

Mingyu paused in the doorway, half-turned back to Jeonghan, who was still watching him with an expression that mingled curiosity and challenge. The silence crackled between them, charged and tense.

“I’m doing this because she’s my friend,” Mingyu finally said, his voice strained as if he was convincing himself as much as Jeonghan. “I love Hyorin. I always have. This isn’t about feelings, it’s about doing the right thing.”

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed, a wry smile curving his lips. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the window frame. “Your friend?” he echoed, the words laced with skepticism. “Mingyu, if she was just a friend, you wouldn’t be standing here, desperate and wild-eyed because she left. You wouldn’t have risked everything to keep her by your side.”

“I’m not risking anything!” Mingyu’s voice rose, his fists clenching at his sides. “I’m looking for her because she needs help, not because—”

“Not because what?” Jeonghan cut in, raising an eyebrow. “Not because you’re afraid of losing her? Not because seeing her with someone else drove you crazy last night? Tell me, Mingyu, what kind of ‘friend’ does that?”

Mingyu felt the heat creep up his neck, anger and confusion tangling in his chest. He opened his mouth to argue but couldn’t find the words. Every accusation Jeonghan made landed too close to the truth, hitting on a part of him he refused to acknowledge.

“It’s not like that,” Mingyu muttered, though even to his own ears, it sounded hollow. “She’s different. She was there for me when no one else was, and now she’s gone. I owe her, Jeonghan. That’s all.”

Jeonghan stepped forward, his expression softening for a moment. “If you owe her, then give her more than just this frantic search. Be honest with yourself. If she’s just a friend, why did you let her become more? And if she’s more, why are you fighting so hard to deny it?”

Mingyu looked down, the room blurring as his thoughts spiraled. Memories of you, laughter shared in quiet moments, the way your eyes softened when you looked at him—all of it clashed with the image of Hyorin, the woman he once thought he’d spend his life with. The weight of conflicting emotions pressed down on him until he could barely breathe.

He turned away from Jeonghan without another word, storming out of the office, his mind a chaotic mess.

Jeonghan sighed as he pulled out his phone, his fingers tapping impatiently as he called you. It took five rings before you finally picked up.

"Sorry, I had a shoot," you muttered, your voice laced with exhaustion. But that wasn’t the answer Jeonghan was looking for.

"You didn’t take the money. What is wrong with you?" he shot back, frustration sharp in his tone.

There was a pause on your end, the kind of pause that said more than words ever could. Then, a quiet sigh slipped through. "How do you know?"

"Kim Mingyu stormed into my office looking for you," Jeonghan said, his voice growing more clipped. "He’s running around like a madman, and you didn’t take the money! I thought we were clear, Y/n."

But it hadn’t been clear, and Jeonghan knew that. It was never clear when it came to you and Mingyu. Silence lingered on the line, thick and telling.

You thought you’d fallen in love alone.

Jeonghan wanted to scream at you, to tell you that Mingyu loved you back. He wanted to shout that Mingyu’s ego was too big for him to admit it, that Hyorin was a convenient excuse, and that the people around him had only ever clouded his judgment. But Jeonghan wasn’t naive. He knew Mingyu better than that. Deep down, he knew Mingyu cared for you. No, it was more than that — Mingyu wanted you. He just didn’t know how to want you properly.

"It’s complicated," you muttered, the words barely above a breath.

Jeonghan pressed a hand to his forehead, fingers threading through his hair. Since when had he, of all people, failed to understand "complicated"? He'd seen it from the beginning — the way Mingyu's gaze lingered too long on you, the way your eyes softened at the sight of him. He saw it every time Mingyu made an excuse for you to stay. Complicated was an understatement.

"Okay," Jeonghan exhaled heavily, trying to stay calm. "Where are you?"

"Why should I tell you?" you countered, voice laced with weariness and defiance. "I’m just at a shoot. It’s a little far away."

Jeonghan let out a dry scoff. "Don’t play with me, Y/n. I’m not in the mood." His eyes darted to the window, the sunlight blinding but not nearly as irritating as the situation. "I need to make sure Beomjae doesn't get to you. Who’s gonna do that after you left Mingyu, huh?"

There was another pause, and this time it lasted longer. The weight of his words settled into the air, heavy and undeniable.

"Jeju," you finally admitted, voice quieter than before. "I’m in Jeju Island."

Jeonghan closed his eyes, letting the tension drain from his body. His head tilted back as he stared at the ceiling, lips curling into a faint, bitter smile.

"Of course you are," he muttered to himself, glancing out at the sky as if Jeju was close enough to see.

*

It was hard to control everything rationally when your heart had been battered one too many times — and it always seemed to be by the people you cared about most. Your father had left you with a crushing 35-billion-won debt. Your mother had left you behind as if you’d never existed. And now, Mingyu... You couldn’t even put into words what he had done to you, perhaps because he’d never truly been yours to begin with. He was just a friend. A friend who made you his contractual lover. How had it all come to this?

"That’s a wrap for tonight! Thank you so much for your hard work, everyone!" Boo Seungkwan's voice rang out loud and clear on set, cutting through the evening air.

He was the one who had cast you himself — handpicked you to play the lead in his film about a woman struggling with depression, seeking the meaning of life on Jeju Island. He’d told you he saw something in you, something raw and unspoken.

What a cruel twist of fate, you thought. The script no longer felt like a story you were telling. It had become your story. Every scene, every line, every emotion you were asked to portray felt like you were reliving your own pain on screen.

The crew slowly packed up, their tired voices fading as they made their way back to the rented house to rest. But you stayed behind, drawn to the shore like it had called your name. The night air was cool against your skin, and the steady lull of the waves was the only sound accompanying your thoughts.

You sat by the edge of the water, hugging your knees as you gazed at your reflection in the rippling surface. The moonlight softened the contours of your face, but it didn’t soften the hollow look in your eyes. The water moved, shimmering, shifting — it looked like it was calling you. Come closer, it seemed to say.

But you knew better. You knew that chasing that call wouldn’t solve anything. Ending it here wouldn’t leave anyone with peace — it would only leave scars. The kind of scars your mother had left behind when she vanished. She had been forgotten by most people, but for the ones who had loved her, the wounds never quite healed.

Who loves you, though?

The question struck you like a sudden gust of wind. It wasn’t the first time you’d wondered, but tonight, the ache was sharper.

Has anyone ever truly loved you?

Your mind wandered to your first love.

Your first kiss.

Your first everything.

All of them had been with Kim Mingyu.

You blinked, your lips parting to whisper his name, "Kim Mingyu..." The sound of it disappeared into the breeze, unnoticed and unanswered.

It was foolish, you knew. Because at the end of it all, Mingyu didn’t love you. He loved someone else. Wi Hyorin.

Her name alone carried a weight you didn’t want to bear, but it settled on you regardless.

What’s so great about Wi Hyorin? you wondered bitterly, clenching your fists against your knees. Your heart wanted to scoff, but your mind was crueler.

She’s soft-spoken. Calm. Composed. Smart. And from a wealthy, well-respected family.

You let out a bitter laugh, hollow and sharp like glass breaking. Of course, it made sense. She was everything you weren’t.

So what about you?

Your lips pressed into a thin line. No words came to mind. Not a single one. Because what could you offer him? Debt? Baggage? A heart too bruised to believe in love anymore?

Nothing. That’s what.

The ocean breeze brushed past you, cold but oddly comforting, like a quiet reassurance that you were still here. Still alive. Still breathing. The waves rolled in and out, persistent and unyielding, never once doubting their place in the world. You envied them.

For a moment, you closed your eyes, letting the sound of the sea fill the hollow space inside you.

If only love could be as steady as the tide.

"Ji Y/n..."

The familiar voice made you freeze, your heart lurching in your chest. Slowly, you turned toward the source of the call.

Your eyes widened. Kim Mingyu.

He stood there, breathless, still in his office attire, his tie loosened and his hair slightly disheveled. His chest rose and fell with each sharp breath, as if he’d run straight from the city to find you. His gaze locked on yours, his brows drawn together in a deep, urgent frown.

"You—" you stumbled toward him, your mind scrambling for words. "How did you get here? Why are you here?"

He chuckled lightly, a dry, breathless sound. His eyes, however, were far from playful. They were intense, sharp with resolve.

"You really want me to chase you, huh?" His voice was low, almost like a whisper meant only for you.

Before you could even process his words, he moved. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, firm but gentle at the same time. His warmth seeped into you, his heartbeat thudding steadily against your ear. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, caught completely off guard by his sudden embrace.

"Mingyu, what are you—"

"I need you, Y/n." His voice was low, rough, filled with something raw and unfiltered. He leaned his head down, his breath fanning lightly against your hair. His words fell like quiet confessions against your ear, each one carrying more weight than the last. "I need you in my life."

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling into his shirt as if you were afraid he might disappear.

"You’re—" you pulled back slightly, just enough to see his face. His eyes, usually so guarded, were bare now, stripped of all his usual bravado. You saw it there — the honesty, the fear, the vulnerability. The love.

Your heartbeat felt like it stopped entirely when his next words fell from his lips.

"I think I love you, Y/n," he said, his gaze unwavering, his tone steady despite the chaos of emotions swirling between you both.

You blinked, stunned into silence. Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, faster and faster until it felt like it might burst.

"But..." Your voice trembled, barely above a whisper. "What about Hyorin?"

Mingyu’s eyes softened. He let out a slow, measured breath, as if he’d been waiting for that question. His hand cupped the back of your head, his thumb gently tracing small circles against your hair. His forehead leaned against yours, eyes closed, his next words spoken with absolute certainty.

"Not once in the past three months did I think about anyone but you."

The weight of his words crushed every doubt you’d been holding. It wasn’t just something he’d said to convince you — it was the truth, raw and undeniable.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your chest tight with the weight of all the unspoken feelings you’d been burying for so long.

"You’re cruel," you whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to hold back your tears. "You’re so, so cruel, Kim Mingyu."

"I know," he murmured, his eyes opening to meet yours, filled with guilt and something that looked too close to regret. "But I’m here now, Y/n. I’m here."

His arms tightened around you, his embrace firm and unyielding, as if he was afraid you’d disappear.

"And I’m not letting you go this time," he said softly, his voice steady but filled with an unshakable resolve.

Your breath came in shallow, uneven waves as you stared into his eyes. The weight of his words pressed down on you, making it hard to think, hard to breathe. Your heart wanted to believe him, but your mind, bruised and battered by everything that had come before, hesitated.

"You say that now," you muttered, your gaze dropping to his chest where your hands rested, still clutching his shirt. "But what happens when it gets hard again, Mingyu? What happens when Hyorin looks at you like you’re her whole world, and you start to doubt this—" You swallowed hard, blinking away the tears threatening to fall. "—start to doubt me?"

He tilted his head, his eyes soft but unwavering. "I won’t."

"How can you be so sure?" Your voice cracked on the last word. "How am I supposed to believe you when it’s always been her? She was your dream, your everything. I was just—" Your voice broke entirely, and you hated how vulnerable you sounded. "I was just convenient."

"Stop," Mingyu said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. He cupped your face with both hands, forcing you to look at him, really look at him. His eyes were darker than usual, filled with something you hadn’t seen before — clarity.

"You were never convenient," he said, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears that slipped down your cheeks. His forehead pressed against yours, his eyes closing as he breathed you in, like you were air after suffocating too long. "You were the only thing that ever made sense."

Your chest tightened, your breath hitching as you fought against the onslaught of emotions threatening to pull you under. "You’re just saying that because I left. People always want what they can’t have."

"No," he replied, his voice low but steady, carrying the weight of everything he’d been too blind to see before. "People always want what they’ve already lost."

Silence hung between you, thick and suffocating. The sound of waves crashing against the shore echoed in the distance, rhythmic and unending, a stark contrast to the storm brewing between you both.

"You didn’t lose me, Mingyu," you whispered, your voice small but certain. "You gave me away."

His face contorted with pain, his brows furrowing as if your words had physically struck him. His hands fell from your face, his head dropping low, his breathing sharp and shallow.

"You’re right," he muttered, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "I did."

You took a step back, needing space to breathe, needing distance before your heart betrayed you again. "So why are you here now, Mingyu? What do you want from me?"

He lifted his head, eyes wild with desperation, his gaze locking onto yours with a ferocity you’d never seen before. He stepped forward, closing the distance you’d tried to create.

"I want you," he said with such raw intensity that it left you breathless. "Not as a friend. Not as an arrangement. I want you because I’m in love with you, Y/n. And it took me losing you to realize it, but I know it now. I know it with every part of me."

Your breath hitched. The waves crashed louder in the distance, or maybe it was the thundering of your heart in your ears. You shook your head, backing away another step, but Mingyu followed.

"You’re just scared," he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. "You’re scared because I hurt you. I get it. I hurt you worse than anyone else ever has, and I’ll regret that for the rest of my life. But I’m here now, and I’m telling you I won’t hurt you again."

"Don’t promise me things you can’t keep, Mingyu," you said, your voice trembling with exhaustion and heartbreak. "I’m so tired of hearing people say they’ll stay, only for them to walk away."

"I’m not walking away," he said, his eyes glinting with determination. His voice didn’t rise, but it carried a conviction so strong that it made you pause. He took one slow, deliberate step forward, his gaze unwavering. "If you tell me to leave, I will. But if you tell me to stay, Y/n, I’ll never leave again. I swear it."

His words hung in the air between you, delicate but unbreakable.

Your breath trembled, your body taut like a wire pulled too tight. "And if you’re lying?"

"I’m not," he answered immediately, his gaze steady and sure. "But if I ever do, you won’t have to leave me, Y/n. I’ll walk away myself, knowing I never deserved you in the first place."

Silence. Long, heavy, unbearable silence.

The waves filled it. The seagulls in the distance filled it. But you didn’t speak.

He stood there, waiting, holding himself still like he was afraid that any sudden movement might scare you away. His chest rose and fell slowly, his breath measured, but his eyes... his eyes didn’t waver once.

"I hate you," you said softly, but your voice cracked in a way that betrayed you.

Mingyu exhaled a small, almost broken laugh. "I know."

"I hate how easy it is for you to say these things now," you continued, your lips trembling, tears brimming once more. "I hate how much I want to believe you."

"Then believe me," he said, stepping closer, his hand reaching out to take yours. He held it gently, like he was holding something fragile and precious. His eyes searched yours, soft but certain. "Believe me, and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving you made the right choice."

You stared at him, his words sinking in, the sincerity of it wrapping around your heart like a thread you couldn’t untangle. It terrified you how much you wanted to believe him.

"Mingyu," you whispered, his name a breath, a plea, a warning all in one.

"I’m here," he replied, his eyes never leaving yours. "I’m right here."

The tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over, and you hated him for that too. Why did he always make you cry? Your fingers gripped his shirt, your forehead pressing against his chest as the weight of everything came crashing down.

"You better not be lying," you mumbled into his shirt, your voice muffled but not lost. "If you are, I’ll never forgive you."

Mingyu’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you in with a tenderness that shattered every wall you’d built. He pressed his lips to the top of your head, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.

"I’m not lying," he whispered, his voice steady as the waves beyond you both. "I’m never lying to you again."

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe him.

*

"Cut!"

The director’s voice echoed through the set, and the entire crew let out a collective sigh of relief. Mingyu watched from the sidelines, his gaze fixed on you. His lips tugged into a small, proud smile as he saw you beam at everyone, bowing politely and thanking each crew member for their hard work. Your energy was infectious, even after a long day of filming.

"That’s a wrap, everyone!" Boo Seungkwan, the ever-lively director, announced with his trademark enthusiasm.

Mingyu stepped forward, his presence as commanding as ever in his sleek suit. Seungkwan spotted him and grinned, walking over with open arms. They exchanged a firm handshake, the weight of trust and friendship clear in the gesture.

"This movie better be a hit," Mingyu joked, his deep voice laced with playful seriousness.

Seungkwan snorted, rolling his eyes. "With your investment? It better be. I’m not about to ruin my spotless reputation."

"You should be grateful," Mingyu shot back, raising an eyebrow. "I let you use my name and my wife's name for this movie. And I even let her make a cameo appearance." His grin widened with mock arrogance, and Seungkwan waved him off like he’d heard it all before.

"Yes, yes, thank you, Mr. Investor," Seungkwan quipped, tilting his head in a sarcastic bow. "I’ll be sure to write that in the credits — 'With gracious permission from Kim Mingyu, the benevolent.' How’s that sound?"

Mingyu's laugh came from deep in his chest, sharp and rich with amusement. "Don’t forget to add 'world’s most handsome husband' in there too," he added, eyes flicking toward you as you approached.

Seungkwan's gaze followed Mingyu's line of sight, and his face lit up as he noticed you walking toward them. Your smile was bright, your strides light and confident, even as exhaustion clung to the edges of your movements.

"Amazing," Seungkwan muttered under his breath, his grin turning sly as he watched Mingyu’s entire demeanor soften.

“Thank you so much for letting me be part of this movie, Director Boo,” you greeted Seungkwan warmly. Your voice was light, your eyes crinkling with genuine gratitude.

“Trust me, I wish I could’ve had you in more scenes,” Seungkwan replied, shooting a teasing look at Mingyu. “But this man refused to let me put you in for more than two.”

Mingyu, as if on cue, jabbed at Seungkwan’s side, but Seungkwan dodged with the agility of someone who had been friends with Mingyu for far too long.

"Don’t listen to him," you said, letting out a soft, melodic laugh. Your hand rested lightly on Mingyu’s arm, grounding him in a way only you could. "I would’ve been happy with more scenes. Honestly, I would’ve loved to do more if you'd asked."

Seungkwan’s eyes widened with dramatic flair as he whipped around to face Mingyu. "See? See? Your wife doesn’t mind. She’s a professional, unlike some people I know."

Mingyu shook his head, his lips quirking into a grin that didn’t quite hide his possessiveness. "Nope. Absolutely not. I’m the one who minds," he declared, his eyes darting to you like he was staking a claim. "My wife is pregnant, and she needs to rest. No long shoots, no late nights, no unnecessary stress."

You shot him a playful glare, pinching his side just hard enough to make him flinch. “My husband is a bit noisy, isn’t he?” you said, glancing at Seungkwan like you were seeking solidarity.

Seungkwan raised both hands in surrender, his smile wide with amusement. “Don’t look at me. I’m not about to go against Mr. Handsome Husband, World’s Best Protector.” He snickered, his eyes darting between you and Mingyu. "But if it were up to me, you’d be in every scene."

Mingyu pulled you close by the waist, his hand resting protectively on your lower back, his thumb rubbing soft, absentminded circles. He leaned in, his eyes filled with that familiar mix of pride and adoration he could never seem to hide.

“It’s not up to you, Seungkwan,” he muttered, his gaze never leaving you. “We’ll be taking our leave now, Director Boo. My wife needs to rest.”

His words were simple, but the affection in his tone made your cheeks warm. You glanced at him, your eyes softening, and this time, you didn’t fight him on it.

“Take care, Director,” you said with a small bow. Seungkwan waved you off with a knowing grin, watching the two of you walk away.

“Yeah, yeah, go be all in love or whatever,” he called out, unable to hide the affection in his teasing.

As you walked side by side with Mingyu, his hand firm and steady on your back, you glanced up at him with a small smile.

“Possessive much?” you teased quietly, nudging him with your elbow.

“Protective,” he corrected, glancing down at you with that look that always made your heart stumble. His eyes softened as they lingered on you, his voice quieter now. "I’m protecting what’s mine."

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers intertwined with his, and you squeezed his hand just a little tighter.

“Okay, Mr. Handsome Husband, World’s Best Protector,” you murmured, leaning your head against his arm as the two of you walked off into the evening light.

*

Seungkwan sat with the entire cast during the promotional interview for his highly anticipated movie. The host was lively and charismatic, effortlessly guiding the conversation while bringing out the natural chemistry between the cast. Laughter filled the room, and the atmosphere was warm and relaxed.

“Director Boo,” the host began with a playful grin, leaning forward with curiosity. “You mentioned that this movie was inspired by your friend’s story, right? Care to spill a little tea on that?”

Laughter erupted from the cast and audience. Seungkwan’s eyes widened, and he waved his hands frantically as if to push away the implication. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he quickly composed himself.

“Ah, I don’t want anyone to misunderstand,” Seungkwan said, half-laughing, half-sighing. “It’s not like that. I drew inspiration from a lot of places — life experiences, stories I’ve heard, observations. But,” he paused, his grin turning sly, “I’ll admit, my favorite actress, Ji Y/n, agreed to make a cameo, and we did use her name and her husband’s name for the characters.”

“Oho!” the host gasped, eyes lighting up with excitement. “Using your friend’s actual names? Sounds very intentional, Director Boo!”

More laughter followed, with some of the cast members playfully nudging Seungkwan as if to expose him further.

“Look, look, look,” Seungkwan chuckled, his hands raised in surrender. “It’s not like their relationship is exactly like the one in the movie. It’s totally the opposite, I promise!” His gaze flickered to the camera, as if directly addressing the viewers. “They’re an amazing couple, honestly. The kind of couple that makes you believe in love again.”

The host’s eyes narrowed with mock suspicion, leaning forward like he’d just uncovered a scandal. “So you’re telling me that you just so happened to name the characters after them and just so happened to cast her as a cameo?”

The audience howled with laughter, and Seungkwan pressed his palms together in a mock plea for mercy. “I’m innocent, I swear! I’m just a man trying to tell a good story!”

"Glad he didn’t mention that the 35 billion won contract was actually true," you muttered, eyes glued to the television as the interview played. Your three-month-old daughter, Sera, lay in your arms, breastfeeding peacefully. Her tiny fingers occasionally curled and uncurled against your skin.

Mingyu let out a long, exasperated sigh from beside you. "I should’ve read the script myself before signing that deal," he groaned, rubbing his face in frustration. "I didn’t think Seungkwan would actually bring up the contract."

"Why? Feeling a little exposed now?" you teased, shooting him a sly grin. "Starting to see what an asshole you were back then?"

His gasp was immediate, his eyes wide with faux horror. "Language, woman!" he said dramatically, reaching over to cover baby Sera’s tiny ears. "She can hear you, you know."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hold back a soft laugh. Gently, you lifted Sera from your chest and placed her carefully in her crib. Her lips puckered in her sleep, and her little body shifted slightly before settling back into slumber. You watched her for a moment longer, letting that familiar warmth fill your chest.

With Sera safe and sound, you made your way back to Mingyu, plopping down beside him on the couch. Your head found a home against his shoulder, your hand resting on his chest, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles.

“It’s true, though,” he muttered, staring at the ceiling as if reliving the memory. “Everyone thought I was gay, and somehow, my genius solution was to get a contractual girlfriend.” He shook his head at his younger self, clearly unimpressed.

"But you have to admit," you murmured, your voice low and teasing, "I was way too gorgeous to pass up, huh?"

Mingyu glanced down at you, his eyes softening with that look he reserved only for you. A slow, crooked smile spread across his face, and he let out a quiet chuckle, the deep rumble of it vibrating through his chest.

"You are," he said simply, his hand coming up to rest on top of yours. "The most gorgeous mistake I ever made… and the only one I’d make again."

His words were so sincere, so steady, that it made your heart squeeze in your chest. You tilted your head up, catching his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. It was one of those rare silences where everything was already understood.

"Smooth talker," you whispered, lips curling into a smile as you leaned up to kiss him softly.

"Only for you," he replied, his voice a little quieter now, his eyes still locked on you like you were the only person in the world.

And in moments like this — with your baby girl sleeping soundly nearby and the man who once made the worst mistake of his life now holding you like you were his greatest treasure — you believed it.

[musingsunderstarlight]

Personally, I understand where OP is coming from, and I think there is value in wanting to make societal change regardless of separatism. But I think it's worth asking why separatism is seen as "giving up on hope" and why giving up on separatism isn't?

Putting the onus on women to make men better or saying that they’re leaving women behind by wanting to fight for separatism isn't too far off from blaming women (I know that's not OP's intention though). In my own personal life, realizing that I no longer had to waste my time, energy and emotions on debating my misogynistic brother simply about the reality of being female was incredibly freeing. Like, it's fine to fight for these things, but I think it's better for fight for separatism and female-only spaces as a priority. We have to remember that it's the systems that men have put into place that continue to disadvantage and harm us, not just male socialization itself.

In order to break free of these systems, some level of political solidarity is needed, and if our energy is diverted to just trying to quash male socialization in our society now, then we're never going to achieve what we want to achieve. I think to try and undo male socialization is a nearly impossible feat because the whole point of it is that these men have been programed to see you as subhuman. You can't debate someone into seeing your humanity. The implications of this are that you are trying to enact change within a system that is corrupt. I mean in the U.S./the West, we spent decades teaching men how to be nicer, and now we’re being punished by being told that we are not even allowed to entertain the idea of female solidarity. Let me clarify: we gained so many rights, and now you are no longer allowed to acknowledge female human beings as their own marginalized group. As soon as you break free from one kind of man, the other one will be waiting right there to take advantage. And the way feminism has been corrupted by the left after women fought to escape from the clutches of conservatism is the perfect example of that.

That said, I think I have seen some examples where women who built separatist communities and raised sons there, the boys grew up to be well-adjusted and did not inherent the misogynistic beliefs and practices and of their male relatives. There is hope, but why can't we put that hope into building a new world from scratch?

Radblr hot take here but I believe that men are capable of changing to be better. To say that they are incapable of being good is saying that they aren’t fully responsible for what they do because they aren’t capable of being better.

No. They can be better. And they are morally worse and more corrupt for it. Men can choose to fight the patriarchy and treat their female counterparts with respect and dignity. But they choose not to, because they can reap the same or more societal benefits by being misogynistic.

Baby boys aren’t born misogynistic. Sure, they may be born with whatever male hormonal differences do, but that isn’t even 1% of the reason why they grow up to be misogynists.

As they grow up they learn that misogyny is rewarded. As they grow up they are exposed to porn which they choose to use as a sexual role model. As they grow up they watch their parents model a hierarchal power dynamic. They see all of this, and they like it. They choose it for themselves.

I think that men can change for the better. People here hear this and say “you can’t teach them” or “coddling them won’t do shit” and I agree. What women need to do is stop rewarding and enabling their behavior.

We need to free women from human trafficking and exploitation, and we also need to convince women who make porn of their own free will to stop. We need to punish the men who make it. We need to help women out of their abusive marriages, and we also need to convince women who are in relationships with even slightly misogynistic men to end them. We need to have zero tolerance for casual misogyny. We need to start shunning men who are misogynists. We need to hold accountable women who are enabling the men in their lives to hurt other women. Shun men who watch porn. Shun men who say slurs. Stop having their children.

And for the men sympathetic to our cause, we need to convince them to use their privilege as men to further feminist goals. We need them to vote for women’s rights. We need them to intervene during “locker room” misogynistic talk when women aren’t around. We need them to break up the male solidarity around misogyny in a way only they can do.

But we can’t do this as individuals. Strength comes in numbers. Women do face societal consequences for standing up to misogyny. Other women need to defend her and provide for her needs. And in order to do this we need to educate ourselves. Make money. Be independent of men. Become doctors, lawyers, teachers. We need to do everything we can to support women in places where they cannot do these things.

If we can do all of this, men will change. Maybe not the men who are already set in their ways. But those growing up will see that misogyny does not reward them in life. They will not see porn. They will not see their mothers submitting to their fathers and they will not see women submitting to men. And they will choose to treat women as human beings. Because they can.

Radical feminism is not a doomerist movement. I have a future in mind. I hope you do too.

[quarterlifekitty]

Desperate times

A sequel to this post and poll. Started feeling a little jigsaw-y…. Decided that I wanted to continue this post— what would it be like if their methods didn’t work? If they had to up the ante?

The top two winners of the poll won’t have to find out, because they’re getting you back! The rest? Well…

cw: dubcon/noncon, stalking, unhealthy relationships, somno, daddy kink stuff, intox, violence, baby trapping, and more stuff I don’t really know how to describe lol

❌Gaz is making a spectacle. Formulating the ultimate romantic gesture— a in a public place. He’s used your family and friends to lure you there on their invitation. Can’t you see how all of them want you to take him back? Look at him, on his knee in the middle of the botanical garden, promising to be better for you if you’ll just give him another chance. They’re all waiting on your response. Come on, luv, just give them what they want.

❌Soap is moving onto step 2, and that’s getting you drunk. Not so hard when you and your friends go to an upscale bar. He conveniently runs quite late meeting the 141 there, so to you and your friends, there’s just a handsome group of strangers sending some pretty girls free drinks. And everyone knows the girly drinks have the highest percentages. The rest of the gang will pick off your friends (payment for doing him this favor) and he’ll be ready to swoop in and take you home. Aren’t you lucky he was there? Just let him get you into bed. Ach, he really shouldn’t leave you alone in this state… best stay the night. A bit of advice? Don’t squirm when he gets to work— reminding you of the good times.

❌Ghost keeps it going strong with the scary voicemails. And they keep getting worse. The grunting, and threats, the desperation coating his voice. Not nice to keep your man waiting, birdie. They’re followed by photos. Printed out physically, slipped in your mail slot or under your door, bare. No envelope, no address or signature. All dated with black sharpie, all recent. You looking both ways, getting ready to cross the street. Changing out of your work clothes when you get home. His gloved thumb gently brushing your lip while you’re sleeping. His cum on your toothbrush. That one is dated as two weeks old. Just let him back into your life, birdie.

⭕️ Price feels his heart sing when he sees your name on the caller id. He gives the perfect, respectful response. It’s good to hear from you. Is everything alright? When he agrees to meet up with you, he doesn’t let it show how eagerly he’s been waiting for the chance. Tells you that you look good. Life must’ve been treating you well since he last saw you. He seems so genuinely pleased for you… He almost lets his calculated restraint slip when you say you’d like to give things another go. Asks if you’re sure. If he were being honest, in his eyes, things never ended. This was just a rough patch. But he’s glad you’ve come around to seeing it his way. He’ll have you moved back in by the end of the month, swollen with his kid by the end of the next. It’ll weigh you down, make it easier for him to slip the ring on.

⭕️ Honest to god, König sees the halo glow behind your crown when you meet up with him, and agree to a second chance. He promises that he’ll be better— you won’t want for anything, he’ll be so good for you. He’s acting like you’ve agreed to marry him. Maybe because in his mind, you have. That’s inevitable, seeing as he’s never going to lose you again.

❌ Nikolai starts getting a lot less… clean with your potential paramours. Gone are the bribes, the simple threats and ghosting— in are the bloody heaps of men that are just alive enough to twitch. This could all stop. Just be his good girl again, come back to your ivory tower. Papochka won’t be upset, he’ll just be glad to have you home. His patience for you is endless, but for the rest of the world? Well, do you really want to find out?

[sencrose]

— ENCORE!

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

tags: exhibitionism, established relationship, toys (vibrator), idol AU (reader's an idol), praise, multiple orgasms, overstim, dacryphilia, clothed/floor sex, pet names (angel/sweetheart/princess), satoru being a wee bit possessive/mean, reader’s kinda tsun

wc: 4.6k

summary: your boyfriend wants you to put on a special show for the night, and your audience is none the wiser.

a/n: happy holidays! let's completely ignore canon together <3 i'll be free from idol AU bs one day. today is not that day. i got a tag on my blog for any idol!reader stuff involving gojo at #iettoru! if it piques your interest! special thanks to @angelbunsx and @surpassing-morning for looking over this for me <3 dividers by @/adornedwithlight

❥ ao3 link here

This was a horrible idea. Well, it still is a horrible idea, but you went along with it anyway. At the end of the day, you only really have yourself to blame, even though you would really like to split it with your boyfriend.

It took a bit of convincing, maybe a bit of guilt tripping, but it doesn’t change the fact that there’s a vibrator stuffed inside you as you walk onto the stage. Everything feels more intense than usual– the brightness of the stage lights, the stuffiness of the venue, the cheers of the crowd.

You inhale deeply but the words that follow come out shaky, “T-thanks for coming, everyone!” It catches you off guard, but not enough to stop talking. Your group members, however, give you a worried glance. You can’t afford to make them worry about you, not when there’s nothing worth worrying about other than your boyfriend’s perverted fantasies. So you continue, yelling into the mic as a way to hide your unsteady breathing, “We have a great show planned for tonight, so we hope you enjoy it!”

The crowd cheers, as per usual. Though this time it rumbles through you, intensifying the already overwhelming vibrations stirring you up. You don’t have much time to think about it. The start of the backing track catches you off guard, as you rush to catch up with your members’ formation. Everything feels hot, and you’re not sure what it is, the embarrassment of a rare mistake, or the vibrations rushing through your body with each step.

And though you’re struggling to keep up with the routines you’ve practiced dozens of times over, Satoru doesn’t seem to be phased. He’s business as usual, a sun bright smile plastered on his face as he yells and waves his penlight in the air. He might even be cheering louder than usual, the bastard.

Every move feels risky, like taking a block from an unsteady tower of jenga. The world’s worst game of flipping the coin. Either the vibrator will adjust inside you, press against somewhere that might make you moan, or maybe it’ll move around enough and slip out. Thinking about the latter is too much for you, so you surrender yourself to moving a bit less than usual. Focus on shining that dazzling smile to the crowd and hope they won’t see how it falters with every shift of your body.

And thankfully, it works for the first performance. You’ve never been so grateful to hear the crowd whoop and holler. Even more so that you’re not introducing the next song.

But that moment of relief is cut short. The vibrations pattern changes to something more intense, staccato pulses that make you wince with each throb. It catches you off guard, a soft moan escaping your lips before you try to cover it up with a cough, though you’re not sure it’s that convincing.

“You doing okay over there?” Your member’s voice barely registers in your ears as you rush to put on a fake smile.

“S-Sorry, I’m doing okay! Just recovering from a cold,” you reply with a shaky chuckle. Everyone seems to be content with your answer, though Satoru seems exceptionally proud of himself. It takes every bit of self control to keep your breathing steady, as your members banter amongst themselves before introducing the next song. Their speech feels like it’s going on for ages until they finally get themselves in position.

Thankfully, you’re not caught off guard this time, though the choreo’s a lot more complicated for this song. You don’t have the safety of being hidden in the back, being front and center for a good chunk of the performance. Though the audience cheers, you can see some concerned faces interspersed between the sea of penlights, some murmurs and whispers beyond what you can hear. It’s not hard to imagine what the conversation would consist of.

Even on a good day this routine would leave you breathless, but it’s on a whole other level now. It’s hard to keep your muscles clenched, terrified of having the toy slip out of you from your frenzied movements. And seriously, who thought adding this many jumps was a good idea?

But with each hit of a drum, you jump anyways, though a little less enthused than your members. Then, as if it’s a punishment for not giving enough effort, the speed of the vibrator increases. Your eyes dart to find Satoru in the audience, but he’s cheering innocently as usual, though one of his hands is dug deep in his pocket.

You’re going to kill him later.

With each move, it’s getting harder to ignore the tension building in your core. But you just have to get through this song and another before the buppan period. It’s only another ten minutes max, you can keep it together till then, you think.

Satoru plays more with the settings and you can feel him pushing the buttons for each one, carefully watching your reaction to see which is the most effective. Unfortunately for you, it’s written clearly on your face when your smile breaks and your eyes squeeze shut for a brief moment, just enough for Satoru to hone in on it.

You’ve vastly overestimated your ability to stay calm and collected. The buzzing inside you is erratic now, each pulse getting you closer to the edge. But the song is so close to being over, maybe if you just move a little less, catch a small break where you can focus on standing still, you can make it through. Though, it’s hard to concentrate when you can feel a pool forming in your underwear, the wet cotton sticking to your skin wherever you go.

It’s as if you can feel yourself developing a fever in real-time, heat boiling beneath the surface of your skin as you struggle to keep up with your members. It doesn’t help that Satoru keeps changing the vibrations to a pattern that doesn’t match the rhythm of the music, yet another added distraction. It demands your attention as if it’s a living, breathing being, gnaws and claws at your core until you finally give it what it wants.

The vibrator wins over your self-determination.

You at least have the self control to fake a cough over it, but not before your knees give out on you, trembling as you try to hold yourself back up. With every pulse, ecstasy courses through your body, small choked moans escaping your lips.

Your group members, sweet as they are, immediately come to your side to help you up, and you’re rushing back to coughing to hide the truth.

“H-Hey, you really don’t have to push yourself, you know,” she whispers to ensure the audience doesn’t hear.

You do your best to swat her away without actually hitting her, afraid she’ll be able to feel the toy vibrating through your skin and discover your dirty little secret.

“N-No, I’m fine, I can do one last song,” you get out, enunciating each syllable carefully to not spur any suspicion.

“You sure?”

“Y-Yeah, it’s just one more,” you assure her.

“Okay…” Hesitantly, she lets you recollect yourself, watching over you until you stand, give her a smile and a thumbs up.

“Sorry about that everyone, I’m okay! But this will be our last song of the night,” you announce into the mic, swiping the dust off your skirt.

You get a bit of your spirit back now that you got that out of your system. That doesn’t make the vibrations any less incessant.

Unbeknownst to the audience, it’s not a performance anymore–it’s a competition. To show Satoru you can hold it out till the end.

And with the start of the instrumental, you’re off to the races.

A thread of melodic synths weaves its way through the room, and the crowd fires off their usual chants during the introduction. It’s a nice distraction to hold you over until it’s your turn in the center. When it’s your time, you beam and sing sweetly into the mic, like it’s just your average performance. Satoru doesn’t let you go that easily, adjusting the attack pattern to diminish and swell in a way that catches you off guard.

And though it’s hard, it’s not the worst of the night. You hiccup on a note for a split second, but it seems to go unnoticed by the audience, considering how hard they’re waving their penlights. That’s one third of the song out of the way.

Even when you’re out of the spotlight, Satoru doesn’t take his eyes off you, nor does he take his fingers off the remote. Every move is an opportunity to see you break, even if it’s just a little. He does his best to find a rhythm, one that pulses with the beat of the music, and you feel it reverberating through you with each step. It’s not quite enough to make you break, but it’s enough that you’re hyper aware of it.

A frenzied mix of bass and synths meld together for the bridge, and the crowd takes it as their cue to do the appropriate chants, their yells rattling your chest almost as intensely as the vibrator. It’s bad timing to feel the heat in your core swell as you take your spot center stage for your solo with the instrumental toned down. The crowd quiets down too, a rush of soft claps pattering like butterflies filling the room. On a regular night, this display would be cute, heartwarming even. But now it only serves as a reminder that all eyes are on you, and only you.

Don’t mess up.

So you take a deep breath, gripping onto the mic like a vice. All of your focus is on the lyrics, singing them as softly and sweetly as you can. Even though the night was off to a rough start, you think you’ve redeemed yourself with this, hitting every note just right, even with the vibrator doing its best to pull your attention back to it. Back to Satoru.

You can take it easy now. It’s almost over. Just repeat the dance you've already done twice over from the other choruses.

And for once, it’s just as simple as that. The vibrating is incessant, but you’ve gotten used to it at this point, even with the occasional change in pattern. Your chest rises and falls harder than usual as you hold your finishing pose, your skin covered in beads of sweat you aren’t accustomed to.

Despite everything Satoru attempted to throw at you, you made it, and that’s all that matters. The performance is over.

For now. —

The buppan period is worse than you thought it was going to be. To your surprise, Satoru didn’t do his usual frenzied ticket buying spree and now you’re left to face the masses he usually doesn’t let you see. You don’t recognize the fan in front of you, can’t even determine if he’s a first time fan or if you’ve met him so long ago the passage of time has done your memory in.

“H-Hi, thanks for coming!” you exclaim, taking his ticket and placing it on the table.

“Thanks for the performance! I really hope you’ll feel better soon,” he remarks. The way he scratches his neck tips you off that he’s nervous.

“Aw thank you! I’m already feeling better for the most part, I’m just coughing a little here and there,” you do your best to assure him, lying through your teeth.

“Despite it all, you still did great today,” he says, whispering towards the end of his sentence.

“Thanks,” you smile, and you don’t want to admit it but you are a bit touched by his words. Quickly, you shake the thought away. Maybe you understand why Satoru monopolizes your time now. “So, did you have a pose in mind?”

“Yeah, just a hand heart, if that’s okay,” he offers, a bit hesitant, shakily playing with his hands to show you the gesture he’s thinking of.

“Sounds good!” You give him a thumbs up before leaning in a bit closer to him, just enough that your fingertips are touching. Look into the camera with your usual smile, and count down from three.

As soon as the flash of the camera dissipates, you’re hit with a rush of pulses to your core. It’s almost enough to make you keel over, a sliver of a groan escaping you as you bend over to grab your stomach.

“A-Are you okay?” he asks, his hands hovering over you wanting to help, but unsure if he should touch.

You don’t think you deserve his kindness.

“Y-Yeah, sorry, just,” you sigh, barely able to keep it together. Each pulse takes the wind out of you, gets you closer on that precipice you don’t want to experience here, not this close to a stranger, much less a fan. So, you wave the white flag for now, gritting your teeth to get the words out between deep breaths, “I think I gotta go. I’ll be back in a bit.”

–

Your absence doesn’t go unnoticed by Satoru. If anything, this is probably what he had in mind, push you to your limits until you just can’t take it anymore. By the time you barely have a moment to collect yourself, he’s already found you on the floor of the green room. It’s pathetic, letting him see you like this–breathless, panting, and desperate for relief.

The way he hovers over you paints him in a surreal, hazy light, as if he’s an angel coming down to save you from your strife, when he’s really the demon who put you in this scenario to begin with.

“My angel loves the attention, doesn’t she?” he asks, sickly sweet.

“Fuck off, Satoru,” you bite back, but you don’t stop him when he bends down to shuts you up with a kiss. It’s impossible to keep your voice back when he splits your legs apart with his knee, pressing up against your soaked panties while the vibrator continues to hum inside you. It’s more overwhelming than you thought, finally getting what you want and letting yourself melt into his touch. Satoru doesn’t let you savor it for too long, pulling away with a shit-eating grin.

“Feisty. Did I make you wait too long?” he sneers, pressing his forehead against yours.

You don’t give him a response, too embarrassed at the mess he’s made of you, at the way your wet underwear clings to your sticky folds.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you all the attention you need,” he coos, sliding his hand up your thigh to pull down your shorts and underwear.

Satoru takes his sweet time because he always enjoys seeing how restless you get over him. The way you look up at him, the hint of tears forming on your waterline while pawing at him as you silently beg for him to take care of you. He could never get sick of it. So, he gently massages your inner thigh, fingers creeping up closer to your pussy until you’re nearly crying, pleading for him to do something.

“P-Please, take it out ‘Toru,” you whine, sniffling a bit because you’re so close to being overstimulated.

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispers soft and low, “since you asked so nicely…” he trails off, lithe fingers pressing into your soaked cunt, but not before he has some more fun with you. Satoru takes his sweet time, letting out a little “oops” to pretend the toy is slipping from his grasp, only for his fingers to go deeper than the vibrator.

The moment you part your lips to ask him to stop is the moment he finally shows mercy and slowly pulls out the vibrator. The sudden loss of sensation is a contradiction, both welcome and not. It’s strange to have nothing inside you, it almost makes you wish something else was in there to take its place.

One thing that catches you both off guard is just how wet it is, nearly dripping with your arousal.

“Wonder if any fans noticed you’re practically leaking,” he says before licking a long stripe off the vibrator, “not that it matters, you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

“It’s just sweat,” you retort, looking off to the side because you can’t stand to inflate his ego when he gets like this.

“Sure it is. Were you thinking of me up there?” he asks, following your gaze.

“Maybe,” you mumble.

“Huh? What was that?” he perks up, bringing a hand to his ear for dramatic effect.

“Toru, just put it inside already,” you huff with a soft pout.

“Wooooow,” he comments, drawing out the vowel for dramatic effect, “needy today aren’t we?”

“It’s your fault anyways,” you say, an attempt to throw the blame back at him. Still, you wrap your fingers in his shirt before pulling his body closer.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take the blame as always. For what it’s worth, you’re just as bad as me,” he comments. His fingers slide against your slick folds and you bite your lip to hold your voice back.

Satoru savors every moment he has with you, drinking in the sight of your cunt practically dripping arousal onto the floor. The more he stares, the more your face burns. No matter how many times you’ve done this, you can’t get over how attentive he is.

He sinks in a single finger, and it’s already enough to have you groaning at the sensation, to have your hips bucking into him.

“What kinda idol runs off to the green room in the middle of an event to get fucked?” Satoru teases, his finger pressing into you harder.

“Y-You’re being mean, ‘Toru,” you whine.

“You like when I’m mean,” he quips back before pressing in another finger with little resistance.

Satoru does what he always does–starts slowly, listens carefully to the way your breath hitches as he curls his fingers to find that special spot. When he gets there it’s hard not to relinquish control, as you lean back and let him take care of you. As much as he loves to listen to your moans, he likes swallowing them up too, feverishly kissing you without letting a single one slip from your lips. Satoru only pulls away from a moment to tease you.

“C’mon angel, you gotta let me know if it feels good,” he coos before picking up the pace. It’s too much, embarrassing to hear the wet squelches leaving your pussy the more he fingers you.

Every part of you runs hot as the tension that’s been simmering in your core builds to a roaring boil. Desperation overrides any rational thought as you find a rhythm and ride his fingers, nearly drooling as you feel your muscles tensing up. You’re so close, and he knows it too, because Satoru’s kisses always get messier when you get close to cumming.

“T-Toru, please,” you whine between moans, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for.

“I know, I know,” he coos before giving you a soft peck on the cheek, “let it all out for me, sweetheart.”

It’s as if he knows your body better than you as the tension in your core finally snaps as you cum on his fingers. Satoru being the fiend he is, continues fucking you through it, pushing his fingers in harder when you inevitably clench around him.

“Too much, too much, ‘Toru,” you cry, attempting to grab his wrist but he simply pushes himself deeper into your cunt.

“One more? I know my princess wants another,” he teases before kissing you to cut off of any chance of a response. It’s not like you would be able to give him an answer anyways, not when his fingers play with you so easily, his lips greedily stealing every one of your breaths and moans for himself.

One thing about Satoru is that he likes to overindulge. Likes when you’re extra loud and needy for him, seeing the pleasure written plainly on your face when he fucks you, whether that’s with his fingers, his tongue, his dick, or anything else he can get his hands on. But that makes him insatiable in some aspects, when he makes you cum on his fingers multiple times before he’ll even entertain the prospect of fucking you properly.

Can you really blame him? He just wants to feel all your love for him dripping down his cock. Maybe even make you cry a little because you just look too cute when you do, and even cuter when you sniffle as he wipes your tears and kisses them. It sets off something in him.

But it’s also hard to keep up with him. When you grip onto his hand and try to pull his fingers out because it’s too much, he simply wraps his arm around your waist and keeps you from escaping. Satoru’s determination is a wild animal that can’t be tamed, especially when it comes to you.

It always pays off for him, but that means it pays off for you as well. Though, you’re in tears when he rips another orgasm out of you, your moans too deafening to quell with a kiss. Your legs involuntarily squeeze close as Satoru gets you near the edge of ache and overstimulation, but he uses his other hand to split them open, watching closely how your pussy convulses and flutters around his fingers as you come undone. Only when you finally come down from your high does he slow down, examining just how much you soaked his hand.

“You didn’t have to go so hard, Satoru,” you scoff when he finally gives you a break.

“Just gotta make sure you’re all prepped for me,” he mewls, pulling out his fingers from your messy cunt. They glisten under the fluorescent lighting, before Satoru shamelessly sucks on them before releasing it with a pop.

“Don’t have to go all above and beyond on me,” you mumble, a bit embarrassed at his shamelessness even though it’s just the two of you in the room.

“But my angel only deserves the best,” he says, voice low and sultry. Hastily, he’s stumbling over himself to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants before palming himself over the fabric. That doesn’t last long before he finally frees his cock, already hard and raring to go.

Satoru pulls up your skirt to your waist before slotting himself between your legs. Even still, he teases you, tapping his cockhead on your slick folds and letting out a whistle when a thread of your arousal sticks to him before thinning out and breaking.

“T-Toru, please,” your voice breaks with each tap of his cock against your cunt, the desire to be filled up driving you to the edge of tears.

“Please what?”

“Put it inside already,” you beg with a pout.

“Whatever you say, princess,” he coos before pressing the tip of his cock against your hole, and both of you moan when he bottoms out quicker than usual, thanks to all his hard work. Satoru holds your head in his hands as he pumps into you with a steady rhythm, each stroke punctuated with a hard snap of his hips.

“Fuck, you really are made just for me, aren’t you?” he pants breathily, before planting a wet kiss on your neck.

You can’t bring yourself to answer, not that he really needs one. With his mouth elsewhere, your lips are free to spill all the moans it wants, and they’re abundant. It’s music to Satoru’s ears, as he hums in delight while biting down on your shoulder.

“Can’t be so loud angel, the others’ll hear you,” he teases, as if that isn’t his dream come true. His lips press into yours, and you don’t hesitate to give him the opening he wants. Satoru kisses you sloppily, spit and drool mixing with yours before spilling from the sides of your mouth.

“Is that what you want? Want your fans to know what a pervert you are?”

“No, no, no,” you protest, shaking your head with a tinge of guilt in your chest. You can only imagine the shock your fans and members would have if they ever knew about this happening just a handful of meters away. But that concern disappears as fast as it came when Satoru turns on the vibrator again and plants it against your clit. Your body writhes from the simulation suddenly being introduced again, but Satoru is unrelenting, keeping it right against the sensitive bundle of nerves no matter how much you move.

“It’s okay, I’ll keep your secret,” he says softly, almost gentle, contrary to the position he currently has you in.

Satoru adjusts and presses your legs as far back as he can before he starts building a merciless pace. The weight of his body against yours is suffocating, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he hits your deepest parts from this angle.

“Fuck, you’re getting close, aren’t you? Can tell from the way you’re squeezing me,” he groans, his voice getting breathier with each word, “you wanna cum, sweetheart?”

“P-Please make me cum, ‘Toru,” you pant out.

Satoru answers by frantically thrusting his hips into you, hitting your deepest points at a pace that’s dizzying. Words are the last thing on your mind, too fucked out and crying from how good it feels. You don’t even protest when Satoru bites down on your neck, even harder than before. All you give him is a drawn out whine as he sucks on the skin and with how intense he’s being, it’s definitely going to leave a mark.

It doesn’t matter. All you can focus on is tightening your muscles, preparing yourself for your fourth climax of the night. Satoru is merciless, thrusting into you like an animal functioning on a base desire to breed. The sound of skin-to-skin slapping fills the room, nearly muffling your own babbled cries as you get close. The tension in your core builds and builds until it snaps and crashes into you like a tidal wave, deep and full-bodied.

Your nails dig into his chest when he continues to fuck you through it like he always does, thighs trembling as your walls convulse and flutter around his cock. Satoru curses under his breath as his pace slackens, your orgasm being a precursor to his own. Despite him making a mess of you, he’s just the same as you when he’s cumming, maybe even worse–desperately humping into you and repeatedly whispering “I love you” and moaning until his hips finally give out.

Satoru digs himself deeper into you as he cums, making sure you can feel all of his love for you in the hot ropes of white that paint your insides. After he’s emptied all that he can inside of you, he finally dismounts and gives your body the chance to recover.

You barely take a moment to recollect yourself, still panting and sweating from the intense orgasm when Satoru uncharacteristically rushes to get his clothes back on.

“What are you doing?” you ask, still out of breath.

“Going back out. I still have these to redeem,” he says matter-of-factly. Satoru rummages through his pockets before brandishing a handful of cheki tickets, all with your likeness smothered on them. Before you can even offer up a response, he gives you a peck on the cheek. “You’re not going to keep me waiting, are you?”

[g4rvez-r3id]

The Holiday: Part One

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Synopsis: You and a random woman online do a home-exchange for the holidays after a hasty breakup with your boyfriend. You’re enjoying the quaint little cottage you’re currently staying at in D.C. when all of a sudden, a strange man is knocking at your door. The man claims he’s the brother of the woman’s place you’re currently staying at and needs a place to stay for the night since he’s had far too much to drink. One thing leads to another and well… things get complicated from there.

Category: Fluff, Smut

Warnings: meet cute, reader just went through a breakup, mentions of alcohol cosumption, a lil ooc!spencer? post-prison spencer reid, spencer has a sister named caroline for the sake of the plot, spencer is a cheeky little shit, kissing, smut warnings: soft!dom spencer, titty sucking, fingering, cunnilingus, whimpering (spencer reid core), a lil dirty talk, riding, uses of ‘darling’ and ‘angel’, creampie— that should cover it!

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! so i was watching “The Holiday” the other night and it had me thinking: i could see this happening with Spencer Reid hehehe so here’s what my brain conjured up! it’s going to be following the plot of the movie but ofc things are gonna be a bit different! also, happy holidays and merry christmas! i hope y’all do like this hehe <3

It was snowing in D.C.. You’d never actually experienced snow before, considering you actually lived in L.A., where the sun was shining 24/7. It was a big leap from the weather in California, that was for sure.

But you didn’t mind. Mid-December, you expected the weather to be the way it was now, snowing and icy. And you pretty much liked it. You felt more at home out here than you did back in L.A.. And the more you thought about it, what did you really have back at home anyway?

You’d just broken up with your long-time boyfriend, who cheated on you with his assistant. And after verbally admitting to it and fighting with him about it, you’d kicked him out. (As you rightfully should). But after the interaction with him, you’d realized he was right about one thing. That one thing being that you always buried yourself in your work. And it’s not like it was easy not to get out of it, you were a writer, for God’s sake. You loved writing more than anything in the world, more than him. And he had an issue with that.

So, in spite of that, you’d decided that you needed a Christmas vacation. And you’d tried one of those home swap websites to find a place you could temporarily stay in for the holidays. And you’d found one belonging to a Caroline Reid.

You’d talked with her a little bit before deciding to agree to the home swap. You’d discovered she’d had a brother who also lived in D.C. and that he’d possibly pop in every now and again to see how things were going. Something about how he worked for the government and that he’d wanted to be sure that you were who you said you were and not some weird 40 year-old guy who stole underwear. You’d found out he was older and he was very protective of his sister and of course, you understood that. You almost wished you had a brother that was like that, but your apartment was in a gated community and it was pretty open. You’d also had an alarm system, knowing who was coming in and out of your community at all times.

So, you’d agree to the home swap for two weeks. Starting from the 16th of December to the 30th of December. The flight from L.A. to D.C. wasn’t long and you’d found the place alright.

A tiny cottage home that smelt of lavender and sea salt. The fireplace, looking as if it’s been used thoroughly, it’d felt oddly like home. Or at least a home you’d wanted growing up. You’d always been in L.A., never opting to go anywhere but home and this change was seemingly nice compared to your studio apartment in L.A., you suddenly felt bad for Caroline, having to leave such a beautiful home to gather at a studio apartment in L.A..

You’d taken a few days to get used to your surroundings, only leaving the cottage to go to the store and buy your snacks and sparkling cider for the night (since you hated wine). You only planned for night-in, watching whatever TV show was playing for the night. Eventually, you’d fallen asleep watching a re-run of The Nanny, cuddling up in a fetal position with the blanket you’d bought from home.

You were woken with a startle as you heard a banging on the door and you stood up quickly, looking around for anything in the room you could use as a weapon and opted for the giant book on the floor that could easily smack someone in the face and knock them unconscious if need be.

You walked down the stairs of the cottage and heard a voice outside followed by the banging. “Caroline? Caroline! Are you home?” The voice asked and you furrowed your brows and stupidly asked — “Who is it?” You dumbass! You’re not supposed to reveal that you’re home to the intruder! Unless that’s what the intruder wanted, you really need to stop listening to true crime podcasts.

“It’s me! Open the door!” The voice responded and you were beyond confused. “Hurry up! It's freezing.”

You hadn’t recognized the stranger’s voice and yet you continued to shoot yourself in the foot as you had asked again — “Who are you?”

“Caroline, open the door or I swear I'm gonna end up urinating all over your front porch—" You gasp, tossing the book on the couch and without even thinking, you open the door and in front of you is stood a tall man.

His chocolate brown hair pushed out from his neck, his stubble perfectly framed his face and his sharp jawline that looked like it could cut through glass. His perfectly plump, pink lips apart as he looks right at you, his hazel eyes gazing right at you in surprise. And all you can do is stare right back. He was dressed in a long black coat, black slacks and black loafers and a purple scarf around his neck to top it all off. He was kinda dressed as a professor now that you really looked at him, kinda looked like one too, the way he presented himself five seconds standing in the doorway.

And here you were, in patterned pajama bottoms, a white top and a grey cardigan, completely underdressed.

“Oh,” The man spoke. “You're not Caroline.” He turns towards you and crooks a small smile. “Or if you are, I'm much drunker than I realized. I'm so sorry. I-I wasn't expecting you.” His gaze never leaves your eyes as he backs away from the door for a moment.

“Well, I wasn't expecting you, either…” You trail off, not knowing what to call him. She’d probably settle for that attractive guy who used “urinating” instead of “taking a leak” on the front porch.

His eyes widen as he holds his hand out, “Oh, sorry! Uh, I’m… I’m Spencer Reid,” You take his hands going to shake his back. You can’t help but glance down at his hand, the veins on the back of it, making you gulp for a second. “Caroline’s brother.” He stated.

“Oh! Right!” You exclaim, totally forgetting that Caroline had informed you of her brother probably popping in every once in a while. She just didn’t happen to mention that he was hot! “I’m Y/n L/n, your sister informed me you’d be popping in sometimes.”

The man you now know as Spencer snaps his fingers and nods, “Yeah, forgive me, I’ve had a… bit too much to drink so it slipped my mind that she wouldn’t be here. My apologies. But do you mind if I… use the restroom?”

You flinch and back up so he can walk in the house, “Oh, of course! Come on in.” You probably shouldn’t have let him in. He could be a killer for all you know. It was something about him that just seemed… welcoming in a way.

He’d quickly gone into the bathroom downstairs and you’d spent a good minute fixing your hair to your liking so you could present yourself in a way. It wasn’t everyday a cute guy walked into your home (for the week at least), you wanted to at least look a little good.

“So, from what my sister has told me so far, she’s staying in L.A.?” He asks after he exits the bathroom and into the living room, where you find yourself doing anything but looking at him. “Yes, she’s staying at my studio apartment there. She, uh, listed this cottage on a home exchange website and I found it. We switched houses for two weeks for the holiday. So, I’m here and she’s… there.”

Spencer hums, “People actually do that?” You shrug in response, “Apparently.” Spencer looks at you and thinks to himself, “I just… I’m sorry, I told my sister that it could possibly be dangerous for her to do that and yet she’s just too stubborn. She’s like our mother in that way, it seems.” You nod at him, not knowing what to say to that.

There’s a brief silence before Spencer motions towards the couch. “I’m sorry, would you mind if I sat down? I, uh, was out tonight with my colleagues and I… I guess I’m feeling just a bit dizzy.” He tells.

“Oh, of course, go right ahead.” You tell and he plops on the couch and sits up, looking at you. “Also, again, I'm sorry about the intrusion. Although right now, I may not appear it, I am, in fact, Caroline’s respectable older brother. But on the rare — or I guess, lately not so rare — occasion that I frequent the O’Keefe’s and get inordinately drunk, my little sister puts up with me so I don't get behind the wheel.” He explains and you nod in understanding. “It’s a pathetic explanation, but, unfortunately, it's become a bit of a routine, really. I swear, I’m not usually like this but… yeah. Like I said, it slipped my mind that you’d be here instead of you, so… I’m sorry for ruining your night.”

You shake your head, crossing your arms. “Oh, no, you’re all good. I was just, uh, having my own little… girl’s night. I'm, um, not quite myself right now. I-I came here on a stupid whim, really.” Spencer nods at you as the silence fills the air once more.

“Oh, sorry, I’m a terrible host. Would you like something to drink? Glass of water? Tea? Sparkling cider, maybe?” You ask. “Uh, sure.” He nods and you nod back at him, going to the pantry to grab two glasses and fill the cups up with sparkling cider.

You walk back into the living room and hand him his cup, your pointer finger connecting to his for a split moment. “So, Y/n, is it?” He asks and you nod, “Yes, that’s me.”

He mumbled your name under his breath, seemingly like the way he said it. And you did, too. “So, Y/n, I assume you’re not married?” He asks and you furrow your brows — “Why? Do I look not married?” You chuckle awkwardly, wondering where this was going.

“No, it’s just…” He sits up more as he takes a sip of the sparkling cider. “I don’t know if my sister told you but I’m a profiler for the FBI and that means that I study human behavior and one thing I noticed about yours is that you seem to carry yourself pretty well so far. Your body language tensed and you got defensive when I assumed you weren’t married so I assume that’s a factor into your relationships and you don’t trust people often. But you let me in when I could’ve been a total stranger that’s lying to you, so I may be off my A-game here. It may also be the fact that your pupils dilated when you looked at me and you’re curling in on yourself, meaning you may find me attractive.” Your cheeks heat up and your eyes widen at that. Damn, he was good. “And that’s totally okay, I don’t know what you may see in me, but I’m flattered. And you’re also not wearing a wedding ring, but… by the fact that you said you’re not quite yourself at the moment and that you cowered and looked away for a second when you said that, I’m also assuming that you just got out of a relationship. Am I correct?”

You simply blink, completely dumbfounded at his whole “profiler” thing. You can’t help but stare and clear your throat and he can tell you’re uncomfortable with it. He shakes his head and shuts his eyes as if he’s in pain. But mostly he’s cringing because of what he said. “I’m sorry, I… I do this a lot. I just… ramble and ramble and ramble. I’m trying to be better at it, honest.”

You shake your head and shrug, “No, it’s okay.” You look at him. “You’re actually very spot on. Uh, I just broke up with someone. Before I left.” He nods at this. “He… cheated and well, my guard is back up. I came here to maybe… I don’t know, get a change of scenery for once? But now I’m realizing that I actually have no idea what I’m doing and well, I guess I just… feel alone in a way.” You realize you’ve just rambled about yourself and shake your head as he gawks at you and you chuckle it off, “Bet you're glad you knocked on this door.”

Spencer looks up at you, not laughing along with you but instead speaking softly, “I am, actually.” The way he said it made it seem like he actually meant it. You stare at him before looking down at your hands, playing with the loose thread on the ends of your cardigan.

“So,” Spencer spoke again. “Would it be alright if I stay? I'll be gone before you even wake up. I promise you will never lay eyes on me again. It might suck for you now that I think about it, considering you find me attractive.” He told and the heat rushes to your cheeks again.

“Okay, one: I do not find you attractive—” He interrupts you. “Funny how I brought it up before you didn’t deny this.”

“And two,” You continue. “It’s okay if you stay. I actually prefer it now that I know you’re not someone who wants to murder me.” Spencer nods at you, “Technically, you’re more likely to be murdered by someone you know so considering you’re not home at the moment, you’re safe.” He tightens his lips as he looks up at you.

You narrow your eyes at the man and study him, “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a strange man?” Spencer thinks about it for a moment, “A lot, actually, yeah.” You purse your lips in a smile and catch yourself gazing at his hands again as he places the glass cup back on the table.

“Uh, let me get you a blanket.” You offer and suddenly you feel like an idiot because you don’t even know where the extra blankets are. And judging by your face, Reid can tell you don’t know where they are either. “Oh, uh, in the cupboard on the left.” He tells and you nod at him, going towards the cupboard you see surely enough on the left and of course, there are blankets inside. He’s probably been there often to know where the blankets are. Of course, he does, he’s Caroline’s hot older brother.

You walk back in the living room and see that he’s standing and he’s holding his hand out to grab the blanket from you. Somehow, you must’ve lost your footing because you ended up tripping over the carpet and into Spencer’s arms. “Here you go— whoa!”

You were lucky that he acted quick, otherwise you would’ve landed on your face but instead you landed on the plush of his chest. “Whoa! You okay?” He asks softly and you look up at him, considering he’s way taller than you. He gazed into your eyes and you his and you could see up closer that his eyes had a little green in them.

The way he held you in his arms for a moment, like you would break if he gripped your arms harder. You weren’t sure if you ever wanted to escape from his grasp. And without even thinking, he leaned closer and pecked your lips. The kiss was soft, simple, like he almost didn’t mean to do it.

Spencer closed his eyes as he winced, realizing that he shouldn’t have done that — but God, you wanted him to do that again. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Uh, good night.”

He begins to slug back to the couch but you grab him by his bicep. He may look a little lanky but his bicep is strong and firm. What you would do to get him to hold you in his arms and just— whoa. Don’t get there, brain.

You suddenly find yourself speaking and chuckling awkwardly as you loosen your grip on his arm a bit. “Do you think you could...” You close your eyes and correct yourself. “Would you mind, um, trying that again?”

Without another word, Spencer tries again and this time, he lingers and the kiss spurs off fireworks in your head. He pulls away and all you want to do is dig your fingers in his messy mane and never let your lips leaves his until it becomes a chore to breathe.

But you frown for a moment and find yourself pondering. What the hell are you doing? Spencer seems to notice this and tilts his head to meet your eyes.

“Bad?” He asks. “Weird.” You correct and chuckle to yourself once more, “Kissing a total stranger.”

“Really?” Spencer asks. “I do it all the time.” You look at him. Of course he’s experienced in this. I mean, look at him!

“Here, let me try.” You take a deep breath and kiss his lips and halfway through the kiss, you realize your eyes are open the entire time. It’s probably because of the fact that you didn’t want to miss a second of it. And honestly, who could blame you?

Spencer backs away after the kiss and you scrunch your eyebrows together as you realize that was kind of an awkward kiss. “Maybe if I closed my eyes.” You say and Spencer nods, “That’d probably be best.”

You do so, close your eyes that is and Spencer looks over your features and decides to try something himself. Carefully, he places his oddly cold hands around your cheeks and leans in, ghosting his lips over yours as he breathes into your face and you feel his lips kiss your cheek and the area near your nose and suddenly, you feel warmth way below as he finally kisses you on the lips.

His cold hands contrasted with your warm cheeks and you feel shaken with pleasure and you look deep into his eyes once you open yours and he already watching you.

“You know, given that I'm in a bit of a personal crisis and I find myself in a total stranger's home and also considering that you showed up and you're, like, insanely good-looking and you probably remember me anyway, I'm thinking… we should have sex.” You offer and his eyes widen at your forwardness.

You’re not usually like this. You’re never this forward and you’d never suggest this to a total stranger but there was something he inhabited that you just found sexy. And you wouldn’t care of the consequences and you didn’t really know him so you didn’t need to date him to secure your needs, you just needed a release from the stress you’d been under the past few days. Dealing with publishers for your newest book, scheduling interviews among interviews, the whole thing that happened with your now ex-boyfriend. This could be good and it’s not like you’re entirely desperate. All you really need is something.

“If-If you want,” You clarify, hoping to God you didn’t just freak this man out into not staying at his sister’s place for the night. “Just say the word, I can go lock myself back up in my room for the night and we can pretend this never happened.”

Spencer chuckles to himself and he looks at you as he quirks an eyebrow upwards, “Is that a trick question?” He asks. But you look at him, dead in the face and he can already tell you’re being serious about this.

“No, I'm being honest. And not that this matters, but I've never said anything like that in my entire life before.” You tell. “It's just that this whole knowing that I'll never see you again thing is kind of exciting. I mean, this is what a vacation's supposed to be, right? You're supposed to vacate your life, do the unexpected, and you are definitely unexpected.”

Spencer smiles a bit as he shakes his head, “You’re making me feel cheap here.” He said and you laugh along with him once you realize he found it funny. You pull a strand of hair behind your ear as you add on, “You're funny, which is also like a bonus. In my book.”

Spencer leans forward, wanting to kiss you once more but you push on his chest a bit as you add, “Are you sure you’re going to be stable enough for this? I know you said you’d had a couple of drinks tonight.” Spencer smiles a bit, admiring your chivalry and not wanting to take advantage of him when all he wants to do is take advantage of you. He also finds it sweet, not wanting to do it when he’s vulnerable but he’d only had two drinks tonight and well, he can be a lightweight sometimes.

“Trust me, angel, I sobered up as soon as I saw you.” He spoke and your heart skipped a beat when you heard him say ‘angel’. Your cheeks are probably heating up again.

You smile and he leans in, kissing you once more. But you push him away once more and start talking once more. “Oh, also, I should warn you.” He looks at you in wonderment. “I’m… I'm not very good at this.”

He furrows his brows as he asks, “This being?” You look at him and blurt out — “Sex.”

Spencer scoffs as he looks at you up and down. “Okay, now that cannot be true. Who told you that?” He asks.

“The guy that I was dating, uh, mentioned it once or twice and a girl does not forget a comment like that.” Spencer leans forward to kiss you again, possibly just to shut you up but it really doesn’t work because you back away and continue, “I mean, how bad could I be? I mean, sex is pretty basic, right?” You look his way and scrunch your nose together, “Have I talked you out of this yet?”

He shakes his head endearingly and gazes at you. He must think you’re a mess, that he couldn’t possibly sleep with you because you were just “too much”. You’d been told that your whole life. But internally, he finds it oddly assuring that he’s not the only rambler here. He actually kind of like it. It’s not something he’s used to from someone else, mostly because he’s always the rambler.

“Strangely, not at all,” Spencer answers and then looks down for a moment. “Let me ask you this,” He licks his lips. “How do you feel about foreplay?”

Your heart stops and suddenly you’re looking anywhere but him now and you shake your head, “Uh…” You don’t really know how to respond to that.

His eyes widen, “Have you… not—?” You shrug, “I have, it’s just…” You pause. “It wasn’t great. The guy I was with… he didn’t like doing it and well, I’ve spared myself from dealing with that because most guys don’t know what the hell they’re doing down there half the time so… I guess I just… haven’t done it.”

Spencer’s lips part and he’s shocked at the discovery. He’s in complete shock of the fact that you’ve never really done it with a guy that knew what he was doing. It was completely baffling to him. Who wouldn’t want to? You were gorgeous and from what he gathered in the short time, you were also amazing. And by the way you made yourself feel small, somebody else did that to you. And his heart broke for you.

“That guy that you were with?” Spencer began. “I think he’s a real loser because a real man would like that.” You find your cheeks heating up again. “Y/n, you are quickly becoming one of the most interesting girls I've ever met.”

You smirk as you finalize your decision and stand up, sultry walking towards the stairs and looking back at him and find that his gaze has gone towards your ass. “Look at you,” He smirks, a mischievous glint in his eye as he narrows his orbs at you. “You're already better than you think.”

With that, he stands, following you to your room and as soon as you close the door, he’s on you. His lips capture yours and you moan as his hand makes its’ way down your stomach and then in between your thighs.

You whimper in his mouth as he sticks his hand in your pajama bottoms and through the waistband of your underwear as he rubs the point where you need him the most. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you staring at my hands earlier.” He says into your neck and your eyes roll to back of your head.

“Spencer…” You moan into the air and his lips are all over your neck as he then picks you up and lays you down gently on the bed, like you were fragile and needed to be handled with care.

His lips travel from your neck to your chest as he opens up your cardigan and reveals your breasts covered by your top. His eyes nearly pop out of his head when he realizes that you’re not wearing a bra. He pulls your top down and exposes your boobs — to which he fondles one of them and begins to suck on your nipple. His hand travels farther as he sticks a finger inside your hole as you gasp out — “Oh, my God!”

The stimulation, plus the fact that he’s sucking on your boob right now makes you want to cum. “I want you to cum like this for me, please.” You’d do anything for him so you will your body to give in and to release.

You feel your core throb as you came hard around his fingers and whine as he pulls his fingers out. He sucks on your juice off his slender fingers and you stare at him, like he’s an angel of sorts. He is an angel. And how you wish he could be your angel.

“You okay, sweet girl?” He asks softly and all you can do is nod at him. “We can stop here if you want to.” You shake your head, pulling him by his crooked tie and say — “Oh, darling, we are just getting started.”

With a smile, he kisses you once more and you both begin to take off each other’s clothes. You help him take off his dress shirt and slacks as he helps you out of your cardigan, top and pajama bottoms. Suddenly, you’re both naked in the bed and he turns his gaze down to your dripping pussy.

He looks at you with lust-filled eyes and asks, “May I?” You just nod but that’s not enough for him. “I need words.” You nod again but this time you add a meek — “Yes.”

He smiles as he gazes down. “I’m gonna take good care of you, sweet girl.” You watch as he slowly goes down and his hot breath fans over your pussy lips before he dives in for a kitten lick. You shudder and he quickly notices this with a sly chuckle, “You’re shaking. And I’ve hardly touched you.”

You moan, not wanting him to draw this out any longer than you want him to and he smiles, he could tell you want this. He could tell you need this. And goddamn it, he’s gonna prove to you that you’ve gone too far without this and you’re not going to keep going long without it so long as he could help it.

His mouth wraps around your clit, drawing figure-8s with your tongue and suck as he does so. You find yourself gripping the sheets hard as he continues to go down on you. “Fuck,” You deliciously mutters into your pussy. “You’re so sweet,” He drawls. “Your ex is a fucking loser if he thinks that this is a waste of time because darling, you are exquisite.”

You feel every moan into your pussy he’s making as you look down at the sight and your eyes connect to his and all of a sudden, you’re cumming once more. You shake in his hold as you close your eyes in pleasure as he stays in your sweet nectar until you’re done.

He looks up at you, as if he’s mesmerized by the sight itself of you releasing. You look back down at him and see his eyes, still blown with lust and reach down to run your fingers through his hair. By the doozy look in your eyes, he can tell you really enjoyed that. “Did I do okay?” He asks with a small smile and you chuckle as you look towards the ceiling. “That was…” You take a sharp breath. “Wow.”

Spencer laughs a bit as he climbs up your body and leans over you. “There’s plenty more where that came from.” And that’s when you turn your body around so that you’re over him now. “Oh, trust me. There is.”

You maintain eye contact with Spencer pump a few strokes on his cock before settling his head towards your entrance. “And you’re still okay with this?” You ask, a whiny tone sheltering your voice and Spencer swears he might cum on the spot just with you doing that. “Oh, I’m very okay with it.”

“Yeah?” You look down but only for a moment to guide himself into you and you rest your hands on his shoulders as you sink down into him. He throws his head back in pleasure as you finally feel all of him and you feel so full.

His cock throbs in your wet pussy and he gasps out — “Oh, you feel so fucking… perfect, angel.” You bite your lip to hold back your moans as you begin to move yourself up and down on him, rocking your hips to you liking and his hands rest on your thighs, gripping them tightly, holding you up against him.

“How do you feel, angel?”

“So f-full.”

“That ex-boyfriend wouldn’t know what to do with a perfect pussy like yours.”

His forwardness made your eyes roll to the back of your head as he began to thrust hard into you with his cock.

“Where do you want it, angel?” He grunts and you know that it’d be too intimate, to have him mark you, claim your body, paint your insides with his cum but you’d been so far gone, you basically begged him to cum — “In-Inside.”

“Oh, you want it inside?” Spencer asks and you nod, biting your lip hard. “You want me to breed you? To claim you? Because I will.” His words send you over the edge as you work yourself on his cock even harder. “Cum for me, darling. Please.” A whine escapes his lips and you finally feel a coil snap inside of you as you cum for the third time tonight on his cock.

You feel a warmth inside as he paints your insides and you collapse again his body as you both pant. He feels your hot breath on his neck as he holds you close to him, his hand sprawled out on your back as he rubs your flesh, as if he’s somehow calming you down from your high.

Your eyes are closed but you feel as Spencer carefully pulls out of you (and he watches as his cum drips from your pussy and he’s mesmerized by the sight of it) and sets you down next to him, holding you to his chest and keeping you there. You feel his heart rate beginning to slow as you rest your head on his chest.

“Wow,” You start. “That was…” You take a deep breath. “Exciting.”

Spencer looks down at you and he furrows his brows, “I gave you three orgasms and that was just… exciting?” You can hear the smirk in his voice and you look up at him, “Okay, it was…” You ponder on a word. “Spectacular… hot… sexy.”

“Spec-hot-exy,” You form a word. “Is that good enough for you?” He shakes his head at you as he chuckles. “Are you okay?” He asks and you nod, “Yeah, I’m perfect.”

“Okay,” He says, sitting up. “Don’t get too comfortable because you do need to pee and we do need to clean you up. I just had sex in my sister’s bed and I know she’s gonna kill me for it.” He helps you up, steadying you as he walks you towards the bathroom and cleans you up.

And as he does so, you stare. And you just keep staring because even though this was a one-night thing, you can’t help but wonder what it may be like to actually be with him. Would he still be this gentle? Would he still be this caring? Because this would be enough to make a girl fall in love. And if Cupid heard your thoughts, he’d shoot another arrow just to make you even more head over heels than you are now. But you shouldn’t be thinking what you’re thinking, not at all. You just broke up with someone for Christ’s sake. But it didn’t mean you couldn’t have a little fun while you were still in D.C..

After the holidays, you could go about your life, forgetting who this man was and just remembering him as the guy that just appeared at your doorstep and wowed you into sleeping with him. You were never gonna see him again, why not have a little fun while you were here?

You weren’t sure if this would end with anyone getting hurt, but all you knew is that you’d take advantage of the time you’d have, here and now.

[2crtz]

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ THE FALL INTO HIS HEART .

WARNINGS: light nsfw thoughts, brushing of the hand (wink), arranged marriage, haters to slightly friendly strangers. this is mainly fluff. CHARACTERS: capitano x f!readers SYNOPSIS: the tsaritsa ordered capitano to take your hand in marriage despite his better judgement. one day in the garden ignited a new version of you, and capitano found himself at the window, watching you look serene under the sunlight.  WORD COUNT: 1.439 A/N: this is my first post on this account and hope i don't disappoint. i love capitano and i want to write more of him (…and other genshin men). part two is out!

Capitano never agreed to an arranged marriage, however, whatever the Tsaritsa orders him, he obliges without protest. 

His first glance into your eyes ignited flames within his veins. If a look could kill, you would have fallen dead at his feet. You never agreed to this predicament, but you could not refuse your parents' wishes no matter how you deny.

The wedding was not one to write down. For the guests, yes, it was a magical day, but when it was time to finally retire in your new home, there was a cold, distant silence between you and your new husband. 

Since meeting Capitano, not a word had been said between the two of you. A foreboding feeling captured your senses, worried about if you had to preform that night, but Capitano did not make the impression he was interested in consummating the marriage.

He ended the night by not sharing another gaze and left to his separate chambers.  

You could finally breathe freely for the first time that day.

────

A month has passed of being married and there has been no improvement in your relationship. Most days are silent, while others, only a few words were spoken.

When Capitano does speak, a trace of malice taints his tone, you found yourself scared. 

Hearing his footsteps approach you made your blood run cold, the armor clanking causing you to flinch, and his low, stoic tone has you frozen in place. He has never given you a reason to hate him, but he shows himself as a person who shouldn't be trifled with.

The tales you've heard about the Harbinger could stir fear in anyone who have dared their ears to know the horrors he's caused. 

This marriage was a forced one, and one you wished was a nightmare you longed to free yourself from. 

Maybe, one day, you will wake up.

────

Capitano's office sat in the far end of the manor, away from your chambers. In there placed a grand window overlooking the green, lush gardens where he could look out at when the orders of the Tsaritsa are irritating.

Today was one of those days.

The towering man stood before the window, his gaze sweeping over the vibrant blooms and the sunlit waters shimmering like liquid gold. Yet today, the scene held a view, poised within the landscape of his vision, an unfamiliar change in the shades of green, one that belonged to you.

Stood there, in the purest shades of white, a gown that fitted loosely on your frame, looking breathtakingly serene.

Unaware of his eyes, standing there with not a care in the world, not knowing anyone is watching, you were unapologetically being you.

Capitano's head screamed to look away, to leave you be, but his eyes betrayed him. They were glued onto the image. It's like a reenactment of a live painting in front of him.

You were like a jewel, unearthed from beneath the surface that sparkled from the hitting sun for the first time. A sight he thought he could never experience in his lifetime. 

Watching you was a sight that Capitano continued to watch even after telling himself that he should stop, but he needed it. It was like a shot of heroin. He craved for you, watching you, seeing you in a light he never thought he would.

It's been weeks and he had yet to stop, and didn't plan to. Even if he didn't mutter a word to you for weeks, the silence was overshadowed by this new habit. A new secret was curated within weeks.

A secret of watching his wife.

He had never set foot onto the garden-- until now.

As he watched your movements, he noticed an odd limp in your steps. Making a mental note of it, he heard a thump followed by a wail. 

His spine straightened.

You were nowhere in sight.

Capitano's eyes moved rapidly across the garden to find you, his pulse quickening by the second, but he couldn't. He stepped out of his office and walked purposefully towards the garden.

His movements were sharp, yet his thoughts raced despite his better judgement. Capitano swiftly moved through the hedges, his sword cutting through the thick bushes. The ground beneath his feet was soft, littered with stones that could cause a limp from walking of them barefoot. It could be easy to trip over one, and once realizing that, Capitano's search became more frantic.

He first heard a soft whine followed by feet coming into view. 

"Gods--" He muttered as he came by your side, inspecting your condition.

"I think--" You swallowed between words from the pain shooting from your foot. "my ankle."

Capitano's eyes lowered to your swollen ankle, his brows furrowing with concern. Slowly, he bent down onto his knees beside you, his hand gently grabbed your foot.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice unexpectedly light. There was no hatred or spite, only a voice that you could relax in. It was unfamiliar, but comforting.

The touch was soft, and his demeanor grew tender. It was the first time you saw this side of him he tried to conceal. Even through your teary eyes and blurred vision, you saw the part of him he tried to keep hidden.

Your ankle was swollen and most likely sprained. Even from his light touch, you winced from the pain.

"I-I'm fine, I swear." you murmured, trying to not burden him more than you've already have, but he quickly dismissed it.

Capitano looped his arm under your knees and gathered you in his arms with ease.

"My wife is injured, and as your husband, it is my duty to be by your side. In sickness and in health."

The way he said it was like he was just repeating the vows he made, but to you, it was reassurance. This was his way of telling you that no matter the hardships or trials in your marriage, he remains by your side.

"Thank you." you whispered.

He only nodded and carried you off to your chambers.

────

Your husband carefully wrapped your ankle and elevated it to ease the swelling.

"You are not allowed to move from this bed unless told to. Should you need assistance, ring this bell and I will come." He held up the brass bell before placing it on your bedside table, softly clinking as it settled into place.

As he turned to exit your room, you quickly grabbed the bell and rang it.

Almost instantly, Capitano turned around.

"My dress is stained with dirt." your tone was low and quiet, laced with embarrassment that you were not capable of walking over to your dresser to collect fresh new clothes.

Understanding your unspoken request, Capitano walked towards your drawers and opened each one to find your nightgowns.

"Second to last drawer." Seeing him rummage through the articles of clothing was slightly humorous to you, it tugged the corner of your lips.

Following your instructions, he finally found a gown he liked and walked to you. "Will this do?" he asked, tone still low and even.

You nodded, reaching out to grab it, your fingers brushing his.

"Do you require any assistance with clothing yourself?" Even though it was an innocent question, your face began to heat up. Unbeknownst to Capitano, you didn't wear any undergarments beneath a nightgown.

If he pulled your dress up slightly, you would become vulnerable. From that thought alone, of your husband seeing you nude, caused your nipples to harden.

Capitano's gaze lowered slightly to see harden peaks appear through the thin fabric. Thankfully, his helmet hid his eyes.

"No," You quickly shielded your chest. "I can manage."

Like clockwork, Capitano nodded and exited your chambers without sparing another word.

As Capitano entered his office, he could finally breathe properly. After the scene he had witnessed, it became difficult for him to get air in his lungs.

Your breasts were on the forefront of his mind. The stiffened nubs were begging for his touch, taunting him that it'll be something he could only do in his wildest dreams.

The frustration ate him alive. If he could, he would go back into your room and show you what more he can do for you.

Hot and moist air filling the room, slapping noises, your moaning and pleads hitting his ears, he would do anything to sink himself deep inside your folds.

With those thoughts flooding his mind, he felt ashamed that he was taking advantage of you in his head. It was an absurd fantasy that he knows will never happen.

Only in his dreams.

do not modify, edit, or republish.

[https-murdock]

3:12pm - matt murdock

summary - Matt is always listening, even when he’s meant to be working.

word count - 1.3k

warnings - MDNI 18+ - phone sex, dirty talk, use of good girl and having rules in the bedroom, female masturbation, please tell me if i forget anything!

note - first time writing phone sex eeee, sorry if it’s shitty :) love u all (credits to og pic poster)

— — —

Matt listens - that’s obvious in many ways, but mostly in the way he can tell exactly what you mean, what you feel, just by the tone of your voice.

The way your voice heightens, pulls at the strings of his heart every time you laugh - like the most beautiful song he has ever heard. Often, he hears the way you drawl, drag the words out when you tell him how much you love him - he even hears it in the way you say it too quickly before you leave for work in the morning.

But the thing Matt loves most in this world - was listening to the change in your vocal chords as you fell apart beneath him. The way you became breathy, almost drunk on his touch, and he could always hear it in the way you begged for more of him.

Not being able to see you sometimes bothered him - but he got his fill from hearing you, hearing every change, movement and lift in your voice wherever you were - because, as you know, Matt listens. It didn’t matter where you were, what you were doing, Matt knew about it - to make sure you were safe, of course.

That’s why he was looking for your contact in his phone as soon as he heard your breathing, the way you whimpered - he knew exactly what was going on: you were touching yourself, and there was no way in his God’s hell he was letting this happen without him at least having a part in it.

After all, what good was having superhuman hearing if he didn’t put it to good use?

It was 3:12pm, and unfortunately for him - and you - Matt, Foggy and Karen were all swamped with cases, files strewn everywhere there was no way he could get off early, not matter how much he was so desperately craving to fuck you into the matress as stress relief. So, instead he chose the next best option - calling you while he finally had a few minutes to himself in his office.

“Hey, baby.” You answer, and it just confirms his suspicions when your voice comes through the speaker light, breathy - exactly how it was when he had you falling apart. “Sweetheart, what are you doing?” he asks, skipping past the beginning of a conversation in search of the truth.

“I-i’m-“ you stutter, a little giggle leaving your throat before you hear him start again.

“What did I say, sweetheart?” He starts, and he knows exactly what the answer will be before you even say it, so he doesnt let you respond before he carries on, “you think i can’t hear you getting yourself off without me?”

As your heart starts picking up speed, you realise he has been listening this whole time; he has been listening to the way your fingers glide through your slick, already sensitive to touch at the thought of him being home in a few hours - could you have waited for him to get home? Sure, but did you have the patience? No, you didn’t. 

“I’m sorry, Matt, i just couldn’t wait for you-” As you start to explain, you can hear the way he sighs in his disappointment.

“Lay back down, if you're not gonna wait till I get home sweetheart, I'll just get you off now, is that what you want?” Matt grunts down the phone, feeling the way his suit pants are tightening just at the mere thought of your moans being for him even when he isn’t there. “No, no please baby i’ll wait till your home, i need you.” You bed, and the lift in your voice tells Matt how desperate you really are, realising he won’t touch you tonight after the way you’ve acted. 

There wasn’t many rules you need to abide by to stay in Matt’s good books, but there were a few - do as you’re told, beggars can’t be choosers, and - obviously - no touching yourself unless he allows it. 

“You chose to try to make yourself cum without me, accept the consequences. Use your fingers sweetheart, let me hear you.” He instructs, and the seriousness in his voice sends a rush of warmth right to your core as you lay your head back into the pillows.

Listening and obeying his rules, you let your hand dance its way back down to where it was before. Whimpering when you feel yourself clench around your middle and ring fingers, you can hear the immediate effect you’re having on Matt - he’s enjoying this more than he cares to admit. You put the phone on speaker and carry it down to where he’ll be able to hear the obscene sounds of the way your wetness leaks from you with each thrust of your fingers, and there becomes so much more as soon as you hear him grunt, “Fuck.” 

Your fingers find a rhythm, curling gently but firmly inside your walls, your whole body screaming out just for Matt’s touch. Nothing could ever feel the way he does.

“Good girl, you like the way that feels? Feels better than when i touch you?” He asks, and you mumble something like, “N-no, wish it was you.”

“Mmm, would’ve been me if you’d have been a good girl for me. Would’ve been buried so deep inside you, fucking you like a good girl deserves.” He starts to palm himself gently under the desk, craving to feel some form of release.

“Being so good for me now, listening so well.” He approves, and the gravel in his voice sends a shiver right down to your toes, the way it does when you hear him whispering in your ear how much of a good girl you are for him.

“M’sorry, wanna come so bad.” you plead, and your voice trails like some form of whine - somehow even wetter than normal knowing he was listening to you moan his name, in his bed, all the way from his office. “Rub your clit for me sweetheart, but you can’t come yet, not till i say so.” Matt tells you, and he’s stern still, not letting up on the frustration you’ve caused him.

You do as you’re told, rubbing tight circles and listening to the slick sounds from between your thighs - Matt’s deep voice on speaker phone on your chest, one hand knuckle deep the other furiously trying not to bring you to release without him allowing it. You think about begging him for a second, knowing it’ll get him off even more than you are right now - but you want to save him for when he’s home, save all his tension for when he walks through the door and spends the night taking you in every place in his apartment.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” he’s whispering to himself, and you can feel the way your lower abdomen tenses at his words, orgasm building strongly across your body.

“I-fuck, baby i’m gonna-“ you gasp, and Matt can tell by the sound of your raspy breathing and the way your blood rushes around your body that you’re trying to hold back, but you’re right at the edge. “go ahead, honey, come for me.” he grants your exact wish, and the moment you let yourself tumble is when Matt decides he’s leaving early - no matter what Foggy and Karen have to say.

Your head hits the pillow behind you as everything takes over, fingers working yourself through your high as you can slightly hear Matt grunting through the speaker on your chest. Vision showing spots of white, your muscles tense as you wonder if you’ve finally entered heaven.

“Not sure if you can hear me still, but i’ll be home in 5.” Matt tells you, hanging up the phone immediately but still listening from his office to the way you try to control your breathing.

Matt knows the second he gets home, his night is about to be a long one - and not because of the mountain of work he has.

— tags <3 —

@lambmurdock @parker-murdock @silas-aeiou @audreyclimbs @pupmurdock @millennial-birkin @poeticbookwormcat

[pickinglilahs]

Okay, let's unpack this response here

TL;DR: 'weak and surface' level is exactly how I would describe prevs "obliteration". I'm not convinced THEY read the books. Or maybe they're just another TERF, considering that's how it reads. I completely disagree with Harry naming his kid after Snape. The ONLY explanation I can think for it is that JKR has no idea what love is (which is also cannon, as far as I'm concerned)

First: idk what book this person read, but Snape's obsession with Lily was creepy to the extreme. That their friendship started by him all but stalking her and Petunia should have been red flag #1. I mean, sure, he was a traumatized kid without friends, but that doesn't absolve him of his continued obsession. He literally stood outside the Gryffindor common room, refusing to leave, until she came out to talk.

And yeah, he did switch sides out of guilt. But he canonically didn't give a damn about Harry. If he was actually trying to protect the kid, he would have done more than bully and abuse (occlumency lessons anyone?) the kid. Teaching at Hogwarts was never about redemption. It was about staying out of Azkaban. (And Dumbledore's manipulation, but he's a whole 'nother can of worms)

Second: the books actually say that Snape was 'up to his nose in the dark arts'. He was an active participant. He didn't just 'hang out' with to-be-DE, he WAS one. He joined up of his own free will. He became Voldemort's RIGHT HAND. He didn't regret calling someone a mudbl***. He regretted that it was Lily.

And Snape CANONICALLY attacked the marauders just as much as they went after him. Just because they went after him first in that ONE memory, doesn't mean he didn't instigate too.

And let's talk about the werewolf incident for a minute because i am sick and tired of Snape Apologists using this as an excuse. That was NOT planned. That was a lapse of judgement on Sirius' part alone (yeah, fucked to hell and he is fully responsible for that). At the same time though, NO ONE MADE HIM GO. Snape was given a vague instruction and he was so focused on 'getting back' at the marauders that he put HIMSELF in danger. That is just as much on him as it is on Sirius.

Then the sexual assault? This is another common thing I see and it took me forever to figure out what it was even referring to. The pantsing? You cannot tell me he was the only one that happened to. If the levitating spell was really as popular as it's stated, this incident wasn't special. I'm willing to bet Snape did it to others too.

Third: Lupin not taking the wolfsbane. Yes, serious lapse in judgement. He also just saw Peter and Sirius on the map. The argument of it being criminal and a ticking time bomb is honestly werewolf prejudice and exactly why Remus has such a hard time finding a job in the first place. Way to go. You've discovered discrimination.

Fourth: Get McGonagall's name out of your fucking mouth. She is CANONICALLY shown NOT showing prejudice and treating EVERYONE by the same standards. And, did you forget that 'Moody' here was actually a death eater in disguise? No duh he's using cruel and unusual punishments??? Full of abusive teachers my ass.

Fifth: What do you mean the kids weren't scared for life? I do believe those CHILDREN will carry that trauma with them for the rest of their lives. Saying that it didn't break them is cruel and completely dismisses the VERY REAL pain and suffering that they went through. They are real heroes because they OVERCAME their trials. Not all of us out here in the real world are so lucky.

Lastly: yes, comparing CHILDREN who DID see the error of their ways to an ADULT who had to be CONNED into doing the right thing is laughable.

And saying Regulus accomplished nothing? Disgraceful. Of course it took a catalyst for him to change his ways thats how redemption arcs work.

If you made it this far, I hope you have a good day. Believe whatever you want, obvy I'm not going to change anyone's opinion. You can't MAKE a person understand. Still, it's nice to rant and remind myself how nice it is that I live in my own little corner of the fandom where I don't have to see this bullshit on my dash

okay, hold my drink *hands u cursed ancient goblet full of mead* i gotta talk my shit for a second.

ive been seeing a lot of severus snape love recently. and this is fine, obviously, y'all can love whomever you want. but. i need to rant or i will explode. if we're talking about canon. severus snape spends his adult years, seven books of it in fact, abusing children. and his excuse for this is the girl he loved (tho not enough not to join a group actively trying to exterminate her) fell for the hot jock instead of him (a tragedy indeed, i weep 4 him, i really do). and also she died, which, admittedly is very sad.

it is simply crazy 2 me 2 look at that and think *romance* or *genuine care and affection*. LIKE. fo real. snape calls her a slur in public, apologizes in private, hangs out with dudes who commit hate crimes against her friends (CANONICALLY, she says "you've been hanging out with that douchebag Mulciber, how could you do that after what he did to Mary???" this is not a direct quote but like, it's close enough). lame. loser behaviour.

"Oh but what about regulus" i can hear you say "he loves James potter but snape doesn't love lily???" well. idk. maybe. bit different tho, innit? due to james not being the demographic regulus is attacking (which doesn't make regulus a better person but does make the dynamic between him and james different). ALSO. Regulus chooses to turn against voldemort without hope for anything in return. snape doesn't seem to give a shit about voldemort, he's just sad he's not gonna get to bang lily evans. he switches sides for that reason alone. also doesn't care about what happens to her husband or her son which like. considering lily would be pretty fucking destroyed if they died. once again points to my whole, he doesn't really give a shit about her, theory. lame. loser. behaviour.

also. im sorry. I"M SORRY. but what snape does to neville? to hermione? to harry? gross. a grown ass man out here telling an eleven year old neville he's worthless or hermione she's ugly and annoying. or spilling harry's potion and refusing to grade him for it???????????????

reg and draco are children when we see them at peak suckage and therefore they feel like they can be redeemed much more compellingly (CAN be, not SHOULD be, not HAVE to be, just narratively i think they are easier to turn into interesting, sympathetic characters). but snape? snape grows up into a garbage adult. like he doesn't get better. and again, the only real excuse we're given is his obsession with lily. not very demure. not very cutesy.

ALSO. yall remember that time he got a destitute, struggling Remus Lupin fired from the best job he ever had just because he felt like it? remember that time snape weaponized Remus's lycanthropy and people's prejudice against him just cause. like. literally just cause??? his ego was bruised after the shrieking shack incident so he was like "get wrecked Lupin I'm going to tell everyone your secret so you will be forced back out onto the streets" DO YALL REMEMBER THAT BITCH ASS MOVE????????? THAT HE DID AS A FULL ADULT.

IN CONCLUSION, this is silly and, of course, like i said at the start, everyone can have their own thoughts and feelings about characters, but i simply needed to interject here on behalf of snape haters everywhere because i feel like so much of snape's shitty behaviour as an adult during a time when he was really under no duress and was very safe and cozy, is ignored. and my hater heart just cannot let that stand.