#but from those hours and hours of initial bonding | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mrsfancyferrari · 6 months ago

Text

Need Saving

Summary: You are the first woman to be racing in Formula 1 and you and Max are already best friends. To Jos' dismay.

Song: Me and Your Mama by Childish Gambino

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 Author’s note: CW: sexist comments, domestic violence (not from Max). I'm still salty about Daniel Ricciardo's exit to Formula 1 so I decided to add him a little here. THIS WILL BE A SERIES AND THANK YOU FOR THE 500 FOLLOWERS! Please like, reblog and share this! <3 ALSO IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!

Word count: 10.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

You are making history as the first woman to compete in Formula 1 with the Red Bull team, stepping in for Sergio Perez.

This groundbreaking achievement not only highlights your talent but also paves the way for future generations of female racers in a sport traditionally dominated by men.

Your personality shines through with a warm and friendly demeanor that makes you incredibly approachable. Colleagues and fans alike find you likable, creating an inviting atmosphere wherever you go.

This charm not only endears you to those around you but also helps foster a supportive environment within the competitive world of racing

Some have affectionately dubbed you the "Mini Honey Badger," a nod to the legendary Daniel Ricciardo. This playful comparison reflects your fierce determination and tenacity on the track, qualities that resonate with fans and fellow racers.

Your unique blend of charisma and competitive spirit is sure to leave a lasting impression in the world of Formula 1.

Luckily, you found yourself paired with one of the most talented drivers in the sport, Max Verstappen.

From the very beginning, you and Max clicked effortlessly, perhaps due to your shared sense of humor or the lighthearted way you both approached life outside of racing.

Max, known for his fierce competitiveness on the track, also had a playful side that drew you in. Whether it was sharing funny anecdotes from your childhood or engaging in friendly banter about each other's driving styles, the connection felt natural and invigorating.

You both understood the pressures of the sport, yet you managed to find joy in the little moments, whether it was a shared laugh over a silly meme or a light-hearted debate about the best racing video games.

This bond not only made your time together enjoyable but also fostered a sense of trust and teamwork that would prove invaluable as the season progressed.

During your initial week in Formula 1, the team was treated to a mix of corny jokes and uproarious laughter, creating an atmosphere that was both fun and relaxed.

It was clear that the camaraderie between you two was something special, and it didn’t take long for everyone to notice. The garage, usually filled with the tension of competition, transformed into a space of joy and lightheartedness.

You and Max would often engage in playful challenges, like who could come up with the worst dad joke or who could impersonate the team’s engineers the best.

These moments not only broke the ice but also helped to build a strong team spirit.

The mechanics and engineers, who often worked long hours under pressure, found themselves smiling more often, and the overall morale of the team improved.

It was as if your infectious energy had a ripple effect, reminding everyone that while racing was serious business, it was also about passion, fun, and the love of the sport.

Christian Horner, the team principal, seemed to recognize this chemistry right away.

He confidently remarked to the media about the dynamic of having a girl and a boy on the same team, suggesting that he had a good feeling about the partnership.

His words resonated with the fans and the media alike, sparking conversations about the evolving landscape of motorsport and the importance of diversity within the sport. It was evident that the two of you were destined to make waves together on and off the track.

Christian’s faith in your partnership only fueled your determination to succeed.

You both knew that the expectations were high, but instead of feeling overwhelmed, you embraced the challenge.

"Joseph, can you give me an update on the gap behind?" you inquired, your voice steady as it crackled through the radio to your race engineer.

The sound of your own heartbeat echoed in your ears, a reminder of the high stakes at play.

"You're looking at a 5-second lead over Norris, Y/N," Joseph Duke responded, his tone calm and focused.

As you navigated the track, the adrenaline surged through your veins, heightening your senses.

The smell of burning rubber and the roar of engines filled the air, but your focus remained solely on the asphalt ahead.

Max was currently leading the race, and you were right on his tail, just a heartbeat away from making a decisive move.

With the world championship points on the line, every second counted, and the team’s strategy was crucial.

"Copy that, Joseph. I’m feeling good about this pace. Should I push to overtake Max?" you asked, weighing your options.

The tension in the air was palpable, and you could almost hear the roar of the crowd in your mind, their cheers and gasps fueling your determination.

You could picture the fans waving flags, the excitement building as the race unfolded.

"Remember, he’s leading the championship, so those points are vital for him," Joseph reminded you, his voice steady and measured.

You took a deep breath, considering the risks and rewards of your next move. The thought of overtaking Max was tantalizing, but the consequences of a miscalculation loomed large.

"Understood. But if I don’t make a move soon, he might pull away," you replied, your mind racing through the possibilities.

You could see the track ahead, the curves and straightaways that could either make or break your race.

"Just keep your head in the game, Y/N. Focus on your lines and stay patient. The opportunity will come," Joseph advised, his experience guiding you through the chaos.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, reminding yourself that patience was key.

As you approached the next turn, you felt the car respond to your every command, the tires gripping the asphalt with precision.

You could see Max’s car just ahead, a flash of blue and white, and the urge to push harder surged within you.

"Alright, I’ll hold back for now, but I’m ready when the moment strikes," you said, determination lacing your words.

The opportunity to seize the grand prix had slipped through your fingers, leaving you with a bittersweet taste of second place as Max celebrated his victory.

It wasn’t that you felt anger towards him; after all, the stakes were high, and the competition was fierce.

You had performed admirably, even outshining Checo this season, and Red Bull was finally back to their P1-P2 glory.

As you stepped out of your car, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you spotted Max waiting for you, his helmet off and a look of concern etched on his face.

He rushed over, his expression serious as he enveloped you in a quick hug. “You don’t hate me, do you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the unexpected question. Removing your helmet, you met his gaze with a warm smile. “Of course not! But don’t think I’ll go easy on you next week,” you replied playfully, your competitive spirit igniting once more.

Max’s face lit up with a genuine smile, the tension dissipating. “Mate, I won’t go down that easy!” he shot back, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of rivalry.

As you made your way to celebrate with the team, you noticed the difference in how they treated you compared to Max. While he was hoisted into the air, receiving enthusiastic cheers and bone-crushing hugs, you felt a more cautious approach directed your way.

It was a subtle reminder of the gender dynamics at play in the sport. You brushed it off, focusing instead on the camaraderie and the shared passion that brought you all together.

The post-race atmosphere was electric, filled with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional shout of joy.

You joined in the celebrations, clapping your hands and cheering for your teammates, but a part of you remained introspective.

You replayed the race in your mind, analyzing every corner, every overtaking maneuver, and every missed opportunity.

The thrill of competition was intoxicating, but so was the desire to prove yourself, not just to the team but to the world.

As the evening unfolded, you found yourself lingering at the periphery of the lively celebration, your gaze fixed on Max as he reveled in the spotlight of his victory.

He was the star of the night, the one everyone clamored to congratulate, while you stood in the shadows, merely the second driver.

Christian approached, giving your shoulder a friendly pat, a gesture of appreciation for your support. Yet, it felt insufficient.

You masked your feelings with a bright smile as you watched Max raise his glass, laughter spilling from his lips as the clock inched toward midnight.

“Goodnight, Max,” you called out, aware that your boyfriend, Jake would be less than pleased if you lingered too long.

“Goodnight, best friend! Did I mention you look lovely tonight?” Max replied, his words slightly slurred as he pulled you into a warm embrace.

You felt your cheeks heat up. “No, you didn’t! Thank you, Max. You look great too!” you managed to say, your heart fluttering at the compliment.

As the night wore on, you exchanged goodbyes with the others, the atmosphere buzzing with joy and celebration.

You decided it was time to head home, opting for a taxi since you had indulged in a few drinks earlier.

Once inside the cab, you leaned back against the seat, reflecting on the evening. The laughter, the cheers, and the way Max had shone like a beacon of success.

It was hard not to feel a twinge of envy, but you pushed it aside, reminding yourself of the bond you shared.

The driver navigated through the city streets, and you pulled out your phone, scrolling through the photos from the night.

There was Max, grinning ear to ear, surrounded by friends, and there you were, a supportive figure in the background.

Just as the car turned, your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you glanced down to see a message from Jake.

“Where are you?” he texted, the words appearing on your screen like a gentle reminder of the warmth waiting for you at home.

You smiled, feeling a rush of affection as you typed back, “Just left the party! On my way home now. Can’t wait to see you!”

The taxi weaved through the city streets, and you could almost picture him waiting for you, perhaps pacing a little, his brow furrowed in that adorable way he did when he was worried.

You could hear his voice in your head, teasing you about how you always took too long to say goodbye, but you knew he loved it just as much as you did.

As the taxi pulled up to your building, you felt a flutter of excitement. You paid the driver and hurried inside, your heart racing with anticipation.

As you stepped into the apartment, a heavy scent of alcohol hit you like a wave, and your heart sank.

The cheerful anticipation you had felt moments before evaporated, replaced by a knot of anxiety in your stomach. You knew Jake had been struggling lately, and the telltale signs of his mood were all around you.

Empty bottles cluttered the coffee table, their labels peeling and faded, remnants of nights spent drowning sorrows that seemed to multiply with each passing day.

Taking a deep breath, you cautiously made your way further inside, hoping to find a glimmer of the warmth you once cherished, a flicker of the love that had once filled this space.

“Hey, babe, I’m home!” you called out, trying to inject some cheer into the atmosphere, but your voice felt small and fragile against the oppressive silence that enveloped the room.

The silence that followed was deafening, and you could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

Just then, he emerged from the shadows of the living room, his eyes glassy and unfocused, as if he were peering through a fog that had settled deep within him.

“Oh, look who decided to show up,” he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, each word laced with bitterness. “Did you have fun pretending to be normal out there?”

You felt a chill run down your spine as he continued, hurling insults that cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

It was as if he was trying to push you away, to create a chasm between you that felt insurmountable.

And yet, amidst the hurt, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man you loved, the one who was lost beneath layers of pain and anger.

“Why do you always have to do this?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly, the vulnerability in your tone betraying the strength you wished to project. “I just want to help you.”

He scoffed, dismissing your concern with a wave of his hand, the gesture almost theatrical in its disdain. “Help? You mean control. You think you can just waltz in here and fix everything? You’re just like everyone else, trying to tell me what to do.”

The words stung, and you felt the weight of his accusations pressing down on you, each syllable a reminder of the distance that had grown between you.

“I’m not trying to control you,” you replied softly, “I just want to be there for you. Can’t we talk about this?”

But as you looked into his eyes, you realized that the man you once knew was slipping further away, lost in a haze of his own making.

His gaze, once so full of life and passion, now seemed clouded, distant. It was as if he was peering through a murky window, unable or unwilling to see the vibrant world outside.

You could see the shadows of his struggles etched on his face, the lines of worry and anger deepening with each passing day. It pained you to witness this transformation, to see the light in him dimmed by his own fears and insecurities.

“Why can’t you see that I’m trying to help?” you pressed, your heart racing as desperation crept into your voice. “I’m not your enemy. I want to understand what you’re going through.”

You took a tentative step closer, hoping to bridge the gap that felt insurmountable.

But he recoiled slightly, as if your words were a physical blow, and the distance between you felt more pronounced than ever.

“Understand?” he scoffed, his tone laced with bitterness. “You think you can just waltz in and understand? You have no idea what it’s like to feel trapped, to have every choice taken from you. You don’t know the weight of this burden.”

His voice cracked, revealing a flicker of vulnerability beneath the bravado.

As soon as you opened your mouth to speak, Jake brushed by you, grabbing his coat and shoes in one swift motion.

"I'm heading out for a walk. Don't even think about following me," he snapped, his words laced with the sting of alcohol.

You simply nodded, feeling a mix of concern and frustration, but you stayed rooted in place until you heard the door slam shut behind him.

With the sound echoing in the silence, you finally exhaled, the tension in your chest easing just a bit. You glanced around the room, the remnants of the night scattered everywhere—empty bottles and crumpled napkins littered the floor.

"Guess it's cleanup time," you muttered to yourself, bending down to gather the bottles. As you worked, your mind raced with thoughts of him.

Just then, your phone buzzed on the table. It was a message from your best friend, Sarah.

"Hey! How's everything? You okay?"

You sighed, typing back quickly. "Not great. He just stormed out after a fight. I’m cleaning up the mess now."

A moment later, your phone chimed again. "Want me to come over? I can help."

You hesitated, glancing at the door. "No, it’s fine. I just need to sort things out."

"Are you sure? You shouldn’t be alone right now."

You paused, considering her words. "I’ll be okay. I just need to think."

As you continued to tidy up, you replayed the argument in your mind. It had started over something trivial, but the alcohol had turned it into a full-blown fight.

You could hear his voice in your head, the way he had raised his tone, the way he had dismissed your feelings.

"Why does he always do this?" you whispered to yourself, frustration bubbling up again.

You were well aware that he wouldn’t be returning anytime soon.

After tidying up the house, you decided to treat yourself to a long, relaxing bath.

The warm water enveloped you, washing away the day’s worries. Once you felt refreshed, you slipped into your favorite pajamas and crawled into bed, the soft sheets providing a comforting embrace.

He hadn’t always been this way—filled with anger and lost in the depths of alcoholism.

You both had shared a beautiful love story, starting as high school sweethearts. You could still remember the way he used to look at you, his eyes sparkling with affection, mirroring the love you felt for him.

As you lay there, memories flooded your mind. You recalled the laughter, the late-night talks, and the dreams you had built together. But now, those dreams felt like distant echoes, overshadowed by the weight of his struggles.

Maybe it was the pressure of work that was taking a toll on him. You thought back to the last time you had a heart-to-heart.

“Do you remember when we used to talk about our future?” you had asked him one evening, the two of you sitting on the porch, the sun setting in a blaze of colors.

He had sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I remember. It feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Things can get better, you know. We can work through this together,” you had urged, your heart aching for the man you once knew.

He had looked away, his expression clouded. “I don’t know if I can. Sometimes it feels like I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to swim anymore.”

You had reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re not alone in this. I’m here for you, always.”

But as the days turned into weeks, the distance between you grew. The man you loved was slipping away, replaced by someone you barely recognized.

Now, lying in bed, you couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever find his way back to you. Would he remember the love you once shared? Would he fight against the demons that haunted him?

With a heavy heart, you closed your eyes, hoping that tomorrow would bring a glimmer of hope, a sign that the man you loved was still inside, waiting to break free.

As you settled into bed, the glow of your phone screen illuminated the dark room, revealing a flurry of notifications that had accumulated while you were winding down.

Most of them were filled with excitement, congratulating you on your impressive second-place finish in the race. However, amidst the sea of cheerful messages, one stood out—a private note from Max.

While some comments stung with negativity, suggesting you didn’t belong in the world of Formula 1, Max’s message was a beacon of warmth.

“Thanks for coming to celebrate with me 👍,” it read, and a smile crept across your face, momentarily pushing away the weight of the harsh words.

You felt a mix of emotions swirling within you, and for a moment, tears threatened to spill over. But instead of succumbing to the sadness, you decided to respond to Max.

Your fingers danced over the screen as you typed, “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, you deserved it! 😁” The moment you hit send, a sense of relief washed over you.

It was a reminder that amidst the criticism, there were still those who appreciated your presence and celebrated your achievements.

You could almost hear Max’s laughter echoing in your mind, a sound that always seemed to lift your spirits.

Just as you were about to put your phone down, a new message popped up from Max. “You really made the night special! I’m glad you were there. Let’s catch up soon?”

His words filled you with warmth, and you could picture him grinning with alcohol still in his system, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“Absolutely! I’d love to,” you replied, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

After setting your phone aside for the night, you drifted off to sleep, the soft hum of the world outside fading into a distant memory.

When you awoke, you were enveloped in a warm embrace, the kind that felt like home. Instantly, you recognized the familiar presence of Jake, his body radiating warmth against yours.

The scent of alcohol lingered in the air, a reminder of his previous night out with friends, a detail that both amused and concerned you.

A smile crept across your face as you turned to see him, his features relaxed and serene, a stark contrast to the tension that had marked his demeanor the night before.

Curiosity sparked within you, igniting a flurry of questions as you pondered where he had spent his time, what stories he might have to share, and whether the night had been as wild as you imagined.

You felt a rush of affection for him, a desire to know every detail of his adventures, to understand the man who had captured your heart so completely.

Despite the warnings from your friends urging you to reconsider your relationship, your feelings for him remained steadfast, unwavering like a lighthouse in a storm.

They claimed he was a source of trouble, a tempest that could jeopardize your career and stir up scandals that would ripple through your life.

Yet, deep down, you understood him better than they did, seeing the layers of his character that they overlooked. You believed in his integrity, in the goodness that lay beneath the surface, and you knew he wouldn’t intentionally cause chaos in your life.

Their concerns echoed in your mind, but they felt distant, like the sound of waves crashing against a far-off shore.

You were determined to forge your own path, to trust your instincts, and to embrace the love that had blossomed between you, even if it meant standing alone against the tide of skepticism.

Although your relationship was already in the public eye, with whispers and speculation swirling around you like autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind, he had yet to join you in the paddock due to his work commitments.

You felt a mix of anticipation and longing, a bittersweet ache in your chest as you navigated the bustling environment without him by your side.

As you glanced at your phone, the screen illuminated the early morning hour, signaling it was time for your daily jog.

You carefully extricated yourself from Jake's embrace, trying not to disturb his peaceful slumber.

Just as you were about to tiptoe out of the room, you caught a faint mumble escaping his lips, a mix of sleep and concern. “Where are you going?” he murmured, his voice thick with drowsiness.

You paused for a moment, torn between the urge to reassure him and the need to stick to your routine.

“I’m just going for a quick run, love. I’ll be back before you know it,” you replied softly, hoping to ease any lingering worries. His brow furrowed slightly, even in his sleep, as if he sensed your departure was more than just a morning ritual.

“You always run too early… what if someone sees you?” he muttered, a hint of jealousy creeping into his voice, even in his dreams.

With a gentle smile, you leaned down to plant a quick kiss on his forehead. “I’ll be fine, I promise. It’s just me and the open road. You know I love my morning jogs.”

You could feel the tension in the air, a familiar weight that often accompanied your outings. “Okay,” he finally said, though the uncertainty lingered in his tone.

You quickly changed into your jogging attire before stepping out of the house. With a sense of urgency, you slipped into your comfortable workout gear, ready to embrace the fresh air outside.

The fabric of your favorite moisture-wicking shirt clung to your skin, and the soft elastic of your running shorts felt familiar and reassuring.

You laced up your well-worn sneakers, the soles still resilient from countless miles, and took a moment to stretch your legs, feeling the anticipation build within you.

Once dressed, you felt the excitement of the run ahead, eager to hit the pavement and enjoy the rhythm of your feet against the ground.

The world outside beckoned, vibrant and alive, as you opened the door and stepped into the crisp morning air. The scent of dew-kissed grass and blooming flowers filled your lungs, invigorating your spirit.

You took a deep breath, letting the coolness wash over you, and with a quick glance at the sky, you noted the sun just beginning to rise, casting a golden hue across the horizon.

As you began to jog, the familiar cadence of your heartbeat matched the steady thump of your feet on the pavement. Each stride felt liberating, a release from the confines of the day-to-day.

You could feel the tension of the week melting away with every step, replaced by a sense of freedom and clarity.

The rhythmic sound of your breath mingled with the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds, creating a symphony of nature that accompanied you on your journey.

As you were enjoying your morning jog through the park, the rhythmic sound of your feet hitting the pavement was suddenly interrupted by a group of enthusiastic voices.

A cluster of women and girls approached you, their faces lighting up with excitement. "Excuse me! Miss Y/N! Can we get your autograph?" one of them exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with admiration.

You paused, a bit surprised but also flattered, and smiled at the eager crowd. "Of course! I’d be happy to," you replied, pulling out a small notepad from your pocket.

Amid the chatter, a young girl stepped forward, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "I want to start go-karting because I want to be just like you!" she declared, her voice filled with determination.

You could see the passion in her eyes, and it warmed your heart. "That’s amazing! Go-karting is such a fun sport," you encouraged her. "What do you love most about it?"

The girl beamed, her confidence growing as she shared her dreams of racing and the thrill of speed. "I love the idea of being in control and going fast! It looks so cool!"

You nodded, feeling a sense of responsibility to inspire her. "You know, every champion starts somewhere. If you really want to do it, just keep practicing and never give up. Surround yourself with people who support you, and you’ll go far," you advised, hoping to instill a sense of belief in her.

The girl’s eyes widened, and she nodded vigorously. "I will! Thank you so much!"

As the group dispersed, you felt a renewed sense of purpose, realizing that your journey could inspire others to chase their dreams, just as you had. . . .

As the days rolled on, the team decided to spice things up a bit before race week by organizing a fun game called "How Well Do You Know Each Other."

The idea was to not only entertain the fans but also to give everyone a glimpse into the camaraderie between you and Max.

You found yourself standing in front of the camera, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling inside you, while Max lounged comfortably on the sofa behind you, his headphones snugly in place, unable to listen in.

The staff kicked off the game with a playful tone, "Alright, let’s start with you! The first question about Max is… what is Max's favorite food?" You grinned, confident in your knowledge of your teammate.

"Oh, I know this one! Max is a huge fan of both Italian and Dutch cuisine, while I personally lean more towards Spanish dishes," you replied, your voice filled with enthusiasm.

The crew chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter, and you could see Max nodding in agreement, a smirk on his face even though he didn't know what you said.

After a few more questions, it was time for the roles to reverse. You took a seat on the sofa, and Max stood in front of the camera, a playful glint in his eyes.

The staff asked him the same question, and he leaned forward, a teasing smile forming. "Well, I know my teammate pretty well! She loves her Spanish food, but I think she secretly wishes she could cook like an Italian chef," he joked.

"You better be getting this right, I wanna beat Charles and Carlos' record," you said, feeling the competitive in you to beat Ferrari's record of 18 out of 20 right.

Max only turned around and gave an okay sign since you couldn't hear him, adding a little small wink for the tease but it was caught on camera.

In the end, both you and Max aced all the questions, and the excitement bubbled over as you jumped up and down, your energy infectious. Max stood nearby, a wide grin spreading across his face as he watched your enthusiasm.

"See, everyone! Red Bull is clearly the superior team compared to Ferrari, so make sure to support us this week!" you exclaimed, wrapping up the video with a flourish.

As you turned to Max, you noticed he was still gazing at you, lost in thought. It took you by surprise.

"Max, do you want to add anything to what I just said?" you asked, a playful grin on your face as you nudged his shoulder gently.

Snapping back to reality, Max turned to the camera, a hint of sheepishness in his expression.

"Oh, umm, yeah… Red Bull domination, I guess?" he replied, his voice a mix of uncertainty and enthusiasm.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter at his response, and Max's smile widened, clearly pleased that he could make you laugh.

"Alright, everyone, that's a wrap! We'll catch you all soon. Fingers crossed for another P1-P2 finish, but maybe next time we can switch things up a bit," you said, waving enthusiastically at the camera.

As the camera clicked off, you turned to the crew with a warm smile, expressing your gratitude for their support. You shifted your focus to Max, who was standing nearby, a mix of anticipation and amusement on his face.

"Hey, Max," you began, a playful glint in your eye. "How does it feel to be the most compatible drivers on the grid?"

Max's eyes widened slightly at the phrase "most compatible," and you could see a hint of color rising to his cheeks. But as soon as he processed the word "driver," his expression shifted to one of mild disappointment.

"It feels nice, I guess," he replied, a smirk creeping onto his lips. "Just another thing to brag about to Lando, right?"

You chuckled, knowing how much Max loved to tease his fellow drivers. "Oh, absolutely! I can already picture it—Lando rolling his eyes while you go on about how you and I are the ultimate duo."

Max laughed, shaking his head. "He'll probably come up with some ridiculous comeback, like how he’s the best driver in the world or something."

"Well, he does have a knack for that," you said, leaning against the wall, enjoying the banter. "But let’s be honest, you two are like an old married couple. Always bickering but secretly caring for each other."

Max rolled his eyes dramatically. "Please, I’m not ready for that kind of commitment. I can barely handle my own sleeping schedule!"

Max shrugged, a hint of humility creeping into his demeanor. "But honestly, having you around makes it easier. You bring a different energy to the team."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. "Thanks, Max. That means a lot coming from you. I think we balance each other out pretty well."

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah, it’s like we have this unspoken understanding. You know when to push me and when to let me breathe. It’s refreshing."

"Exactly! And it’s not just about racing; it’s about the camaraderie we build off the track too. Those late-night strategy sessions and the random moments of laughter—they all add up."

Max chuckled, recalling a particularly ridiculous moment from a previous race weekend. "Remember that time we got lost trying to find the catering tent? We ended up in that random fan zone instead!"

You burst out laughing, the memory flooding back. "Oh my god, yes! And those fans were so excited to see us, they thought we were there for a meet-and-greet! We ended up taking selfies with them for an hour."

"Right? And then we finally found the catering tent, only to discover they were out of your favorite pasta!" Max added, shaking his head in disbelief.

"That was a tragedy," you said, feigning a dramatic sigh. "But it turned into one of the best days. I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything."

Max’s gaze softened as he looked at you, a genuine smile breaking through. "Me neither. It’s those little things that make all the hard work worth it."

You both stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the camaraderie between you palpable. The atmosphere around the paddock buzzed with activity, but in that moment, it felt like you were in your own little world.

"Alright, enough of the mushy stuff," Max said, breaking the moment with a playful nudge. "Let’s get back to business. We’ve got a race to prepare for, and I can’t let you steal all my glory."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Oh, please! You know I’m just here to make you look good. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of overshadowing the reigning champion."

What you two didn't know was that the cameras didn't stop but recorded your little moment, which went viral in the few minutes that it was posted. . . . .

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

You knew that the public would start shipping you and Max together sooner or later but you weren't bothered with it.

You had a boyfriend who you cared for deeply, someone who had been your rock through the ups and downs of your racing career. Yet, his reaction to the swirling rumors about you and Max took you by surprise.

You never imagined he would be so affected by the gossip that seemed to spread like wildfire through the paddock and beyond.

Here you were, caught in a web of emotions, torn between the thrill of a new chapter and the loyalty you felt towards your current relationship.

As you stepped through the door of your home, the familiar scent of your shared space enveloped you, but it did little to ease the tension that hung in the air.

You found Jake lounging on the couch, his eyes glued to his phone, the glow of the screen illuminating his furrowed brow. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, and you could sense that something was off.

“Hey, babe,” you greeted him, trying to sound cheerful despite the weight on your shoulders. He barely looked up, his fingers scrolling furiously, as if searching for answers in the digital chaos.

“Did you hear about you and Max?” he finally snapped, his voice laced with irritation, cutting through the silence like a knife. “It’s all over social media. Are you really going to let this get to you?”

You felt your heart sink; you had hoped for a different reaction, one that would reassure you that your relationship was strong enough to withstand the storm of rumors.

“Come on, it’s just rumors,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, though the tremor in it betrayed your inner turmoil. “You know I’m committed to only you.”

You watched as he shot you a skeptical glance, his jealousy bubbling to the surface like a volcano ready to erupt. “Yeah, but how can I trust you when you’re out there with him all the time? It’s not just a coincidence that everyone is talking about it.”

The words stung, and you took a deep breath. "Babe I love only you-"

"Please, don’t even think about it! You know I’m stuck here because if I walked away, your fans would make my life a living nightmare," Jake exclaimed, his voice laced with frustration.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you reeling from the harsh reality of your situation.

It was as if he had taken a knife and twisted it, exposing the raw vulnerability you had tried so hard to hide.

You could feel the sting of tears welling up in your eyes, but you fought to keep them at bay. "I didn’t ask for any of this," you replied, your voice trembling slightly.

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, and you could sense the tension between you growing thicker by the second. It was a battle of emotions, and you were losing ground.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know it’s not fair, but you have to understand the pressure I’m under. It’s not just about us; it’s about my career, my fans. I can’t let them down."

His eyes softened for a moment, revealing a glimpse of the man you fell in love with.

"But I don’t want to lose you. Can’t we find a way to make this work?" You pleaded.

"I don't know," he muttered, not lifting his eyes from his phone before standing up and walking past you to get his coat and shoes. "i'm gonna take a walk,"

This has been a pattern for weeks now. You would come home, he would start an argument then make up an excuse to leave the house, leaving you to either pick up his mess or go to sleep without your partner. To only wake up with him cuddling you in the morning and apologise for his action last night.

You were getting sick of it but you still love him too much to break up with him. . . .

The days that followed were a blur of introspection and emotional turmoil. Each time you caught a glimpse of Jake’s name on your phone, a knot formed in your stomach.

You had always been the type to see the good in people, to believe that love could conquer all, but the reality of your situation was becoming harder to ignore.

The moments of tenderness were overshadowed by the growing unease that settled in your chest like a heavy stone.

You spent more time with Sarah, who seemed to sense your internal struggle. She filled your days with laughter and distraction, taking you out for coffee, long walks in the park, and movie marathons that kept your mind off the impending decision.

Yet, no matter how much you tried to push it aside, the thought of Jake lingered like a shadow, reminding you of the grip he had on your heart—and not in a way that felt safe or loving.

One evening, as you and Sarah sat on the balcony watching the sunset, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink, she turned to you again.

"Y/N, I know it’s hard, but you have to prioritize your happiness. You can’t keep living in this limbo," she said, her voice steady and unwavering.

You looked out at the horizon, the beauty of the moment contrasting sharply with the turmoil inside you.

"I know," you replied, your voice thick with emotion. "But what if I’m wrong? What if he really can change?"

The fear of making the wrong choice loomed large, a specter that haunted your thoughts.

"Change is possible, but it has to come from him, not from you hoping for it," Sarah said gently. "You can’t be the one to fix him. You’re not responsible for his happiness or his growth. You deserve to be with someone who respects you and makes you feel safe."

Her words struck a chord deep within you. You thought back to the last time he had gripped your arm, the way his eyes had darkened, and how you had brushed it off as a moment of frustration.

But now, in the light of day, you could see it for what it was—a warning sign that you had been too afraid to acknowledge.

That night, as you lay in bed, the silence of your room felt deafening. You replayed every moment of your relationship, the good and the bad, and slowly, the scales began to tip.

The holiday seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye, and soon you found yourself stepping into the paddock alongside Sarah and Jake.

As you walked, you could feel the tension in the air; Jake wore a strained smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, gripping your hand a little too tightly.

“Hey, look at all the fans!” you exclaimed, trying to lighten the mood as you waved enthusiastically at the crowd, signing autographs for those who called out your name.

Sarah, taking a break from her hectic job, had decided to join you, her laughter ringing out like music amidst the bustling atmosphere.

“Isn’t this amazing?” you said, glancing at Sarah, who was snapping pictures with her phone. “I can’t believe how many people came out today!”

She nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “It’s like a mini-celebration! But where’s your boyfriend? He seems a bit off today.”

You shrugged, trying to brush off the concern. “I don’t know, maybe he’s just tired. We haven’t really talked much since we got back.”

You stole a glance at him, who was still smiling, but it felt forced, like he was putting on a show for everyone around.

You made the decision to invite Jake into your driver’s room for a heart-to-heart conversation. As you settled into the familiar space, you turned to him with a gentle concern.

“Hey, are you doing okay?” you asked, your voice soft and inviting.

Jake looked at you, his expression a mix of regret and longing, as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. “I’m alright, really. I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting lately,” he replied, his tone sincere.

In that moment, you felt a rush of warmth; you had missed the comfort of his touch more than you realized.

“Jake, I need to let you know that I have to leave soon,” you murmured, trying to keep the conversation grounded. But he seemed lost in his own thoughts, his gaze intense and filled with desire.

“Why don’t you just quit your job already? I can take care of you, I promise,” he suggested, his voice dripping with temptation.

The idea hung in the air between you, and for a fleeting moment, you felt the pull of his offer.

It was tempting, but the passion you had for Formula 1 was a flame that burned too brightly to extinguish for anyone, even someone as captivating as Jake.

You took a deep breath, weighing your options. “Jake, you know how much this means to me. Formula 1 isn’t just a job; it’s my dream,” you replied, your heart heavy with the conflict.

He stepped back slightly, his expression shifting from desire to disappointment. “I get it, but can’t you see how much I care about you? I want us to be together, and I thought you felt the same way,” he said, frustration creeping into his voice.

You could see the struggle in his eyes, and it pained you to know that your passion for racing was creating a rift between you.

“I do care about you, but I can’t just walk away from everything I’ve worked for,” you insisted, hoping he would understand.

As you stand there, the tension weighs heavily in the air, palpable and thick, as Jake's frustration spills over, his voice tinged with a mix of hurt and desperation.

"But what about me?" he asks, his eyes searching yours for an answer that you know is difficult to provide. "Since you started this job, we haven’t done anything together. All you've been doing is hanging out with that Max boy. Don’t you see it?"

His words cut through the silence, piercing the surface of your mind and forcing you to confront the tangled web of your life that feels all too overwhelming at this moment.

As you gather your thoughts, aware that the job has transformed your priorities and the once-familiar relationship with Jake has shifted, you attempt to articulate your feelings, to bridge the widening chasm of misunderstanding.

"Jake—" you start, your voice tremulous, hoping to weave a delicate thread of connection that can pull you both back to a place of understanding, but he interjects, the intensity of his emotions propelling him forward before you can offer your perspective.

"I’ll show you—don't worry," he mutters, the frustration lacing his tone beginning to dissipate as he suddenly wraps his arms around you, pulling you close in a gesture that is both protective and possessive.

The warmth of his body against yours sends a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the bond you once cherished.

Feeling the urgency of the moment, his lips find yours, a kiss that ignites a flicker of hope amid the turmoil of doubt and fear swirling around you. . . .

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

After the holiday break, you had started to act differently, almost as if a shadow had fallen over their usual camaraderie.

Whenever he approached to nudge her shoulder playfully, she would flinch, a look of surprise crossing her face as if she were bracing for something unpleasant.

It was a stark contrast to the easygoing banter they once shared, and he couldn't help but notice how she had become more withdrawn, often lost in her thoughts, her laughter replaced by a distant gaze.

He believed you were feeling down because the team was struggling to achieve the results they had hoped for.

Typically, his father would reach out to him after a disappointing race, sometimes even resorting to physical punishment if the outcome was particularly disheartening.

It was a routine he had come to accept, thinking it was a common experience shared by many.

However, everything changed when his therapist pointed out that not everyone endured such treatment, which sparked a rebellion within him against his father's harsh ways.

"Why do you always have to be so hard on me?" he had shouted one evening, frustration boiling over.

His father, taken aback, responded with a stern look, "Because I want you to be the best, Max. You need to learn that life isn’t always fair."

But Max felt differently; he wanted to be supported, not punished.

As he pondered your situation, he couldn't help but wonder if you had faced similar challenges.

"Do you have someone in your life who treats you badly?" he asked cautiously, trying to gauge your response.

Your eyes widened at the sudden question before you shook your head, a small smile breaking through the clouds of doubt.

"No, not like that. Everyone is really supportive of me these days."

Max felt a wave of relief wash over him, grateful that you had not been in that cycle of abuse he had been so familiar with.

In many of the recent races, both you and Max found yourselves finishing in the P2 to P4 range, or sometimes not making it to the podium at all, which left the team feeling quite disheartened.

The once-promising season had turned into a series of missed opportunities, and the weight of expectations began to take its toll on everyone involved.

The atmosphere in the garage was thick with tension, and the engineers were working overtime to analyze data and strategize for the next race, but the results were still falling short of what the team had hoped for.

This situation also prompted Max's father, Jos, to plan a visit during the race weekend. He intended to check in on his son and perhaps give him a much-needed reality check, quite literally.

As the race day approached, Jos observed his son engaging in cheerful conversation with you, rather than focusing on the engineers to gather crucial insights, a routine Max typically adhered to before a race.

This deviation from his usual pre-race preparation did not sit well with Jos.

He had always believed that the hours leading up to a race were critical for mental conditioning and strategy formulation. To see Max laughing and joking instead of poring over telemetry data or discussing race strategies with the engineers was concerning for him.

Jos's frustration grew as he watched the interaction unfold. He believed that your presence was a distraction, pulling Max away from the intense focus required for peak performance.

In his eyes, the bond you shared with his son was undermining Max's potential to excel on the track.

He felt that friendships weren't important and they should not come at the expense of Max's dedication to his craft.

Jos was determined to address this issue head-on, convinced that a serious conversation was necessary to realign Max's priorities. . . . .

In the midst of a lively discussion filled with laughter and camaraderie, Jos abruptly interjected, "Max, I need to talk to you right now."

His tone cut through the jovial atmosphere, drawing the attention of both you and his son. The laughter faded, replaced by a sudden stillness as everyone turned to witness the unfolding scene.

Max's expression shifted from joy to disappointment as he glanced at you, yet he managed to offer a reassuring smile before reluctantly following his father away from the group.

"Yes, Father?" Max responded in Dutch, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of apprehension. The way he spoke suggested a mix of respect and wariness, as if he were bracing himself for a conversation he knew would be anything but easy.

Jos wasted no time in launching into his concerns, his words spilling out with a sense of urgency.

"You must distance yourself from that girl; she is a distraction that will hinder your performance in the race," he asserted, his tone firm and authoritative, as if he were delivering a decree rather than a request.

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, a stark contrast to the lightheartedness that had just moments ago enveloped the gathering.

Max, however, was quick to defend you, his loyalty evident in the way he stood a little taller, his brow furrowing in determination. "No, she doesn't distract me, Father. She's my teammate," he stated, his voice steady and resolute.

The conviction in his tone reflected a bond that transcended mere friendship; it was a partnership built on shared goals and mutual respect.

Yet, as he spoke, the tension between father and son thickened, a palpable clash of wills that seemed to reverberate through the quiet space around them.

Jos, sensing the resistance in Max's voice, shifted his approach, employing subtle manipulation to sway his son’s perspective.

"Think about your future, Max. You have so much potential, and I only want what is best for you," he continued, his voice softening slightly, as if trying to appeal to Max's aspirations.

The words were carefully chosen, designed to instill doubt about your influence, to paint you as an obstacle rather than an ally.

Max hesitated, caught between his father's expectations and his own feelings.

The internal struggle was evident on his face, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features as he grappled with the conflicting loyalties that tugged at his heart.

"It is evident in your results over the weeks, you've been falling off the high scores recently, hardly been able to reach third place because of that girl!" Jos stressed out and Max became quiet, letting those words sink in.

"Max, think about it," Jos continued, his tone shifting to one of persuasion. "You need to focus on your game and not let distractions get in the way. She's not worth it."

Max felt a mix of emotions swirling inside him. He had always admired his father's wisdom, but now he sensed a subtle manipulation at play. Jos was trying to steer him away from his feelings, and deep down, Max knew it.

Yet, the idea of disappointing his father loomed larger than his own desires.

"Okay, Father," Max finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

He felt a pang of regret as he agreed, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing a part of himself in the process. As he walked away, he contemplated the choices ahead of him.

Was it worth sacrificing his happiness for the sake of competition?

As he walked away, the sound of his father's footsteps fading behind him, he contemplated the choices ahead of him.

The internal struggle was just beginning, and Max knew he had to find a way to balance his passion for the game with the complexities of his heart.

He thought of you—the woman who had sparked something within him, a light that had ignited a warmth he hadn't been able to feel like Daniel left.

After he began to distance himself from you, he noticed a change in your demeanor.

You seemed more withdrawn, putting on a facade of happiness with a constant smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You were hiding behind long-sleeved coats, even in the warm weather, creating a barrier between yourself and the world around you.

The vibrant laughter that once filled the air when you were together had been replaced by a silence that hung heavily between you, punctuated only by the occasional forced chuckle or polite nod.

Max could see the way your shoulders slumped slightly, as if the weight of unspoken words and unshared feelings was pressing down on you.

Your eyes, once bright with enthusiasm and mischief, now seemed clouded, reflecting a deep-seated sadness that you tried so hard to conceal.

He remembered the long pointless conversations, the dreams you both had shared, and the plans that now felt like distant memories. It pained him to witness your struggle, yet he felt powerless to bridge the growing chasm between you.

Despite the guilt that gnawed at him, Max couldn’t help but recognize a shift in his own performance on the racetrack.

He found himself consistently finishing on the podium, a stark contrast to your struggles as you remained trapped within the top ten.

Each trophy he lifted felt heavier than the last, a reminder of the friendship that had once fueled his passion for racing.

He could hear the cheers of the crowd, feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, but all he could think about was how you used to be there, celebrating alongside him, your face alight with pride and joy.

While he celebrated his achievements, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something important was missing.

The camaraderie they once shared seemed to slip further away with each passing race, leaving him to wonder if the price of success was worth the cost of their connection.

He often found himself glancing over at the empty spot in the pit where you used to stand, your eyes sparkling with encouragement, your voice ringing out with advice that had always kept him grounded.

As the races continued, Max felt a growing urgency to reach out, to break through the walls you had built around yourself.

But his father kept him grounded and not letting that thought come to life anytime soon. . . .

As you maneuver through the winding turns of the racetrack, adrenaline surges through your veins, a heady blend of focus and exhilaration.

"Joseph, what's the gap to Max?" you inquire, your voice steady despite the chaos enveloping you as you glance at the rearview mirror, noticing Charles's fierce pursuit as he falls into your peripheral vision, momentarily eclipsed by your recent strategic overtaking maneuver.

"2.3 seconds in front of you, Y/N," Joseph replies, his tone equally crisp yet slightly strained, hinting at the intensity of the moment.

The hum of the engine, the vibrations of the car, and the distant roar of the crowd blend into a symphony of speed, and as you negotiate the track, your mind sharpens with determination.

You consider your next move with meticulous care, knowing that a split-second decision could alter the course of the race.

Holding tightly to the steering wheel, you then ask, “Do I have permission to take over?”

Pause hangs in the air like a fragile breath, and you can almost anticipate Joseph's reply, especially given the longstanding tradition wherein hesitance often blankets these life-altering decisions.

Sure enough, after a fleeting silence, you prepare for the inevitable response that would echo in your ears like an unwelcome refrain, one you were all too familiar with.

But just as you brace yourself for a “no,” the radio crackles to life again—this time with a tidal wave of unexpected urgency.

"Yes! Y/N? Can you hear me? The team has approved the overtake of Max! Go for it!" Joseph’s voice bursts through with a burst of energy, jolting you from your reverie.

Instinctively, your foot plunges onto the accelerator as you channel every ounce of skill, focus, and ambition into propelling yourself forward.

You swiftly navigate the corner, your car gliding through the air like a bird released from captivity, and in that moment of pure adrenaline, you find yourself eclipsing Max, reclaiming the lead with undeniable ferocity.

As you settle into your newfound position at first place, the tension morphs into an exhilarating electrification coursing through your body.

Max, having momentarily lost his grip on the lead, now battles to fend off Charles and Lando from making any hazardous moves that might threaten your dominion at the front.

In the heat of the moment, the radio blaring with strategic updates fades into the background as your vision narrows solely on the track ahead—you are a race car driver, a gladiator in this battle of speed, and nothing else matters.

The world dissolves into monochrome, your focus unwavering as you grip the wheel like it’s a lifeline.

Distant cheers from the crowd seep through your concentration, yet you silence those voices, drowning out distractions as you become acutely aware of the weight of the race, the dreams that hang delicately in the balance—everything is at stake.

You feel sweat trickling down your temple and a syrupy mix of anticipation and fear soaring through your chest, but as you approach the final laps, triumph struggles to emerge from the depths of your hardwork.

Amidst the exhilarating distractions, your attention sharpens when you catch a faint echo of Joseph’s voice cutting through the chatter. "Y/N! You did it! You won!"

The joyous eruption on the other end floods your senses with disbelief, a tidal wave of emotions crashing over you.

In that electrifying moment, as you maintain your grip on the wheel for the last few seconds, reality begins to wash over you like an exhilarating wave, and the tears you could feel brewing now threaten to spill, your triumph intertwining with your vulnerability.

With the checkered flag waving triumphantly in the air, you ease down on the accelerator, the sensation of victory swelling inside you as you let a muffled cry of delight escape your lips.

You slow your car and finally breathe, releasing all the pent-up energy, as the realization of your success resonates in every fiber of your being.

"You did it, Y/N! You won the grand prix!" Joseph's voice dances through the radio, resonating with an infectious glee.

A burst of laughter escapes your lips, and for the first time, the roar of the crowd—a melodic blend of cheers—warms your heart.

As you roll to a stop, the world around you crescendos into a celebration of your harrowing journey—each twist, each turn, each heartbeat racing in sync with the rhythm of victory.

The moment is surreal, and as you step out of the car, you are not just a racer anymore; you are a triumphant force that turned dreams into reality, and no title could encapsulate the pride swelling within you.

You parked the car in front of the first-place stand, your heart racing as the adrenaline coursed through your veins. Stepping out of the vehicle, you took a moment to absorb the victory that had just unfolded; it was surreal, almost like a scene plucked from your wildest dreams.

You stood on the hood of your car, exhilaration bubbling up inside you as you raised your fists in triumph, thrusting them into the air with a euphoric fist bump that echoed your unrestrained joy.

The cheers of the crowd swirled around you, a chorus of celebration, and for a heartbeat, the entire world felt like it paused in honour of your hard-fought achievement.

The weight of every early morning, every late night, every moment spent honing your driving in the shadows now seemed beautifully light, overshadowed by the sheer thrill of the moment.

As you jumped off the car with a renewed sense of vitality, you sprinted toward your team, their faces lit up with genuine happiness.

It marked a pivotal moment, one where they no longer treated you as fragile or merely a woman in a male-dominated sport; instead, they embraced you like a teammate, a winner.

You felt the warmth of their hugs wrapping around you, their joy infectious in a way that washed away any lingering doubts you had ever held about your place in this fierce and demanding environment.

“I can’t believe we did it!” you exclaimed, looking around at their beaming faces, heart swelling.

Some laughing tears glistening in their eyes, as they crowded around you, lifting you momentarily off your feet, celebrating not only your victory but the growth of a team bound together by perseverance and shared dreams.

Max eventually pulled up in front of the second-place station, his car’s engine rumbling to a soft stop just a few feet away from you. He stepped out, the sunlight catching the edges of his helmet as he removed it, revealing a look of pure delight plastered across his face.

It was a sight that brightened your heart; his genuine smile mirrored your own, a silent acknowledgment of the fierce competition that had just transpired on the track.

You could hardly control the emotions that swelled within you. With an impulsive rush, you charged toward him, unable to contain the joy of your victory.

In a flurry of excitement, you leaped into his arms, a spontaneous act born from the adrenaline still dancing through your body. He caught you effortlessly, his hands cradling your back protectively, and in that moment, the world shrank down to just the two of you.

“I won!" you declared, breathless, your voice a mixture of disbelief and sheer happiness, as if saying it out loud might make the victory feel more real.

A grin split Max's face wider, and you could see the pride sparkling in his eyes. “Yeah, you won! Congratulations!" he echoed, his voice turning melodic with the thrill of your accomplishment.

His embrace tightened around you, and you melted into the moment, filled with a sense of camaraderie and respect that had blossomed between you two over the course of your racing journeys.

As he set you back on your feet, laughter bubbled up once again, infectious and wildly free.

"I hope I didn't catch you off guard with that leap," you admitted, a hint of embarrassment creeping into your voice as you took a sip from your drink.

"Not at all! I’m just thrilled for you," Max replied, his cheeks flushed with excitement as he gave you a friendly pat on the back.

After the interview with the top three winners, you, Max, and Charles settled into the conference room, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement as the race replay flickered on the screen. The tension was palpable as the footage captured the thrilling moments of the competition.

"Wow! That was such a turn!" Charles exclaimed, wiping the sweat from his brow, clearly still feeling the adrenaline from the race.

He was referring to the intense maneuver where he nearly overtook Lando, a moment that had everyone on the edge of their seats.

As the race continued to unfold on the screen, you found yourself lost in thought, your mind racing with the events that had just transpired.

You focused on your breathing, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. You had actually won.

Max, sitting beside you, noticed your silence and turned his attention toward you, his eyes filled with concern.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asked softly, breaking the tension in the room. His voice was steady, a comforting presence amidst the chaos of the race replay.

You nodded slowly, appreciating Max's concern but still feeling the weight of the moment. "Yeah, just processing everything," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

After the conference wrapped up, the divers were given the freedom to either retreat to their driver’s rooms or celebrate with their teams and families.

However, the atmosphere was tinged with concern. The race winner was notably absent, and everyone had been eagerly anticipating a celebration for your first victory.

But after you dashed out of the conference room in a flurry, you seemed to vanish without a trace.

Everyone, especially Max, who had reached out to congratulate you repeatedly, was waiting, eager for you to join them in the festivities.

Max had noticed your absence almost immediately after the conference ended. The smile that had danced on his lips dimmed when you didn't join the team to celebrate; he frequently glanced toward the driver’s room, a sense of unease gnawing at his gut.

The more he thought about it, the more his concern deepened; it wasn't like you to shy away from such moments of triumph.

As teammates and family began to cheer and revel in the evening's wins, Max made the decision to search for you.

His quest took him to the paddock and then to your garage, but each passing minute only heightened his worries. "Where could you be, Y/N?" he murmured to himself, frustration lacing his voice as he traversed the familiar paths of the circuit, searching desperately for a glimpse of you.

His heart raced with anxiety; he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Finally, his gaze landed on the door of your driver's room, slightly ajar, like a whisper beckoning him to enter. Without a second thought, he approached and knocked gently, "Y/N, are you in there?"

Listening intently, he leaned closer to the door and was met with faint whimpers that sent a chill down his spine.

Panic surged through him.

This wasn’t just a moment of celebration for you; it felt like a cry for help, echoing through the cold corridor.

Without waiting for a response, he pushed the door open wider, bracing himself for whatever he might find—though nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met his eyes when the door creaked open.

The scene unfolded before him like a nightmare; your so-called boyfriend stood menacingly above you, his hand raised as if poised to strike, while your frail form displayed clear signs of distress—your face bruised, tears streaming down your cheeks, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment as he took stock of the situation, the cruel contrast of celebration outside and the terrifying reality inside your room.

"What the hell is going on here?" Max's voice cut through the air, laced with fury as he stepped into the room, instinctively placing himself between you and the looming threat.

In that instant, your boyfriend's grip on your collar slackened, surprise washing over his features as he turned to face Max.

“Stay out of this, Max! This has nothing to do with you,” your boyfriend snarled, his bravado faltering under the sudden scrutiny.

But Max remained steadfast, stepping closer, his presence commanding as he glared at the man who had dared to raise a hand against you.

“You’re wrong. It has everything to do with me. Y/N is my friend, and I won’t let you hurt her,” he replied, his voice steady yet filled with palpable tension.

Your eyes met Max's, a flicker of hope igniting amidst despair, and despite everything, the warmth of that friendship washed over you.

Max's voice echoed through the room, a mix of frustration and urgency. "You need to leave now!" he shouted, his eyes locked onto your boyfriend, who stood there with clenched fists and a scowl that could cut glass.

The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to slice through. Your boyfriend hesitated, his anger simmering just beneath the surface, but something in Max's tone made him reconsider.

"Fine," he finally muttered, his voice low and filled with resentment. "I’ll go, but this isn’t over."

With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him, leaving you and Max in a heavy silence.

“Max, please…” you managed to choke out, your voice hoarse as the fear and pain slowly ebbed. “I just…I just wanted to celebrate, but I didn’t know who I could trust. I thought…”

Your voice faltered as the tears resumed their steady flow. Max's gaze softened as he turned back to you, the protective barrier he had formed in front of you embodying more than just physical defense.

“You can trust me, Y/N,” he said firmly, his expression shifting to one of concern.

With Max's unwavering support behind you, the resolve within you began to build.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling, but a hint of strength colored your tone.

1K notes · View notes

animeyanderelover · 1 month ago

Text

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, stalking, manipulation, guilt-tripping, drugging, threats, isolation

Tags: @shumidehiro @leveyani @izanami78

S/o can travel between different worlds

Nakajima Atsushi

🐅Atsushi is such a young and innocent soul, is he not? Though you may only be a few years older than him there is a considerate gap in knowledge between the two of you. It's not like he is dumb or anything but even he can see that you carry much more wisdom around than he possesses. It has him feeling stupid at times, he won't lie. Still, he holds on to the skills that he has in order to impress you somewhat. What Atsushi would hate the most would be to be a burden for you, someone who doesn't contribute anything to your life. His life needs to have a meaning for you after all and that is why he grabs the chance quickly when he notices that you are new in Yokohama. It's an opportunity to be useful, to impress, to bond with you. All things that Atsushi yearns to achieve as he is foolishly infatuated with you. The rose-tinted glasses that he wears when around you essentially blind him as he doesn't suspect a thing. It takes the likes of Dazai who suspects something when he too gets to meet you. His words of advice are met with Atsushi's denial though. A delusional obsession forbids to ruin the fantasy after all. Yet this is Dazai, his mentor and a man Atsushi knows to read people well.

🐅Most hours of the day he spends ignoring Dazai's words as one look at your curious reactions is enough to melt his heart. Yet there always is this moment every day where he hears those kind words of caution echoing within his mind, threatening to crack the fantasy he has nurtured within his mind. It always visibly shakes him up. After all it is you he always clings to, asking you that you would never keep any grave secrets from him. His eyes are pleading for reassurance as much as his mouth does and it pains you to lie to him. What you see as a kindness for his feelings Atsushi eventually learns to view as a betrayal. His senses are much higher due to his ability to transform into a Tiger so he smells the deceit. As much as he might attempt to ignore what he so blatantly senses, eventually he cracks as the lies keep on piling up. You, who promised to never lie, have betrayed him. His heart has been broken and his trust just as much. He held on too tight to his delusional hopes and now he has gotten himself hurt. Desperate measurements are taken as he needs to know the truth now and the longer you elude your answers to him, the more the beast threatens to break out.

🐅You are not one to play with fire though. When his grip tightens, his claws grow and the tears swim within his eyes you know to better. Initially Atsushi seems much more relieved as he has feared something far worse. The implications of your answer do not click until later where he finally realises it. You plan to leave this world too, don't you? Try to be as gentle as you can, no soothing words in the world could cure the damage that you have just inflicted. You search for a home and a place to belong to and you have not found it in his world. He is not enough for you. That is all that Atsushi seems to hear and with that the demons that exist deep within him resurface. Old insecurities and the existential crisis of never being enough all burst out of him like an erupting volcano. What would he have to do to convince you to stay? What does he have to do to be enough? It is so unfair. In you he has found a meaning and a hope yet in your eyes he does not hold the same value. You may be able to escape from his hold and flee to another world. You'll always have to hold onto the knowledge that by doing so you leave boy and beast shattered behind, one in sorrow and one in rage.

Dazai Osamu

🤎He just has a talent for picking up people who are lost, doesn't he? Well, perhaps peas of the same pod just attract each other. When Dazai finds you, it couldn't be more obvious that you have no idea where you are. Your nose buried in a paper map as you walk through the city and nearly bump into him. You just about manage to prevent that but looking at your pretty face, Dazai is almost a tad bit disappointed. Yet he knows when to use a chance to swoop in as the knight in shining armor as he instantly offers his assistance or else you would just stumble around the whole day. One hand washes the other though and if you don't agree to his request to die together he is going to get some meal out of this at the very least. Anything to see your gorgeous face for a bit longer really. As if fate has brought the two of you together, both of you actually find out over a cup of coffee that both of you live in the same neighbourhood. The coincidence of this is not something that flies over his head and Dazai notes amused that he might just come over for a visit. You wouldn't complain either to see such a handsome man more, replying with a charming grin equal to his own.

🤎Oh, now you really have done it. Give him allowance and Dazai sees it through to keep his promise. It really is easy for the both of you to see each other as you constantly seek him out when you need help in finding a shop or a building. You'll never hear him complain though, in fact his heart is fluttering every time you do. You trust him and every time he requests if you're sure that you don't want to be his suicide partner you always give him that thoughtful smile. There's things that you still haven't found for yourself in life and things you need to keep on searching for. Dazai can identify with those words as he too has something that is missing within his life yet your approach seems to be different to his approach. It fascinates him, draws him closer to you as he wonders if you yearn for the same thing that he is longing for. Sometimes he has the feeling that he is looking into a mirror, especially since both of you are quite elusive when it comes to the past. He never gives you a clear answer and so do you, forcing him to keep on guessing and doubting. There is something that you're hiding, something about you that has never been quite normal. Dazai doesn't know what though and it silently torments him.

🤎You cannot feed him those lies for he craves the truth. Feelings have blossomed long ago for him and your attraction for him has just recently started. This is something Dazai knows to abuse and use to his own advantage. If he truly means something to you, you won't keep the truth from him after all. So he guilt-trips you for you have already noticed his feelings for you too. He knows precisely where to target until you finally cave in and admit the truth to him. Ah, you search for a meaning within life? For a world where you can feel like you belong? The two of you are truly carved from the same wood. Dazai knows exactly how you feel. Perhaps it was indeed fate that brought the both of you together. His smile hides the calculating thoughts going on within, his mind racing with different scenarios and possibilities. The both of you could search for a connection together, no? In you he has already found what he is searching for so allow him to return the favor. What Dazai needs is time. Time to understand your ability better. Time to figure out how to bind you to him so that you may never leave for he's not sure if his abilities would work on your otherworldly ones.

Edogawa Ranpo

👓What a strange way to bond this is for Ranpo and both of you are lost together. It is your mistake fo asking Ranpo of all people for direction though you do appreciate his honesty. After all he admits without one moment of hesitation that he too is in need of help. Since you are the first person who has approached him Ranpo names you the one who is now going to help him. Practice is the best way of learning though, that's at least how the saying goes. So the both of you blindly stumble through Yokohama together as you have to help him with essentially everything. If you wouldn't know better you would think that he is a child as he needs assistance with train tickets, bus tickets and you lose him almost a couple of times when he sees some delicious food. Both of you are clueless so you need hours until you have finally helped him to reach the Agency. You're tired and exhausted but at the very least you receive some sweets that he has bought on his way. You're not sure if you would like to meet Ranpo so soon again after that little drama but only a few days later your neighbourhood is witness of a crime that Ranpo is tasked with solving. That's how the both of you meet once more.

👓His intelligence fascinates you and you're not shy of voicing that out loud. What an incredible ego boost for him. You do kindly decline his offer of showing you some of his favorite food stores as you have a vivid flashback of your first meeting. Still, both of you form a tight bond. The moment you give him your number he calls you whenever he gets lost. He doesn't even sound ashamed as he doesn't eevn give you a chance to decline. He calls you, tells you the current location he's at before he hangs up. Sometimes you wonder if he gets lost on purpose so that he has an excuse to call you and see you again. You always come and retrieve him though without a fail and as a small sign of gratitude and appreciation he buys you some of his favorite sweets. He still eats half of it anyways but he shares the other half with you! His sheer skills as a detective amaze you yet you are too aware of the risks that it poses as well. The moment Ranpo starts to get a bit too curious about you and your past you slowly start to pull away. An action that doesn't go unnoticed by him. After all he is clingy and demanding on top. That's why he puts his glasses on though the answer he deducts is something he did not expect.

👓Perhaps if it would have been a gift just like all members of the Agency possess he wouldn't have found out. Ranpo's intelligence is solely his though and doesn't origin from a gift that some humans receive. Some pieces of the puzzle are still missing yet he has collected enough to know roughly what is going on. Some way and somehow he finds his way all by himself to your house though he comes hours too late than he initially planned. That normally cheeky behavior is gone and alarms you the moment you open the door. He marches in without an invitation, his glasses still on. That's how you can almost guess already what has led to this rare serious demeanor of his and your suspicions are confirmed soon after. There is no arrogance when he recounts everything that he has found out but what is almost immediate is his demand for you to not travel to the next world. It isn't that childish stubbornness you are familiar with by now and his tone takes you slightly off-guard. Just in time for him to grab your wrist as if scared you'll disappear otherwise. He has no idea how to solve the problem that you have but if you stay he's sure that he can find the answer you are seeking. You just watch.

Nakahara Chuuya

🟠Chuuya may work for the Port Mafia but that doesn't mean that he will just ignore a damsel in distress when he finds one. That's how you find yourself saved by the orange-haired man in the middle of the night when a group of sketchy strangers suddenly surrounds you. The flatteries don't end there though as he even offers to drive you home. That offer soon turns into insistence when you attempt to politely decline and make the mistake of admitting that you're new to the city and for that have no idea where to even go. So you eventually find yourself giving in and just hopping in the car with him. He stays in the car and waits until he has seen you entering your apartment before Chuuya finally drives back home himself. It's only a small encounter though one he doesn't think he'll forget soon. Pretty soon the both of you meet once more as you have accepted a job in a bar he sometimes visits. It's quite flattering to find out that he still remembers you and is even able to recall your name. Both of you didn't have the chance to properly get to know each other the first time but that changes as you start chatting. The chemistry just seems to be right ad Chuuya orders drink after drink.

🟠He wastes a lot more money on alcohol and drinks within your bar all to keep the conversation going. Soon you notice the signs he exhibits when he starts getting drunk. You only have good intentions in mind when you encourage him to order tea or a simple juice. A man's pride should not be underestimated though as he only orders more out of indignation until he is all but wasted. At the very least he's still giving you compliments even when there is more whisky than blood in his veins. Don't undermine him just because he tends to get wasted, Chuuya is not as oblivious as he might appear in such moments. He has noticed for a while now already that you are very careful whenever he asks you about your life before you moved to Yokohama. Initially he might have thought that you were playing hard to get which in return only made him more curious but now he has realised that this is not it. Otherwise you wouldn't constantly change the topic or hurry over to other customers in the bar whenever he asks you those questions. It's not unusual for him to meet people who hide their past though ususally that means that they are being threatened or have committed something horrible.

🟠Both options are something he doesn't hope to be true for you. How is his mind supposed to rest if you never tell him though? There's nothing he can go with to either confirm or dismiss those creeping suspicions. Not even his position helps him as there is absolutely nothing he can dig up about you. In fact the many mysteries surrounding you only heighten his paranoia. Why can't he find anything about your past? You must be lying to him. Ultimately it is you who actually finds out his secret first as you are at the wrong place at the wrong time. You flee quickly from the scene yet you do not try to run when he visits your bar hours after it's closed. You've been waiting for him after all. Then and there you finally admit to him your own big secret as well. On the one hand Chuuya is revealed that none of his initial fears were proven to be true but his paranoia is far from gone. After all the threat of you leaving is still real and it pains him to hear that you search for a place to stay and to belong to. Has he not given that to you? Give him a chance and he will change your mind! The time is ticking for you could leave any moment, abandoning him and robbing him of his own sense of belonging.

Tachihara Michizo

🔩Bloody, bruised but still with a smug and arrogant grin on his face. That's how you meet Tachihara for the first time as he gloats in the face of his beaten enemies. That grin vanishes for a moment when he spots you as he has been so caught up in the thrill of beating someone up that he didn't pay attention to his surroundings. For one moment he considers if he should eliminate you for no one was supposed to see him. Your reaction is much quicker than his though as you walk over with strange determination and ask him if you can tend to his injuries. This is the last thing that he was expecting out of your mouth and your fearlessness stuns him. Enough for you to drag him away from the beaten bodies, successfully keeping him from murdering anyone whilst you are watching. When he snaps out of his state of shock he protests and refuses to come with you. It would be utterly humiliating for him after all. Does he look like he needs anyone to nurse him back to health? You do not reply. No, in fact you just give him a long and hard stare that causes him to flush uncomfortably. When you continue walking, still holding onto him, he follows you begrudgingly.

🔩That silent stare of yours serves wonders to reign back his rash impulses. You do not attack with fists and violence but with words and pointed looks that are often enough to quickly have him flush in embarrassment. Tachihara honestly would have thought that he would have reacted much more outraged and angry for being belittled yet he doesn't feel that way. Because you actually care. Whenever there was a fight and he has any lasting bruises or injuries you always express your concern. He's not too fond of the butterflies erupting within his stomach whenever you look at him with those warm and worried eyes but his feelings are an effective leash that holds him back. Somehow he becomes your personal guard dog, especially when he finds out that you're new to town. The Port Mafia has to be kept away from you and the Hunting Dogs shouldn't find out about you either. Double the pressure that puts a strain on him. The beginning of his own obsession only worsens his condition. Tachihara is ashamed, wonders if his brother would have sunk that low in his position. His advices grow more demanding as he wants you to listen to him yet you do not.

🔩All he wants to do is guarantee your safety yet you ignore his words. How dare you to lecture him if you are no better? At one point it all gets too much and he accidentally snaps at you, his rage and frustration getting the better of him. Mortified would be the best way to describe his feelings when he calms down. He wants to apologise yet you cut him off. Instead you decide to tell him something about yourself, specifically your own abilities. He doesn't know where you plan to go with that sudden switch of the conversation but that confusion is quickly forgotten when you reveal to him your powers. You do not elaborate any further, neither deny or confirm it when he asks you if you aren't even from this world and plan to leave it one day. No, you leave him hanging in the dark as you have revealed more to him than you have ever before. The final push that has Tachihara spiraling. You may be annoying and he may not be too fond of the feelings you have awakened within him but you still mean a lot to him. You have no right to even consider leaving him after what you have done to him. You have made him that obsessed! Own up to it, you hear him!

Sigma

☁️Somehow Sigma just knows that you mean trouble the moment he spots you within the Sky Casino. He can't quite put his finger around it yet there is a gut feeling that he has when he looks at you, especially once your eyes meet his. You have noticed him staring after all though you don't know why, only tilting your head curiously and arching one of your eyebrows. From the very first day you cause quite a bit of commotion. Not one single loss as luck seems to be on your side. Some of his customers accuse you of cheating, even criticise Sigma when he worriedly walks over due to the sudden heated shouting. This Casino is his life so the spike of anxiety is understandable even if he remains as calm as he can be. Still, he is not assertive enough and you notice with displeasure. That's how you step in, your gaze piercing and your very presence untouchable and domineering. A soft voice that mutters such belittling words as you observe the customer as if they were but a child throwing a tantrum. You properly humiliate them until they decide to flee the scene. Only then do you turn around to look at Sigma, remarking that he should carry himself with more confidence before you too leave.

☁️You handle business almost better than he does, only deepening Sigma's insecurities. This is his Sky Casino after all yet you behave more like the owner than he does at times. Sigma notes that you have quite a bit of a gambling addiction yet you lose so rarely that it honestly doesn't matter. That's why so little people at one point agree to gamble with you. The sight of you sitting lonely at the bar breaks his heart a bit though so to ensure that his customer is happy with the service he agrees to play with you though both of you agree to not bet anything of value. There's little that Sigma knows about you, something that bugs him as he always sees it through to know everything about his customers so over card games and poker he often attempts to get to know you better. Your answers leave him with more questions though, riddles that he doesn't seem to quite understand. That stresses him out more than it should as it is almost a challenge to his abilities as the owner of the Sky Casino. He desperately tries to read you yet the only one who is getting read is him. How can you do that? How can you read him so accurately whilst remaining such a mystery to him?

☁️In any attempts to understand you better, Sigma falls too deeply until he is unable to crawl back out. He is helplessly obsessed yet still none the wiser. By now he has realised that you have no plans to ever answer his questions so he decides to do something far too reckless. He gambles with a higher stake. His position as the owner of the Sky Casino if you win and your secrets if he wins. The intrigued smile on your face scares and captivates him simultaneously as you let him choose the game both of you will be playing. Perhaps he understands the appeal of gambling just a bit more afterwards, an unknown rush he has never felt before as he plays so very differently than normally. That's why he wins. There is only a satisfied smirk on your face as you uphold your part and finally tell him what he has always wanted to know. Your words resonate with him. He understands that struggle. Yet there is one decisive difference. In you Sigma has found an answer but you haven't found that answer in him. He needs you to feel complete. But how do you feel about him? What do you need? What can he do? Sigma will do anything if it means that you will stay in this world. That you will stay with him. Please don't leave him.

245 notes · View notes

latteodyssey · 1 month ago

Text

celebrity crush | tim drake x vigilante!reader ˚｡⋆୨୧

part two of celebrity gossip! hope you guys enjoy! (i’m planning on writing a third part but please be patient with me!)

masterlist

You never thought a man could inconvenience your day like this, specially when he’s not even physically there.

At first you considered Red Robin as one of your friends, nothing more than that. He was one of the few people you were able to trust and create a bond with as a vigilante.

When you first entered the team, he didn’t open up to you right away, perhaps it was one of Batman’s teachings. He was always pretty respectful, but made sure he kept a distance and didn’t let himself get too involved, never revealing anything about himself, he would only talk to you about missions when needed and nothing else.

But as time passed by, he started opening up more, yet still maintained the mysterious persona that surrounded him. You were paired up together more often, and you noticed he initiated conversation more frequently.

But now, that masked man’s face is restlessly clinging to your mind.

Ever since that one night, although you were not sure what, it was undeniable that something shifted between you. The night you were one in the watchtower with him, and decided it was a great idea to share the Wayne family’s new gossip stories the news were fixated over.

Ever since you opened up to him about how Tim Drake used to be your high school crush, something you never told anyone beforehand. You spent hours talking to him then, and what started as an innocent conversation was snowballing into something way bigger.

Several weeks went by and the two of you grew closer, significantly closer. You would spend hours talking to each other; there was this sparkle, this electricity when you spoke to him.

You attempt pushing there thoughts away, trying to focus on what you’re doing — you can’t be the weirdo standing there, daydreaming on the cereal aisle of your local supermarket. You need to get on with your day. You stop to check the grocery list on your notes app, when you notice an odd notification.

timjdrake ✓⃝ started following you. 5m ago.

It takes more than you’d like to admit not to let out a squeal in public. As you follow him back, you can’t wait to tell this to Red Robin.

You’re waiting for Red Robin to arrive the training room, the two of you agreed to have a sparring session; you’ve not seen him in a couple days so you’re dying to update him on what’s been happening. As you wait around for him, you reread your last message exchange with Tim, you’ve been texting nonstop ever since he found your account.

— 6 hours ago.

[timjdrake] it’s been nice catching up with you.

[timjdrake] i rlly miss those high school days.

[y/nisonline] me toooo

[y/nisonline] we should meet up sometime tho, like old times

[timjdrake] i would actually love that!

You kinda feel like a teenager all over again, the bubbly feeling of waiting around for the guy you’re interested in to answer you, trying to guess what’s going through his head when he receives your messages. Just then, you hear the training room’s door opening, the sound of Red Robin’s footsteps breaking the silence of the room.

The training room is expansive, purposefully designed to support a myriad of activities. The floor is lined with smooth, polished wooden planks that shine brilliantly under the overhead lights, providing a durable surface perfect for everything from high-intensity workouts to focused combat training.

“Ready to get your ass kicked?” You say in a teasing, playful tone.

“I’d like to see you try”

You circled each other, eyes locked, each calculating the other's next move. The initial minutes were nothing out of the ordinary, spent in light sparring, a dance of feints and counters.

Red Robin tested your defenses with quick jabs, his movements fluid and unpredictable, almost hypnotic. Yet, he seems to be extra careful with you compared to when he’s up against other colleagues, and although he puts up a hard challenge, it’s like he’s afraid to hurt you.

As the both of you fight, you update him on the situation, careful as to not miss any details, you tell him about the messages, about Tim — gushing about him and the meet up you’re planning on having. He is uncommonly quiet, like he wants to say something but chooses not to. Suddenly, you’re on the ground, cheek pressed against the floor, Red Robin’s hands restraining both of your arms against your back. For a moment, you forgot how skilled of a fighter he really was.

“Okay, you win” You chuckled, and you feel him release his grip.

“Better luck next time” He jokes, extending his hand to help you get up.

You accept his help, grabbing his hand as an assistance to get up. When you manage to get on your feet, you notice you ended up dangerously close to him, so close you could see the details of his mask and the subtle flush forming on his cheeks from the proximity.

Neither of you move for a while yet you can feel his eyes on you, scanning your face for any clues on how to proceed.

Surprisingly, he moves first, his gloved hand brushing against your cheek delicately, there is a reluctance in the way he moves cupping your face with care. You melt into his touch, your eyes gleaming with anticipation. Firstly, he presses a small kiss on the corner of your mouth, it’s simple and quick, but leaves you yearning for more.

Chills run down your spine as he finally closed the gap between your mouths, his lips are soft against your own — his kiss is hungry, almost greedy, like he’s certain this moment will end soon and wants to savor every second of it. You press your bodies together, arms resting against his shoulder blades.

When eventually your lips part, he presses his forehead against yours, you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

If all your sparring sessions are going to end up like this, you’ll ensure to have them more often.

242 notes · View notes

umbrelladripdrop · 12 days ago

Text

DPxDC Idea 2

This one I've actually attempted to write at one point but only got a lil over a chapter done before I moved on and while I do want to write it, I'm also being realistic when I say I probably won't so for a compromise I'll post it here:

Basicly after DP canon has run its course (sans phantom planet obviously) Danny is just chilling with Sam and Tucker when suddenly there's a snag in the conversation that Danny just can't handle. They've all been working together and been there for each other through all the crazy that's happened after the 'portal incident', but at the same time, Sam and Tucker, and even Jazz, can't quite be there for Danny for everything. More specifically, when it comes to the fact that Danny actually died and the effects that has on him.

In my attempt at a fic it came up with Danny complaining to Sam and Tucker about Jazz being overprotective, even if she has been getting better at not being so bad about it all the time, and Sam ends up actually agreeing with Jazz. The friction comes from Sam and Tucker saying how they wish Danny didn't have to be a hero which hurts Danny because he needs to help, he needs to protect the town, and yet his friends are saying that they wish he didn't. It's a bit of a miscommunication sure, but it's also that Sam and Tucker just can't get it and Danny does eventually realize this but not before he storms off and flies all across town.

And on that flight, is where he says those dreaded words:

"I wish that I could just- just talk to someone who understands for once!"

And *boop*! In a sparkle of green dust pops out a real confused Red Hood stranded on a rooftop that has now been thouraly left in Danny's dust as the teen said the words while flying at least 100 miles an hour and therefore did not see the sudden appearance of a person who was not there five seconds ago.

Yep, Desiree is here but literally only for plot stuff as she's the jumping-off point for this fic. She's like the 'big bad' if you want to call her that, but only because they need to fight and defeat her to undo the spell but other than that this would be a pretty chill fic with some nice Jason and Danny (and even Tim and Danny) bonding and shenanigans.

The premise is that, after this wish and first instance of Danny accidentally summoning someone, it keeps happening. After Jason finally meets up with Danny (Red Hood finds himself in a new area so after like a day or two of research and no contact with the bats [ghostly/GIW caused radio black out or something] he does the smart thing and seeks out the towns resident hero) he gets flashes of why he's here and now he knows he's here cause both he and the kid share the experience of death so yeah he's helping this kid now. After that he and Danny (and Tucker and Sam cause they all made up now) find out that anytime Danny states a fact about his life that's weird or slightly traumatizing, he ends up summoning someone who shares that experience with him. Some examples/possibilities I came up with are:

"Who else fights eldrich horrors and what are essentially God's on the regular?" Cue John Constantine popping up, taking one look at Danny, and giving an emphatic fuck this and teleporting out.

"Well- uh- I bet no one else has had their DNA stolen by a freaky billionaire who's weirdly obsessed with them and then cloned them!" Cue Clark showing up frazzled until he sees Jason and just sighs in acceptance of the Weird Bat Shit.

"No! I refuse! There's no way in hell that someone's had to go and fight their future evil self because they came back in time to stop me from making it so their timeline never comes to pass!" Oh and now Tim is here, now him and Jason can start planin on how to fix this mess (and Tim and Danny can start to be friends too. All the bat bonding).

Those are just the first few back to back ones that Danny spews out in his denial that this is even happening after that initial meet up and explination with Jason. Clark ends up dipping with a promise to tell Bruce that Jason and Tim are alright an are just on a mission now I guess, they're not stuck since both Clark and Constantine could leave but it's not like they were just gonna let this shit slide, so yeah they're staying to help out.

Cue plot/shenanigans/accidentally trauma dumping since the spell makes Danny more suseptible to spewing his guts that way the spell can work more by summoning more people. The summons are based off proximity in a sense because they pull in the person closest that can relate to whatever Danny said.

This leads to Jason and Tim end up getting re-summoned again with a few other points like:

"Getting kidnaped by some old creep on the regular is not a fun time." Tim gets teleported back to Danny and they just... stare at each other because didn't this already happen? Aka this is when they figure out the summoning can apparently stack.

"Yeah like I was supposed to know that getting kidnapped by a ‘father figure’ for ‘my own good’ and wanting to strangle said father figure on multiple occasions was a universal experience." Jason who was sitting in a chair ten feet away is now only two feet away and no longer sitting in a chair and falls to the ground with a waterfall of swears.

"None of you get what it's like to have an older sibling as overbearing as jazz!"Jason teleports again and absolutely flips his shit and goes to fucking gag the twirp because this is the third god damned time Danny!

After Jason's 3rd teleportation, they pause the search for what's happening in favor of trying to figure out why he seems incapable of keeping his mouth shut. Literally. Even Danny says that he doesn't know why he's saying all this. They head down to the lab, which leads to this:

"Oh yeah we can go down here all the time, comes with the territory of borderline neglectful parents." Tim who wasn't on the stairs is suddenly now on the stairs (Jazz was leading the way and therefore farther away) and tips head over tea kettle which makes Jason laugh his ass off all while going how does it feel now?!

There's a potential for so many more summonings and accidentally trauma dumping shenanigans/emotional comfort opportunities but these were just all the ones I could come up with.

The day is eventually saved when they trick Desiree back but Jason and Tim end up staying in touch with Danny and end off with everyone being friends cause I'm a sucker for good endings and fluff. Again I might get to making this an actual fic but I'm already working on a big one (and slacking on it a bit my bad) so who knows? But I at least wanted to get the idea out there somewhere in case someone else wanted to play with the idea.

#dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc fanfic #dp x dc prompt #danny phantom #danny fenton #jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #batman #dc

170 notes · View notes

jejelovescats · 3 months ago

Text

My analysis on Spy X Family chapter 111

well uhm today's chapter was something initially I though the chapter was too short to write about, but we did get valuable information, and writing isn't only about the present, it's also about the past and future so I've been thinking about this for a few hours and here's what I've found. First point I'd like to make was way back in chapter 1, we got a very brief introduction about Anya, it was stated that she was an unintentional consequence of research experiments and that she had later escaped the facility.

Now since the chapter was quite short, many statements I make can be far-fetched. Alright now, when they said, "unintentional consequence of research experiments" they could've simply meant that the woman (who Anya refers to as "mama") could have just gotten pregnant and called that "unintentional consequence" and when stated "research experiments" they could have simply meant her mother. Now I said "the woman who Anya refers to as "mama"," because she could still be a woman who Anya has grown fond of and called 'mama', this is quite unlikely and I believe that she is her biological mother, still just a thought Now we ask ourselves, in chapter 111, was that a lab? my answer: yes, I do quite think so why? if you look closely, on the back of both Anya and her (probably) biological mother, there are strings holding the dress from behind like a lot of hospital clothing..

And one panel that really stood out to me was this one. Some people theorized previously that if Anya were to have a biological parent, they'd be the reason of her being held captive in the lab. This has been debunked after today's chapter. It seems that Anya's biological mother wanted freedom just as much Anya did, she's a victim in this too. Another point I'd like to make is that Anya's mother probably helped free Anya (as stated in chapter one, all it said was that she escaped, doesn't mean no one helped her) since she knew she couldn't escape herself. The symbolism is symbolizing 🙂‍↕️

Now this is where we ask ourselves, where is Anya's mom? my answer: Probably dead. Why else would she have cried on the interview day? She appeared to be very close to her mother in today's chapter and it would explain her tears. She could also just be trapped in the lab, but I find the first explanation more logical, even though they're both a possibility, that's just my opinion.

Something else, are Anya's powers inherited? probably, they could have messed up with the mother's DNA and passed it on to Anya, and they experimented further on Anya to further develop her powers Last thing, the hair. we saw in chapter 1 that Anya had her hair in buns, as well as today with her mother, and present Anya always has those cone shaped hairpieces on her hair, we've never seen her without them. why? no idea I've gathered a bunch of theories that are plausible 1) they have some type/form of horns hidden underneath their buns 2) scars now the scars would make sense for 2 reasons 1) Donovan, who's probably a mind reader (though we can't verify Melinda as an accurate source) has scars on his head as well, now even though the placement isn't the same, they're still scars. 2) They want to convince their selves they're normal people

hear me out. A woman and her daughter are both trapped in a lab, being experimented on, they have scars, won't hiding them give them some sense of normalcy?

And also, the fact that Anya asked Yor if she could read her mind, the poor kid is looking for anything that might remind her of her mother, in the chapter, her face wasn't shown, just like Loid's flashback. I also noticed while Anya was dreaming that she held bond quite tightly, I think that's because she was trying to hold out to her mother.

well, I did NOT expect to write this much given the length of the chapter😂 can you tell that this was VERY rushed? Since loid did mention that she was sleeping before her bedtime, that probably means that when Anya sleeps again, she'll dream of her mother once again. well, that's me rambling! hope you enjoyed! please feel free to share your thoughts or any more thoughts you might have! okay but isn't baby Anya just adorable? SEE Y'ALL IN 2 WEEKS<333

#spy x family #forger family #spy x family spoilers #spy x family manga #spy x family chapter 111

245 notes · View notes

meadowfics · 3 months ago

Text

chasing a ghost

kang dae-ho x f!reader

you started to wait for dae-ho after leaving the games

warnings: angst, angst, angst, angst. no happy ending

this was not on my wip, but I just got an impulse to write this last second

you first crossed paths with dae-ho during the initial chaos of red light green light.

he was quiet but observant, his sharp eyes catching your movements as you tried to stay out of trouble.

you weren’t sure why, but something about him made you feel safer, even in that hellhole.

the partnership began as a mutual agreement to survive.

he protected you during the first night, keeping the others from approaching your corner of the room.

at first, you thought he did it because it was strategic, but the way he stood just a little closer to you than necessary told you otherwise.

you started noticing how he always kept you in his peripheral vision, his hand subtly moving toward you when you stumbled or hesitated.

it was as if he couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.

during the nights, when the lights were dim, and the sound of breathing filled the room, he’d sit beside you, his voice a quiet reassurance that you weren’t alone.

he’d whisper stories of his time in the marines, his tone softer than you thought possible for someone who carried so much weight on his shoulders.

you began to fall for him in those moments.

it wasn’t just his strength that drew you in...it was the way he tried so hard to keep you safe, even when his own fear was evident in his eyes.

the way his voice softened when he said your name. the way his hand sometimes brushed against yours, hesitant but warm.

he fell for you, too.

you saw it in the way he stayed awake when you slept, his eyes scanning the room like a hawk.

in the way he’d share his food with you, even when it meant he’d go hungry.

in the way his rough, calloused hand would sometimes linger just a little too long when helping you up.

by the time you both made it to the final stages, there was an unspoken bond between you.

he didn’t have to say it out loud...you knew he cared for you just as deeply as you cared for him.

when it was all over, and the guards were taking you both away, you managed to whisper your address to him, your voice trembling.

he said he knew where your neighborhood was.

“come find me,” you said, your heart breaking at the thought of being separated from him.

he promised he would. his voice was steady, but you could see the pain in his eyes.

“i’ll come to you,” he said, his hand gripping yours for the last time before they pulled him away.

you waited for him. every day, you looked out your window, hoping to see him standing there.

you stayed in the same apartment, refusing to move, just in case he ever showed up.

as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, hope began to fade.

sometimes, you’d wander the city, searching for him.

you’d scan every face in the crowd, your heart leaping at the sight of anyone who remotely resembled him.

he was never there.

it was as if he had vanished.

three years passed, and you finally gave up.

the ache in your chest never really went away, but you told yourself it was time to move on from him, the squid games, and any past trauma you faced.

you packed your things and left that apartment, telling yourself it was the only way to stop the pain.

you will never know that dae-ho came looking for you the very next day.

he stood in front of the empty apartment, his heart sinking as he realized he was too late.

he had spent those years trying to piece himself back together, battling the demons from the games and his past.

he had finally worked up the courage to come to you, only to find you gone.

he sat on the floor of that empty apartment for hours, his head in his hands.

he thought of you, of the way you used to smile at him even in the darkest moments.

he wondered where you were, if you still thought of him.

you never knew how close he came to finding you, and he never stopped wondering if he’d lost the only person who ever truly understood him.

you were his light in the games, and now, you were the one thing he could never have.

I'm sorry </3

masterlist

#kang dae ho #kang dae ho x reader #squid game #squid game s2 #squid game season 2 #squid game fanfic #squid game x you #squid game x reader #kang ha neul

187 notes · View notes

evieelyzabethh · 4 months ago

Note

If it’s okay to request, may I request something in modern au (viktor x reader, established relationship) where jayce is hosting a costume party and reader dresses in something that makes her look super pretty (maybe I even suggest, her dressed as cowboy barbie, cause my bi self is obsessed with that look) and viktor gets handy with her. If you’re comfortable, can you make it nsfw or at lesser suggestive?

Definitely projecting as someone whose personal fav holiday is Halloween, but I imagine reader to be super stoked about it. Like the set up gets a big makeover that she forces Vik to help her with, there's a bunch of spiders and skulls and spooky decor all over the place, the ambient music transitions to creepy organs or the instrumental soundtrack of one of those old Hollywood horror movies. You definitely spare no expense when it comes to costumes, sometimes even going as far as to make it yourself.

Jayce isn't the biggest Halloween guy; he just likes the decor and the movies. While you went as cowboy Barbie, he definitely went as a plain cowboy, walking around shirtless with a huge cowboy hat atop his head and a lasso attached to the leather belt he's wearing. The denim jeans he wears are flared, just barely showing the brown boots that he bought to match with the suspenders the rest on his bare chest. The party is rather intimate, nothing more than a bunch of mutual friends, a bunch of pizza, and at least a gallon of Jungle Juice.

Now, you knew that Viktor wasn't going to be Ken. Even though his costume wouldn't be a matching hot pink, he thinks the fringe is silly and totally not his vibe. To be fair, he hasn't done a matching costume with you since you went as a Playboy Bunny, and even then, he only showed up in a suit and tie. He didn't even name the costume; he just went along with what everyone else assumed. That year, he was a man of many costumes: Men in Black, James Bond, Hugh Heffner, a bodyguard. Someone even thought it was a Legally Blonde reference, and he was Emmett. This being said, he has no issues with you going as cowboy barbie or any of the other skimpy costumes you've worn throughout the years, as long as he gets to tag along and see you in it.

He doesn't even have to worry about jealousy, it's incredibly clear who you came with. He doesn't force you to stay by him, but the way your gaze travels to him at parties, the pretty curls you spent hours on bobbing around as you move around to find him in the crowd makes it incredibly obvious who you're tethered to. The pink, starred ascot that had been around your neck had been undone by a bathroom make out session and could now be found around his wrist. When you talk to friends, you make yourself cozy next to him, the drink you've been nursing for the better part of an hour in your hand as you lay your head on his chest, squirming deeper into him as what he whispers in your ear makes you shiver.

And you think you're being slick, but the way his hand plays on your thigh and the look in your eyes getting farther away says everything. So, when you abruptly say your goodbyes, no one is surprised that your car stays parked out front for at least a half hour.

It's really not the most comfortable arrangement, knee deep in the passenger seat or whatever Chapel said. Your head keeps bumping into the steering wheel, even with the seat being pushed as far back as it'll go, but his hand at the back of your head absorbs most of the impact. You hear it in his voice when he hisses extra loud, his eyes closing as he weighs out whether or not it's worth it to pull you off and drive home. He knows if he asks you, you'll just tell him to drive as he sucks you off and he is desperate enough to do just that.

Especially with the way you look right now. He's always been the type to initiate eye contact, and with how good you look right now, your make-up miraculously intact thanks to whatever waterproof mascara you use, spit dripping from your chin to the top of your tits, your cheeks red, eyes a bit gone from the lack of oxygen, he could cum just by looking at you. His little reminders, "Don't forget to breathe, doll. Through your nose, you can do it.", are quite necessary with your refusal to pull off until he spills down your throat, and fuck is he thankful. If you were in a teasing headspace and decided to edge him now, tears already in his eyes, half his energy going to steadying his own breath so he didn't pass out and the other half trying to keep him from bruising the back of your esophagus, he would probably cry.

You'd been going at it for a while already, pay back for all the lingering touches throughout the night and looking too good in that suit. The languid licks trailing from his leaking tip to his balls couldn't even be hurried along by his hips shallowly bucking into your mouth. You were in your own little world, moaning around his cock, hands pressed firmly in between your thighs as you buck into nothing while his honeyed praise goes through one ear and rattles around in your brain and spills out between your legs.

"Just a bit more. Doin' so good. So close.", he groans, so good. And he really doesn't last much longer, spurts of his cum shooting down your throat as he shudders and whimpers through the aftershocks. That post-nut clarity hits like a semi-truck when he looks out the very foggy windows to see Jayce out the window holding the clutch you left behind, looking entirely too shocked to have just walked up to the window. It's the scariest thing he saw all Halloween.

#arcane #arcane x reader #arcane fanfic #arcane x you #eviesmadness🪻#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane headcanon #viktor smut #arcane smut #streamerau🎮

203 notes · View notes

bettystonewell · 17 days ago

Text

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 7

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 6.7k words

Chapter Warnings: SMUT including knotting, claiming, and marking; language, references to past sexual abuse, fluff, Dean being an overprotective alpha, soulmate bonding

A/N: *Holdsbreathandhitspost*

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over, arms leaning on his thighs, Dean twisted the small pill bottle in his hands, listening as each tablet fell to the bottom. There weren’t many, six at most, and they rattled around in there, waiting for him to open the lid and take one out.

Or man up and throw them in the trash like he’d planned.

The problem was, he knew how his body would react to not taking the daily suppressant. He’d experienced it before. And if his inner alpha was overprotective of you now, it was about to turn into a possessive dick the second the drug’s effects wore off in T minus twenty-four hours, if he…

No.

Not if.

He was doing this. He was gonna claim you and make you his.

Which is why even though the trashcan was only three feet in front of him, he still sat there unmoving from the memory-foam cushioning his ass…

Fuck. Why was this so hard?

He put the pills down on his bedside table and leant back into the mattress, fishing his phone out from his jean pocket. The denim hugging his hips was too tight, and he had to lift himself up a few inches to yank the device free, unlocking it with a couple of taps and a swipe up.

His fingers continued to work the touch screen, locating contacts, flicking down to the letter J, and hitting the green call button. At least there was one thing he wasn’t hesitating over.

He heard the click and a familiar voice fondly speak his name before he’d even brought it up to his ear.

“Dean Winchester.”

“Hey, Jody. How’s it going?” Dean stood up off the bed and moved to the closet.

“Good. Although I’m a little surprised to hear you ask me that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The door creaked in protest, as did his back, though it cracked more than creaked when he arched over to reach his green duffle he’d thrown on the floor after the hunt in Iowa. The couple of weapons he hadn’t bothered to put away hit against each other as the bag swayed and gravity played with their weight.

“Just that you don’t call me unless you need something or someone’s dead. Oh god. Is Sam okay? What have you boys gotten into now?”

“Alright, first off, that’s insulting.” He emptied the contents onto the bed, pulling out a shirt that had wound its way around his shotgun. “And second.” He brought the fabric up to his nose for a sniff test. It needed washing, or burning with added salt. The remnants of nameless monster guts clung to the collar, and he didn’t hesitate to throw it out. Those pills though... “Everything’s fine. Sammy’s alive last time I checked.

“I wanted to know how you were. What’s wrong with that?” He caught the phone between his neck and shoulder, freeing his hands up to open the chamber of his prized weapon. The racking was rather loud when he closed it back again, and he grimaced. Jody was going to notice that.

“Nothing,” she said. “But that’s not why you’re calling.”

Why did he attract people who could see right through him? “Well, ah, to be honest, I need a favour.” He took a long breath in, preparing himself to deliver his news. “I met my soulmate and—”

“What?” Her high-pitched squeal had him dropping his shoulder and her. “Are you sure?”

Seriously! It’s like she was trying to cut him deep. “What do you mean, am I sure? I know my own damn initials,” he shouted down at his phone. Luckily, it had only landed on the bed. He did not have the patience or time to get a new one.

He ditched the shotgun and picked up Jody, bringing her back to his ear.

“So you’re no longer running solo, huh? Finally claimed someone! What are they? An omega, a beta? Or another alpha like you?” She chuckled. “I’d love to see that.”

‘Bitch.’

‘Dude. This is Jody.’

‘She’s insulting our mate.’

‘No, she’s insulting you, you dick.’

“Ah, an omega, and I haven’t claimed her yet,” Dean said, cringing when his inner alpha interrupted him again. His eyes searched for the pill bottle and gave it a once over. No, no. This was gonna be hell, but he’d grin and bear it. “That’s why I was calling—”

It was mid-afternoon when he pulled up in the expansive car park the next day. Dean had chosen a space at the back of the lot, leaving at least two free ones in between the Impala, and nowhere near the return bays. The last thing he needed was some asshole being careless with their cart and scratching Baby’s sleek paint job.

He shifted the stick into P, shut her engine off, and released a loud, drawn-out sigh, before turning to you and your smiling face. It was the only thing making the inevitable onslaught of other people and his first ever venture into Walmart worthwhile.

If he had his way, you’d be sitting out front of a secluded Gas n Sip. There was nothing wrong with gas station snacks and take out. At least that’s the argument he’d used against you. Needless to say, he’d failed. You had the doe-eyed look down pat and gave even Sammy a run for his money.

The leather squeaked beneath him as he reached over you and opened the glove box. He dug through the fake IDs and old maps that had no hope of leaving the small compartment anytime soon and retrieved his 1911, tucking it into the waistband of his pants like usual. When he sat back up, he found you staring at him in disbelief. “What?” he asked.

“You’re taking that?”

His jaw tightened. “I always carry it with me. You know that.”

“Yeah, but…we’re getting groceries. What are you expecting to happen in a grocery store?”

“Nothing.” Try everything. “But you can never be too careful.” Wolves like Garth had to buy their raw steaks from somewhere. Not that the ordinary bullets he’d pre-loaded into the gun would kill anything other than a human. They’d slow the rest down, though. That was enough for him, and he’d keep telling himself that.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, searching for the door handle.

Before he could squeeze his fingers against the cool metal, however, you had reached for his right and tugged at his arm. “You can wait here if you don’t want to go inside. I’m happy to—”

“Nope.” He gave one very forceful shake of his head. “Absolutely not.” There was no way he was letting you out of his sight with your impending heat. Screw his rut.

Your pheromones had been changing by the hour, making you smell the sweetest and most enticing you’d ever been. His inner alpha was driving him crazy, and had done the entire drive, chanting, ‘Mine,’ ‘My omega,’ and now it told him to ‘Bring the machete.’

If only he could.

‘I can’t hide a blade that big under my clothes,’ he reasoned. Although the demon knife wouldn’t hurt. It was a shame opening the trunk, with the devil’s trap on display in a place like this was bound to raise a few eyebrows. He did not want to draw any more attention to you.

Fuck. This was gonna be worse than hell. The rearview mirror was full of bodies and cars coming and going, and that was just the outside of the gigantic building.

Who knew how many more people were still inside? Plenty by the stench of it.

It was too late to change his mind, though. He looked at you, holding your purse all ready to go on your lap. Frowning when it finally dawned on him that of all the things you had to wear today, you’d chosen a dress that accentuated your curves.

He’d appreciated the view at lunch, but that was at a small town diner, somewhere off of route eighty-one. Now it was a different story, but you were clearly excited and while he didn’t for the life of him know why, he couldn’t just demand you waited here instead. That was as bad as you going in alone.

“C’mon,” he said, and climbed out of the car, shutting the door behind him with the usual creak and groan.

Dean would rather chow down on burgers than run for ‘fun’ like Sam. He wasn’t afraid to admit it. But on that day, in the middle of the Sioux Falls Walmart’s parking lot, he jogged even though he wasn’t being chased for the first time in his adult life, scooting across the gravel to intercept you before you crossed the safety of the meaningless lines.

Your eyes traced over him, studying him with a wry smile, your scent spiking along with it, as did his interest.

He could hear your heartbeat if he listened carefully. It thrummed in his ears as quick as his was, but unlike him, you seemed to contain it well.

“Just think of it this way.” You patted his chest. “The more we buy, the longer we won’t have to leave Jody’s cabin.”

Now that was something he could get on board with, and though he thought it impossible in a place like this, his own mouth grew wide, drawing his blood back up and away from the conspicuous semi he was sporting.

The change didn’t last long.

“Woah.” He gripped your hand tighter and yanked it, making you stop. That fucking douche in the station wagon had come way too close to the curb for his liking. “Watch where you’re going, jackass!” he spat. His head following the rear bumper, oblivious to the other “dangers” the car park held.

‘She was almost hit.’

‘She’s fine.’

Your thumb moved to stroke the tops of his knuckles. “It was nowhere near us, Alpha.”

He turned to you with a furrowed brow at first, only picking up on your discomfort from his death grip when your other fingers started squirming under his. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said.

Your arm retreated with a shake of your wrist and he went for your lower back instead, guiding you with a gentle nudge and an extra look left for any more assholes who didn’t know how to drive.

The automatic doors opened as you both stepped onto the oversized mats and Dean beelined for the shopping carts grouped together on the side. Naturally, he needed to push yours. He’d be a purse-bitch if he had to, too. Anything to stop himself from acting rash and ripping your arm off again.

He let go of you, and yanked one out, swinging the steel trolley around with ease as if he were figure skating with it and reached for your waist when he had the thing facing in the direction of a second set of automated doors. The place was like airport security.

“Are they gonna let us leave when we’re done?” he whispered to you.

“Not if you break something with that.” Your hand came up to his shoulder and tugged on his flannel, veering to the right while pointing to a large sign that said fresh produce. “Come on. I wanna go here first”

Great. Vegetables. Not to mention the abundance of people wandering around there and the just as many aisles and fruit he’d never seen before.

How many apples did you need?

Because you passed by red and green ones, mountains of them, and even then, they were apparently all different. Grandmas. Mount Fuji’s. What the hell did golden delicious mean and would it go into a pie?

You stepped away from him to look at a display that was labelled Pink.

They weren’t like any ladies he’d ever seen. The colour didn’t come close to anyone’s, including yours.

In each subsequent aisle after, Dean was both awestruck and dumbstruck at the amount of variety the place had.

You led him past an entire rack of peanut butter, through a row of refrigerators that had him breathing out cold air from his nose, and he was still in doubt over what was in those cans that claimed to have a whole chicken in them. He was thankful you hadn’t stopped there to find out.

Soon enough though, your cart filled up to the point he found himself playing Tetris with its contents after discovering Walmart also sold booze.

Even if he didn’t drink it all on account of his rut, the case of his favourite beer he’d selected was coming with you and he was determined to make it work, with only a single banana being harmed in the process as he rearranged it all for a third time. He ditched the fruit on a shelf displaying margarita mixes and the two of you headed for the cashiers, his arm still wrapped around your waist.

He’d become a pro at steering the metal cage, though honestly, he could drive anything, and he was proud to say, you could leave the store as he’d had no accidents and no alpha had been harmed for looking at you.

Yet.

“Are you sure we need all this stuff?” he asked as you passed another couple with only half the things you had.

“This coming from the guy who had two slices of pie on top of his burger at lunch?”

Point taken, he supposed, but you’d eaten just as much. You’d had more than him, come to think of it. Lunch, breakfast, the night before. So when you patted his stomach, and he looked down at you grinning at him, he couldn’t help but return a knowing smile.

“You’ll thank me later,” you said.

He knew he would. In more ways than one.

Still on your way to the front, you passed the nesting department located opposite the cash registers. Of course, it was just another convenient ploy to gain some extra impulse buys from naïve omegas who hadn’t realised they needed that new blanket or another stuffy until they saw the giant pile of fluff.

To Dean’s distaste, you were also won over by the gimmick and he was pulled along for the ride.

Yes, he was annoyed. He wanted to get you home, maybe taste your pink lady before things really started, and definitely not add more crap to your cart. But he couldn’t help but smirk as he watched your hands glide over every piece of fabric that piqued your fancy.

Your fingers preened the threads. They stroked the tassels and the weird little fuzzy balls that stuck out like skin tags on an old person. Everything was falling into place, and he pushed all his grumbles aside.

Soon. Tomorrow at the latest, you would be his officially.

But while your inner omega delved into the world of fuzz and all things fluffy and he stood back contented with watching you, an elderly alpha whose back would snap if the wind blew at him too hard was also eyeing you as you picked up a certain colourful blanket that looked very familiar to Dean.

The fucking perv was hanging around, preying on omegas such as you. He had to be. And he had the nerve to walk up to you and ask your opinions on the thing, as if he was interested in buying one.

You humoured him, but Dean? He saw right through him.

So did the dick in his head. It was sending messages to his pants and his fingers flexed over the plastic handle of your cart, pulling his knuckles in and out of focus under his taut skin.

“I’ve had this before, but I used it in the living room when I wasn’t nesting too,” you said. “I find it holds scents better—”

As the old guy’s arm reached over to touch the blanket you were holding, Dean stepped in. That was too close for his liking and his inner alpha snarled, “She’s mine,” leading to the more sane version of himself, regretting not bringing the cart closer so he could push him with it. The floor was waxed enough for the wheels to slip and be blamed for any accident.

“This is your alpha?” the Master Roshi wannabe asked, looking Dean up and down. “But you haven’t—”

“Your nose works just fine, asshole,” Dean said through his teeth. “We’re here to get supplies for it, so fuck off.”

Dean turned his back on him and focused on you. His blood was boiling and had he been anywhere else, and that dick been any younger, he would’ve clipped him one.

As it was, he could feel the old guy still hanging behind him and he dared not turn around for fear of really doing something.

He took the blanket you were holding from your hands and inspected it before placing it on the edge of the pile. It wouldn’t do now that he’d put his mitts on it.

Your mouth opened, about to protest, but Dean flashed you a grin, picked up another that he pulled from the very centre. “It holds people’s scents, yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Then this is the one. Only touched you and me,” he said.

He was about to place the bundle on your piled shopping cart when he saw you pout. His hesitation, giving you the chance to pluck it out of his hands and into your arms where it stayed as he paid and drove, taking you to your final destination. A little cabin about thirty minutes north of the small city.

The first thing Dean noticed when he opened the door to Jody’s cabin was the pungent smell. “Is that…lavender?” he asked. His arm balancing the precious case of beer he’d found at Walmart.

“I’m surprised you know what it is.” You chuckled.

So did he, but it wasn’t like he selected the shampoo Sam bought. He just used whatever was on the shower shelf at the time and now recognised the word along with the purple packaging that meant the same flavour old folks and museums liked to spray in their bathrooms was contained inside.

This didn’t suit Jody, though. She was a badass, and sure she enjoyed chick flicks and bubble baths (he assumed, because who didn’t), but… “She’s too young for this crap,” he muttered as he ran his free hand over the wall, searching for the light switch.

At first, nothing besides the place smelling like grandma seemed out of the ordinary, but as he readjusted his load and stretched his bow legs over the threshold, it wasn’t the moaning of the floorboards underneath him from the weight of the glass bottles and their contents that caught his attention. It was the spots of something on the floor further inside.

Blood is what his mind went to. What else would a hunter with his skills think?

Jody had become rather renowned for her side profession and could’ve pissed off a few dicks. Plus, this far into the woods would be an ideal location for wolves or even a nest to squat, and this town had seen its fair share.

Of course, that wouldn’t explain the stench, or the fact she’d left the key for him under the mat and would’ve noticed something was amiss already, so unless whatever potential threat who was presumably squatting liked pot-pourri and hoodoo, it was a far stretch.

Then again, witches? Maybe. But also, fuck, not again. Especially when he was this close to going into rut.

Dean looked over his shoulder and, “Wait here,” he said, moving only when your head acknowledged the instruction.

Those same bow legs carried him down the wide hallway, his free arm kept right next to his side, ready and waiting to draw his gun. If it came down to it, he’d risk the booze, but he soon realised he didn’t have to. Whatever was scattered on the floor cast shadows over the wood grain and smelt just as nasty as the lavender.

The light from the entry wasn’t enough to see clearly even with his keen eyesight, so he lunged the case onto the small dining table with a thump and a tinkling from the glass and searched for another light switch.

Click.

The exposed bulb overhead flickered on, and Dean’s eyes went straight to the ground to be met with… petals? Red ones?

Huh.

“S’okay, sweetheart. You can come in now. It’s just a bunch of flowers.”

Your steps across the floorboards barely made a noise over the crinkle of plastic from the shopping bags you carried.

Dean strode over to you, pried the handles from your fingers, and lifted them up beside the casing of beer.

“Flowers and wine,” you said, and Dean flicked his head in the direction you were now headed.

On a small coffee table in the centre of a brilliant brick fireplace and a couple of old couches, two bottles of the stuff and what looked like a card had been placed.

You picked the piece of folded paper up and read it aloud. “Congratulations, and enjoy your time alone together, J.” You handed the note to him as he approached with a sly smile. “We should buy her a gift before we leave town as a thankyou.”

“More shopping? We got all that stuff so we wouldn’t have to go anywhere.”

While he was snarking, he scoped out your home for the next week, maybe two, noting the floofy pillows that would suit your needs for a few scenarios.

“Later. Not now,” you said, and his arm pulled you close, wrapping tightly around your waist.

“It’s a nice idea.” The other scooped between you and shucked up your dress. “Enough about Jody. How’re ya feeling?” he asked against your mating gland, inhaling your scent. Sweet apple, spicy cinnamon, and a touch of whisky nipped at the edge of his throat. “Any changes?”

Dick’s marks had completely gone. As had any traces of what he’d done to you and Dean was met with options. The right side, or the left for his claim. Maybe even both.

You leaned back with a quirked brow as his fingers ran over your underwear. “Not yet.”

“But you’re wet.” He brought you closer. You weren’t the only one excited. He found the elastic of your panties and slipped inside, skimming through your folds and your warm channel.

“Shouldn’t we get the groceries,” you said, but there was a hitch in your voice at the end when he dipped his middle finger further again.

“Can wait.” He breathed into your ear, pulling you closer to the fireplace and his lap on the couch.

Soon one touch led to another, and despite the many things that still needed to be done around the place before you settled in for the night, they were long forgotten, along with the rest of your groceries in the Impala. It was cold enough out in the woods that an hour wouldn’t hurt, and he would deal with the sigils and logs for a fire later.

Dean wasted no more time sinking into you, meeting each rock of your hips for a thrust on the worn sofa by the fireplace, clothes still on.

Best. Decision. Ever.

Even though the wooden frame creaked under your weight and he felt the need to plant his boots firmly into the shaggy rug beneath them to keep the thing upright.

His hands snuck up your dress and cast aside the cups of your bra to knead your slick covered tits. Your panties, pulled to the side, created an extra layer of friction as the elastic caught on his growing knot.

An ever better decision than he thought, and he sat back, enjoying the show and the little gasps of pleasure you gave him when your clit hit his pubic bone at the perfect angle and ground against it.

“Dean, fuck.” Your hips buckled with one forceful slam.

“Feel good, baby?” He knew you were close. Your muscles fluttering around him and the fresh wave of your juices coating his twitching balls kinda gave it away. “You gonna come on my cock? Let me knot you?”

You were too lost in the moment to answer him. He didn’t care. He revelled in your grinding, how you were growing desperate, and by the way your eyes sparkled when he spoke of his knot.

“Alpha. Need your—” But you didn’t finish your sentence because your body finished on him.

The climax ripped through you, drawing tremors from your legs, tickling his thighs and lower stomach.

His hands took yours and pulled them to his neck, soothing your taut arms from your wrists to shoulders, grounding himself in the process.

His balls were heavy, his sack on fire. Your cunt had sucked his knot inside and the pulses and trickles of your release had his instincts screaming to plough into you. But he wouldn’t. Not yet.

When his fingers moved to your hips and raised them up so that only the tip penetrated your core, your forehead dropped to his. Sweat mixing with sweat. Panted breaths warming his cheeks and lips.

“Think you can give me one more?” he rasped.

Your laugh was airy. It came out as a shudder. Your skull rocked against his as you shook your head with it, and your hair tangled into his short brown tufts.

“Yeah, you can.” His eyes stared into yours, bouncing emerald green off of the pearly white that surrounded your own vibrant irises.

His hand moved to stroke your clit with the rough pad of his thumb.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, and Dean’s chest swelled with pride.

“Yeah?” he asked with an air of confidence and pressed harder over the sensitive nub.

Your walls clamped around him again, just as he’d hoped. “Alpha, please,” you cried.

As much as he loved the idea of you begging him for it, the pressure down below was reaching boiling point, and he knew a couple of thrusts would do it for him.

He lifted his ass off the cushion, and sunk halfway into you, tipping the sofa by the weight of his shoulders alone. His fingers on your hip gripped tighter, bruising the flesh below, as he steadied himself and in one fluid motion slammed you and him back down into the seat.

The furniture groaned in protest.

Your moan was more of a high-pitched cry, and when he raised you up and down again and again in a vicious pace, and his thumb continued to press into your overstimulated clit, it turned into the best version of his name he’d ever heard.

“Omega,” he grunted.

Your pussy was an inferno. That heat, the friction from your panties and your folds rubbing against him, and the vice-like crush from your inner walls on his shaft soon had him seeing white behind the eyes, leaving his other senses to pick up the slack. He felt each drop of blood pump through his body, from his ears to his knot.

When it popped and thick, creamy waves of his release flooded your insides, dousing the flames, he swooped in for a searing kiss.

Your lips were tart and sweet. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you’d been sipping that wine already or chowing down on strawberries, but he’d sat across from you at every meal that day and watched you like a hawk at Walmart so he knew exactly what you’d done and eaten. “Tell me that’s your heat coming on,�� he said when he slumped backwards to look at you.

“Likewise.” Your fingers twisted through his hair. “You feel warm, Alpha.”

Dean’s boyish chuckle was breathy. “Sweetheart. It’s a house fire down there and that ain’t on me. I already tried putting it out.”

You didn’t let him down. Your snort was adorable, and he gave you his best cheesy grin in return.

His inner alpha was not so light-hearted, however, and even after it had gotten its fix and his knot was still very much stuck inside of you, it continued to grumble in the far reaches of his mind, wanting more.

The chant that he should claim you was growing old. He fucking knew that, but while your heat was close, it just hadn’t set in yet, and chomping down on your mating gland now was gonna hurt you unnecessarily. No. Dean would wait, focusing on what you needed in the moment, like any good mate would.

His hands moved to your thighs, grazing his fingers over your sweat lined skin. It was heated, and you shivered at the new sensation, but he wasn’t surrounded by copious amounts of slick and you seemed to have no discomfort. That was part of it, right?

“How’re you feeling?” he said again, and your whole body tensed. Even your inner walls, that had relaxed some, squeezed him tight once more.

“You really wanna know all the nitty-gritty details?” Your eyes narrowed on him. Your frown only deepened the intense gaze you were pulling, and Dean swallowed.

“You’re my mate.” He flashed a grin. “Claim and paperwork pending.” And when you shook your head and sunk into his chest, his lips brushed over your hair, moving his arms to wrap around you and pull you in tighter. “Tell me.”

“Fevers coming,” you mumbled. “Probably smell different?”

He sniffed the air. The usual cinnamon, a touch of vanilla, plus the apple and whisky, sex, and something he couldn’t quite put his finger on infiltrated his nostrils. Your scent was still as intoxicating to him as it had been the very first day you met. “You smell good,” he said, realising how terrible that sounded only after it had spewed from his mouth.

“I should hope so.” You swatted at him, and he hummed in amusement.

“What else?”

“Back aches. My whole lower half, actually.”

On that, Dean moved his hands and began kneading your heated flesh where he could only guess the worst discomfort was. He may not not have claimed someone, but he’d helped the odd omega through their heat, and he knew a thing or two.

“Here?” he asked, but your purr and a contented sigh answered him, and he smiled with reverie.

You fell asleep on him after that, allowing the impending fever to take over your body. He’d have preferred you to have eaten something or even made a trip to the bathroom, but he reminded his inner alpha that you both knew what you were doing.

Not that it was listening.

As he dead locked the back door and drew the last of the salt lines at the base of the wooden frame, it whined, and had Dean looking down.

“You scratched the circle.”

Yes, he was standing on the devil’s trap he’d drawn earlier, but there was not a scratch in sight.

“It’s fine,” he said, not bothering with internal thoughts, though his ears did prick for any hint he’d disturbed you in your sleep. He turned himself around to peer at your form on the other side of the room, but you were still on the couch where he’d left you.

Even from here in the kitchen, he could see the sheen of sweat on your forehead and your cheeks, now a different hue. Your oncoming heat had indeed brought on a fever and he knew when you awoke it would be game time.

The groceries had been brought in, beers sat in the fridge, and he’d even moved the mattress from the master bedroom and set it down before the roaring fire he’d started in the fireplace.

His body and mind were prepped, too. He just wished things would hurry along because you and the flames weren’t the only things heating up the room.

The tip of his cock was a painful red. It was swollen and oozing pre-cum, and though he’d emptied himself into you a couple of hours earlier, as he opened the fridge door and leant down to retrieve a beer, a few drops left his slit and dribbled down his shaft to pool at the dip above his knot.

Fuck. He was overflowing now.

He’d almost come twice in his pants from your scent alone, and after the second occurrence, he ditched them, choosing to wear just his boxers and undershirt.

He reached down and wiped his hand over the soiled underwear, hissing from pleasure and pain as his palm swiped over the sensitive head. But when more leaked from his slit, he gave up and removed them instead, leaving them on the floor to clean up later with the spill.

He grabbed his drink and shut the door, turning back around to find you sitting up, staring at him, and time stopped.

You were awake…

And he was…

“Omega.”

The switch somewhere deep inside of him flicked, and he found himself falling into a familiar place in the backseat of his mind.

Dean was no longer in control of his body, but he still saw, heard and felt everything. His heartbeat, his feet padding across the floor, and the irises in your eyes as he drew closer, sparkling from the flicker of light in the fireplace.

And when your voice said, “Alpha”, just as his had been replaced by the low rumble he knew as well as the back of his hand, yours had changed to a softer, more melodic version of the one he recognised as yours.

You were on him the second he stepped up to you. Your fingers wrapped around his agitated cock, and Dean’s growl reverberated low in his chest as the sweet flavour of apple flooded his senses. “Omega. Mine,” his alpha rasped.

He could practically taste you on his tongue. He could certainly feel your heated skin on him as you worked his length, but the massaging did little to douse the flames in his pulsing sack, and his slit continued to weep.

“Alpha,” you purred, as his seed created a trail down onto your hands.

‘Fuck.’

Dean licked his lips and grabbed at your dress, yanking at the fabric to get you free. He wanted to see you. To feast his eyes on your breasts and, more importantly, bury himself in your dripping cunt again and again.

His hands pawed at your neckline, growing flustered when it didn’t budge, and red marks from the edging cutting into your skin from his tugs appeared.

“Let me.” You touched his cheek, nodding your head with assurance when his alpha glowered with his pride.

The thought of needing assistance and less friction on his hardened flesh had his temper rising. “Fine,” he spat. “But hurry up.”

Your breasts pushed towards him as you reached behind yourself to undo the zip. Each click of the metal prongs being pulled apart met his ears, but it was far too slow for his alpha’s liking and soon Dean was pawing at the garment again.

Once it was loose enough, he plucked it from your body and threw it along with your bra and panties over his head, corralling you where he saw fit.

He planted your chin, chest and calves into the mattress. He forced your rear into the air, presenting your glistening folds, much to his delight. The copious amounts of fluid Dean had imagined earlier engulfed your entrance and laced the inner creases of your thighs.

His nose honed into your centre, breathing in the tangy slick as he ran his lips through yours. The pad of his thumb found your clit, and it flicked against the small bud, eliciting moans, whimpers, and gasps, all stroking his ego. All urging him to continue.

When you shuddered, his mouth curved at the sides. His alpha taking everything it wanted from you, pulling more and more of your release from deep within your body. His dick throbbed at the sight.

If you were making a mess, he’d created an oil spill. Pre-cum continued to leak from his tip, and soon even he was begging the beast in control to do something about it.

‘Claim her. Make her ours.’

He’d agonised over claiming you since you’d met and now that the opportunity presented itself, he didn’t wanna draw it out any longer. He needed you in more ways than one, and the alpha obliged.

With a feral smirk, his fingers ran back over your folds, earning another whimper from your lungs and another wave of slick to surge from your body. The same hand came up and took hold of himself, pumping once, twice, three times, before lining up and ramming into you.

Your hips buckled at the intrusion. Yet when he pulled out again so that only his head sat warm and snug inside, you inched back onto him, demanding his attention.

“There’s my beautiful omega.” He chuckled, as you continued to drag your pussy over him. “So perfect, and still hungry for more.” His fingers dug into your hips and he pushed into you again, giving you what you both wanted. “You need your alpha to knot you, baby girl?”

Your response was to moan, and the sound urged him on. “Yeah, you do,” he grunted. His thrusts, hard and fast. “You need your alpha to put out the fire.”

Every piece of him enjoyed the view of you taking him in, from the tip to his swelling knot. Your walls kept squeezing and pulling him in deeper. “So fucking good ‘mega. Gonna fill you up and make you mine.”

He relaxed his grip on you and crawled up your spine, pushing your body down further into the mattress, and himself further into you. “Say it. Tell me you wanna be mine.”

“I wanna be yours,” you said between pants, and Dean groaned against the edge of your hairline. He was so close to your mating gland, he could taste the sweet blood below the surface.

He pulled your hair to the side and traced his tongue over the delicate skin of your neck, licking and sucking a path to his goal. He inhaled your scent when he found the pulse point and rubbed whiskey and leather and a hint of buttery pastry onto you before his teeth moved to scrape over the sensitive flesh. His body froze above you.

The canines broke the thin barrier first, and when his incisors sunk into you next, the metallic warmth of your lifeblood rushed into his mouth and trickled down his throat.

As he swallowed, and continued to press his bite into you, a wave of electricity spread over him. Every nerve, every hair, every drop of sweat tingled and while his arms and legs grew heavy, his head lightened and memories long forgotten climbed to the surface and flashed before his eyes.

Amongst them, Bobby’s death, and his time in hell before it. The agony of losing Sammy to the cage when Dean knew what awaited him. The mark taking over his life and losing people because of it. Their screams. Their cries. The hatred as his own weapon carved into them. The Steins, Abbadon, Randy.

But then the voice of a female overtook them. One so familiar, yet one he couldn’t quite place. Her pleas cut him deep, churning his insides as if each organ were drowning in a sea of acid.

“No, no. Please don’t.”

“I swear, I’ve never seen him before.”

“He just helped me, that’s all.”

“Baby, please.”

The more he heard her words, the more his face cut into Dean’s memories, and “Ritchie, stop! Please!” stood out amongst all else.

That’s when he realised who the cries belonged to. The tears, the pain, the dread. They weren’t his, they were…

…yours.

Brilliant green eyes stared back at you as your alpha licked at the wound on your mating gland. He’d started thrusting again, and while the pressure deep in your gut begged for his knot and his essence, your mind was more focused on those eyes.

Their sparkle that you’d come to know was lost, faded, and full of pain. He was being tortured. Fire and chains reflected in them and on his freckled skin, marred by blood and scars so fresh, you couldn’t place them from what was before you now.

Dean was hurt. He was—

“Sammy!” he yelled.

“The mark isn’t gonna kill me,” he spat.

But when you tried to call out to him and soothe the ache you felt, he couldn’t hear you because your inner omega was in the driver’s seat. And while she cared for you as much as you did for her, for Dean, she was more concerned with the alpha’s thrusts. With mewling. With encouraging him. With drawing his knot in.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

And there we are ✌️

I've been agonisingly waiting for this one, and I do hope you were surprised. I’m rather proud of the POV switch up. We will still get in Dean’s head, but we’ll also be in hers which is perfect for what’s about to come.

Remember how I keep mentioning not to get too comfortable, well, here we are. Do you think they'll pull through all this new information?

The next chapter will potentially be triggering for some readers. Mentions of pregnancy loss is included amongst what we've already seen and explored, but things are going to come out in more details including how extensive Dick’s abuse was.

Chapter 8: Disconcerting 11/04

You.

You weren’t supposed to be a part of that chapter in his life. He’d planned to keep you at a distance from all of it. He…

He.

He looked up so that he wouldn’t see your face through the kaleidoscope of colours that his wet eyes brought with them. “I—” All he could do was squeeze you tighter.

“Dean. It’s okay.”

He still didn’t have the words to continue his apology. Nothing could ever make up for what you’d seen, and his voice caught in the lump that had manifested in his throat. By the time it did reach the surface, it sounded more like that of a small child, then that of a grown man.

“No, it’s not.”

“It is.”

“S’not. This is what I was trying to keep ya from.”

He was dangerous. He was a grunt. He was mud on the sole of his boot, and you? He’d brought you into this shitty life of his. “It’s bad enough you had to go through what Dick did to you. But he did it ‘cause of me. I’m poison, and if you hadn’t met me, you—”

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

@reluctanthalfwayoptimism @supernotnatural2005 @jackles010378 @kaz-2y5-spn @applelovesposts

@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse

@kazchester-fanfiction @maddie0101 @ladykitana90 @luvr4miya @amyjam78

@stoneyggirl2 @winchesterwild78 @missywinchester15 @deansbbyx @kr804573

@lyarr24 @salemslostwitch @mostlymarvelgirl @ladysparkles78 @multiversefanfics

@31miw-inkpsycho @yoursrosie @Theantisoci-alone @roseamie13 @krazykelly

@my-stories-vault @amberlthomas @levine-23 @ultimatecin73 @district447

@hobby27 @aylacavebear @stellawritesstories

If you’d like to be tagged in anything, please let me know, or you can add yourself HERE

129 notes · View notes

thedensworld · 3 months ago

Text

Family Outings | K. Sy

Genre: Fluff, parents au!

Summary: In a family outing, Soonyoung finally able to make a proper thanks to his mother after trying to keep up with his sons.

Welcome to The Densworld Kwon Soonyoung 🤍🌼

Soonyoung’s life became a whirlwind of joy and laughter ever since he started a family with you. From the moment he got married, he always imagined himself as a quintessential "girl dad." In his daydreams, he pictured himself wearing a sparkly tiara, cradling a tiny teacup, and proudly sporting mismatched nail polish in the favorite colors of his daughters. He thought he’d master the art of braiding hair and join endless tea parties with princess costumes and giggles filling the air.

But life had other plans. The moment his first son, Kwon Yootae, was born, he realized he was destined to be a father of sons. And not just any father—he was made for this. The role suited him so naturally it even surprised him.

Got a kid who needs to burn off endless energy? Enter dancer Soonyoung, always ready to tire them out with moves no one asked for.

Need a little discipline in the house? Strict Soonyoung appears, balancing warmth with authority in a way that commands respect.

Kid having a bad day and needing a laugh? Comedian Soonyoung is there to clown around, pulling faces, cracking jokes, and doing whatever it takes to make his sons’ smiles come back.

“I could do this forever,” Soonyoung said one day, grinning ear to ear. “Raising boys is the most fun I’ve ever had.”

“It’s because you always act like you’re their age,” Jihoon retorted, deadpan as always, delivering a truth Soonyoung couldn’t argue with.

Soonyoung’s sons, six-year-old Yootae and four-year-old Gitae, couldn’t be more different yet somehow mirrored him in distinct ways. Yootae, the eldest, was calm and reserved, much like you. He had a love for books that made your heart swell with pride, often curling up beside you for hours, reading quietly. But his need for attention? That came straight from Soonyoung. Yootae had a knack for saying the funniest things or sharing bizarre, almost unbelievable facts just to make people look his way. And when he succeeded, his little face lit up, a perfect blend of your quiet charm and Soonyoung’s flair for the spotlight.

Then there was Gitae, your little firecracker. Gitae was the embodiment of pure energy, a whirlwind of flips, jumps, and splits that seemed to defy the laws of physics. The only time he ever slowed down was when he caught a cold—and you and Soonyoung dreaded those moments more than anything. You’d much rather have him bouncing off walls than lying listlessly in bed. “He’s like me on a sugar rush,” Soonyoung joked once.

The group chat was always buzzing with stories of Soonyoung’s adventures as a dad. One night, he shared an anecdote that left the members of Seventeen in stitches.

“You should see Gitae during family mafia games,” Soonyoung said, shaking his head in disbelief. “He’s just like me—so good at bluffing, it’s scary. Sometimes he gives me goosebumps.”

“Wait,” Jun interjected, shocked. “Did you just call your son a freak?”

“Well, he is! In the best way!” Soonyoung laughed, completely unbothered.

Raising boys had turned Soonyoung’s world upside down in the most beautiful way. It wasn’t what he initially envisioned, but it was even better. The bond he shared with Yootae and Gitae was special, filled with laughter, chaos, and tender moments that made him grateful every single day. Watching Soonyoung thrive as a dad, you couldn’t help but smile. He was the kind of father who made parenting look like an adventure, and your family was all the better for it.

"Dad, promise me you'll watch my drum recital next week," Yootae said, his small face filled with determination as he walked into the kitchen where Soonyoung was helping you prepare dinner.

Soonyoung glanced at him, smiling warmly. "Of course, I’ll be there. But how about you help me with something first?" He handed Yootae the utensils and gestured toward the dining table. "Set the table for me, champ."

As Yootae dutifully walked off to complete his task, Gitae was sprawled on the living room floor, eyes glued to a video of one of Soonyoung's dance practices. Mimicking every move with astonishing precision, he twirled, jumped, and hit every beat as if he were part of the team.

“Gitae, great move!” Soonyoung called out, beaming with pride as he caught sight of his younger son nailing one of the harder steps. Turning back to you, he leaned against the kitchen counter with a grin. “What do you think about him becoming an idol someday?”

“That’d be good,” you replied with a knowing smirk, stirring the soup bubbling on the stove. “We’ll send him to dance practice every time you bribe him with candy.” The sharp edge of sarcasm in your tone wasn’t lost on Soonyoung, and he winced at the memory.

You were referring to the night he’d given the boys candy—secretly, of course—before heading out to work, leaving you alone to deal with the sugar-induced chaos that followed. It had taken hours to calm them down and even longer to get them to sleep.

Soonyoung walked over to you, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. Sliding his arms around your waist from behind, he rested his chin lightly on your shoulder. “I’m sorry, baby. No more candy without your consent. I promise.”

“That includes donuts too,” you shot back, though your voice softened as his warmth melted away your annoyance.

Soonyoung nodded solemnly, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on your cheek. “And donuts. Noted.”

You couldn’t help but laugh quietly at his sincerity, even if you knew his mischievous streak wouldn’t vanish overnight. You were strict about what your kids consumed for good reason. You worked hard to ensure their meals were balanced, nutrient-packed, and beneficial to their growing bodies. Too much sugar turned them into tiny whirlwinds of energy, leaving them cranky and impossible to settle when bedtime rolled around.

"Yootae, don’t forget to line up the chopsticks neatly!" you called, glancing at your eldest, who was now carefully arranging the cutlery.

“Okay, Mom!” he responded, his voice cheerful.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Gitae attempting to replicate a more complicated move from the video, almost toppling over but recovering with a laugh. Soonyoung released you and clapped his hands in encouragement. “That’s it, Gitae! You’ve got this!”

In the middle of dinner, Soonyoung’s phone buzzed on the counter. He picked it up, his face lighting up when he saw who was calling. “It’s Mom,” he said, quickly answering. “Hi, Mom! What’s going on?”

His mother’s cheerful voice filled the room, audible even to you and the kids. “Hi, sweetheart! We’re planning a little family outing next weekend, but this time, we’re keeping it simple—just in the backyard. Your sister is coming too, and we’re hoping to see everyone there. It’s been too long since we’ve all been together!”

“Backyard barbecue?” Soonyoung guessed, grinning as he leaned back in his chair.

“Exactly! Dad’s already excited to fire up the grill, and I’m planning to make everyone’s favorite dishes. You should come early so the boys can play in the garden,” his mom said.

“That sounds perfect!” Soonyoung replied enthusiastically, his voice a little louder than usual as excitement bubbled through him. “The boys will love it. We’ll definitely be there!” His grin widened as he placed his phone down, and it was clear he was already imagining the day—the laughter of children running through his parents’ backyard, the smell of grilled meat wafting in the air, and the warmth of family all around.

He turned to you, his eyes bright and full of joy, as if the plan had already taken shape in his mind. “It’ll be great!” he said, his hands gesturing animatedly. “A cozy backyard gathering, all the cousins playing together, Mom’s food, Dad’s barbecue skills—how could it get any better?”

You smiled faintly at his enthusiasm, but the feeling of guilt that had been sitting in the pit of your stomach all day now weighed heavier. The truth you’d been putting off telling him clawed its way forward, demanding to be spoken. You shifted slightly in your seat, the clinking of your chopsticks against your bowl breaking the silence.

“It does sound lovely,” you started, choosing your words carefully. “But I have a work commitment that weekend. I don’t think I can make it.”

The happy buzz in the room dimmed just slightly. Soonyoung paused, processing your words, before flashing you an understanding smile. “That’s okay,” he said, his tone reassuring. “I’ll take the boys, and we’ll represent the Kwon family in full force. You can catch up with us after your work is done.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, guilt tugging at you. “That’s a lot to handle on your own, especially with Gitae’s energy.”

Soonyoung leaned closer, his signature playful grin returning. “Have you forgotten who I am? I’m Kwon Soonyoung—master entertainer, expert dad, and barbecue connoisseur. I’ve got this.”

Yootae, who had been quietly listening, looked up with a hint of concern. “But, Mom, you won’t be there to eat Grandma’s pie with us.”

Your heart sank, and you reached out to hold his little hand. “I know, sweetheart. I’ll miss that, too. But I promise we’ll have a special day just for us soon, okay? I’ll even make your favorite pie.”

Yootae nodded slowly, his lips forming a small smile. “Okay, Mom.”

Meanwhile, Gitae, who had been more focused on his plate than the conversation, suddenly perked up. “Can we play tag in Grandpa’s garden, Dad? I’m really fast!”

“Fast? Ha! I’m faster!” Soonyoung teased, ruffling his youngest son’s hair. “We’ll see who’s the fastest in the family on Saturday.”

“And no candy!” you interjected pointedly, giving Soonyoung a mock glare.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, a playful smirk on his face. “No candy, no donuts—scout’s honor. But, uh, maybe just one marshmallow from the barbecue…?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling at his antics.

As the evening wound down, the house quieted with only the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the settling walls. You had just finished tucking the boys into bed, each of them fast asleep after the day’s adventures. Soonyoung lingered by the doorway of their room, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of their tiny chests as they dreamed.

“They’re finally out,” you whispered with a small smile, stepping away and closing the door gently behind you.

Soonyoung turned to you, his expression soft in the dim light of the hallway. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he said, slipping his arm around your shoulders as you walked back to the living room together.

You leaned into him, letting out a quiet sigh. “I just wish I could be there this weekend. I hate missing out on moments like these.”

He stopped you in your tracks, turning you to face him. His hands rested lightly on your waist as his thumbs traced soothing circles through the fabric of your shirt. “Don’t feel bad, okay?” His voice was warm and gentle, and the way he looked at you made it impossible to doubt his sincerity. “You’re doing your best. You always do. I’ll make sure the boys have a great time, and we’ll send you lots of pictures. You won’t miss a thing.”

The guilt weighing on you began to ease as his words settled in. “Thank you,” you murmured, resting your forehead against his chest.

Soonyoung wrapped both arms around you now, holding you close. For a moment, you stood there, cocooned in the quiet intimacy of the moment. “You know,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, a playful edge sneaking into his voice, “with the boys asleep and the house so quiet… we have a rare opportunity here.”

You tilted your head back to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “An opportunity for what?”

He grinned, his gaze dipping just slightly as his hands slid down to rest on your hips. “To remind you how much I love you,” he said, his voice lower now, the warmth of his breath brushing against your cheek.

A soft laugh escaped you, but your heart raced at the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. “Oh, really? And how do you plan to do that?” you teased, your hands resting on his chest.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth as he whispered, “I have a few ideas.”

Before you could respond, he captured your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss, his touch grounding and electrifying all at once. The worries of the day melted away as you lost yourself in the moment, his presence overwhelming in the best way.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his grin was unapologetically mischievous. “Feel better now?”

You chuckled softly, your cheeks warm as you nodded. “Much better.”

“Good,” he said, stealing one last quick kiss before stepping back and taking your hand. “Now, how about I make us some tea, and we see where this rare quiet evening takes us?”

You followed him, a smile tugging at your lips as you realized, once again, just how lucky you were to have someone like Soonyoung.

Soonyoung climbed into his car, exhaling deeply as if he’d already run a marathon, even though it was barely morning. Behind him, the boys were buckled into their car seats, brimming with energy and excitement. Their chatter filled the car, contrasting sharply with Soonyoung’s tired demeanor. The morning had been chaotic, to say the least.

Your work agenda had started earlier than theirs, leaving Soonyoung to manage the boys’ bubbling enthusiasm alone. Thankfully, you’d packed their bags the night before, neatly organizing everything they’d need for the outing. At least that spared Soonyoung from the added panic of forgetting something crucial amidst the chaos.

“Gitae, grandmother wants to see you in this shirt. Let’s put it on,” Soonyoung had pleaded earlier, holding up a neatly folded shirt. But his youngest had been too engrossed in his impromptu performance of Maestro, twirling dramatically in the living room.

“Yootae! Are you ready?” Soonyoung had called out to his eldest, only to freeze in disbelief when he entered the room. Yootae, still wrapped in a towel, was sitting cross-legged on the bed, a bottle of lotion beside him untouched.

“Did you put on lotion yet?” Soonyoung asked, stepping closer.

Yootae immediately pumped the bottle, rubbing lotion onto his arms with exaggerated slowness, his wide eyes locked on his dad as if performing under pressure.

Soonyoung sighed, ruffling his hair in frustration. “Alright, let’s just have a light breakfast, shall we?”

At the breakfast table, a simple bowl of cereal finally bought Soonyoung a few moments of peace. The boys sat quietly for once, munching away. It was enough time for him to catch his breath, gather his thoughts, and—most importantly—get himself ready.

As they settled in the car, Gitae wriggled with excitement. “I’m going to beat Leena in tag!” he declared confidently.

Yootae smirked, ever the realist. “Leena is faster than you, Gitae. And she has longer legs.”

“My legs got longer after dancing to Maestro. Right, Dad?” Gitae grinned, looking to Soonyoung for validation.

Soonyoung chuckled, shaking his head. “Sure, buddy. Whatever helps you win.”

When they arrived at his parents’ house, the boys jumped out of the car with boundless energy, running straight into their grandfather’s open arms. Soonyoung carried the bags inside, his tired smile widening at the warmth of his father’s greeting.

“Y/n couldn’t make it?” his mother asked, noticing her absence.

“No,” Soonyoung replied, setting the bags down on the couch. “Her schedule pulled her out earlier than expected today.”

His mother chuckled knowingly. “You got them ready all by yourself, didn’t you?”

Soonyoung nodded, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Good job, my son.” She patted his head affectionately before heading to the kitchen.

Not long after, his sister arrived with her husband and their daughters. The cousins immediately broke off into their groups—Soonyoung’s sons sprinting around the yard with their grandfather while his nieces calmly arranged their dolls on a picnic blanket.

Soonyoung settled on a bench beside his father, watching the kids. His mother and sister prepared the meat for the barbecue nearby, their laughter carrying on the breeze.

“Gitae looks so much like Y/n,” his father commented, nodding toward the younger boy.

“Everyone says that,” Soonyoung replied, smiling as he watched Gitae run across the yard.

“But he’s got your energy,” his father added with a laugh, shaking his head in amusement.

“I’m going to look like you when I get older,” Soonyoung teased, nudging his father.

His mother overheard and quickly interjected, “Don’t. Don’t be. Don’t embarrass your wife.”

Soonyoung burst out laughing, shaking his head as he helped his sister arrange plates and utensils. Despite their rocky relationship growing up, he’d found a sense of camaraderie with her since starting a family of his own.

“What’s it like having daughters, noona?” he asked, glancing at her girls, who were still engrossed in their dolls.

“I don’t get tired much,” she admitted, pointing out the difference. “Look at them—calm and quiet. Meanwhile, your sons…”

Soonyoung followed her gaze to Yootae and Gitae, who were racing around with their grandfather, Gitae screaming gleefully while Yootae laughed. He sighed, shaking his head.

“Getting them ready this morning was my biggest achievement,” he confessed. “It’s usually Y/n who handles that.”

His sister laughed, “They didn’t listen to you, did they?”

“Not even once! I told Yootae to put on lotion and underwear while I bathed Gitae, but when I checked, he was still sitting there with the lotion bottle.” Soonyoung rubbed his face in exasperation.

Their conversation was interrupted by a piercing cry. Gitae was on the ground, clutching his knee and wailing.

Soonyoung sighed deeply, already on his feet. “That’s alright, we’ve got you,” he said softly as he crouched beside his son, examining the scraped knee.

“It hurts!” Gitae sobbed, pointing to the bruise.

“I know, buddy,” Soonyoung said, scooping him up in his arms. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You’re my strong little guy, right?”

Gitae sniffled, nodding slightly.

The day pressed on, and the chaos only seemed to grow. After cleaning Gitae’s scraped knee and soothing his tears with a superhero bandage, Soonyoung barely had time to take a sip of water before Yootae tripped over the garden hose, landing in the dirt. Another round of comforting, brushing off dirt, and reminding him to be careful followed.

Meanwhile, Gitae had already managed to get himself into another predicament, climbing the low branches of the cherry blossom tree despite Soonyoung’s repeated warnings. By the time Soonyoung pulled him down safely, the boys’ shirts were dirt-streaked, their hair sticking up in wild tufts.

“I told you both to stay out of trouble!” Soonyoung exclaimed, his voice tinged with exasperation as he wiped sweat from his brow.

“But, Dad, we were just playing!” Yootae defended, wide-eyed as if the entire mess was beyond his control.

“Yeah, and I’m Spider-Man!” Gitae added enthusiastically, flexing his little arms as though they could shoot webs.

Soonyoung slumped onto the patio bench, exhausted, as he watched the boys dart off again, their energy seemingly endless. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a groan. His mother, who had been quietly observing from the grill, walked over with a knowing smile and set a cup of iced tea in front of him.

“You’re just like them, you know,” she said, sitting beside him.

Soonyoung looked up, surprised. “What? Me?”

His mother nodded, chuckling softly. “When you were their age, you were exactly the same—always running around, climbing trees, getting into every kind of trouble imaginable. I couldn’t take my eyes off you for a second.”

Soonyoung laughed weakly, leaning back against the bench. “That sounds about right.”

“You’d get scrapes on your knees every other day, and you never stopped moving,” she continued, her eyes twinkling with nostalgia. “Your father was just as tired as you are now, and I’d always say, ‘One day, you’ll understand.’ Well, here you are.”

He sighed, shaking his head as he watched Yootae and Gitae chase their cousins across the yard. “I don’t know how you did it, Mom. This is exhausting. I miss Y/n so much right now.”

His mother gave him a warm smile, patting his knee. “Of course you do. It’s always easier when you have someone by your side. But you’re doing great, Soonyoung. You got the boys here in one piece, and they’re happy. That’s what matters.”

Soonyoung smiled faintly, grateful for her reassurance, but the ache of missing you lingered. He thought about how you always handled the chaos with such grace, calming the boys with a single look or turning their tantrums into laughter. You’d have known exactly how to manage Gitae’s climbing spree or Yootae’s dirt-covered mishap.

His mother’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, dear. You’re learning, just like we did. And for what it’s worth, you’re a better dad than your father and I ever were at your age.”

Soonyoung chuckled, shaking his head. “I doubt that, Mom. But thanks.”

As he glanced at his boys again, he couldn’t help but smile. They were a handful, yes, but they were also a reflection of you and him—a mix of mischief, love, and boundless energy.

His mother stood, placing her hands on her hips as she looked out at the yard. “Now, go check on your boys before they turn that garden into a battlefield.”

Soonyoung groaned, standing up with a stretch. “Back to the front lines, huh?”

His mother laughed. “Parenting never stops, Soonyoung. But don’t forget to call Y/n later. She’d love to hear about how you survived the day.”

He grinned, already planning to call you the moment he could steal a quiet moment. He needed to hear your voice, to tell you just how much he appreciated you and missed having you by his side. For now, though, he had two little whirlwinds to manage.

“Hi, beautiful,” Soonyoung greeted you with a warm smile as you walked through the door. His voice was soft, and you noticed he was already in his pajamas—a pair of satin ones you hadn’t seen him wear in ages. They were expensive, gifted by you on your anniversary, and seeing him in them now made you suppress a laugh.

“You finally decided to wear those?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked, running a hand through his slightly messy hair. “Figured tonight was special.”

You stepped inside, slipping off your shoes, and immediately noticed something unusual. The house was too quiet—eerily quiet. “Where are the boys? I don’t hear them.,” you said, glancing around as though they might pop out from behind the couch.

Soonyoung raised his eyebrows, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Well… I intentionally—unintentionally left them at my mom’s. They wanted to have a sleepover, and since tomorrow’s Sunday, I figured why not?”

Your mouth dropped open in shock, and then a burst of laughter escaped you. “What? You left them with your mom? Oh my gosh, baby!”

He laughed along with you, closing the door behind you and grabbing your things. “Hey, they practically begged me. I video-called them earlier, and they seemed fine. Besides, they wanted to stay with their cousins. It’s good for them!”

You plopped down on the couch, still laughing, and Soonyoung joined you, setting your things on the coffee table. “Your poor mom,” you muttered, shaking your head. “She’s going to have a tough time wrangling five grandchildren tonight.”

“I know!” Soonyoung said, his voice full of mock guilt. “I even told her that, but she insisted it’d be fine. She’s a saint, honestly.”

You leaned back into the cushions, letting out a contented sigh. “It feels so strange to have the house to ourselves. Weird, but also… kind of nice.”

Soonyoung looked at you with a grin, his hand brushing against yours. “Right? I felt the same way before you got back. It’s like we’re dating again, just the two of us. But then I also started feeling guilty, like I was abandoning my kids or something.”

You laughed at his dramatic tone, turning to face him. “I feel relieved, but at the same time, it’s like, am I a bad mom for enjoying this?”

Soonyoung chuckled, pulling you into his arms. “If you are, then so am I. Today was rough, baby. The boys were a handful. I even performed a bow to my mom—the deep New Year’s bow we always do—just to thank her for taking care of me.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “No way. You didn’t.”

“I did,” Soonyoung said with a straight face, though his lips twitched with amusement. “I was that desperate. Honestly, I might perform one for you after this because I owe you for doing this every day.”

You laughed so hard your sides hurt, leaning into his chest. “You’re unbelievable. So, what was harder—getting them ready this morning or keeping them out of trouble all day?”

“Both!” he exclaimed dramatically, resting his chin on top of your head. “Yootae wouldn’t put on lotion, and Gitae was running around shirtless, singing ‘Maestro.’ I thought I was going to lose my mind.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, still smiling. “Well, you survived. And honestly, I’m proud of you, Love. I really am.”

He looked at you with such softness that it made your heart flutter. “Thanks, baby. But I think I’ll stick to choreography and leave the morning routines to you.”

You laughed again, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Deal. But tonight, you’re all mine. No interruptions, no kids.”

He leaned down, brushing his lips against your forehead. “I like the sound of that.”

Soonyoung's arms tightened around you, a playful glint in his eyes as he tilted his head to meet your gaze. “You know,” he began, his voice dripping with mischief, “after today, I’ve been thinking…”

You raised an eyebrow, already bracing for whatever ridiculous thought was about to leave his mouth.

He smirked, his tone mock-serious. “Maybe we should try for a daughter. I heard they’re way less frantic to raise. Calm, quiet, reasonable—can you imagine that?”

You let out an incredulous laugh, lightly smacking his chest. “Oh, so now you’re an expert on parenting daughters because your sister’s kids play with dolls instead of climbing furniture?”

“Exactly,” he replied without missing a beat. “I mean, just think about it. No running around, no wrestling matches over who gets the last donut, no dramatic performances of ‘Hit’ at 8 a.m.”

You rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “Uh-huh. And who’s going to handle the teenage drama when your calm, quiet daughter slams her door in your face?”

Soonyoung’s grin faltered for a second before he recovered with a sly smile. “That’s where you come in, baby. You’re the expert in dealing with drama. I’ll just be the cool dad who lets her eat donuts and—”

“Stop right there.” You cut him off, laughing as you poked his chest.

He laughed along with you, leaning down until his nose brushed against yours. “Okay, okay. But admit it—you’d love to see a mini-you running around here. With your big, beautiful eyes, your sharp wit…”

“And my temper when you don’t listen?” you teased, narrowing your eyes playfully.

“Exactly,” he said, grinning. “She’d keep me in line, just like you do.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he murmured, his lips brushing softly against yours. “But you love me anyway.”

You sighed dramatically, pretending to think about it. “I guess I do. But if we’re trying for a daughter, you’re taking the night shift for the first three years.”

“Deal,” Soonyoung whispered, sealing the agreement with a kiss. “Now, where should we start our daughter project?”

Your laughter echoed through the house, blending perfectly with the warmth of his embrace, the quiet night ahead promising nothing but love and playful chaos—just the way you liked it.

348 notes · View notes

sheep-from-rad · 3 months ago

Text

[[Disclaimer]]: this fic is not meant to offend anyone who practices. Thank you. Also most headcanons I wrote here are the ones that I know. Lastly, in addition to the previous sentence, my knowledge might not be the same as what other people do. Not every practice is the same and thus should not be generalized. Thank you again :D

dividers by: @adornedwithlight

. . . Okay but imagine a Witch! Yuu getting transported/isekai-d to Twisted Wonderland instead

Witch! Yuu who spends breaks and vacant periods studying about the new world in the library. From time to time Professor Trein will join them for tea and discussions. I like to think that Professor Trein and maybe even Lilia will personally take Witch! Yuu into a mentorship. Yuu learns about the magic and history of Twisted Wonderland and they share knowledge about their own world. I can also see Malleus and Riddle joining this. Not every practitioner chooses to work with deities, angels, or infernals (because like I said, every practice is unique) but discussing them with these people will be really fun. Fun like eye opening and fun like existential crisis inducing.

Witch! Yuu who was met by a raised eyebrow from Master Crewel when they started using moonwater on their potion. Master Crewel initially hesitated but their potion came out great and the effect is even greater. Soon enough after being told to remain after class, Crewel now makes and tests moonwater on other potions. Vil who learnt that moonwater is good for skin had also started using it on his routine, using it for morning and night face wash. Moonwater also became a debate to Octavinelle members especially by Azul and Jade. The idea of living inside a powerful source of magic and not harnessing it properly, Azul felt like he was cheated and felt like he just lost imaginary madols.

Witch! Yuu who bonds a lot with Sam. The two can spend hours trying the decks and providing free readings to the customers (and pitching them to buy the deck). It started as a small gimmick due to the oversupply of cards but now it has become a permanent addition to the shop and Witch! Yuu gets at least 15% cut to each card sale and store discount.

Witch! Yuu who aces their biology lessons because of their knowledge of herbs. They have traded notes with the other first years and were even approached by higher year students who have hard time memorizing. Ace jokingly tried Witch!Yuu to make those paid tutorial notes but Witch! Yuu doesn’t want to dethrone Azul’s business. The land around Ramshackle turned out to be rich enough to have herbs and vegetables buried around it. Ruggie gets his fair share of harvest too, in exchange for a watering job. Whenever there’s a leftover in the harvest, Witch!Yuu makes tea brews for their friends, personalized for their needs.

Witch! Yuu who has Cater on their top contact because he provides them with the monthly moon phases and astrological phenomenon around Twisted Wonderland. Cater too had to ask permission from Riddle every week so him and the Witch! Yuu can meet at the NRC observatory for moon gazing and stargazing sessions. The weekly moon gazing and Witch! Yuu’s company made Cater’s self-talk kinder and he also gained more following because of the beautiful night sky pictures he posts every week.

Witch! Yuu who tags along with Jade on his mountain hiking trips. Jade is mostly there to pick up new mushrooms while Witch! Yuu is out there to pick up bones and crystals. Sam has a sale of those in this shop but there’s a certain excitement in picking your own stuff, immersing yourself in nature, and it also helps them familiarize and map out places in Twisted wonderland. Jade may or may not have tried pursuing them to join the Octavinelle group.

Witch! Yuu who buried a protection jar to places where overblot happened (minus dwarves’ mine). Witch! Yuu doesn’t know if Crowley ever looks back to the places where each incident happened so they took it upon themselves to make a move. Heartslabyul’s protection jar is buried under the rose hedge. Savanaclaw’s protection jar is buried under the benches (they can’t put it right on the field because it can break and that’s dangerous for the players). Octavinelle’s protection jar is hidden inside the vault, Witch! Yuu gave it to them after the incident.

Scarabia’s jar is hidden inside the treasure room. No one really goes there so it’s safe. If ever someone tries to go there, the Magic carpet is tasked to either hide it or take it away and fly away. Pomefiore gets two jar: One for the overblot location (Coliseum) and one for Pomefiore dorm. The coliseum’s jar is hidden in some unknown location behind the stage and the Pomefiore’s jar is buried in the woods. It’s hard to slip back into Ignihyde’s dorm without alerting anyone which is why their jar is on Ortho’s safekeeping. Diasomnia gets two jars as well. One is buried in the castle basement and one is given to Lilia.

Witch! Yuu created one for Ramshackle as well. They gave it to the ghosts for safekeeping. Witch! Yuu hopes that it keeps Grim safe even when they have already left Twisted Wonderland.

252 notes · View notes

shimmerandink · 4 days ago

Text

Arcane characters with a s/o with a lot of tattoos

Jayce/Viktor/Vi/Caitlyn/Jinx/Silco/Sevika

Jayce

~Jayce might initially be a bit taken aback by the sheer number of tattoos you have, especially if they’re in places he didn’t expect (like your hands, neck, or lower back). But once he gets over his surprise, he becomes genuinely fascinated by each one. He loves asking you about the stories behind them.

~Whether they’re meaningful or just fun designs, Jayce appreciates the artistry involved in tattoos. He enjoys learning about different cultures, so he’ll ask about the symbolism of certain designs. If any of the tattoos are from places you’ve been or experiences you’ve had, Jayce will eagerly listen, admiring how much your skin tells a story.

~Jayce is a touchy person in his own way, so expect him to trace your tattoos with his fingers when you're together. Whether it’s a gentle stroke across your arm or his fingers brushing over a symbol on your wrist, Jayce often can’t resist feeling the textures of your tattoos.

~He finds it intimate when he’s running his fingers over them, like he’s discovering more about you with every touch. It’s not just admiration, it’s a quiet form of affection.

~If anyone makes a comment about your tattoos, whether it’s a compliment or something rude, Jayce will immediately step in. He’s fiercely protective of you, and if someone dares to judge you, he won’t hesitate to shut them down.

~However, if it’s someone giving you genuine compliments or even curious questions about your tattoos, Jayce stands back a little and watches you glow as you explain the meaning behind them. He’s proud of how confident you are, and he’s more than happy to let you be the center of attention.

~Jayce might ask you questions about how you felt when you got your tattoos, what inspired each piece, and whether you have any future designs in mind. He’ll be genuinely interested in the process and what it meant to you.

~Sometimes, the two of you might spend hours talking about art, design, and ink. Jayce is fascinated by your dedication and commitment to your body art, and he loves hearing the stories behind your tattoos, whether they were impulsive or carefully thought out decisions.

~When Jayce feels like you’re ready for a new tattoo, he might take you to a high-end artist. He’ll love making it an event, maybe even getting a small matching tattoo with you or something meaningful to mark a special moment in your relationship.

~While Jayce might not have as many tattoos as you, he has a huge respect for body art, so he’s willing to indulge in the experience with you. He’ll be there by your side, making sure you’re comfortable, offering a hand to hold, and maybe even taking a picture of you getting inked.

~If another person openly admires your tattoos, Jayce might get a little jealous, but he hides it in a very subtle way. It’s not that he doesn't want you to be appreciated, it’s more that he loves how unique you are, and the thought of someone else getting too close to you (even admiringly) might set off his protective side.

~Jayce’s jealousy will be passive but still noticeable in the way he hovers near you or places a hand on your back or shoulder when someone comments on your tattoos.

~In private, Jayce loves to give you heartfelt compliments about your tattoos. He admires your boldness and your self-expression, often telling you how beautiful they make you look. He’ll whisper things like, “You’re even more stunning than I could ever imagine,” while his fingers graze over the art on your skin.

~It’s one of those intimate moments that mean a lot to you because Jayce doesn’t throw compliments around easily. When he says something, it’s from the heart.

~If you and Jayce ever go through a difficult time together or face a huge turning point in your lives, Jayce might consider getting a tattoo with you as a symbol of your bond. He may choose something that represents your relationship, like a symbol of trust or a meaningful moment you shared.

~This would be a huge step for Jayce because it would represent a permanent commitment to your relationship and an acceptance of your shared history. It would mean a lot to both of you.

~If you come home with a new tattoo, Jayce might not have a huge reaction at first, he’s calm, but you can tell he’s silently thinking it over. He won’t immediately ask questions, but he’ll be quietly impressed by how you always manage to choose designs that complement your personality.

~Over time, Jayce might even become a little more open to the idea of getting tattoos himself, especially after seeing how much joy and confidence it brings you.

~Jayce is deeply attracted to your confidence. The fact that you wear your tattoos with pride, unapologetically owning your body art, makes him admire you even more. He loves that you’re not afraid to express yourself, in fact, it excites him. You’re bold, and that’s what draws him in.

Viktor

~Viktor, being a more reserved and thoughtful person, might not immediately express his admiration for your tattoos verbally. However, you can tell by his eyes, he’s always studying the artwork on your body with a quiet fascination.

~Unlike others who may openly ask questions or make comments, Viktor simply watches you with an intense, almost scientific curiosity. He appreciates the artistry, the intricacy of each design, and the precision that went into making it. In a way, he sees the tattoos as another form of expression, much like the way he creates with his own inventions.

~Viktor has always been deeply invested in knowledge and discovery, and your tattoos are no exception. If you have tattoos that have a particular meaning or history behind them, Viktor will want to learn everything about them. He’s the type of person who enjoys hearing the story behind each piece, whether it’s an ancient symbol, a representation of an important event, or a personal choice.

~He might spend hours researching the symbolism of certain designs or asking you more detailed questions about the cultural or historical significance behind each piece. He’ll want to know everything about how they were chosen, and may even come up with ideas for future tattoos that could have deep, meaningful connections to your lives.

~Viktor won’t be as openly affectionate as some others, but his way of showing love and care for you often comes in subtle, thoughtful gestures. If he’s sitting next to you, he may reach out and gently trace one of your tattoos with his fingers, not in a flirtatious way, but rather as an act of admiring and connecting with you.

~He’ll do this while you’re reading together or working on a project, a quiet, intimate moment between you two. It's Viktor's way of showing affection without words, and you can feel how much he treasures the little things about you.

~Viktor knows the world can be harsh and judgmental, especially when it comes to people who express themselves so boldly through tattoos. If anyone dares to say something rude or intrusive about your tattoos, Viktor will quietly but firmly step in. While he won’t be as fiery or defensive as some other people might be, his calm demeanor hides an unyielding support for you.

~He will stand by your side in the face of criticism, giving you the space to respond or simply stepping in with a well-placed, intellectual retort. It’s less about confrontation and more about ensuring you know that he has your back, no matter what anyone else thinks.

~As someone who has an eye for intricate details and precision in his own work, Viktor finds himself admiring the artistry of your tattoos. He can’t help but be drawn to the meticulousness of the designs, the way each line is carefully thought out and how they all come together in a beautiful, cohesive way.

~Viktor might even express his thoughts on the skill of the tattoo artist, comparing them to the creators of mechanical inventions or advancements in science. He finds the combination of art and personal expression to be similar to the work he does, which deepens his admiration for you.

~Viktor sees your tattoos as a reflection of your soul, a window into who you are and what you value. He might compare them to the way he expresses himself through his work, through inventions and machines that symbolize his beliefs, dreams, and desires. Your tattoos become a bridge between you both, where he feels a deeper understanding of your inner world.

~There’s something special to Viktor in knowing that you’ve chosen to permanently etch parts of yourself onto your skin. It’s like he’s uncovering layers of you, bit by bit, through each tattoo.

~Viktor is creative in his own way and may surprise you by offering to design a tattoo for you. He’s not an artist in the traditional sense, but his inventions and innovations show that he has a keen sense of design. He may draw up something based on your shared experiences, a symbol or an object that represents an important part of your relationship.

~His design will be detailed, precise, and deeply thoughtful. Whether you decide to get it inked or not, he’ll appreciate the act of making something for you that’s unique and meaningful. It would be a rare, vulnerable moment for Viktor, as he’d want to make sure that the tattoo holds significant meaning and brings you happiness.

~Viktor is very much the type to support your individuality. If you want to add another tattoo to your collection, he’ll never try to stop you. In fact, he encourages your self-expression and might even come up with ideas that help you express more of yourself. While he may be reserved in his own self-expression, he fully respects that you’ve found a way to wear your identity in the form of art.

~His respect for your autonomy is one of the things you love about him, he sees your tattoos not as a statement for others but as an act of personal significance and autonomy.

~On rare occasions, Viktor might feel inspired by one of your tattoos, maybe the design speaks to him on a deeper level than you realize. One night, when the two of you are alone, he might confess something deeply personal, relating it to one of your tattoos. It could be a shared experience or something about his past, where the tattoo serves as a bridge for him to open up.

~He may not show it outwardly, but Viktor trusts you in ways he doesn’t often let on. The tattoos, in his mind, represent a bond between you both, a way for him to connect with your own story while slowly revealing his.

~Viktor is drawn to your confidence in a way that’s hard to describe. He finds the way you carry your tattoos, with pride and a sense of ownership, to be incredibly alluring. It’s not just the art itself, it’s the way you unapologetically express who you are. Viktor values self-confidence and is attracted to how you wear your skin as a canvas for your identity. He admires the freedom you exude and the way you make your body your own, which makes him respect you even more.

~Vi is immediately intrigued when she sees your tattoos for the first time. She’s drawn to them like a magnet, her eyes lingering over each design with curiosity. Tattoos are a form of self-expression, and she admires that you’ve taken the leap to permanently mark your body in such a bold way.

~She’s especially intrigued if your tattoos are personal or have stories attached to them. Vi is a talker, so she’s not shy about asking you the meaning behind each design, even if it’s just something that makes you smile or laugh. She’ll listen intently, enjoying the stories you tell about each tattoo.

~Vi is a bit of a flirt, so expect her to make playful comments about your tattoos. Whether it’s a witty remark about how a tattoo on your arm makes you look tough or how the tattoo on your back makes her want to get closer, she knows how to tease you about them.

~If you have a tattoo in a particularly sensual or personal spot, she may wink and tease you about how it just invites her to get closer. She’ll jokingly suggest she needs to get a closer look to understand it better, usually making you laugh with her cheeky attitude.

~Vi can’t resist running her fingers over your tattoos, especially the ones that are on your arms or back. She’s tactile and loves feeling the ink on your skin. It’s not a sexual thing (though there’s definitely an attraction), but more of a comforting, affectionate gesture.

~If you’re resting together, she might lay her head on your shoulder or lap, running her fingers over the designs as a way to connect with you. She loves the way your skin feels under her touch and often traces the lines of your tattoos like she’s memorizing them.

~Vi can be fiercely protective of you, especially if someone makes a rude comment about your tattoos. If someone dares to judge you or make an unkind remark, expect Vi to step in, her usual tough exterior getting even more intense. She doesn’t tolerate anyone making you feel bad for expressing yourself.

~She’ll shut down the person with a sharp retort or a quiet but firm warning that no one disrespects you in her presence. Vi’s protective nature kicks in, not just because she’s defensive of you, but because she admires your strength in owning your body art.

~Vi may not always express it in the loud or obvious ways, but she’s genuinely appreciative of the tattoos that you have. She loves how they make you you and how you wear them with confidence. There’s something deeply intimate about the way tattoos mark a person, and she respects that each one has a unique story.

~On nights when the two of you are just lounging together, she might quietly tell you how beautiful you look, not just because of your tattoos, but because they’re a reflection of your boldness and individuality. She thinks you're strong for expressing yourself through art.

~If anyone else pays a little too much attention to your tattoos, Vi might get a tiny bit jealous. It’s not that she doesn’t want others to admire you, she just doesn’t like the thought of someone getting too close, even if it’s just admiring your body art.

~She might make a playful, teasing comment like, “You know, that tattoo does look better when it’s just for me to admire,” or she’ll gently pull you closer to her, showing that she’s the one who gets to appreciate your tattoos.

~If you have a particularly meaningful or personal tattoo that you’re proud of, Vi may express interest in getting one of her own. She doesn’t have a lot of tattoos, but seeing how meaningful yours are, she might want to get something that symbolizes something important to her, maybe a design that reflects her past or her bond with you.

~If she does decide to get a tattoo, it’s likely to be something small but with a significant meaning. Vi’s practical, so she’d go for something simple, yet deeply personal, maybe something connected to her past or a symbol of her love for you.

~Vi might get so fascinated by your tattoos that she wants to try drawing them. She’s not a professional artist, but she enjoys sketching, and your tattoos provide the perfect inspiration for her. She might sketch one of your designs as a way to connect with you further.

~If you allow her to, she’ll try to replicate the design in her own style, and you’ll likely find her drawings adorably imperfect, a sweet, personal gift showing that she’s thinking about you. She might even ask if you’d want it tattooed someday, jokingly suggesting that the two of you could get matching ones.

~If Vi does have any tattoos, she’ll proudly show them to you. She might not have many, but the ones she does have would probably be on places that are personal to her. She’s a bit reserved about her own past, so she’d open up to you more and explain what each one means, letting you see the more vulnerable side of her.

~When she does show them, expect her to act all confident about it, even if the tattoos are a little more understated. She might laugh and make a playful comment about how you’ve probably seen them all before, but she likes showing them off to you anyway.

~If the two of you share a deep connection or a major milestone in your relationship, Vi might suggest you get matching tattoos. It could be something that represents a specific moment or feeling that you shared, something that binds you both together.

~It wouldn’t be a huge, flashy design, but it would hold significant meaning between the two of you. Vi would insist that you pick the design together, making sure it’s a symbol that reflects both of you. It could be something as simple as a small, intertwined design, maybe a symbol of strength or a shared memory.

Jinx

~Jinx is absolutely fascinated by your tattoos, and she’ll likely become obsessed with every little detail. She’ll want to know the story behind each one, and if you don’t tell her, she’ll demand to know, asking a hundred questions in a rapid-fire style, each more outlandish than the last.

~She loves hearing about the meaning behind your tattoos and will immediately try to memorize every design, sometimes even trying to replicate them with her own wild art style (which may or may not end up being hilarious or extremely chaotic).

~Jinx is the type of person who craves attention and lives for big, loud expression, so she finds it incredibly attractive when someone else shares that energy. Your tattoos are like a direct extension of your personality, and she loves how unapologetically bold they are.

~She sees your tattoos as a visual representation of who you are, a rebel, someone who doesn’t follow the rules, just like her. It makes her feel even more connected to you because she understands that impulsiveness and willingness to take risks. It’s something that she can relate to deeply.

~Jinx has no filter, so expect her to flirt with you and tease you about your tattoos in the most ridiculous ways. She might say something like, “You know, I think you’re the only one who could pull off a tattoo like that and still look cute,” or she’ll joke about how cool you look with ink on your skin, but she’ll add her own flair to the compliment like, “You could totally rob a bank and look way too badass for anyone to stop you.”

~She’s also the type to flirt and point out all the places where your tattoos look the hottest, teasing you about the idea that she might get her hands on them eventually. She could even draw doodles on your skin herself, pretending to "add" to your tattoos with her chaotic, childish drawings.

~Jinx may get so inspired by your tattoos that she’ll come up with her own crazy ideas for new tattoos, her designs are probably over the top, something loud, messy, and completely out there. She’ll want you to match her in some weird, reckless way, like getting a tattoo of an exploding rocket or something just as wild, because she sees tattoos as another form of expression, chaotic, fun, and spontaneous.

~Sometimes, she’ll tell you that you need a tattoo to match one of her designs, like a large heart with a bomb fuse on it, because why not? She’ll convince you that it’s the ultimate symbol of your relationship: chaotic, unpredictable, and full of energy.

~Jinx is fiercely protective of the people she cares about, and if anyone dares to compliment your tattoos or get too close, expect her to get a little crazy (in a fun way). She may make a sarcastic remark, or in some cases, she could pull you away with a playful “hands off” when someone stares at you for too long.

~Even if it’s just someone admiring your tattoos, Jinx might grab your hand, give you a big, exaggerated kiss on the cheek, and declare that only she gets to appreciate your body art. She’s possessive in her unique way, and that’s part of what makes her so intense.

~Jinx has a lot of her own scars, both physical and emotional, and she sees your tattoos as a way to express parts of your story that might be hard to put into words. She can relate to that kind of expression. While she may not always verbalize her feelings, she deeply admires that you’ve found a way to wear your emotions and experiences on your skin.

~Sometimes, when the two of you are alone and comfortable, Jinx will run her fingers along your tattoos softly, almost as if she’s tracing your story. It’s an intimate moment for her, a way to connect with you beyond words. She’ll probably look up at you with that mischievous grin of hers, making sure you're aware that she’s completely enchanted by what’s on your skin.

~Jinx is an artist at heart, so she’s bound to sketch your tattoos or add her own personal flair to them. She loves drawing, and when she’s inspired by your tattoos, she’ll create little crazy renditions of them, or she’ll draw all over her arm with markers and claim they’re “test sketches” for a future tattoo.

~She might get a little overzealous, though, and sometimes the drawings are a mess of scribbles or odd interpretations of your designs, but that’s part of her charm. She’ll show them to you, proudly proclaiming that she’s going to revolutionize your tattoos with her “artistic genius.”

~Jinx is impulsive and thrives on spontaneity, so if she gets the idea that you two should get tattoos together, it’s going to happen right then and there. She won’t care if it’s the middle of the night or if there’s no real plan, the idea of getting a tattoo with you will get her so excited that she’ll start dragging you to the nearest shop or even try to do it herself with makeshift supplies (which you definitely don’t want to trust her with).

~Her tattoo idea might be completely off the wall, like getting matching tattoos of bombs with happy faces or something equally bizarre. But she’d love to share that crazy experience with you, marking the memory with a permanent reminder of her wild spirit.

~Jinx is one to understand the deeper meaning behind your tattoos. If you have tattoos related to things you’ve been through, whether they’re reminders of difficult moments or symbols of triumph, she gets it. She’s been through so much pain and turmoil herself, and while she doesn’t talk about it openly, she can feel the weight of what you carry.

~In her own unique way, she’ll show support by pointing out how your tattoos are like “badass armor,” and how they make you look even tougher than before. She’ll nod appreciatively, letting you know that she’s proud of you for getting those tattoos, for carrying your scars with pride, much like she does with her own.

~Jinx might even get a tattoo herself, maybe it’s something like a small, chaotic symbol that represents a promise she’s making to you. It could be something as random as a symbol that means something only the two of you understand, like a scribbled heart with a bomb or a twisted little symbol that connects the two of you.

~She might not always express it in words, but the tattoo is her way of making sure you know she’s yours in a chaotic, unconventional way. It’s a “promise” that she’s always going to be wild, unpredictable, and fiercely protective of you. And when you see her new tattoo, you’ll know exactly what it means.

Caitlyn

~Caitlyn is someone who values intelligence, composure, and subtlety, and when she sees someone with tattoos, she immediately respects the choice as a form of personal expression. She understands that each tattoo tells a story, and she’ll be genuinely interested in hearing the meaning behind yours.

~Caitlyn admires people who are confident in their own skin, and your tattoos are a reflection of that confidence. She may not have many herself (if any), but she’ll always appreciate the artistry and thoughtfulness behind your tattoos.

~Caitlyn won’t bombard you with questions about your tattoos right away, but if the conversation naturally steers in that direction, she’ll be curious and ask about your favorite ones. She might smile softly, admiring the beauty of each design while paying attention to your reactions as you explain their significance.

~She’s the type who would slowly ask about each tattoo over time, not to invade your privacy but to understand more about you, the person. The questions are soft and gentle, and she listens intently to your stories.

~Caitlyn may not always understand the cultural or emotional significance of your tattoos, but she will always respect them. If someone ever makes a disrespectful comment about them, she’ll quickly shut them down, maintaining her usual calm and dignified demeanor.

~She’s protective of you and doesn’t want anyone to make you feel uncomfortable, especially when it comes to something as personal as body art. She’ll stand up for you in a quiet, graceful way, making it clear that no one has the right to judge you.

~Caitlyn has a gentle and refined way of showing affection, so when it comes to your tattoos, expect her to give you soft, playful compliments. She might say something like, “You know, those tattoos really suit you. You wear them like armor,” or “I’m not usually one for tattoos, but I can’t help but admire how well they complement your personality.”

~Her compliments are never over the top, but they’re heartfelt and warm. She’ll notice small details in your tattoos that others may overlook, showing her attention to the little things about you.

~Caitlyn is a calm and composed person, so when she touches your tattoos, it’s in a way that feels very intimate, like she’s getting to know you on a deeper level. She’ll gently trace the outlines of your tattoos with her fingers, taking her time to study them, almost as if she’s memorizing every curve and line.

~It’s a soft and tender gesture that shows her affection for you, and the way she touches your skin feels very calming, like you’re the only two people in the world. She enjoys the quiet moments with you, especially when it’s just the two of you sitting together, her fingers lightly grazing over your tattoos.

~Caitlyn’s not one to express jealousy openly, but if someone gets too friendly with you and shows an inappropriate amount of interest in your tattoos, you’ll notice a slight shift in her demeanor. She’ll become a little more reserved, maybe giving them a cool, calculated look.

~It’s a quiet form of jealousy. Caitlyn may not confront the person directly, but she’ll subtly pull you closer, making it clear that you’re hers and no one else gets to admire your tattoos quite the way she does.

~If you ever share the emotional or personal meaning behind one of your tattoos, Caitlyn will listen intently, showing deep empathy. She doesn’t easily share her own vulnerabilities, but she may open up to you about something that she hasn’t talked about before, maybe revealing why she values keeping her own body so pristine or how she views the idea of permanence.

~You might find her getting introspective after hearing the stories behind your tattoos. Caitlyn respects the permanence of body art because, for her, it reflects a sense of commitment and expression. She’ll tell you how your tattoos have given her a new perspective on expressing herself.

~Caitlyn might not rush into getting tattoos herself, but she could surprise you with a thoughtful gesture related to your tattoos. For example, she might give you a beautifully crafted journal where you can write down the stories behind your tattoos or even a sketchbook for you to draw new designs.

~If she ever does decide to get a tattoo, it would likely be something subtle and meaningful, maybe a small design that represents your bond, something delicate like an intricate vine or a small symbol that she knows will have a deep, personal meaning.

~Caitlyn sees your tattoos as a form of vulnerability, as each one tells a piece of your life’s story. She admires how you wear them with pride, and over time, she may find herself viewing your tattoos as a sign of your bond, something you’ve shared with her. If she ever does get a tattoo, it would likely be in honor of the relationship you share, a quiet and beautiful expression of her love.

~She might suggest that the two of you get matching tattoos one day, but it would be something simple, maybe a pair of intertwined symbols or a tiny, meaningful design that symbolizes the partnership you’ve built together.

~Caitlyn has a refined appreciation for aesthetics, so she sees tattoos as an art form. She’ll be fascinated by the different styles, from detailed black-and-white sketches to vibrant, colorful designs. She might even take you to a gallery or exhibit where the artwork reflects the kind of tattoo art she admires, showing that she appreciates the craft behind tattoos in the same way she would appreciate a well-curated painting.

~If you have tattoos that reflect your personality in creative or intricate ways, Caitlyn will comment on how well done they are, admiring not just the artistry but the thought that went into each one.

~Caitlyn isn’t one to wear her emotions on her sleeve, but she’ll often find herself quietly admiring you and your tattoos. When you’re sitting close to her, she might look at you for a long time, her gaze occasionally shifting to your tattoos. She finds them fascinating, as they show your individuality and the experiences that have shaped you.

~When you’re not looking, she’ll softly touch your tattoo or give you a subtle, affectionate smile, showing her appreciation in the most reserved way possible.

Silco

~Silco is a man who pays attention to every detail, and he’s immediately captivated by your tattoos. The designs don’t just intrigue him, they also make him wonder about the story behind each piece. He’s deeply analytical and enjoys peeling back layers of mystery, so he’ll find the tattoos a reflection of your past, your personality, and your experiences.

~At first, he might not immediately ask about them, but when the time is right, he’ll want to know the significance of each one. Silco will want to understand why you chose certain designs, and his questions will be sharp and thoughtful, demonstrating his genuine interest.

~Silco isn’t known for his warmth, but when it comes to his significant other, he is fiercely protective. If anyone comments on or touches your tattoos in a way that he deems disrespectful or intrusive, you can bet that Silco will step in without hesitation.

~He may not express his jealousy with loud outbursts, but you’ll see a dark glint in his eyes and a cold, calculating smile as he handles the situation. He’s protective of your image, and your tattoos are part of what makes you yours, something no one else can claim.

~Silco is all about power and control, and he sees your tattoos as a powerful form of self-expression. He appreciates that you’ve made a permanent statement about who you are, and he views your tattoos as a symbol of your strength. In his eyes, you wear them proudly, showing that you’re not afraid to mark your body with your identity.

~If you have tattoos that represent struggle or rebellion, Silco will admire the symbolism behind them. He’ll see them as a reflection of your resilience and will tell you that he respects your strength, even if he doesn’t say it in the most sentimental way.

~When Silco touches your tattoos, it’s slow, deliberate, and very intimate. His fingers will trace the designs carefully, as though memorizing every line and curve. His touch is purposeful, and he enjoys the way it feels to run his fingers across your skin, feeling the permanence of your tattoos.

~It’s a quiet form of affection for Silco, an unspoken acknowledgment of the connection between you two. He doesn’t do this with anyone else, and it’s his way of showing his deeper affection without words.

~Silco notices things that others might overlook. If your tattoos change or evolve in any way (like adding new ones or touching up old ones), he’ll be the first to notice. He’ll pay attention to the smallest details, from the style to the placement, and might even comment on how the new tattoo completes your look or enhances your overall appearance.

~His appreciation for your tattoos goes beyond their aesthetic; he values how they represent your journey and personal growth. If you get a tattoo to mark a significant event in your life, Silco will acknowledge the gravity of that moment in his own understated way.

~Silco is a possessive individual, but he expresses it in a quiet, controlled manner. He may see your tattoos as another form of ownership, not in a negative way, but in the sense that they’re a permanent part of you, just like you are a permanent part of his life.

~He might ask you to get a tattoo that symbolizes your connection to him, something subtle and meaningful that only the two of you would understand. If you agree, it’s a sign of your bond, and Silco will take pride in it, viewing it as a deeper, unspoken commitment.

~Silco doesn’t often show outward affection, but there are moments when he’ll look at you in admiration, particularly when he notices your tattoos. He’ll watch you with a kind of quiet intensity, his gaze lingering on your skin, as though he’s reading a book he can’t put down.

~The way he looks at you, with that dark yet gentle curiosity, shows that he’s truly captivated by you, not just physically but also by the way your tattoos reflect who you are. These moments are brief but intense, and they convey a lot of unspoken feelings.

~If Silco is deeply involved with you, he might offer to accompany you when you get a new tattoo, though he wouldn’t typically want to make a big deal out of it. He’s not the type to make grand gestures, but he’ll want to be there because it’s a way for him to show his interest and support in his own way.

~He’ll watch you carefully as the tattoo artist works, his eyes focused and contemplative. He might even comment on the process, sometimes making a remark about how nothing in this world is permanent except for things that matter to him, like your relationship or your tattoos.

~Silco might even entertain the idea of getting a tattoo himself, though it would likely be something very personal, minimal, and deeply symbolic. If he does get one, it’s probably not something he’d share with anyone else. It would be a private reflection of his own inner struggles, his desires, and his own mark on the world.

~He would see tattoos as more than just decoration; they would be something deeply personal, a way to reflect his identity and power. If you get a tattoo that aligns with his views or experiences, he’ll see it as a sign that you truly understand him on a deeper level.

~Silco’s jealousy is always subdued, but it’s there. If he sees someone else admiring your tattoos in a way that makes him uncomfortable, he might grow a little colder. He’ll throw a subtle, sharp comment your way about how no one else should get too comfortable with you.

~He’s not the type to get angry or lash out, but he might make a pointed remark about how your tattoos are part of his world, not anyone else’s. It’s his way of staking a claim, though it’s more about keeping you to himself than controlling you.

~Silco sees rebellion as a form of strength and control, so if your tattoos represent that, he’ll admire you even more. If your tattoos are about defiance or breaking free from the rules, he’ll respect that they align with his own values, even if the way he shows that respect is a bit more reserved.

~He may even tell you that your tattoos are a reflection of your own personal strength, and that strength is something he finds irresistible. It’s rare for him to openly admit how much he values that trait, but when it comes to you, your tattoos are a testament to the kind of person you are.

~Silco often thinks in terms of legacy, and your tattoos become a part of that. They’re symbols of who you are and the path you’ve walked. He might look at your tattoos and think of how they will last, even after everything else fades or changes.

~To him, your tattoos aren’t just body art, they are a permanent part of your legacy and an expression of what you’ve fought for. Silco may even say something like, "They'll be with you long after I'm gone," a quiet acknowledgment of how much he values you and the mark you've made on his world.

Sevika

~Sevika values strength above all else, and your tattoos are no exception. She admires how your tattoos are a form of self-expression, a permanent testament to your resilience and individuality. Each piece of ink on your body tells a story of survival, growth, or rebellion, which resonates with Sevika on a deep level.

~She’ll often comment on how the designs suit you, seeing them as a reflection of your character. If you have tattoos that reflect your toughness or battle scars, Sevika will love how they echo her own life, full of struggle, perseverance, and unyielding resolve.

~Although Sevika has a tough exterior, she’s fiercely protective of those she cares about. If anyone dares to disrespect your tattoos, whether by making rude comments or being too intrusive, Sevika won’t hesitate to defend you. She might not say much, but her cold glare or sharp tone will make it clear that no one crosses her or her partner.

~She sees your tattoos as a part of you that should be respected, and anyone who crosses that line will feel her wrath. This could be in the form of a quiet but dangerous threat or, if the situation calls for it, a more physical display of her power.

~Sevika is someone who is confident in who she is, and she has a deep admiration for people who are comfortable with their own identity. Your tattoos are a physical representation of your own confidence and self-assuredness, and she respects that immensely.

~She may even find your boldness alluring, especially if you have tattoos in places that make you stand out. Her admiration isn’t just for the art itself but for how you wear it with pride, without apology.

~Sevika isn’t someone to ask a million questions all at once, but over time, she’ll become genuinely curious about the meaning behind your tattoos. She’ll want to know the stories behind each piece, but only when the time feels right. Her approach will be slow and deliberate, she doesn’t rush, preferring to let things unfold at their own pace.

~She’s fascinated by what each tattoo represents, and she’ll be a great listener when you share those stories. If one tattoo stands out in particular, she’ll want to hear more about it and may even ask you to explain how it reflects a pivotal moment in your life.

~Sevika’s physical affection can be surprising, considering her rough-and-tumble persona, but when it comes to you, she’s gentle in her own way. If she’s ever near your tattoos, she might trace her fingers lightly along your skin, the touch almost possessive, but filled with warmth.

~She doesn’t touch your tattoos constantly, but when she does, it’s in moments of intimacy, whether it's when you're sitting together or when she’s holding you close. Her touch is slow, reverent, and almost as if she's connecting with you in a way that's quiet yet meaningful.

~Sevika might take you to a tattoo parlor one day, but it won’t be for something flashy or impulsive. It’ll be for something meaningful, perhaps a small but powerful design that symbolizes something significant to both of you. She sees tattoos as a bond, and getting inked together would be a form of unspoken commitment between you two.

~If Sevika does ever get a tattoo, it would be simple, perhaps something that reflects her own battle-hardened life, maybe a subtle design that represents strength, survival, or loyalty. If she gets it, it would be a deeply personal decision that signifies her respect and commitment to you.

~Sevika may not wear her emotions on her sleeve, but when it comes to your tattoos, she has a quiet pride. She’s proud of you for wearing them, for showing the world who you are without fear. When people admire or compliment your tattoos, she’ll often smirk, as if to say, “Yeah, those are mine.”

~In her own way, she takes ownership of your tattoos, not because she controls you, but because they represent a part of you that she’s connected to. When others stare, she’ll stand close, silently letting it be known that you’re with her.

~Sevika is a woman who doesn’t deal with competition, especially when it comes to you. If someone is paying too much attention to your tattoos in a way that makes her uncomfortable, she’ll get quiet, her eyes narrowing just slightly. Her jealousy isn’t outwardly obvious, but you can tell by the way she stands close to you or the sharpness in her tone when she speaks.

~She won’t tolerate anyone encroaching on what’s hers, even if it’s just someone admiring your tattoos. Her protective nature will flare up in these moments, and she’ll make sure to assert her presence without making a scene.

~Sevika herself has lived a life of rebellion, so she’ll relate to tattoos that represent defiance or going against the norm. If your tattoos symbolize your fight against oppression or authority, she’ll feel a deep resonance with them.

~She might even see them as a badge of honor, a sign that you’ve lived a life on your terms, much like she has. If you have tattoos that signify battles or scars from your past, Sevika will admire your strength in choosing to display them proudly. She would see your tattoos as a form of rebellion against the expectations of society, which is something she personally values.

~Sevika isn’t one to give compliments easily, but when she does, they’re usually well-placed and intense. If she notices a new tattoo of yours, she’ll give you a slow, deliberate look and might say something like, “You know, I think that tattoo just made you look even more dangerous,” or “I like how it complements your attitude.”

~Her compliments are always direct and sometimes laced with her usual confidence, but they’re also laced with a quiet respect. She admires your tattoos because they tell a story, and they show that you’re not afraid to wear your past and present boldly.

~Sevika’s view of loyalty is complicated, but with you, it’s unshakable. If you both ever get tattoos that symbolize your connection, she’ll view them as a sacred sign of your bond. Whether it’s matching symbols or something more personal that only the two of you understand, she’ll wear it with pride.

~Tattoos, for Sevika, are about what’s permanent, what’s unbreakable. She will see them as a form of loyalty, not just to her, but to each other, as partners who face the world together.

~Sevika doesn’t express her feelings often, but when she watches you, there’s a deep admiration in her eyes. When you’re wearing something that shows off your tattoos, a sleeveless shirt, for example, Sevika will quietly observe the way people react to your body art, but her attention will always be on you.

~There’s a certain pride she takes in seeing you fully own your tattoos, and when you catch her staring, she’ll give you a small, approving smirk, almost like a silent affirmation that she’s yours and you’re hers.

#arcane #arcane fandom #league of legends x reader #arcane x you #arcane fanfic #arcane fluff #silco #silco x reader #silco x y/n #jayce x reader #arcane jayce #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #vi x reader #vi #caitlyn x reader #jinx x reader #sevika x reader

127 notes · View notes