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mv1simp · 3 months ago

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Into It ♥️ Part 1 of 3

Max Verstappen x Girlfriend!Reader

i'm into it, yeah, says she wanna fuck me later, girl i'm into it

the one in which you’re newly dating your gorgeous boyfriend, max verstappen, after months of pining and flirting. he’s the perfect gentleman, so romantic and treats you just right! now how do you tell him that you’re desperate for mad max to come out and rail ur insides without sounding like a freak 😚

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut but this time with some plot lol, reader essentially is just trying whatever tactic she can to seduce her bf and make mad max come out in bed, size kink, dom/sub elements, 4k WC

PART TWO HERE ♥️ PART THREE HERE ♥️

You look up blissfully at your boyfriend, Max, from where you’re tucked into his side, his strong arm scooping you against him and keeping you warm. You’re rewatching an old classic, Shrek 2, as you wind down from your dinner plans with your friends earlier than evening. Lando and Daniel had joined as well, teasing you and Max mercilessly about how you two were finally together and that the whole F1 grid had been placing bets on when you would make it official.

You had flushed in a combination of embarrassment and giddiness, unable to hold back a matching laugh with Max who had looked over at you with an adoring gaze, his own heart warm with happiness about finally being able to call you his own. You two had run in the same Monaco circles for years - with him as a driver and you on the McLaren legal team. Though initially you only saw glimpses of him through paddock interviews or social media posts celebrating his multiple winning streaks, the two of you had become a lot closer the past couple years through his friendship with Daniel and Lando. Soon enough you were joining them at weekly Padel sessions, leading to you and Max exchanging funny cat memes or popping online to decimate him and Lando on a Call of Duty stream and then eventually onto deeper conversations, from his latest breakups with his model girlfriends or quiet ramblings with a bottle of wine outside a booming party about the pressures of demanding fathers.

Of course, tongues were wagging anytime you two were seen together - especially when Max had his first time in years being single for months before you had gotten together. You couldn’t deny that you had always thought the older Dutch man was incredibly handsome and funny, always full of interesting facts about niche topics, and you found his intensity and passion for his racing career so attractive, as a high powered professional yourself as a lawyer for a luxury car brand’s executive board. But you had always curbed any growing feelings you had for Max, paranoid that it would compromise the strong friendship you two had developed. Besides, given his affliction for dating vogue models, and his respectful gazes or polite touches compared to the much more flirtier ones from other drivers on the grid, you had never thought max considered you attractive.

But somehow, despite both your busy schedules, despite max being across the globe, you always ended up calling each other first to share sad, happy, or even just boring news. You had never once imagined that after winning his most recent championship the first person he came looking for in his celebrations that night was you, his face flushes from champagne and hugging you tightly, his eyes shining with warmth as he told you he couldn’t have won it without you and suddenly you could no longer deny the rapid palpitations of your heart when you looked up at him. And as he looked at you, thumb gently brushing across your cheeks, warm breaths mingling together as your faces drew closer, he couldn’t deny himself any longer either - Schat, all I’ve been thinking about is what I really wanted for my prize instead of this trophy. Can I kiss you now?

And the rest was history. Fast forward a few months and it’s still so surreal to call Max your boyfriend, you think, as you come back to the present, watching him fondly as he chuckles at the movie. Dating him has been a dream - he’s your first serious relationship, your standards too high to waste time with any of the subpar guys you had gone on first dates with before - and wow, did Max know exactly how to knock all of those standards out of the park. He would always drive and pick you up anywhere you wanted, in his sleek luxury cars that had pedestrians gawping, one large hand on your thigh and asking how your day had been. You had literally stopped taking your wallet out anymore as Max always slammed down his black Amex at any opportunity to pay for you - dinners, trips, jewellery and luxurious shopping sprees - and although the staunch feminist in you had initially disagreed you couldn’t help but feel so cared for, so looked after - knowing all you needed on a night out was one hand around his arm and the other clutching a pretty little Chanel purse he had picked up for you at last month’s race weekend, with a matching Dior lip gloss inside. If you were ever having a hard day at work he would always order your favourite foods straight to your apartment, where he would meet you and bitch and vent alongside you about whichever client had been giving you grief.

And my god, the sex - THE SEX with your man had been absolutely amazing. Considering the difference in your past number of relationships, max was keenly aware that he had a lot more experience than you and was so unbelievably sweet and patient - letting you take all the time you needed to go slow and work up the confidence gradually to ask for what you wanted for him. Your first time together had been incredibly romantic, a night at a private house he had booked out for the week on the Italian coastline. After a candlelit dinner and a bottle of wine you found yourself in his lap on the outdoor chaise, soft kisses turning more and more heated, max whispering are you sure, liefje? If you’re not ready-

to which you had cut him off with another deep kiss, pleading for him to make you his once and for all ❤️ His eyes had flickered with a deep intensity at your possessive statement before softening out to adoration again as he gently unlaced your dress and trailed kisses down your body, worshipping you. you’d both cum embarrassingly faster than you’d have liked, high off the feeling of one another, max cleanly finishing inside a condom he threw away before carrying you in his arms to the bedroom inside. Since then, you’d both figured out you had a combined very high sex drive, using every opportunity in your schedules to make love, max never hesitating to always make sure you came first, either on his fingers, tongue or cock. You had the perfect boyfriend. Truly. You couldn’t ask for anything more, yet -

- yet, here you were, feeling like an absolute bitch about the recurrent thoughts that had planted in your mind as you watched max come out of the bathroom freshly showered, getting ready for bed after finishing a gaming stream with his mates following your Shrek 2 viewing. The issue was that your boyfriend - your incredibly hot, sexy, tall Dutch boyfriend - was so stupidly enticing but so oblivious that he has no idea what he did to you. You bit your lip as you looked at him, hair dripping wet, distractingly saying something to you while texting on his phone - but your mind was only fixed on how big and strong Max looked. Your boyfriend was much bigger than you, almost towering over you at 6”1 with your 5”1 frame. His athletic training currently during the season meant he had been looking extra delectable lately, defined abs, thick muscular thighs and a broad shoulder and back that narrowed down to a narrow (or as Lando joked, slutty) waist, highlighted now by the grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips that did nothing to hide the sizeable bulge in between his legs. It was undeniable that he was packing, to the point where you had called it his third leg after first seeing him naked, making him laugh but also take even more care everytime he entered you - you were a lot smaller than his previous partners, after all. He always made sure his pace was gentle and slow, avoiding fully entering you too much in worry of causing you pain. Truly, your boyfriend was too sweet - everything he did was to avoid causing your any pain or distress - which is why you felt too embarrassed to ask him directly to be rougher with you when he was simply looking out for your comfort. It has been perfect for you initially, but now you felt more adjusted to his size, and each time you slept together you felt yourself becoming more and more desperate for Max to be just a little bit rougher, a little bit more controlling. What would he think when his usually sweet, happy go lucky girlfriend admitted she actually fantasised about him completely ruining her? So, of course, you being you - an ambitious feminist - have decided to hatch a conniving strategy to seduce your boyfriend into giving it to you just right!! 💕

Starting tonight - you had already planned to spend the night at Max’s, relaxing after the hectic work week you had both had. Often, you wore his comfortable hoodies that dwarfed you and smelt just like him as you cuddled in bed. Instead tonight you wore an angelic pink lace Agent Provocateur nightie, bows and all, pushing your cute tits up on display for him and complimenting your caramel skin perfectly. Enough to drive Max crazy, right? Sitting against the plush pillows, you had been reading one of your steamy dark romance novels - your latest outlet these days while you manifested getting some back breaking sex with Max - but of course had ended up distracted by the sight of your himbo boyfriend emerging from the shower.

-Schat? So what do you think? Max finally looked up from his phone, making you come back to reality and realize you hadn’t been answering his question. Max’s eyes widened seeing your pretty little form on his bed - he had never seen you wear an outfit like that in bed before. He cleared his throat, inconspicuously shifting his stance so you didn’t notice his hard on at the sight of you when you hastily stumbled to reply - Oh sorry maxie, I missed what you were saying, just a bit tired after today

Max immediately came to your side in bed, looking guilty. Of course Schat, sorry, I’m keeping you up with my gaming stream aren’t I? You had such a long week already, we can go straight to bed now. You cursed your own slip up - of course, your sweet Max would put your comfort first over what you were sure looked like mission successful given the rapid hardening of his bulge you had zoned in on.

You try again as Max dims the bedside lamps, taking your book gently away from your hands and setting it to the side. You lean softly in next to him, fluttering your eyelashes up at him, tits right up against his hard biceps so that your breasts are basically cushioning his arm right in between them. Your nightie rises up your legs, showcasing your soft, luscious thighs for him. Max smiles lovingly at you, cradling your face before peppering your cheeks with baby kisses. You look so pretty, sweetheart. So sweet to wait for me before falling asleep, mein Schat.

You lean in further, lips pouting in an effort your boyfriend would finally catch the hint but instead you found yourself gently maneouvered and tucked into his side, his large hands rubbing soothing circles along your back as he placed a final kiss on your forehead. Goodnight, darling. Your eye twitched at his definitive words, perplexed at how your plan had been so unsuccessful, but you sighed and wished goodnight to Max, falling asleep and already plotting for another day.

A couple of weeks later you decided to up the ante. A sexy, bold crimson red lingerie teddy set, practically see through and showcasing your tan nipples through the lace and mesh, and a pathetic excuse of some lacy red panties to match. You smirked as you eyed yourself in the mirror - sure, it was quite a forward look, but you had found yourself becoming increasingly more desperate for your boyfriend’s attentions after attending his Monaco race today. You did your best to attend the races you could but with your own demanding schedule often struggled to make it, so were very excited to support your boyfriend this time - especially as you had been keeping track of how this season was difficult compared to earlier years given the poorer quality of the RB car. Your eyes had widened at seeing the events this weekend - a string of bad luck events. First, his engine had stalled during free practise, making him lose precious practise time, and then a red flag had been called as he was finishing an almost perfect qualifying lap, ruining his chances of pole, and finally during the actual race he was clipped on the side by one of the Aston Martin’s, making him spin out but still incredibly go on to get P2. It was amazing result given everything, but what caught your attention was a side of your boyfriend you had only every heard whispers about emerge on the track. In the past, you had only attended races he had easily won, appearing calm and collected throughout the weekends as he cruised to P1 - easily overpowering everyone else. Today though - Mad Max, his fans excitedly cheered and paddock staff gossiped, Mad Max is finally back!! In his villain era!!

And your Max was indeed seething at everyone - competitors, his strategy team, the stewards for not giving Aston Martin a penalty - and you had listened in on the radio to hear him angrily swear and yell to his engineer, seen him aggressively overtake and defend his place on the track, and finally seen the stormy expression on his face as he emerged out of his car, clearly pissed with narrowed eyes as he stalked off to his driver room without a word, not even sparing a glance at you or anyone else. Sure, you should have felt a little hurt that he hadn’t noticed you or seen the perfectly planned designer outfit you had arrived wearing, sending the paparazzi into a flurry, but you completely understood that his career was first on the line today and he needed some time to cool off. And honestly, instead of feeling bad for Max - the sick, twisted part of you couldn’t deny that he had looked sooo sexy completely dominating on the track, authoritatively giving orders over the radio and confidently outmanoeuvring his rivals. You had to catch yourself from biting your lip or squeezing your legs together as his rough accented tones got more and more angry throughout the race over your headphones, imaging what it would be like to be pinned down by his strong arms, to have him lean down behind you and whisper naughty things in your ear, to ask if you liked being a dirty little-

“Oh! Y/N! Can we get a quick word?” The sky sports reporters interruption hastily put an end to the illicit thoughts you had been having. Quickly trying to school your expression into something much more PR friendly, you flashed a dazzling smile, “Of course!”. As expected they tried to rile responses out of you to condemn Max’s aggressive performance. But you had stood for none of it, honestly and clearly stating that your boyfriend had driven very capably and fairly given the circumstances and you were extremely impressed with his performance. “He’s a triple world champion after all. Did you just expect him to roll over and not defend his title? If you don’t agree with it then no need to watch it. At the end of the day he’s the one driving the car over the finish line while everyone else is speculating hypotheticals.” The reporters thank you for your input, stumbling for words at your strong defence of your boyfriend. You wandered off before they could say more, catching up with Max a couple hours later when he had debriefed and collected his trophy, looking a lot more chilled out than earlier.

Hey, Schatje he mumbled gently, leaning down to kiss you on the lips after pulling you from a conversation with the other WAGs. Max! you had exclaimed brightly, congratulating him on his win and letting him know just how proud you were of him. You knew he would be tired - we could go to the red bull celebration yacht party for 30min, show our faces, and then play hooky back to ours? I already put in a dinner order for your favourite lamb kebabs.

Max smiled down at you - you knew him so well, always knew what to say and when he wanted to relax. Sounds amazing, Schat he voiced in agreement. Later, after eating dinner at home, Lando sent him a trending insta reel with the caption “Mate, she’s too good to you, you bagged a queen.” Max grinned, expecting some fanmade memes about you and him as he clicked the link (he has seen all the Queen Y/N and he’s just…Ken Max tweets already. You were a well liked figure on the paddock for years with your well mannered speech, excellent dress style and courteous relationships with most of the staff.)

He was suprised to instead see an interview post race of you defending him staunchly, shutting down any opportunity the reporters used to manipulate your words. He walked into his bedroom to find you conveniently waiting for him in bed again, nose buried in one of your romance models, and started laughing at how effective you were at putting the media clowns in their place. Thanks for sticking up for me always, liefje. You smiled back at him with pure adoration - of course Maxie, that’s the advantage of dating a lawyer, right?

He agreed enthusiastically, so caught up on now yapping about the race as he climbed into bed with you that he didn’t even notice the sexy little outfit you had planned just for him, covering you up with his soft duvet before you could properly twirl around and showcase it for him. Your eye twitched again as he yawned in between statements, grabbing your waist and bringing your back in against him, spooning you while his voice gently trailed off, falling asleep.

Meanwhile, your mind was running at 100 miles a minute, a scowl on your face. This was ridiculous, you had gotten all dressed up in an overpriced beautiful outfit just for your boyfriend to get distracted by a 3min interview you had done with an asshole reporter and then fall asleep instead of ravaging you?? You had tonight would be the perfect night, for you to be the one to support him for once, be the perfect outlet for his stress, to use you and manipulate your body for his own pleasure…heat pooled in your gut at your dark thoughts, and you grow wetter between your legs at the mental image of max having his way with you. Maybe it still wasn’t too late. Sighing gently, you closed your eyes, pretending to drift into sleep but moving your plump, barely covered ass behind you to gently grind up on your boyfriend’s cock, which was now rapidly hardening with your practised movements. You sensed Max had awakened when you felt his arms tighten around you, keeping you still in an effort to stop you from exciting him to much while you were still asleep and he couldn’t act on it.

Mmmhmm, maxie, feels so good~ you moaned, still keeping up the facade of having a wet dream, breathing getting heavier and pushing your tits against the edges of his fingers that were wrapped around your waist. You felt him exhale sharply as he came into contact with your hardened nipples, a smirk on your face. Your grinding had managed to push the duvet partially off, exposing your red lingerie in the moonlight - surely this would be enough to drive any man crazy!!

You heard him sigh behind you, shifting slightly and inadvertently pushing his cock against your skimpy underwear as he pressed a kiss to the back of your neck - and you had to hold back a squeal with how hard and big he felt against you, this was it, he was finally going to give in and fuck you awake while he thought you were having a wet dream, he could slide it right in, you were ready for it, for him, you were soo wet already just from imagining it, this was so hot-

Your fantasies are quickly shut down as max easily used his strength to turn you around so your face was buried into his chest again, your ass now devastatingly much too far away to get any action, and began rubbing your shoulders soothingly to get you to fall into a deep sleep again. You almost combusted at the action before deflating and accepting defeat once more. Your kind boyfriend of course would never toe the line of having sex with you in a dubious way were you were asleep. You wanted - no needed, to bring Mad Max out in your bedroom, and you were determined to do whatever it took.

Over the next few weeks you threw countless strategies Max’s way. Leaving your dirty romance books out in plain view, sometimes even opened up to a page right in the middle of a jaw dropping sex scene. Lacier and lacier bralettes and panties left everywhere to prompt him. “Accidentally” deleting his best SIM race time record on his rig. But nothing seemed to be working - max diligently tidyed up the stray underwear, reshelved the books, and generously forgave you for the SIM error before setting a new record later that night instead of fucking you angrily like you had planned. You got more frustrated as both your work schedules became busier, leaving you less time to connect with him. Fuck, last weekend - last weekend you had even thrown out all your boxes of condoms before jumping into Max’s arms when he had come home, laughing and eager to see you. One thing let to another and he was as eager to be inside you as you were to have him inside you, voicing It’s been too long Schat, I’ve missed your sweet body so much, so beautiful for me in between kisses as he reached for the bedstand drawer to grab a condom - only to find it empty. You pretended to have a confused look on your face (truly, you deserved an Oscar for your performance this past month) before oh so innocently suggesting Maxie, we- we don’t have to use one if you don’t want, I’m on the pill -

And there it was - a brief darkening of your boyfriends’ normally loving ice blue eyes, his sharp gaze on you at your suggestion of doing it raw for the first time - before he schooled his features back to normal and gave you a sweet kiss, It’s okay Schat, you’re too sweet, you don’t deserve to feel uncomfortable for my sake, I’ll just grab some from the corner store, da? He was off you before you could protest, promising he would be back soon as you blinked away tears of frustration and denial that yet again your plan had failed. When he finally entered you later that night, ever so gently, condom and all, you closed your eyes tight and imagined how each vein and ridge of his thick cock might feel when fully buried inside you to the hilt, if that goddamn condom broke, if he spilled all of his thick, creamy cum inside you, so much that it spurted out the sides, leaking everywhere, claiming you as his and no one else’s, making such a filthy, filthy mess-

- you came harder than you had the whole month, burying your face in Max’s shoulder to contain the scream that threatened to spill out. You sighed as you came down from your high. Fuck, you needed a drink.

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A/N: Follow along for Part 2 of this 3 part series to see if dear reader will finally manage to uncockblock herself and release Mad Max!! 😚😚

#max verstappen x oc #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 smut #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen smut #max verstappen #formula 1 #smut

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maxivstappen · 3 months ago

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THE GREATEST

[ part two / masterlist / requests are open ]

☽｡⋆ being in a relationship with a formula 1 driver like lando was hard, but not impossible. right? a story based on THE GREATEST by billie eilish. — lando norris x fem!reader

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 angst! pure angst, swearing. i’ll write a part 2 if requested 𝄞 4.4k words

❝ I’m trying my best to keep you satisfied ❞

Loving a formula 1 driver, let alone being in a relationship with one, wasn’t easy. But that didn’t stop you. In fact, you were sure nothing was ever going to be able to get in between the love that Lando and you shared, the kisses and the late night cuddles, the fun family dinners and the celebrations of his milestones. Everything was so perfect.

Yes, sometimes it’s hard to meet his standards, sometimes having you leave your own family to go attend races with him, or the blatant flirting he would still be partaking in at after-race parties, it was definitely a flaw of your relationship, but maybe you should’ve just worn something prettier or done your makeup in a different way, in the end it’s your fault if his attention wasn’t keen on you, right?

But no matter what, you were ready to do it for him. He’s your main priority, just as he should be. That’s what makes a relationship a functioning one, doesn’t it?

❝ Let you get your rest while I stayed up all night ❞

Of course you weren’t always his main priority, but who were you to judge him? He’s a professional racing driver, it’s not only a job but a complete career, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything in this world. Having a world championship under his belt, that was more important than you. You just have to live like that, someone had to put in the work for the relationship. And because it definitely wasn’t Lando, it was you. But you didn’t mind, you’d do it all over again for him. Because you truly loved him, and to you, there was nothing in this world stronger than love.

So when you both finally get home after a long race weekend, you don’t mind doing the cooking and cleaning and laundry for him. You also don’t mind him going to sleep while you’re up packing up luggage for him and you to depart for the next GP. You would’ve appreciated some skin contact after such a busy and nerve wrecking weekend, but if he needed rest, then he should have it. You could rest another time, maybe during the flight or while he was spending time with his friends. You weren’t sure why, but Lando always insisted on not having you with him, always making up excuses why you couldn’t come even if in reality, you were at “home” trying to get used to the new place you’d have to stay at for the next week. Maybe you would’ve preferred being with him, or having him with you, or being in your home country with your loved ones he was yet to meet, but that’s okay. He had his fun with his friends and their girlfriends, that’s what mattered.

Maybe he didn’t want you there because, while he dated a girl he’s known since forever, a girl who knew him before his win and his fame and his career, all the others were dating models and successful women. Maybe you embarrassed him a little bit, so you were understanding when he told you to stay at home. His fans didn’t exactly love you either, so actually, it was really thoughtful of him not to have you by his side when he went out, because then his fan base and the news wouldn’t be able to pick at every little flaw you had, which you had surprisingly lots of, as the media told you.

The clock read 5am when you finally finished packing up the luggage and went to bed yourself. Well, not the bed but rather the couch, because Lando had just previously told you not to wake him if he was already asleep, and who were you to rip him out of his peaceful slumber when he had so much pressure on him the last three days? It was a little cold, but that’s okay. It was just kinda difficult to fall asleep on the small, hard, uncomfortable couch.

The clock read 8am when you woke up to prepare breakfast for him and you.

❝ And you don’t wanna know how alone I’ve been ❞

You knew better than to complain. Of course you felt a little bit alone in the huge apartments while he was away, spending time at the track or in the gym with his friends. How could you not? You were in a country you’ve never been in before, a country with no familiar faces or friends or people you could talk to besides the McLaren team and well, your boyfriend. But in the end, Lando showed you the world. And you had to be grateful for that. Even if he basically just pushed you around the world and then picked you up again when it was time to travel farther. And god, how you missed your family. And how deeply you wanted them to meet your one and only love, Lando. It was sickening, the need to be at home again.

One time after a long day of qualifying, you told Lando about your homesickness and that you felt a bit alone on this journey.

He got mad and told you if you wanted, you could just leave. He’s not keeping you here. 20 minutes after, you were stood in the kitchen making dinner for the two of you. Your response to “Are you actually fucking crying right now?” was a quiet “I was just cutting onions.”

His reply to “I thought we were eating together, I made dinner” was “I’m going out to eat with Charles and his girlfriend.”

You felt your heart break in that second, but he was just mad and not thinking straight. Outbursts are okay sometimes.

❝ Let you come and go, whatever state I’m in ❞

You spent the whole evening and night crying, putting his food in the fridge in case he was hungry later. The tears didn’t stop until he came back through the door, obviously a bit tipsy. He quickly wrapped his arms around you and told you how sorry he was, telling you that next time, he would take you with him to dinner. You knew it wasn’t true, and he knew as well.

At least you felt his touch again, his arms around you and his rough fingers caressing your cheek. That was worth the tears and the unappreciated cooking.

❝ Man am I the greatest? My congratulations ❞

Miami GP ‘24. Lando’s first win in his Formula 1 career. You were the proudest girlfriend in the world and you couldn’t wait to celebrate his win with him tomorrow, knowing he’d be busy partying with the others today. You’re in Miami, after all. And he has just won. Of course he had to celebrate that with his boys, surrounded by beautiful women and loads of alcohol. He would never cheat on you, but you were sure he wouldn’t mind being in the presence of some women who were gifted with a prettier face and body than you were. That’s okay, at least he doesn’t use you for your looks.

As he stood there on the highest step of the podium, smiling like a little kid who had just fulfilled his dreams, smiling like he once had smiled at you, it made you so incredibly happy and emotional and you couldn’t wait to finally see him and give him a big celebration kiss.

Once he was back in the paddock he told you to wait until the cameras were gone. You didn’t get a hug either. Not until you were back in the apartment.

At last. you got your hug and a kiss. As a goodbye before he left with Max.

❝ All my love and patience, all my admiration ❞

The day after, you woke up at 7, waiting for him to wake up while you were already up in the kitchen, baking a small cake with a “one” on it, all decorated in orange.

Even if you were left unsatisfied yesterday, that didn’t stop you from still feeling eternally proud of him, and proud to be able to call yourself his girlfriend. He was so dedicated to the things he loved, it was a pleasure to watch him go through life with his determination. Racing was his passion, there’s no shame in sometimes forgetting your girlfriend for it.

He finally entered the kitchen at 12, smiling at the small cake placed upon the dining table. “Surprise!” You said, and he immediately went to hug and kiss you, smiling just as brightly as he did on that podium. Moments like these were a reminder that he did in fact love you, and once again, that it’s all worth it.

❝ All the times I waited for you to want me naked ❞

You often wondered how the others managed to keep up their relationships.

Just recently you were having lunch with the other WAGs at a restaurant near the circuit. Originally, you didn’t want to come, still feeling insecure about what the media has to say about you, the ugly duckling around the most beautiful women in F1 history. However, they insisted. At the table the girls began talking about the party after Lando’s win, and how proud you must’ve been to see him on that podium. You loved talking about it, until you were asked why you didn’t come with him to the party. A lame excuse of “I was just tired and not feeling well” made the others look at you weirdly. How could she be so selfish and miss her boyfriend’s afterparty for that? Alex, Charles’ girlfriend smiled at you with a knowing look, but you pretended not to notice, feeling embarrassed.

The next topic at the table was rather intimate, and you wanted to puke right then and there. Were you really the only one who hasn’t been touched in so long, because there just wasn’t enough time between all the travelling and racing and exhaustion? Or were you just not good enough? Was it really your looks? Should you change?

You missed it dearly, the intimate times with Lando. The ones where he finally took care of you instead of the other way around, the ones where you could feel the connection between you two with all your senses. Was it your fault that these times stopped? Lando was so perfect, it just couldn’t be his fault.

Maybe you just had to wait until he wanted you again.

❝ Made it all look painless, man, am I the greatest? ❞

You didn’t show your feelings often, not your real ones. The times he had catched you crying for him on you knees were pathetic little situations he shouldn’t have seen you in. When asked, you denied. “Do you feel lonely in this relationship?” — “No.” “Does he make you cry often?” — “No.” “Do you think your relationship is slowly breaking apart?” — “No.”

Talking about it with the women around the paddocks or when you’d facetime your friends from home, you never once said anything bad about Lando. Never once complained about how he treated you or how he ignored your feelings and your endeavors. Not even your closest friends knew what was really going on, or maybe, you just didn’t know that yourself. In your mind, this was just a phase where his career just made it impossible for him to focus on you. Someday this would change. Sooner or later, it would change.

For everyone else, you had the greatest, perfect, flawless relationship. And you didn’t mind keeping that imagine up. For his sake.

❝ Doing what’s right without a reward ❞

And so it kept going. You making efforts, him abandoning you. No matter what you did for him, no matter how much heart and love you put in for him, it was left unappreciated. But that‘s okay, still. You were in a relationship, your only task was to love him, and you did. Because that‘s the right thing to do in a relationship, and for him, you‘d do anything. No matter if he appreciated it or not at the moment, you knew that, eventually, he would.

❝ And we don‘t have to fight when it‘s not worth fighting for ❞

At least you hoped that he would change someday, so far he obviously hadn’t, and it was slowly getting to you in a more serious manner. In a way that might worry you and the people around you, in a way you wouldn‘t forget. That one time you prepared dinner for the both of you and he went out with Charles and Alex instead, it was all forgotten in a matter of seconds when he apologized. But now every single interaction he had with other women haunted you, asleep or awake. No apology would help you actually think he would change his current treatment towards you, and as it seemed, he didn‘t care either.

There was no point in fighting anymore, no point in telling him how you feel whenever he walks out the door, leaving you alone with nothing but your awful thoughts. For fuck‘s sake, you left all you had behind to be there for him, and how does he show his gratefulness? He doesn’t, because he isn’t fucking grateful, and he couldn’t care less about you and your dumb feelings. He doesn’t care that you want nothing more than to finally be able to introduce him to your family, he doesn’t care that you gave up your own career for his, and he doesn’t care that while he’s treating you the way he is, all the people who knew the both of you and basically the whole internet was only picking you apart. Never him.

Oh you were such a shitty girlfriend refusing to kiss him in front of the cameras after his first win, but wasn’t he the one who pushed you away? And how could you miss the party that night, the party dedicated to your oh soo perfect boyfriend? Do you not care about him enough? Were you not proud? So many girls would trade their life for a day in your shoes, and you just didn’t appreciate that? What a disappointment you are to the WAGs, and what a disappointment you must be to Lando.

“Lando please, listen to me,” — “No, I’m done with your insufferable complaining all the time. I meant it the first time I said it and I mean it now, if you wanna leave, leave.”

❝ And you don’t wanna know what I would’ve done, anything at all, worse than anyone ❞

You would’ve walked through fire for him to love you again. For everything to go back like it once was. When he would brag about you to his friends and even in interview, when he took you to hang out with his friends and to parties, always keeping an arm around your shoulders so other guys wouldn’t even dare to look at you, when he was so eager to fulfill not only his, but also your dreams, wether that be a simple one, like him meeting your parents in your childhood home, or the greater ones, like becoming not only a good, but a great graphic designer. When he would watch you draw and perfect yet the smallest details with nothing but the growing admiration for you visible in his eyes. When he would kiss you good night and good morning, when he would ask about your day and passionately tell you about his. Back to when he had loved you. But now it was too late. All the things you had done for him, all the things you would probably still do, in the end, were for nothing more than a broken heart.

The sleepless nights. The nerve wrecking days. The painful parting from your family and friends. The abandonment of the life with him you had so desperately wished for.

It was all for nothing.

❝ I loved you, and I still do. Just wanted passion from you, just wanted what I gave you ❞

Last day before the summer break, the last race. And probably, the last day of him and you.

You were done with his shit, the sad look on your face visible to everyone in the room as you sat and watched the race from the McLaren hospitality, his parents seated next to you. Something felt very off, your usual happy and optimistic demeanor completely washed off, replaced by a dark, almost expressionless look. They sensed that something might have happened between Lando and you, but nobody dared to ask, too busy watching the intense race.

The outcome was disappointing, Lando finishing behind Max, the one he’d have to beat to win the championship. The team and the people inside the paddock and the hospitality clapped for him and Oscar anyway, with Oscar finishing second and Lando fifth. You cheered and smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. You knew what was to come once you’d be back in the hotel. You were scared, sure it would be the most painful thing you’d ever have to do, putting all the things you’d done for him, all the things he’d done to you, in its shadow.

The celebration went well, again, no hug or kiss for you. You were sure his mother had even scolded him for it, but that wasn’t important anymore. You didn’t really care anyway, the media would run their mouths about you anyway, and Lando surely doesn’t give a shit either way. You desperately needed an answer, you wanted him to explain it to you. What had suddenly happen, what did you do wrong, for him to suddenly act like this? And if he fell out of love, then why couldn’t he just tell you?

Meanwhile Lando was busy celebrating Oscar‘s podium, taking pictures for the McLaren instagram account and whatnot, then doing the post race interviews.

He loved you, he really did. But he just didn’t see you as someone he wanted to spend this life with. He couldn’t imagine living his private life without you by his side, he wanted you to come with him to visit his family at home, to come with him when he would meet up with Max and the others during summer break or really, he wanted to just do nothing with you, nothing but share small kisses and cuddling on his couch at home, eating some homemade food and drinking a glass of wine together. At the same time, he thought that you didn’t fit in. Not in this life.

You met when he wasn’t yet the person he is now. When he was still passionate about so many other things other than just racing. Of course this had always been a part of him, but so were you. And now its just racing that occupied his mind, no single corner in his head left for his girlfriend. He knew it hurt you, but at the same time, part of what the media had to say about you was true. The first season he had spent with you by his side, the internet was already raging about how you weren‘t the typical WAG, and how they thought seeing you next to someone like a Kelly Piquet, you did seem a little weird. Lando didn’t want to be confronted with these opinions anymore, so instead of standing up for you, he decided to ‘hide‘ you. To not put you in the center of attention after a race to hug and kiss you, to just let you stand there and wait until you were inside where no one could see you. He also avoided reading anything the internet had to say about you, so the fact that his plan had only made you gain more and more hate, went unnoticed. Just like your complaints when he didn’t want to be seen with you after races at parties or even in a restaurant for dinner with Charles and Alexandra. Of course they had invited the both of you, and not only him. Lando came up with an excuse so he the paparazzi wouldn’t see you. The rumor that Lando and you have broken up after he was seen at dinner alone didn‘t seem to bother him either, but it did you. He thought you liked it this way, as he thought, without any hate comments about your looks or the way you’d dress compared to the others. He thought you appreciated not having to dress up for parties or the countless hangouts with his friends. He thought you cried that night after he was out for dinner because you cooked for him and he just went out, not that you cried because you felt not good enough for him to want you to come with him.

He really was stupid enough to think you were happy with all of this.

And while he was happy to be able to finally spend his summer break with you and only you, it all came crashing down when you were back in your shared apartment. Tears were forming in his eyes while yours were already streaming down your face as you yelled at him, telling him every yet so small detail that left your heart crushed and broken while he was busy „hiding you“, or as he explained it to you, „protecting you.“ this wasn’t protection, this was blatant ignorance. And finally in this relationship, you did something for yourself. You left.

Maybe it was miscommunication, or him refusing to communicate at all. But that didn‘t matter now, ‘cause now, it was over. No more kisses, no more cuddles and no more meeting friends or families. But most importantly, no more crying, no more sleepless nights, no more unappreciated support, no more hiding.

❝ I waited and waited ❞

Finally at home, your family had expected to see you with Lando by your side, and they were so very excited to finally be able to meet the guy their lovely daughter was head over heels for, using every chance she had to gush over him and how unbelievably proud she was of him. So when you stood there with puffy eyes and all your luggage placed next to you, they knew the tears you cried weren’t happy tears from finally behind home again. They were tears from saying goodbye to the life you were ready to spend with your boyfriend, who was now on the other side of the world.

You knew it was stupid, but you couldn‘t help waiting for him to reach out to you again. A call or a message, hell, you hoped he was as miserable without you as you were without him so that maybe Max or even Oscar had to contact you again. Despite all the times he had hurt you, you missed him so dearly.

But after months and months of waiting, you decided that there was no use in waiting. It’s over, and its for the better, it has to be.

It was gonna be hard seeing him again, once the summer break is over. Even if the love between Lando and you ended, your love for Formula 1 didn’t, and you weren’t about to give that up just for the sake of not having to see him. You‘d be in the stands or in front of the TV, he‘d be in his car or in front of the camera. No point in worrying. But still, the first few races, you watched curled up next to your best friend and your parents from home. It was so nice to finally be able to see everyone again, everyone you had to miss all these months you were away. Your dad and you used to always watch races together, and you were more than grateful to finally be able to do exactly that again.

❝ Man am I the greatest? God, I hate it, all my love and patience – Unappreciated. You said your heart was jaded, you couldn’t even break it, I shouldn’t have to say it … ❞

His instagram and twitter definitely make it seem like your broken heart doesn’t match his perfectly fine one. He seemed happier than ever, having fun with his friends at parties and driving around different towns with different girls. Seeing him was draining, but how were you supposed to never hear about him again when the entire internet was screaming his name? You wanted your life to finally feel easier now, but it seemed to only get harder.

You felt you lost your soulmate, while he only lost his greatest burden.

It wasn’t until you watched the first race after the summer break with your dad that it all came flooding back to you. Lando crossed the finish line first, and as the camera switched to show him get out of his car and rip off his helmet to kiss his new girlfriend that looked weirdly similar to you, surrounded by loud cheers, clapping and ecstatic, smiling faces, you realize that maybe, he really didn’t love you. And that he didn’t *want* to kiss you after his races, because it seems that if he had wanted to, he would’ve.

At the same time, even while standing on the highest step of that podium, Lando couldn‘t help but think about you, how stupid he was to treat you like a piece of shit when all you wanted was to be there for him after races like this one and most importantly, why the hell no girl he‘s been with after your breakup felt even remotely close to you. You were the greatest thing he‘d ever had, no trophy, no price would ever compare, and he managed to take it all for granted.

If he had just put in a little more effort, really, you could’ve been the greatest .

2K notes · View notes

astonmartinii · 5 months ago

Text

girl, so confusing | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem norris!reader

will "norstappen" will work it out on the remix?

note: obvs everything here is hearsay and all a big fat joke i am just venting my frustrations with whatever the fuck lando just said after that race

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR |

- part of the brother's best friend series -

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri and 783,049 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: we don't just let people by because we have a big lead in the championship (that's actually how you end up with a big lead) btw.

view all comments

user5: WELCOME BACK OUTWARDLY BITCHY Y/N I'VE MISSED YOU

user6: the atmosphere shifted, my skin has cleared and the birds are singing

user7: i didn't think it would be against her own brother BUT WE'LL TAKE WHAT WE CAN GET

maxverstappen1: can you do all my media for me - you give a lot better sound bites than i ever could

yourusername: all my sound bites would be completely unusable

yourusername: cause if they thought you had a potty mouth oh boy they have another thing coming

danielricciardo: it's true i was around her when she stubbed her toe once, it was like shakespeare but concerning

alexalbon: or that one referee against chelsea, i've never heard so many creative insults

maxverstappen1: okay but my thoughts exactly

yourusername: twitter would cancel me baby

maxverstappen1: everyone wants cunty f1 back until i make contact and you ... open your mouth?

user8: not like all of lando's friends either being in the likes or the comments

user9: bro is fighting for his life in the GC after that press run

user10: i think y/n got all the sass cause lando that was not the diva statement you thought it was

landonorris: before you delete i already sent it to mum

yourusername: i'm not deleting it you big baby you gotta stand on your words bro

landonorris: nuh uh

yourusername: i can feel you pouting YOUR 24 YEARS OLD

landonorris: but i'm still your baby brother

yourusername: not with this PR strategy

landonorris: MAX WAS IN THE WRONG

yourusername: 1. i watched the ten laps before lando i'm not dumb 2. i support his rights and wrongs 3. you still won driver of the day and i thought that's what meant the most to you

user11: oh she gagged him

user12: can we get a rupaul's drag race reading challenge in f1 but it's just y/n reading the drivers PLEASE

charles_leclerc: literally all you have to do is spend 10 minutes with her in the paddock

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 1,304,599

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: still got my favourite norris on side and that's all that matters

view all comments

user13: someone check on lando cause DIVA IS DOWN

user14: diva is dead and buried at this point

user15: they're dancing on diva's grave

landonorris: DO YOU PEOPLE MIND ???

maxverstappen1: who is this random fan in my comments?

landonorris: i'm definitely not a fan of yours after this weekend

maxverstappen1: oh then let me add you to my block list

charles_leclerc: i thought unfollowing each other after a race in austria was our thing max :(

maxverstappen1: yes that's why i'm going to block him not just unfollow

charles_leclerc: oh good 😊

yourusername: and that's why i'm ready to get rid of the name altogether

maxverstappen1: i think you suit verstappen so much more anyway

yourusername: i'm ready when you are

landonorris: really? ENGAGEMENT TALK ON A POST THAT DISSES ME

yourusername: a diss? you don't want your sister to be happy? or am i not your sister anymore since max isn't your friend anymore?

landonorris: IT WAS ONE QUOTE LIKE TEN MINUTES AFTER BEING CRASHED OUT OF THE LEAD

yourusername: * second-place

landonorris: STOP IT

yourusername: don't dish it if you can't take it buddy

user16: not this brocedes era for max and lando

yourusername: @lewishamilton @nicorosberg i am so sorry they're minimising your trauma like this

user17: so real of you

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, maxverstappen1 and 934,098 others

tagged: maxverstappen1 & landonorris

yourusername: when you forgot that you invited your boyfriend to stay at the family home before the british grand prix and arranged a big family dinner and the flight back to england and your boyfriend and brother decide to try and kill each other in the race and have now 'ended' their friendship.... relatable!

view all comments

user21: the footage... GIVE IT TO ME, SHOW IT TO ME RACHEL

yourusername: most excruiting three hours of my life boys are so dramatic

user22: shock horror mad max and norrif are holding grudges

yourusername: IF i didn't have the patience of a saint i would've gone mad max on their asses and mclaren would've been down a driver

user23: out here threatening the victim and not the aggressor

yourusername: now why would i attack my trophy husband?

landonorris: i didn't make the plane ride awkward HE MADE THE PLANE RIDE AWKWARD

yourusername: we tried to nap but the heat from your death glare kept us up

landonorris: THAT'S NOT MY FAULT

yourusername: it's kind of expressly your fault, you could've taken your anger out on a pillow or a 12 piece wing meal like a normal person

landonorris: max's jet doesn't offer wings

maxverstappen1: get your own jet then

yourusername: @ryanair we have a new customer for you

landonorris: NO I'M SORRY

maxverstappen1: finally

landonorris: just for your jet not having wings, you're still the one in the wrong overall

user24: i fear lando may not see his sister back in the mclaren garage for the rest of the season

user25: i mean she looks better in blue anyway

liked by maxverstappen1

oscarpiastri: can we please move on lando your attitude is stinking up the gaff

landonorris: 1. wtf osc you're meant to be on my side 2. where the fuck did you learn that

oscarpiastri: while you've been sulking in your childhood bedroom i've been taking in the normal norris hospitality

yourusername: he'll get over it he did this all the time when we were younger - he'll come back and join when dinner is finished

landonorris: TELL MAX TO APOLOGISE

yourusername: i guess you don't want any of these profiteroles then ...

maxverstappen1: i'm eating them all lol

landonorris: FINE GOD DAMN

landonorris

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1 and 1,674,099 others

tagged: maxverstappen1 & yourusername

landonorris: i think i just got gentle parented (brought matching jellycats) into forgiving max

view all comments

user28: about fucking time

user29: baby had his first real dose of wheel to wheel racing for a win and wanted to throw away a friendship

user30: good thing his sister never knows when to shut the fuck up and humbled these men cause lord knows without her lando would still be chatting shit in the media

yourusername: someones got to make sure lando doesn't embarrass himself (idk where his PR department went but mclaren need to run me my money)

maxverstappen1: girl, so confusing when you literally forget all about it as soon as we got you the jellycat you wanted

landonorris: i am a little brother first and foremost

yourusername: hard on the little you've been acting like a whole ass five year old

landonorris: have you ever thought that maybe i'm acting out because i miss you now you've moved in with max and wanted matching jellycats so we always have a part of each other??

yourusername: awww really???

maxverstappen1: that's actually kind of cute

maxverstappen1: and a hunk of BULLSHIT

landonorris: FINE I'M PETTY BUT I WANTED TO WIN SUE ME

maxverstappen1: well i also wanted to win so that's not the serve you think it is

yourusername: you only 'forgave' him because you saw that max was playing padel with charles

landonorris: umm yes obviously, i can't let lestappen be a real thing

yourusername: why not that's literally my dream threesome

yourusername: WHAT WHO SAID THAT

yourusername: lando i think your comment section is haunted

charles_leclerc: well i'm ... flattered

landonorris: you can have lestappen you weirdo

maxverstappen1: @charles_leclerc stop being flattered i don't share

yourusername: heheheheh

landonorris: that much is obvious... you couldn't let me win once?

maxverstappen1: no!

yourusername: no!

fin: here's a lil quick one today cause i had some free time! i am working on guilty as sin p4 but i'm so so so busy and i do be going to silverstone on wednesday xx hope you enjoyed !!!

#f1 #f1 x you #f1 social media au #f1 instagram au #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen social media au

2K notes · View notes

thatonceandfutureprat · 2 years ago

Text

I follow the national news on tiktok (a news source I believe tries its best to not have an opinion in news articles) and it’s funny how, in minutes after posting a video on something, the right wing comes flooding in to call them fake, leftist, divisive, bad, incorrect etc.

Don’t these brainwashed kids have anything better to do? Do homework? Play outside, touch some grass?

#todays news was about how a right wing politician is alleged to have ties with the Kremlin #he’s never condemned the war and called Putin a hero shortly before the war in Ukraine started #he’s (somehow) part of our national parliament #we vote for local parliament in a month or so #he has no real influence or say in local government #and yet these kids come in like ‘hhhh must be election time so of course there’s gotta be fake news!’#meanwhile 1. he’s always been like this and this shouldn’t come as a surprise #2. are you truly out there defending a country that invaded Ukraine #unprovoked #3. yes we’re gonna see more news on politics because right now everyone’s getting ready to vote #so news about politics is a little more interesting than normal #it’s like getting news about football when there’s a championship #it has more impact #JEEZ

0 notes

cherriegyuu · 3 months ago

Text

so high school | kmg | part 1

pairing: hockey player mingyu x f!reader genre: smut (in later part), fluff, a bit of angst, bad attempt at comedy word count: 8.8k summary: when you’re suddenly thrown in Mingyu’s direction, you have no choice but to stay by his side, and maybe it’s not as bad as you think playlist: click here a/n: i wanted to write a story that was light, summeryish. it was based off of taylor swift’s song so high school (i’m not that creative with names), i wanted to write that sort of cute romance we all just love. i truly hope you like it, this one is precious to me. thank you to @joonsytip for helping me with this one. please, remember to comment and reblog, it does mean the world to me and i would love to know your opnions.

< part two >

If there was one thing you hated about college, it was having to choose electives. For starters, you really didn’t want to be there. You were a good student because you had no choice, not because you absolutely loved college — not that your major was boring and you hated everything about it, but it really did seem like a universal experience to hate your chosen major at some point in college. But the problem was that taking the courses related to your major was hard enough as it was, you didn’t want to have to worry about subjects that might or might not add to what you were studying. Of course, you always tried to choose something that had at least a minimum to do with your major — Art History.

But there were times, like the previous semester when you procrastinated too much to choose one, that it simply wasn’t possible, and you had to put up with classes on Cultural Management. At first, you thought it would be geared towards galleries and the like, but it was something much more specific about public cultural heritage and that wasn’t what you wanted. At least the subject was easy enough. Just reading a few pages of Kira’s notes and listening to half of the lectures was enough to get you through with a high grade.

Trying to be a little smarter, and do something you actually enjoyed doing, you signed up for the semester’s classes as soon as they opened. You were already sitting in front of your computer when the clock struck 10 am. You chose a class that all of your classmates, or at least the ones you talked to, were interested in doing: Model Making.

It was something you enjoyed doing when you were younger. Your parents knew that if you simply disappeared or were too quiet — aka you weren’t yelling at Jeonghan — you’d be in your room surrounded by modeling clay, chopsticks, glue, brushes, and paint, or whatever materials you were using at the time.

However, all of your dreams were shattered when you ran into Kira at the campus entrance.

“You know, the teacher for this class is crazy. Your life is going to be hell” was like a cold shower.

After that, it was as if everywhere you went, people were purposefully talking about the subject, about how the teacher was absolutely crazy and that getting a good grade with her was almost impossible, and how she “seems to take a sick pleasure in failing students.” So when the day of class finally arrived, the first of the next six hellish months, you dragged yourself into the classroom. You chose the seat furthest away from her, hidden behind a student, and did your best to stay as out of sight as possible.

The guy sitting in front of you turned around. He was smiling widely. You weren’t sure if he was trying to be friendly or what.

“Do you know if what everyone’s saying is true?”

There was something about him that was familiar. You obviously knew who he was, it was no secret. Everywhere you went, people were either whispering about him or there was a picture of him and the other guys on the team taped to the wall.

Kim Mingyu, star of the ice hockey team. The youngest to become captain, top scorer, the big sensation who would lead the university to the long-awaited championship. All that blah blah blah about the chosen athlete, and the latest savior of the nation.

So yes, you knew who he was, there was no way you couldn't know. But at that specific moment, while he was sitting in front of you, his body turned in the chair at a strange angle because he was obviously too big for that tiny chair, there was something about him that was strangely familiar.

"That the teacher is crazy?" he nodded, his eyebrows slightly arched and his lips almost forming a pout "I haven't heard anyone say otherwise, so I have no choice but to believe it."

You lowered your eyes and focused on the lit screen of your cell phone, which showed a new message from your brother. You didn't look away because you wanted to know what Jeonghan wanted, as far as you were concerned his message would only be read at the end of the day, if that. You didn't want to keep looking at Mingyu when you felt that everyone in the classroom was looking at you.

You knew it wasn't exactly true, there was no way an entire class, full of students talking to each other, could be looking at you at the same time as if you were doing something scandalous or even remotely wrong. But you knew there were a few people, and that was more than enough. It was a very familiar feeling, one you preferred not to revisit.

Even though you completely ignored Mingyu's presence or his gaze on you, he still hadn't turned around. Not even when the teacher entered the room and everyone fell silent.

The problem with being a child who didn’t have many experiences is that you become a fearful person. Everything seems big, larger than life, and sometimes everything seems infinite and far beyond reach. It’s a much easier choice to retreat into that familiar corner and pretend the world outside simply doesn’t exist. The bubble you created for yourself was small and admittedly, sometimes suffocating, but it was also comforting.

But everything can change when you meet people who aren’t aware of that bubble, or who didn’t create those spaces for themselves. They weren’t trapped inside it.

One class was more than enough to start a crack in your perfectly intact bubble. A selective introvert, as you liked to say. For a loud hockey player when he was surrounded by his friends, Seokmin was strangely shy.

When the teacher was choosing the pairs, you closed your eyes, praying to anyone who would listen not to pair you with a bad student, someone who wouldn't do anything and you would have to do all the work alone. The prayer, or whatever it was, was not heard because the teacher decided it would be a great idea to pair you and Seokmin. Maybe you were under the wrong impression, falling into the old suspicions and stereotypes, but you doubted very much that you would be able to get any kind of help from Seokmin.

And to be quite honest, after a bad experience with a group mate, to the point of ending up at the police station, because the guy simply couldn't accept the fact that you taking his name off the work was completely his fault and you simply didn't think it was fair that you did everything alone and he still got a good grade, you were okay with doing everything on your own. You were sure that if you opened your email, and clicked on your spam box because God was a witness to the number of emails you had received from that idiot, there would probably still be some unread emails from him, bragging that even with your “attempt” to jeopardize his education, he had managed to get a good enough grade to pass the class.

Despite everything, Seokmin was nice and seemed interested enough, although a little lost, but maybe a little push in the right direction would be enough.

“I took this class because I thought it would be easy,” he said laughing, a little shy, “I guess I was wrong.”

You nodded, absentmindedly turning the page of your notebook with the notes you had made.

“I took it because I like the idea of building models.”

The classroom door opened with a bang, slamming against the wall. Everyone turned to him, some girls laughing. Mingyu was obviously late, his hair still wet from the shower, his backpack inside out on his shoulder, his shirt completely wrinkled as if it had just come out of a cow’s mouth. The teacher stood up and walked towards him slowly, her arms crossed over her chest.

“He’s screwed.” Seokmin laughed softly, or as softly as he could.

The teacher didn’t have a welcoming look in her eyes, if anything she seemed to be glaring at Mingyu, and not even the best smile he could throw in her direction would make a difference. In addition to being crazy, the teacher was also apparently known for not accepting tardiness.

It was impossible to look away as Mingyu tried, without any success, to open his mouth to explain, but the teacher wouldn’t let him say a single word. You and Seokmin suppressed a laugh when the teacher looked in the direction where she thought the noise was coming from before turning back to Mingyu, who seemed more desperate by the second. He looked lost standing in front of the older woman, his head lowered like a child who had misbehaved and was listening to a lecture.

Finally, the teacher dismissed him with a wave of her hands and turned back to her desk, completely ignoring Mingyu. He finally turned back to the desks, his eyes scanning the space before finally settling on Seokmin. Or… on you? There was no reason to believe he was looking at you, none at all. When Mingyu smiled, you went back to looking at your notes, flipping the pages almost compulsively, looking for anything and nothing.

You had no idea why your heart was behaving like that, beating almost animalistically inside your chest, or why you felt a single drop of sweat run down your spine — despite the air conditioning being on and you feeling cold. You could have sworn you could hear Mingyu’s footsteps going up the stairs, despite the sound of the students’ conversations around you being obviously much louder.

“At least I got something good for being late today.”

Mingyu pulled out the empty chair next to you and sat down, his knee bumping against yours. You flinched a little and moved away, making yourself closer to Seokmin.

“Sorry,” you said to Seokmin and turned to Mingyu. “Could you…?”

You waved your hand to make him move away. He looked confused for a second until he pushed the chair further away from you. On the other side, Seokmin covered his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh, while Mingyu glared at him.

“The teacher who chose your group?” Seokmin asked, still trying to suppress a laugh.

“She just said to sit with whoever wasn’t already in a trio”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Great, you were stuck with two jocks who had probably hit their heads on the ice so much that their brains had turned to jelly in their early twenties.

“What do we have to do?”

“Build 3 models based on architectural periods.” When Mingyu widened his eyes, you added, “It’s the entire semester’s work. We don’t even have to come to class anymore, just the last one to hand it in.”

You started gathering the few materials you had taken out of your bag. The notebook and pen quickly disappeared into what Jeonghan called a black hole. “What goes in there never comes out again. If you look hard enough, you’ll find a wallet I lost in high school.”

“Look, I know I’m going to do this alone. I'll find a way to let you know the periods I chose and the artists and you guys study for the presentation.”

You stood up, pushing the chair back with your knees, making a lot more noise than expected, which in turn made most of the people turn to see what was happening, including the teacher.

“Wait,” Mingyu said, holding the strap of your bag.

Not that you could get out of there anyway, he was between you and any possibility of leaving. But you thought he would get out of the way if he saw that you wanted to leave.

“I'll help, it's my job too,” with his free hand, he pointed to Seokmin behind you. “Ours, actually.”

Despite the sincere look on his face, you laughed.

“Look, I don't want to offend you guys, okay? But the three of us know that won't happen. There will always be a practice, a game, a party, something that will stop you from doing your part of the work. I don’t mind doing it alone, it won’t be the first time, and considering I still have two more semesters to go, it won’t be the last. It’s okay, really.”

Mingyu stood up and for a moment you were sure he was going to get out of your way, but somehow he managed to block your path even more. You couldn’t help but wonder if he had always been this tall and wide. When he was around the other players it didn’t seem like it, but him standing in front of you…

“I said we’ll help”

He took his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it, turning the device towards you.

“You know, your hands are huge, and this is a very delicate job” What exactly were you talking about?

“He’s more skilled than you can imagine,” Seokmin said.

Once again, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. The teacher was definitely crazy, and it seemed like she had some kind of personal vendetta against you. Or was it a curse cast by Jeonghan for staining his white shirts? Whatever it was, it was a problem that, at the moment, had no obvious solution.

“If I fail this class because of you two idiots, maybe one of you will lose a hand.” You snatched the phone from Mingyu’s hand, dialed your number, and quickly handed it back. “Maybe both of you”

You put your hand on Mingyu’s shoulder and pushed him back. You tried your best to avoid any kind of contact, but it was the only solution you could find to pass.

“It’s not a matter of life or death, you know?” he said, laughing.

“I’ve never failed in my life, and I’m not going to start now.”

Mingyu pushed the door open with perhaps a little more force than necessary. He wasn't angry, but he wasn't happy either, a strange feeling somewhere in between that he didn't like very much.

That first day he had seen you in class was like he had been transported back to high school. He could almost hear you saying, in the most disinterested tone in the world, "I've been waiting for you for two hours, could we please go home?" At that time he had also felt invisible to your eyes.

But so many years later, in that classroom, he thought you would recognize him. Mingyu thought, as naive as it may seem, that despite your disinterest at the time, at least you would know who he was.

Of all the people he could meet in that class, you were the last one that ever crossed his mind. It had been years since he had last seen you, since Jeonghan's last game, when he was crowned champion for the third time - an unprecedented feat until that moment. Mingyu had even tried to beat that record, but his runner-up position in the third year had prevented him from doing so.

He had gotten used to seeing you from afar, always the unreachable sister of his captain, who always seemed to be much more interested in the books you carried around with you than in anything else.

The truth was that you had never even directed a word in Mingyu's direction. Besides Jeonghan, he had only seen you talk to one other person, Seungcheol. It had never been clear to him if it was by choice or if it was because Jeonghan always said you were off-limits. Maybe it was somewhere in between.

However, when you entered the room, looking for an empty chair, Mingyu expected you to recognize him, even though so many years had passed. When you walked up the stairs and seemed to be heading towards him, Mingyu, like a silly teenager, expected you to at least greet him. But you walked right past him as if he wasn't even there.

Even so, he tried to talk to you. Something about the teacher being crazy and the look in your eyes said that you couldn't wait for him to shut up and look straight ahead again.

After that, it was like he saw you everywhere, and believe him, he wasn't looking for you. In the café that opened on the other side of the campus, in the library, when he went to return a book, in the hallway of the building, on the lawn. Mingyu spent five years without having any kind of contact with you and, suddenly, you were everywhere.

He chose to see it as a divine sign. As if the guy up there was saying "Now is your chance". And then, as if all these signs weren't enough, he was given the chance to do an assignment with you, almost like a gift.

"The door didn't do anything to you," Seokmin said laughing.

"Do you want to be the door?"

Maybe the divine signal was broken, maybe the guy up there was messing with him because in less than 5 minutes you managed to extinguish any and all excitement Mingyu could have about doing the assignment with you. All you had to do was open your mouth.

“Dude, she just doesn’t remember you” Seokmin laughed again, having a little too much fun with the whole situation “If you say, ‘hi, I was your brother’s teammate’, she’ll still not remember you, but maybe she’ll be less hostile”

Mingyu highly doubted that was the case. There was a rumor that you hated everything and anything that had to do with hockey, your patience was less than zero. Jeonghan was the king of the ice, the best the sport could produce. You were the ice princess without ever having even put on a pair of skates – or so the gossip said.

“It doesn’t bother me that she doesn’t remember me” It did bother him, but he wouldn’t admit it “It bothers me that she thinks I’m stupid”

Usually, under completely normal circumstances, Mingyu would even prefer to be seen as stupid and without anything in his head. It was easier, it prevented people from creating any kind of expectation about him. Strangely, he wanted you to see him as intelligent.

“You’re a bit contradictory, aren’t you? You’ve spent the last 3 years cultivating the image of a dumb athlete, who gets good grades by pure luck, despite the almost impossible subjects, but now you want her to think you’re smart”

“I didn’t know you knew how to use the word contradictory”

You stared at the lit screen of your cell phone. The unknown number was glowing and the inviting green button was almost begging you to answer the call. It was already the third time he had called and it would also be the third time you had ignored him.

“You know, it won’t hurt if you answer his call,” Kira said beside you, but she also knew that trying to convince you was a losing game.

Exactly 11 days had passed since the fateful class that had put you in a group with Seokmin and Mingyu. While you had no direct problems with either of them, besides them being hockey players, Mingyu’s insistence irritated you in a way that didn’t make much sense — not even to you. You should have felt relieved that he wanted to do the work, and that he was interested in participating. But the truth is that you knew how this worked, you had been in that situation before and hadn’t had the best experience.

Maybe you were a little too hard on him, it's true, but it's like the old saying goes: a scalded cat fears cold water.

“I want to keep as far away from him as possible.”

Kira rolled her eyes for what seemed like the twentieth time. She understood, to some extent, your dislike for players and also knew that a lot of it came from your brother, but in the case of Mingyu, specifically, you were definitely going too far.

“Look, the rumors are that he's a good student, actually. Always with high grades.” Kira tried to argue.

You knew the rumor well, even before you were put in the same group, in fact, much to your chagrin, Mingyu had chosen to be in the same group as you. That helped a lot with the huge reputation he had around the college. Handsome, athletic, good student. But you didn't believe it for a minute.

You didn’t know if Mingyu really had any good grades, but if he did, you were sure he hadn’t gotten them in the most… fairway.

“And he’s not unpleasant to look at at all.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes at him. Yes, Mingyu was gorgeous, breathtaking, the kind of guy that made you wonder if he was even real. You had eyes and they worked just fine, you didn’t need Kira to remind you that he was handsome. Saying Mingyu was handsome was like saying the sky was blue, obvious, and expected.

“You know I don’t mess with athletes.”

Finally, Mingyu had given up on the call, but that didn’t mean he had given up completely. Your phone only had a few seconds of respite before the screen lit up again, but this time with a ton of messages.

Unknown - 11:32

hi, it's mingyu

Unknown - 11:32

again

Unknown - 11:33

answer me, I want to talk about the project

Unknown - 11:34

you said you want to do it alone, but it's not going to happen, you know? I can't leave my grande in the hands of a complete stranger

Unknown - 11:35

I see you with your phone in your hand, take my call or reply to my texts

You lifted your head so quickly that you felt a twinge in your neck.

"Shit"

You looked around the cafe, trying to find Mingyu, but most of the tables were empty and none of the people standing in line looked remotely like him. You brought your face closer to the glass, trying to find the tall, broad figure, outside, and still didn't see anyone who could be mistaken for him.

yn - 11:37

I could report you for stalking

Unknown - 11:37

crime: wanting to do a college assignment

yn - 11:37

following me around, calling me non-stop, texting me. It could be considered stalking, yes

Unknown - 11:38

again, crime: wanting to do a school project

Unknown - 11:38

also, I wasn’t following you, I just happened to see you

yn - 11:38

I already said I'll do it alone

Unknown - 11:39

and I already said it won't happen, so if you could tell me your plan on how to do it, that would be great

“We have to admit, he's persistent”

Mingyu's messages became common and also at the most random moments possible. You were sure that the only time he hadn't sent a text was when he was at the game last Friday. You knew this because you had watched the game, with the computer with the sound turned down so that Jeonghan wouldn't suspect anything.

You hated to admit it, but he was good at what he did. Dared to say it was even glorious. It was hard to believe that a man of that size, so wide, could infiltrate the smallest spaces and score the most unbelievable goals possible. He and Seokmin together were almost magical. They still couldn't compare to the duo of Jeonghan and Seungcheol, but that was already a very high level to reach.

Mingyu had given up on sending you texts only about work, not that you had answered any of them, but he also started asking about your course, inviting you and Kira to go to one of his games – you still wondered how he had found out about your friendship since all of your social media profiles were locked and so were Kira's.

You had to agree with Kira, he was persistent. You could even say tireless. If you were him, you would probably have given up a long time ago, choosing to let the crazy guy do the work alone. But Mingyu was nowhere near giving up. You knew this because every time you miraculously ran into Mingyu, you had to run away from him, practically having to run away from him at some point.

It worked very well for a week until one day he simply appeared in front of you. You were distracted, your eyes glued to your phone. Jeonghan was gliding across the ice with skill when the player from the other team hit him hard, his body flying before falling to the ice. You felt the air get stuck in your lungs until he stood up, clearly irritated by what had happened. You felt like laughing when you saw the name on the other player's shirt, the one who had pushed Jeonghan. Choi. Best friends in real life, rivals on the ice.

“What are you looking at so focused?” a voice said next to him.

You felt like your heart was going to jump out of your chest as you tried to lock your phone and put it back in the bag. You wished you had been more graceful in the whole situation, to look less like someone who had been caught red-handed doing something they shouldn't have.

“Jeez, do you have no manners?” your voice came out louder than expected, causing some people around him to turn to see what was happening.

Beside you, Mingyu smiled, pleased with himself for having gotten some reaction beyond furrowed eyebrows and a look of disgust.

“Were you running away from me?” he raised his hand and corrected himself, “Not right now because you clearly had no idea I was here, but in general.”

You rolled your eyes and quickened your pace. You didn’t really have anywhere to go or anything to do, there were still 50 minutes until your next class and there was no time to run home and hide. Would it be too pathetic to hide in the bathroom and wait for him to leave? With your luck, he would be waiting outside, even if it meant missing a class.

“Why would I do that?”

Mingyu crossed his arms over his chest. For the first time in your life, you wished someone was ugly, devoid of any kind of muscles or attractive qualities. You wished he was ugly, terrible to look at. You wished the sun wouldn’t make his skin shine, you wished you didn’t find the mole on the tip of his nose cute, wished you hadn’t wondered if maybe all this insistence of his didn’t have some extra reason, besides wanting to get the work done and obviously annoying you. Of all the things, you wished you hadn’t been disappointed when you hadn’t seen him for a day.

It was ridiculous, you knew it was. But whatever it may be, there you were, your heart pounding, feeling it throb in your neck. You wouldn’t fool yourself into thinking it was just because you were surprised by him suddenly being by your side. You could fool others, but at least you had to be fair to yourself.

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

Even though you knew it wasn’t a good idea, you stood still. You knew it would only attract more attention, it was almost inevitable when Mingyu was by your side.

“Okay, I was. I don’t want to be seen with you.”

Mingyu looked confused, his head lolling to the side as if he was seriously thinking about what was happening. The question mark was clearly written on his face. It was almost as if one was floating above his head.

“Mingyu, look. You, in and of yourself, are not the problem. I mean, in part, it is, but you know, it's that old story, the problem is me, not you.”

“I honestly thought the problem was just the assignment.” He scratched his head, his eyebrows still furrowed. “You think I'm stupid and that kind of thing.”

You took a deep breath, your eyes closed for a second. You hadn't explained the situation to him, you had no reason to, so he had no way of knowing. But you also didn't want to expose your life to a stranger, so you weren’t willing to just tell secrets you’d never said out loud.

“If I tell you I’ll let you guys do your part, will you stop following me? It’s a little weird, and maybe even a little creepy.”

Your words were honest, it was weird and creepy at the same time. It didn’t make sense. Wouldn’t it be much easier for him, and for Seokmin, to just let you do everything yourself so they could focus on whatever was important to them? In your opinion, it was the easiest thing for everyone.

But Mingyu looked like a dog with a bone. A terrible analogy, but it made sense, at least to you.

“Yes,” a direct answer, great.

“Let’s do it like this then, let’s chat via text about the artists we think are cool, which are the most interesting. Once we’ve reached a consensus, we’ll get together to start making the models.”

You took a step back and held out your hand. A peace offering.

“We have a deal then.”

If regret killed, you would have been dead and buried so long ago that you would have turned into fertilizer. Logically, you knew that trusting Jeonghan was a mistake. You loved your brother with all your heart, but you also knew that he wasn't the most trustworthy person for certain things.

If you were in trouble and needed help? He was definitely the right guy for the job. He wouldn't say a word in a judgmental tone and, depending on the situation, he would go far enough to pretend it never happened. Now, if it was a request that he considered silly, then it was a lost cause.

Besides all that, Jeonghan liked to play pranks, and you were one of his favorite victims. Things could even get a little out of hand when he and Seungcheol got together. It was like having two completely devilish older brothers. In truth, Seungcheol alone wasn't even that bad, but when he got together with Jeonghan it was like someone had opened the gates of hell.

Even knowing all this, you had talked to him. You knew the house was his, that he could come and go as he pleased, but thought that if you played the little sister card well enough he would let it go.

"Some friends from college are coming over tomorrow, can you please not show up at home?" you asked, making your best puppy-dog-that-fell-out-of-the-moving-truck face.

"You don’t want me to meet your boyfriend?" he laughed, looking away from his phone for a second before returning his attention to the device.

You closed your eyes. Something was going on. Jeonghan was really into his phone, much more than usual. Either some nonsensical rumor had been published, which he would have already shown you and laughed along with you when he read the absurdities written; or he had a bone in his body, also known as a girlfriend. He always got more into his phone when he had someone more serious in his life.

It was useful information to have, so you put it in a little box in your mind labeled "something to blackmail Jeonghan with later" For now it was just speculation, but it could be important.

"How many boyfriends do you think I have?" You grimaced, shaking your head. “But no, none of them are my boyfriend. They’re just some guys I have to work with. I thought about doing it here because we need space and I’m sure I’ll yell at one of them sooner or later.”

You weren’t in the habit of bringing people home. Jeonghan was a person who really liked his private life to remain that way, private. Even with Kira, who was your closest friend, you had a hard time taking her home. Not because Jeonghan had asked. He knew that if you were asking, it was because you needed to or because you trusted those people enough to know who your brother was without it becoming a problem.

In fact, you weren’t sure of anything, not that you needed them or that you could trust them. But Jeonghan wasn’t one of those celebrities who had huge photos of themselves scattered around the house. It’s a little creepy, to be honest, he had said once. So the few photos he had around the living room were in normal-sized picture frames, which his mother had put up when she visited, so they could be easily hidden. The lie about the rich brother who works in the stock market was always on the tip of your tongue in case someone could question why you lived in a penthouse.

"I don't understand what's wrong with me being here then" His indifferent tone of voice was dangerous.

Maybe it would be better to give up.

"First because I don't need supervision, the virginity ship sailed a long time ago"

It might be a good idea to talk about something he didn't like to talk about, like your past relationships. He could joke all he wanted, but at the end of the day, he was just a guy who didn't like knowing that his younger sister had boyfriends.

"For the love of god I don't need to know that in detail" He grimaced, pretending to vomit. He was such a good actor that he had even turned pale.

"And secondly, because they play hockey. Since there's no way they don't know who you are, I'd like to not witness another fanboy"

You knew you had said the wrong thing when you noticed that gleam in Jeonghan's eyes. Even his expression had changed when you told him that your groupmates played hockey.

Still, you chose to believe him when he said he would be out of the house all day, that he would even go to Seungcheol's house after practice — which you thought was a lie, considering the whole situation with not putting down his phone and running when a notification came in. He had gone as far as to say, “let me know when it's over, so I can come home.” That's why you sent a message to the group chat with Seokmin and Mingyu asking if they had Tuesday night off.

A part of you, a very big part, thought they would deny it and make up any excuse not to show up, but it was almost as if they both had their phones in their hands waiting for your message.

And so, the three of you were sitting at Jeonghan's huge dining table. It was the kind of furniture that existed only to take up space, you always ate in the kitchen.

“You live well” Seokmin commented.

It was funny, and almost cute, how completely clumsy he was. You had bought different types of materials to test, thinking about which one would work best. Seokmin had changed several times, the last attempt was the biscuit.

“My brother earns well” you shrugged, hoping he wouldn't ask anymore.

To your surprise, he didn't ask. Which was a relief, you didn't want to lie.

Even without looking up, you knew Mingyu was looking at you. He didn't try to hide it at all. It was uncomfortable, but at the same time, it was flattering.

You rested your chin on your hand and stared at him too. Ever since the first day you had seen him in class, you had the feeling that you knew him. You didn't know where from, you didn't know how. It wasn't from college, it wasn't from the posters spread around, or from the fame he had. It was from before, before college, but you didn't know where. You were sure he wasn't in any of the courses you took and he wasn't from your school either, there was no hockey team.

“Where do I know you from?” the words came from your lips, but it was a question asked much more to you than to him.

Mingyu simply tilted his head to the side and didn't say a single word. Seokmin, who until then had his head down, his brow furrowed in concentration trying to shape the white mass in his hands, looked up, almost startled by your words.

It was as if a light bulb had been turned on over your head. It was so ridiculously obvious that you would be able to kick yourself.

And with perfect timing, as if it had been sent from heaven, programmed to the exact seconds, you heard the living room door open. A second later, Jeonghan was in the room.

“Mingyu?” Jeonghan said, his eyes darting from side to side, trying to understand what was happening.

“Captain,” Mingyu said, smiling.

You wished a hole the size of Mount Everest would open up beneath your feet and swallow you whole as you watched Mingyu stand up and greet Jeonghan as if they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years.

That was obviously true.

“You know each other” It wasn’t a question, it was a simple statement.

“Yes? Mingyu is a few years younger, but we played on the same team.”

Suddenly a brief movie flashed through your head, of all the times you had seen Mingyu — or at least the times that were never erased. Mingyu walking next to Jeonghan one of the times you were waiting for your brother in the school parking lot, him at the games, sitting on the bench completely irritated by the fact that he couldn’t play and the team was losing. He was a boy who was clearly too skinny, but somehow he had become that man in front of you.

“She doesn’t remember me,” Mingyu said with a laugh.

Was that a hint of resentment you heard in his voice? You hoped not, but maybe if you were in his shoes you would be resentful too. You hoped he hadn’t talked to you that first day because he expected you to recognize him and every time after that. Because most of the time you had been a complete jerk to him.

“Wow, you saw him literally every day for at least two years.”

It wasn’t like you weren’t already embarrassed enough on your own, of course, Jeonghan, in his best big brother role, had to add fuel to the fire. You hoped your cheeks weren’t as red as you felt them hot.

If the smile on Mingyu’s lips was any indication, you were completely screwed.

“I only remember Cheol. He was the only one you let get close to me.”

It was a futile attempt to defend yourself, but it was the only excuse you had. It was also the truth.

“That’s true,” Mingyu agreed, sitting back down.

It wasn’t a big secret that Jeonghan had forbidden all his teammates from getting close to you. It wasn’t like you desperately wanted their company anyway, so it was a win-win arrangement.

“You were a pain in the ass,” which was just another shovel of dirt for someone who was already buried, right?

“I was protecting you? The guys on the team…” he tried to defend himself, feigning offense.

You simply waved your hand at him, dismissing any kind of explanation he might have offered.

“They were teenagers full of testosterone and hormones. Not much has changed, you know.”

The three of them were startled when Seokmin slammed the table, his eyes wide as he stared at Jeonghan. For a few minutes, you had forgotten he was there.

“You are Yoon Jeonghan’s sister?” His voice had suddenly become shrill to the point of echoing in the room.

The laugh that escaped your lips was partly incredulous and partly desperate. Mingyu remembered you, but he hadn’t told anyone—not even his teammate—probably because he remembered it was something you kept people from knowing. In a way, you knew your secret's safe with him. But you didn’t know if you could trust Seokmin in the same way.

“He’s kind of slow sometimes.”

Mingyu pushed Seokmin out the door, hoping he would finally stop talking. His friend hadn’t realized the discomfort he had caused you yet. Jeonghan, as always, didn’t seem to care and on some level, he actually seemed to enjoy all the attention he was getting.

“It’s been a while since someone got this excited to see me,” he said, laughing when Seokmin went to the bathroom.

Either Jeonghan hadn’t realized how quiet you had been, or he had simply chosen not to do anything about it. Mingyu couldn’t be sure of the older man’s intentions, not at that moment or when they were still at school.

But you? You were like an open book, almost begging to be read. You obviously didn’t say a word, but your face showed how uncomfortable you were with the whole situation, how embarrassed you were for not remembering Mingyu as soon as you saw him.

Without you noticing, Mingyu spent a lot of time observing you. In a way, it was easy to know what you were thinking. Of course, a lot had changed in the years you hadn't seen each other, but many things were still the same.

“He won't tell anyone about your brother.”

Mingyu pushed Seokmin again, this time towards the elevator, and turned to you, who was holding the door, your gaze almost lost.

“It's okay.” you took a deep breath before straightening your spine and forcing a smile. “Eventually, everyone will know.”

He shook his head and put his hand on your shoulder, leaning his body forward slightly so his eyes were leveled with yours.

“You have my word,” he promised, voice low “Seokmin won't open his mouth. Your secret will still be a secret.”

You nodded, but Mingyu knew the gesture was just to make him leave faster.

“You should go,” you said before closing the door, without waiting for Mingyu's response.

If he could, he would suffocate Seokmin right there in the hallway, but then the security cameras would see him and that would become a problem. He entered the elevator in silence and pressed the button for the ground floor. Beside him, Seokmin was practically thrilled with the discovery he had made an hour ago.

“When you said you knew her from your old school, I would never have imagined that,” he said, laughing. “I thought she was a girl who went to the same school as you.”

Mingyu chose to remain silent. He expected Seokmin to eventually get tired and simply stop talking, but he should have known better. His friend had too much energy to simply stop. In fact, it was a surprise that he had managed to stay quiet for two hours before Jeonghan arrived. And even after he arrived, Seokmin had remained standing in the same place. He spoke faster than ever and looked at Jeonghan as if he were seeing a god in person, but still, standing in the same place.

God knew it was almost impossible to convince Seokmin to stay still for long.

“I don’t understand why she hides the fact that she’s his sister. It’s basically the nicest thing anyone can say. Imagine going around saying ‘my brother is Yoon Jeonghan’”

Mingyu sighed and crossed his arms and sighed, rolling his eyes. Of course, he would.

“Remember that time your sister complained that a girl tried to befriend her because she wanted to go out with you?”

“It happened a few times, actually.”

Mingyu stayed silent, waiting for all the dots to connect in Seokmin’s head without him having to actually say the words. Under normal circumstances, Seokmin would have understood and kept quiet, but he was too excited after meeting an idol god to realize the full context Mingyu was trying to give him.

“That happens to her all the time. She didn’t even go to the same school as us. She really does everything so no one knows she’s his sister. Didn’t you notice there’s no picture of them at home?”

Seokmin laughed, as if the question was too stupid, causing Mingyu to narrow his eyes.

“Dude, you’re the one who’s into her, not me. I don’t care about whose picture is in her house.”

Would anyone find it a problem if Mingyu strangled Seokmin until he passed out and then took him back home? In Mingyu’s eyes, he would be doing everyone around him a favor. It would be a night of silence and peace for everyone involved — in this case, just him, but no one needed to know about it.

“Either way, you can’t tell anyone about this,” he warned once more.

He had made a promise to you and he would rather cut off an arm than break it.

“Not even to the team?”

Mingyu scratched his head before crossing his arms again, with much more force than necessary. Finally, the elevator reached the ground floor and Seokmin was faster than Mingyu to get out, almost running down the hall to the gate.

Mingyu briefly greeted the doorman with a nod before following his friend.

“Especially to the team. No one can know. It's like a federal secret, you know?”

Mingyu grabbed Seokmin by the arm, making his friend stop and look at him. He hoped it would be enough for him to understand that he wasn't kidding, that it wasn't some kind of joke.

"Jeez, so much drama."

He got away from his friend and quickly opened the car door and got into the passenger seat.

Once again, Mingyu took a deep breath, his eyes closed. Maybe he shouldn't have promised you anything, not when the promise had nothing to do with him, and when there was a possibility of everything going wrong, then he would have to bear the burden of someone else's mistake.

"Seokmin," your voice was a warning tone. He opened the car door.

"I won't say anything!" his friend almost shouted.

"You're terrible at keeping secrets," he sighed, almost defeated.

"Nobody knows that you're actually super smart," Seokmin scoffed. "I never told on you, you know."

When you finally managed to get Mingyu and Seokmin to leave, you were beyond exhausted. It was late, already past 10 pm and you had to wake up early for class the next day. At least you would fall into bed without much trouble and you were sure that you would black out almost instantly. Except for the idea that from that moment on it was likely that the entire college would know who your brother was.

You always knew that this day would come, you just hoped it wouldn't be during college, a college that had a good hockey team — well, it was almost unfair, they were fantastic — and that lived and breathed the sport. If the news really needed to get out, you wanted it to happen when you were far away from there, in an environment where few people would like the sport. Of course, you were living off stereotypes, but you preferred to believe that you wouldn't have many colleagues who liked the sport, or that if they did, they would be indifferent.

With a sigh, you began to gather the materials that were scattered around the table, cleaning up the mess left behind. Seokmin wasn't wrong when he said that Mingyu was more skilled than expected. The prototype he made was delicate and almost perfect. Working with him wouldn't be complicated at all. With Seokmin too. He was more absent-minded, but he wasn't bad either. He could do the rough part of the work and you would refine it until it was perfect.

“Sis”

Jeonghan's voice sounded behind you and you chose not to answer. You were irritated with him for so many reasons that you didn't even know where to start, or what to say to him. You had made it explicitly clear why you didn't want him home. And, although he had never necessarily liked your reasons, Jeonghan had always respected you. If you said you didn't want something, he accepted it. But this time he had crossed all the limits.

“Sister” he tried again, this time a step closer to you.

You rested your hands on the table and leaned your body forward.

“You know, I know that I live in your house, that you’re the one paying for my college, and that all the comfort I have here is because you pay for everything, so you can kind of do whatever you want. But this is my life.”

You continued to put the things in the box and went to your room. You didn’t close the door because you knew Jeonghan would follow you.

“I don’t understand what’s wrong with people knowing that I’m your brother.”

You shook your head as you sat on the bed. He clearly didn’t understand, he never had, but he had always respected it. Apparently not anymore.

“It’s not middle school anymore and you’re not 13 anymore. Just tell them all to go to hell,” he tried to reason, sitting in front of you.

Jeonghan’s eyes were affectionate, without a hint of judgment. He just wanted to understand what was going on, because it was so important to you that people didn’t know.

“I didn’t change schools because girls were all over me because they wanted your number. I can’t say it didn’t affect my decision and it was the perfect excuse. But that wasn’t all.”

You didn’t know how to continue, didn’t know how to say everything without Jeonghan getting upset. Because you were sure he would.

“I didn’t want to be compared to you anymore.”

Your voice was almost a whisper and you didn’t dare look up, or in Jeonghan’s direction. You didn’t want to see the look of disappointment on his face, because you knew he would be disappointed. Not because you were feeling that way, but because you never told him anything.

“The teachers always talked about how smart you were, that despite sports you always got good grades. And I remember how you were back then, and you barely tried, but you were good at everything. I tried so hard and it was never enough.”

With each word that left your mouth, your voice got lower and weaker. When you said the words out loud, when they weren’t just cloistered in your mind anymore, they sounded almost pathetic. Jeonghan had never put any kind of pressure on you, quite the opposite. Your brother always made sure that you were you, an individual different from him.

All the ideas and traumas you had were not directly caused by Jeonghan but somehow had to do with him.

Jeonghan sighed loudly and leaned forward until he could hold your hand.

“Being good at school doesn’t mean anything, it’s just school. No one cares about it after a while.”

The laugh you let out was one of complete mockery. Jeonghan really had no idea what could be going through your head, the things that had happened and were still happening. Not that you blamed him for that, he had no way of knowing if you didn’t tell him what was going on, but part of you just wanted him to pay attention. If he paid attention, even the slightest bit, he would know.

The fact that he didn’t understand was painful.

If it were just the school teachers, it would be fine. Like he said, no one cares about school after a while. Do you know who cares about school, regardless of the moment? Parents. Parents who aren't necessarily bad, just parents who think that comparing one child to another is an excellent incentive. An incentive so good that they still do it.

Deep down you know that it's not out of malice, that it's not because they want to see you down, but it's an inevitable consequence. And, in a way, they were already so intrinsic in the conversations, little notes that didn't even seem like real comments, that you were sure that Jeonghan didn't even notice them.

"Okay," you said, just wanting to end the conversation. "I'll talk to both of them tomorrow, and apologize to Mingyu."

Jeonghan nodded, knowing full well that the conversation was over and that even if he pressed, he wouldn't be able to get anything else out of you.

"I have to leave early tomorrow," he said, "but if you want, can we have dinner together and talk about it?"

"I'll accept dinner, but I'll skip the talk."

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fangirl-dot-com · 6 months ago

Text

🧡❤️Dating Your Enemy's Sibling

*part of the reverse trope series*

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Verstappen!Reader Genre: Fluff/Humor/SMAU Summary: How to get under your enemy/rival's skin? Charles answer was to start dating his younger sister. But now, he's glad he found love along the way. He only had to tell Max about the relationship when you won a race. That's won't be any time soon though . . . right?

*in honor of Lando's first win - here's this next installment of Reverse Tropes! I know that Max and Charles really aren't enemies. Maybe I should have done like a Pierre and Esteban thing, but I don't write for them. So here we go and please enjoy!*

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen.

Predestined rivals, written in the stars, invisible string, yada-yada-yada.

Putting it simply, Charles had an apt for pissing Max off and vice-versa. The world thought they would kill each other in karting, especially after the 2012 incident. The population sighed in relief when Max was taken from F3 and put in a Formula 1 car, while Charles took a bit longer.

And then Charles made it to Formula 1 in 2018. However, he was put in a HAAS, a car that was not really made to play with the other cars in the front of the pack. The earth was saved yet another year.

Well, until 2019 when Charles suddenly became the “It Boy” for the Prancing Horse. Meaning, that he could finally go back to terrorizing the grid and Max. But with terrorizing the grid came loads of trouble and hatred.

And more pissing off your rival.

Charles seethed on the podium as he listened to the Dutch national anthem and watched Max point to the stupid “H” on his race suit. He held in a scoff. At least the Ferrari logo was much better looking than that.

It wasn’t fair. He had the racing line and Max pushed him off. If his mind wandered, it would go back to a certain kart race back in 2012 where he pulled the same move. But that didn’t count because the race has already finished. Charles would have rather been disqualified instead of having to go through the torture of being up on the podium in second.

First loser as they call it.

The Monegasque driver held no happiness in his body as Max started spraying his winner’s champagne. Charles just picked up his bottle and drank it.

Still wasn’t as sweet as victory champagne would be.

He deliberately separated himself from Max as they stood for a picture. The visible gap made it much more hilarious for everyone around them.

When the festivities finished, he hightailed it out of there, just wanting to avoid the Dutchman presence. Charles sighed loudly as he walked back to the garage, definitely not in the mood to talk to anyone.

“Charlie!

The Monegasque stopped in his tracks, annoyance almost wracking his entire being. Can people just let him wallow in defeat? He straightened his shoulders and turned around, PR smile plastered on his face. However, the very fake smile turned into a real one when he noticed that you were almost jogging to catch up with him.

Y/n Verstappen.

You had always been a part of his childhood. Where Max was, you were one step behind him, following him in your small racing overalls. He remembered how little you always seemed compared to your brother. But size didn’t matter on the karting course.

Most of the time, the two boys found themselves trying to shake you off and others were behind your kart, picking up the dirt that you sent their way. And that’s why Charles put your name down as recommendations for his Prema seat after he won the championship in 2017. Because of him, you were able to graduate to Formula 2 and were on the track to make a debut in Formula 1 in the coming years.

“Hey Y/n,” Charles said softly, still not in the mood to really talk to anyone. But for you, he’d always make an exception. And he was supposed to fly back with you and Max, something he was still dreading.

You look at the Monegasque with sympathy. Charles wasn’t able to find any type of pity in your blue eyes (that matched Max’s).

Your brows furrowed as to talked to him. “What Max did wasn’t the right way to race. But Formula 1 is getting more and more competitive.”

The man, er boy, wanted to huff. He did not need this conversation from you. He almost turned around, but the next few sentences stopped him from making any motions.

“Charlie, you’ve always found ways to beat him. If he wants to play like this, then you just have to give him a taste of his medicine, get under his skin. Do what you always do and somehow get around him.”

He cocked his head, before his eyes lit up.

Get under his skin.

You watched as Charles’s eyes filled up with some light, making the green in them really shine. You could almost see ideas concocting in his head.

Charles went to say something, but was interrupted by his team principle. He swerved to respond before he turned back to you. There was a glint in his eyes that you really couldn’t put a finger on.

His took a deep breath before asking, “Do you want to maybe get dinner with me?”

Your eyes widened. Sure, the Monegasque was very attractive, but those were not the words that you were expecting to come out of his mouth.

Oh.

Now you got it.

Your facial expressions melted a bit, eyes pointed toward the ground as you kicked at it. Your arms crossed as you huffed.

“Using me for gain over my brother wasn’t what I was meaning Charles. I was thinking more like unfollow him on social media while we’re on the plane or something.”

The harsh “Ch” that began his name had him wincing. Like your brother, you had a small lisp which normally softened the two consonants to the point where his name sounded like it was supposed to be. And what was “Charles?” You rarely ever called him that, choosing to pick the more boyish nickname.

Although, your idea about Instagram wasn’t a bad one.

Charles looked a bit guilty as he scratched the back of his head. He honestly was endeared by you and your determination to never give up. He found you, well, cute. You were still 19, younger than him by a bit more than three years.

But if you were cute back in 2012 hanging on to Max’s wet overalls after the puddle, and you were cute now trying to console him instead of celebrating your brother’s victory, you would still be cute in the following years.

He sighed, knowing that he had to leave soon or he was going to get an earful from Sebastian for being late to yet another meeting. The Ferrari driver stepped forward a bit, getting closer to you. He looked down at his helmet before looking back to your eyes.

“When I win and when I beat your brother, then can I take you out to dinner?”

You mulled over the question in your head.

If he beat Max before you went out with him, then that meant that he was actually genuine and wasn’t using it to his gain. You also smirked, knowing that indeed it would piss Max off whenever he found out. Your position as an annoying younger sister would still be intact and possibly stronger.

You held out your hand, which Charles took in an instant.

“Deal Leclerc.”

“Deal Verstappen.”

When Charles took the top step in Spa, pride filled his chest when he noticed Max’s glare at him. He had beaten the Dutchman at his home race. Albeit, it was a DNF for Max, but a win either way. He swayed back and forth as his national anthem played and then sang quietly along with the Italian anthem. Deep in his heart, he knew the true weight of the win.

For Anthoine.

He knew somewhere he made his French friend proud. Just like Jules. And Just like Papa.

Charles watched down below as you looked like you could hardly keep a smirk off your face. And it was bad too as you stood next to Max, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there below Charles.

The Monegasque raised his eyebrows when you locked eyes. You just hoped that Max wouldn’t catch on that he was staring right at you. Thankfully, you were right next to a Ferrari manager, so Max could guess that Charles was looking at him.

When the winner finally got ready, you were waiting outside his garage.

“Hi,” you whispered, putting your phone away. Charles didn’t verbally respond, but he wrapped his arms around you. You melted in his arms, still smelling a bit of the champagne in his hair.

He looked down at you.

“Are you ready for dinner?”

Your eyes held a playful glint. “I hope you chose a good restaurant Leclerc.”

He scoffed, keeping his arm around your shoulders as the two of you turned to leave. “Only the best Verstappen.”

The dinner went really well, but you weren’t expecting it to be a continual thing.

And then Charles won in Monza the next week, and he once again asked you to dinner. And once again, the Monegasque set expectations higher than you every imagined. You were saddened when Charles wasn’t able to win any more races while your brother seemed to get better and better each race.

You could only giggle while you watched them still avoid each other in Singapore.

But, the dinners turned into texting, and texting turned to other dates, and dates turned into dating, and dating turned into a relationship, and the relationship turned into an almost five year commitment that you or Charles weren’t planning to end soon.

The relationship saw your brother become a world champion in 2021, Charles becoming a world champion in 2022, and you joining the grid as a rookie for McLaren after a disastrous attempt for an Alpine seat.

Charles had been furious and Max had almost found out about the relationship. The two of you were still scared that Max might hold some coldness for the past. But when he called Charles “Charlie,” the special nickname that you had for him, you thought that it might be a good idea to tell him.

“But mon ange, he will run me off the track if he finds out,” Charles whined into your stomach as you played with his hair before the Miami Grand Prix.

You rolled your eyes and tugged at the strands. “No he won’t. You have to worry about your teammate doing that to you instead.”

Another whine left Charles making you giggle.

“At least you’re starting on the front row. I have to start P5! Oscar has been making fun of me all weekend.”

The Aussie had been such a God send for you during your rookie season. The elder by a few months had taken you under his wing. The two of you had been so close to a win last year, and with the upgrades this weekend, you were sure that you or him would start on the front row.

And then you had to be hit during the sprint, which didn’t help the mechanics in the hours before the race quali. That in turn made your car feel weird and P5 was the best you could do. Maybe Charles was secretly transferring his unluckiness into you.

The Monegasque turned his head to look you in the eyes. You smiled as you leaned down to kiss the top of his head.

“We’ll tell him when I win a race. How about that?”

Charles knew that you were just unlucky as he was when it came to winning a race. Last year, you had been close in Spa, but a rouge rainstorm saw you spinning out on the second to last lap. Austin you had pole, but Max fought you on into turn one, making you go wide. You never saw your brother after the first lap as you fell down the grid. Charles held you each night as you cried.

The red-clad-driver sat up and held your head in his hands. “You’ll win soon enough. Maybe not this weekend because I don’t have any time to prepare.”

You laughed and just brought him in to a kiss. There was literally no way you could win this weekend. Beating Max Verstappen with pole from P5 on a track that he had a 100% win rate at?

Impossible.

Charles thought he was going to cry as he crossed the line in P3. From you winning or having to tell your bother that he defiled his baby sister, he didn’t know.

What he did know was that he was going to get out of his car and congratulate you immediately. What were the odds that you won on the anniversary of the stupid inchident, the first time that Charles had ever seen you with Max.

(And yes, he did remember the anniversary but didn’t want to bring it up.)

You, however, were frozen in your car. You took some deep breaths as you took the steering wheel off, stood up a bit, bent to put it back on, and straightened, holding your pointer finger up. Your fists clenched as you raised them, automatically hearing the crowds roar when you waved.

A tug on your sleeve brought you down into Max’s arms. You were a bit disappointed that it wasn’t Charles, but that would be too obvious.

“YOU DID IT!” Max yelled in your ear, well, your helmet as you hadn’t taken the neon thing off yet.

You really didn’t want people to see the tear stains on your face. But right now, you’d just stay in the protection of your brother’s arms. When he let go of you, he lifted your visor, twin eyes meeting yours.

“You did such an amaz-”

“I’m dating Charles.”

Blink.

You took the moment of a frozen Max to turn to your team. You looked over your shoulder to see that the Dutchman was still stuck in his place as you got farther and farther away. You grimaced, knowing what was to come if Max and Charles met at any time when you weren’t there.

An arm around your shoulders brought you out of your head. The light blue caught your eyes, signaling that it was Charles. He patted your shoulders, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible. You did feel a bit of pressure move your helmet, so he must have quickly smushed his face into the black swirls. A helmet kiss if you would guess.

You wanted to turn around to warn him of the imminent danger that was waiting for him in the form of Max Verstappen, but you were led away before you could.

Your fears immediately went away though when your eyes finally landed on your team. Helmet thrown to the ground, you made the decision to throw yourself at them as well. Your laughs could be heard as your mechanics lifted you higher as everyone seemed to want to congratulate you for their first win since Monza 2021, which you weren’t even on the team then.

When Charles stepped into the cooldown room, he could feel the awkwardness. It also didn’t help that Max was glaring at him from the corner. Charles was a bit worried. He thought that Max was fine with him now after they had both sort of mended their weird friendship during 2023.

He turned to you as you walked in, all sweaty.

Charles still thought you looked very pretty.

“Eyes off Leclerc.”

Charles froze in his place and looked between the siblings. He looked at you, then Max, then you, and then Max again. You winced, not looking him in the eyes. Realization flooded his body and he thought for a moment he was going to pass out.

“Mon Dieu.”

“We will be talking after this,” Max pointed, drinking from his water bottle, not taking his eyes off Charles.

When you were called to the little Jeeps, you quickly got into the bright pink Barbie-esque looking one, still buzzing from your win. Even if the two men behind you had put a damper on it.

Charles’s eyes only fixed on one of the cars, not even seeing the third one behind the second. He climbed right in, eyes closed as he sat down. However, his eyes shot open when the car tilted and a thigh was touching his. He gulped rather loudly, refusing to look to his right.

This was Vegas all over again.

Max kept his voice low. “When did it start?”

“2019. After Austria.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to get to know her more.”

“What was the reason Charles?”

The Monegasque sighed as he ran his hand over his face. “I was angry at you and wanted to get back at you somehow.”

He knew he was about to be punched on live television, but he continued hoping for redemption.

“But, I knew that was wrong. We didn’t even go out until Spa. And then again in Monza. And then it just happened.”

He turned to look directly at Max, knowing that he only had a few more moments before they had to go out onto the podium.

“Max I love your sister. I have the ring and everything. We’ve been happy for 5 years and have made it work. Please, she’s really all the good I have left. I would throw everything away for her. And-”

Max’s laughs stopped him from continuing. The Dutchman slapped a hand on Charles’s thigh, making him wince a bit.

The Red Bull driver’s eyes were crinkled with a smile as they pulled up to the parking spot.

“Just keep her happy, or I will run you off the track.”

“Y/n! I told you he’d threaten me!”

“Max!”

“Oh come on I did not!”

y/nverstappen4 has posted

y/nverstappen4 WE DID IT! P1 BABAYYYYYYY 🏆

nothing beats a podium with me on the top step surrounded by my boys 💙🧡❤️

liked by mclaren, team_quadrant, charles_leclerc, and 2,903,940 others

queeny/n LETS ACTUALLY GOOOOOOOOO

mclaren that's our girl 🧡 well deserved

lecstappenshipper this is basically a hard launch

y/nhaswins such a beautiful race y/n!!!!

charles_leclerc so so proud of you mon ange 🧡❤️ *liked by y/nverstappen4*

charles_leclerc celebrations tonight? 😈

y/nverstappen4 but of course

maxverstappen1 I know where you sleep leclerc 🙂

y/nverstappen4 DRINKS ON MAX TONIGHT

oscarpiastri YEAAHHHHHHH 🍾

maxverstappen1 what?

charles_leclerc thank you max ☺️

maxverstappen1 I NEVER AGREED TO THIS

oscarpiastri mega job mate 👊

y/nverstappen4 ossieeeeeee 👊 don't worry, you'll be up there soon! just gotta wrap your car in bubble wrap to protect it from evil ferrari 😠😤

charles_leclerc ☹️

y/nverstappen4 NOT YOU CHARLIE - THE OTHER ONE (LEWIS HURRY UP)

lewishamilton you don't think I'm trying 🤨

mcy/n she's so funny what the heck?? 😂

chefy/n we said - LET HER COOK

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @myxticmoon @cherry-piee @blueberry64857959 @glitterquadricorn @lizzypiastri @sam-is-lost @spilled-coffee-cup @ilove-tswizzle @the-untamed-soul @allenajade-ite @starssfall @torchbearerkyle @judespoision @halfdeadsage @juniper-july19 @severewobblerlightdragon @thatgirlmj @gods-menace @ineedafictionalman @namgification @dark-night-sky-99 @samantha-chicago @2pagenumb @treehouse-mouse @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @kagatinkita @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @awekbachira @vellicora @skepvids @sunrizef1 @stan-josie @fanficweasley @hiireadstuff @barcelonaloverf1life @c-losur3 @graciewrote @bruhhhhhhhhehhhhhhh @tallrock35 @ashy-kit @kat-s2 @minkyungseokie @lozzamez3 @leslieis-crying @adventuresofrose @lighttsoutlewis

2K notes · View notes

5sospenguinqueen · 7 months ago

Text

Post Race Tension | Charles Leclerc x McLaren! Reader

Summary: Y/N Verstappen wins her first GP in Monaco 2021. Her boyfriend, who was unable to even get his car to the starting line, struggles with it. Protective Max, begrudgingly, gets involved.

Warnings: Swearing. Female reader. Angst. Stroppy Charles.

Main Masterlist

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

User 1 finally got a post-race conference with the ultimate trio

→ User 2 not really the content that we wanted though. Did you see how sad Charles looked?

→ User 3 and the twins were absolutely rubbing it in his face. Did you see them gossiping the entire time?

→ User 4 she's his girlfriend. Not sure she would do that.

User 5 not the official F1 doing the Prince of Monaco dirty and posting about his loss. Like, I think he's already aware of it.

User 6 even angry, he looks good!

User 7 so sad to see. Especially after getting pole. Monaco are mourning for you, Charles.

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

Next Day

User 8 and after he was absent at her celebratory dinner.

→ User 9 he didn't post anything about her win either, unlike the other drives. Or like anything related to it.

→ User 10 you guys are reaching. They always have seperate rooms. The teams literally have to book them.

→ User 11 yeah but they ALWAYS share.

User 12 charles is obvi the WAG.

→ User 13 not for much longer from the looks of it.

SportsNews added a new reel

Sports News exclusive with Charles Leclerc following his recent loss at Monaco

liked by charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari and others

→ charles_leclerc thanks for having me.

User 13 why is he trying to make it sound like his girlfriend cheated on him.

→ User 14 barbie has a great day everyday, but Ken only has a great day if Barbie looks at him.

User 15 sounds like confirmation, guys.

→ User 16 does this mean we have a chance?

→ danielricciardo No.

User 17 pop off, Sis

User 18 queen is serving cunt

User 19 she's everything. He's just Ken.

User 20 yell it louder for the misogynists in the back.

User 21 so, we're all in agreement that Charles is the one who fucked up?

→ User 19 after the way he stormed off yesterday when she won? Absolutely.

Y/N Verstappen new post

YourUserName petty comes in shades other than red. (And so does a Championship)

liked by maxverstappen1, kellypiquet and others

User 1 i bet their PR teams are having a field day

lilymhe my most beautiful driver

→ alex_albon oi.

landonorris winning looks good on you

→ User 2 little Lando shooting his shot.

→ User 3 i fear this means we are children of divorce.

mclaren our Champion <3

User 4 us thinking we can finally get rid of the Dutch anthem 🥳 Us remembering Y/N's last name 😒🇳🇱

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

Next Day

Part 2? Let me know :)

3K notes · View notes

kithtaehyung · 9 months ago

Text

broken, pt. 2 (3tan) (m) | myg

title: broken (pt. 2) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series:masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken (pt. 1) rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: the championship game lights up... and everything goes down. note: not too much to say other than thank you. this part is definitely another very, very close one to my heart. please buckle up and enjoy the ride. warnings: [spice warnings under the cut] language, angst, tension, alcohol mention & consumption, fights, basketball!yoongi🧍‍♀️, cocky!yoongi, jimin😳, tense situations, did i say angst?, long hair yoongi, crying, bro😀, reader is a real one i don’t make the rules, arguments, the chains stay on(???), …bad boy yoongi😀👍, saying softhours puts some of this lightly, bro🥲, blood/wound mentions, hurt/comfort, there’s just a lot in here y’all idek, taehyung being the best ever, …angst. drop date: february 9th, 2024, 10:37pm est word count: 17.7k my god

smut warnings: cursing, choking, light slapping, breast play, angry s*x a ha ha, crying, multiple explicit scenes y'all istg don't perceive me lol, c*nt slapping, penetrative s*x, brat!reader, protected s*x, edging, consent king ofc :), rough s*x, b*cksh*ts and a lot of them, ...unprotected s*x (yeah it's here and y'all better be responsible or so help me!!!), f*ngering, or*l (m/f rec), brat tamer!3tan yoongi!!!, reader loses themselves for a sec, but yoongi is a king, pain k*nk whewwww, kissing, so much kissing lmfao, c*m play, slight bond*ge (yoongi hands), spanking, aftercare ofc :'))

There’s no way.

How the fuck is he here? When did that horrible excuse of a guy even join a team? Had he been playing intramurals this whole time?

“No fuckin’ way.”

Your eyes find your brother standing rigid at your side, wrists tensed to hell and shoulders spiked. Did he not know he was playing, either? Judging by his smoldering question, you’re going to guess he wasn’t aware.

“Were they always on this team?”

“No.”

“I don’t remember them being on any teams.”

They? Them? So they recognize more from the court on that day you try to not think about. Shifting your vision, you start gauge reactions under sounds of the growing crowd.

It’s Yoongi that looks at you first, eyes lowering to the hand you still have on your arm damn it you should be okay about that night already. But you can’t seem to let your limb go, your fingers covering it in a weak attempt at protection and resilience.

The blaze in his eyes makes you shake. Even as you swallow your pleas for everyone to just go home, he doesn’t look away. Instead, he walks over to stand in front of your knees, motioning for you to scoot over one so he can take the end seat.

Normally, you would slightly question why he wouldn’t just sit next to you. But this time, you’re hyper aware of what he’s doing—and why. It’s so obvious that you wanna reach out and grip his sweaty hand.

Yoongi absolutely sat there to shield you.

And your heart burns and burns.

If only he could do more, be more, show more. Because with a rattled ego and tainted mind, you’re already yearning for his touch, wanting him to whisk you out of here and bring you back to the comfort of his home—just like he did that night.

God, he makes you dizzy doing absolutely nothing.

“What’s the plan,” he asks, eyes on the court and palms between his knees.

“Dunno yet.” Your brother shakes his head before looking back, eyes narrowing at the laughs on the other bench. “But I might get my ass thrown out if we—”

“Play.”

Immediately, all three of them snap their heads your way. Fuck, your arm is still…

One person cannot have this hold on you. There’s no way you’re going to let him control your every waking moment, and your determination bubbles into your commands. “Play the game and beat his ass,” you seethe, holding yourself together and aiming daggers everywhere. “Just make it quick.”

Yoongi gives you a look before Jimin snags him with an eyebrow raise.

“And you’re paying me double.”

Looking at the man beside you, it’s almost comforting seeing his attention fully on your face. If it weren’t for your ghost on the other side of the scoring table and your brother standing there, you wouldn’t hesitate to kiss him.

But you only nod, getting a huff and a lopsided curve in response before you watch him lock eyes with your brother, “What do you wanna do?”

After a long, resigned sigh, your sibling finally relents, “Fuck this shit up.”

Good. Yes. This is what you want—for you and them. “Exactly.”

Scanning around the tight circle, you notice that you have everyone’s attention.

But one person seems to send a question without any words at all. In kind, you answer the same way, wings battering your stomach when all of them send thunder to the court with lightning in their eyes.

Yoongi scoffs through a slant, carrying the air of someone you never want to mess with in your fucking life. “The fuckin’ nerve.”

Jimin hums, sliding a finger along his flexed to hell jaw. “Bold,” he adds. And his voice drop sends shivers when he turns to you,

“Don’t worry, love.”

You stare.

“This will be over soon.”

The game is… just a game. For now.

No one’s taunted hard other than a few smirks and winks, and right now it seems as if both teams are just being competitive more than antagonistic. Which relaxes you to the point where you’re cheering from the bench with the other players—and their coach that arrived late—jumping and yelling and clapping when things go in their favor.

Your brother’s slamming down dunks. Jimin’s been playing amazing defense with his quick reflexes and high stamina.

And Yoongi? Has gotten sickeningly sharp. All those late nights at the rec center are paying off in this championship and, when he scores a hard shot, the pride you feel launches you to your feet.

“Nice job, b—” Oh fuck you almost shout something that should never be public knowledge. Holding your tongue, you quickly switch it up with a hasty, “Let’s go!”

That was close. Way too close.

Get it together.

But you cannot help it right now. Seeing Yoongi facing off against the man you both wanna square up against? And making it look easy? The fluttering you feel in your belly grows double. Triple. Tenfold. His gestures, the way he acts like it’s nothing, his shrugs at their failed attempts to stop him—everything’s making you scratch proverbial walls and kick bench chairs.

And it’s not just him—the whole team has been playing excellently. Each play seems intentional; every pass and movement is strategic. If you didn’t know this was a casual rec game, you would think they’re gunning for a real, prestigious trophy.

However.

When it’s starting to be very clear who the better squad is, that’s when things start getting more than tense.

On a foul call, both sides start getting in each others’ faces. And you peg that as normal until someone on your team gets shoved and your brother immediately gets between the action.

Both you and the coach shoot up from your seats.

Shit, shit, shit. If there’s one thing your older sibling’s gonna do in this game, it’ll be finding any excuse to deck that man in the face. And once that happens, there’s no telling how many injuries are gonna walk off polished floors.

Thankfully, everyone separates without a ruckus, and timeout is called on your side. The crowd starts to yell in favor of either team, and that’s when you notice that Taehyung has been joined by Shiv and your friends. From the looks of things, all five of them are laser focused on you.

You hold a quick thumbs-up before you’re covered by hot and sweaty men huddling around the bench. And you immediately agree with their coach when he barks,

“I need you all to calm down.”

“No can do, coach.”

“Not if they aren’t.”

Shit. All of them look fucking livid, not giving any shits whatsoever if they’re willing to talk back to their leader. What’s really been happening on the court? Has it been even more tense than you perceived?

Oblivious to the context behind this matchup, their coach keeps yelling, “Look, I don’t give a shit if you have something to settle. Play the game and leave it on the floor. Understood?” When there’s charged silence, he yells it even louder.

And a smattering of agreement comes out before all of you hear an even bigger yelling session booming from the other bench. When you look over, it’s quickly noticeable that they’re getting reamed over there, too.

Jimin watches before speaking, and it seems like your coach’s pleas fell on deaf ears, “Fifteen went for my legs.”

“Saw that. Let’s switch cus he can’t guard me.”

“K.” Park swivels his head to address someone else. “You good to keep playing?”

Your brother responds with a nod, wiping his never-ending sweat. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Huh. Even though you know he’s mad, the man seems… Calm. Eerily calm. It’s reminding you of the way he acted after you came home from Yoongi’s.

And you don’t like it one bit.

But the timeout is over, and both teams eye each other on their walk back onto the court. As it continues, the gym erupts into life again, with a bit of back and forth shots racking the scoreboard up.

And Yoongi keeps scoring. And scoring. And scoring.

Which lands him in a bit of trouble when the same idiot from Dalo pushes him during a layup. After he manages to make the shot, Yoongi immediately flicks him off—which gets a whistle blown. Which also means he has to sit on the bench for a second because his coach is pissed.

Ignoring the scathing remarks being thrown, he dumps himself next to you. And you immediately feel the heat roll off of him in waves, trying hard to focus on the game. “Don’t be stupid,” you jut out.

“What?”

“Don’t be stupid. These guys aren’t worth it.”

“After what he did to you?”

The way those words leave his mouth ice you over, flares spiraling through every fiber of your being. Your reaction is so visceral that you can barely get your response out, “Yeah, but…”

Leaning on his knees, Yoongi wipes his forehead with a crinkled to hell jersey, excess sweat pinging onto his sneakers. The crowd is loud and the buzzers even louder, but they aren’t enough to drown out his bite,

“I can’t let that shit go.”

“Yoongi.”

“Sorry, doll.”

“Please just—”

Yoongi leaves the bench before you can finish, and you whip your head in a rush, hands jutting out in a desperate attempt to hold him back.

Only for him to be just out of reach.

After halftime, it’s a whole different game.

From an outside perspective, it’s as if everyone was using the first half to sniff each other out, circling around each other before deciding how and when to go in for the kill.

And Yoongi isn’t the only one that you’re starting to worry about. Jimin, your brother, and even Rohan and the other guys are on edge, playing hard and doing everything they can to keep their scoring lead.

Both you and their coach know you can’t stop whatever’s going on out there. And you’re starting to feel yourself getting angry at how your brother and them are egging the guys on.

Why are they taunting? What the hell is making them so bent on making the other team pissed? Yes, all that went down with you, but nothing else had happened since then. And they clearly aren’t listening to anyone telling them to calm down.

If they end up starting shit you are going to—the fuck!

Yoongi gets straight shoved again as he goes for a layup, and you shoot up in your chair as he hits the back wall with a thud. While the players at your side are yelling and everyone on the court starts grouping in shouts, you stay rigid, solely watching Yoongi eye his attacker—the same idiot from Dalo.

Fuck everything, you wanna rush into the fray and throw hands yourself because that looked painful.

The only thing that’s stopping you is the chilling fact that Yoongi is… Grinning.

Wiping his curved lips, he waits while the refs break up the squabble, still looking triumphant as he walks to the line to shoot his free throws. When both of them are made, he stares directly at your assaulter—as you finally call it like it is—and doesn’t stop even when the coward looks away.

A whistle blows, and the game continues to be close. Too close, too close, too close. A couple more timeouts let you see just how laser-focused everyone is, and you’re a little shaken when it feels like they forgot you were even occupying their bench.

What the hell is being said on the court? Even Jimin is brimming with anger.

But after a few back and forths, Yoongi passes to your brother for a hard dunk, basket ringing from his throwdown and shaking when he lands.

Thank god. Those points are enough. They’re gonna win.

All the pent up anxiety you’ve harbored all game releases as everyone starts cheering, and your pride soars as your boys stare down their opponents while the clock winds down.

It’s over. The game is over, nothing too serious happened, and you can all go the fuck home to eat dinner and celebrate.

Your eyes catch Yoongi throwing a rudely lopsided curve across the court. Even when Jimin comes up to push him back in excitement, his expression doesn’t change.

And you find that wildly, unfathomably attractive.

Then, as it goes, your brother comes up and they all share quick daps, eyes ablaze and not letting the losers out of their sight.

Well. All of them are infamous for a reason. You would guess their energy altogether certainly contributes to that. Because the aura you feel oozing from them fills the gymnasium all the way up to your knees.

And the sigh you let out mingles with their coach’s shake of his head.

Things are still tense as they all shake hands—or at least offer hands to shake—with the other team. The atmosphere is even a little iced when they receive their trophy.

But the way you’re currently being surrounded as your guys converse hides you from plain sight, so you feel heavily protected. Even Jimin, who’s usually cheerful even when exhausted, wields sharp eyes as he keeps glancing over his shoulder.

Honestly? You wouldn’t know what to do without them. Both your brother and all his friends, good pasts or not, are great people. They didn’t need to shield you like this. But they’re doing it anyway, because they won’t give that lowlife another reason or chance to approach you.

Yeah. Your older sibling knows how to choose his circle.

It’s making you wonder if…

Nah.

That’s still too big a reach.

When it seems like all of them and their cheering squad are gone, everyone starts making their way over to the bleachers—and you’re acutely reminded of what went down under similar looking ones the other night.

Your shivers are overshadowed by Yuri’s telltale screams to Rohan, “You were so good, baby! Are you okay?”

Reia and Dom shake their heads before focusing on you, the latter being the spokeswoman, “So what was all that for?”

“Don’t ask,” you sigh, knowing exactly what she’s referring to. “I’m just glad they won and that we can go home.”

“You’re not coming to Yuri’s?” Reia asks. “I thought we planned on that, no?”

Ah, shit. Earlier this week, you did make plans with them without really thinking about what day they were gonna fall on. But now you’re so mentally drained that you kinda just wanna go—

“Is anyone else starving? I’m hungry as fuck!”

Right. Food. Adrenaline made you forget you were starving. Glancing towards your brother, you quickly remind him, “Yeah, me. And you’re paying.”

“Ah, shit, that’s right.” As he lets out a hard groan and deals with Jimin and Yoongi’s comments, your sibling relents, “Alright, where are we going.”

“Up to you,” you shrug, stealing a little look at the man you want to kiss like hell for his performance tonight.

God, Yoongi’s so handsome. As Jimin leaves his side, he silently wipes his forehead of any excess sweat, hands and shoulders shining in the lights wait wait wait. Hold on.

Walking over, you toss any care about who notices you out the window. And as he eyes your approach, you murmur with care and concern, “Is your back okay?”

Blinking once, twice, the man nods. “Yeah, it’s all good.”

“You sure? That looked…”

Of course he decides that now is the perfect time to rake his sweaty locks back. Speaking so low that only you can hear, Yoongi reassures with a fist full of hair, “I’m fine, doll.”

Motherfucker.

Pinning down your urge to reach out and smother him, you only breathe relief. And before you move away to put some distance between, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Yoongi looks your way again. “For what?”

Swallowing what’s left of your anxiety, you sigh. “For not getting into it out there. I was about to get mad as hell, but.. Looks like they were all talk.”

“Mm.”

Honestly? It’s a miracle. The game’s over without any hitches or brawls? More relief starts blossoming in your chest, prompting a smile to grace your features. “You looked so good out there, by the way. I almost called you ba—”

“What are y’all talking about over there!”

Your mouth snaps shut as soon as you see your brother watching, but Yoongi is quick to fire off an insult, “The way you always take so long to pick something.”

“I picked already!”

“Then let’s go then.”

Laughing, you join the whole crew as you’re all the last ones to walk out. Your friends and Shiv parked in another lot since one side was already full, so you tell them you’ll meet at the restaurant.

Some other teammates decide to join, with jerseys being shucked off as everyone heads out the door. Immediately, body odor swoops into your nose, making you welcome the crisp, fresh air of night.

Scratch that. You smell oncoming rain.

Conversations cease, which only leaves the sound confirming your observation: booming, rolling thunder. Stopping at the edge of the gym’s awning, multiple heads turn up at the rumbles, watching lightning crack the sky.

In front of you, Jimin shifts his head to the side. “Still?”

And when you look at who he’s asking, you see Yoongi nod.

Weird.

But it’s not raining just yet, so all of you make your way into the lot and to your cars. As you do, you check your phone while making your way over, aiming a question at Tae, “You know where we’re going?”

“Yeah, it’s not far,” he responds, fishing out his own device. “I think we’ve been there before.”

We? Looks like things are progressing nicely over there. Since you’re lingering behind the guys, you start to take a small jab, “We, huh? Cute.”

Lips spread as tight as his eyes, Taehyung parries. “Cute? Look who’s talking, miss whipped.”

“You’re whipped.”

“No, you.”

“No, you,” you giggle out, reaching out to tickle Tae’s side and laughing as he flinches away. You chase him for a few seconds before you see his whole body freeze completely, asking a small question before going quiet.

And when you slowly follow his line of vision, your heart freefalls to your gut, smashing it so hard you feel bile sting the back of your throat.

The man from Dalo. And all the guys from the court plus some.

Surround both Jimin’s and your brother’s cars.

Fuck. Oh, fuck, there’s so many of them, standing and waiting and unflinching in the bursts of thunder inching closer and closer what the fuck are you gonna do—

“Taehyung.”

Your eyes shake.

“Get her out of here. Now.”

And you’ve never screamed so loud.

Every word rips out of your mouth before you’re promptly shushed by large fingers, icicles pinging around your heart and holding it down, “Don’t fucking do thi—!”

To your horror, Tae’s already hauling you back, voice low and firm in your ear, “Come on.”

“No! What the fuck—”

“We’re leaving.”

“Please—!”

There are so many of them. So, so many of them. Panic drowns out your words and excess leaks out of your eyes, your own storm preventing you from seeing that your best friend is just as torn apart.

“Babe, we have to go now.”

“No, let me go!”

They’re outnumbered. What if they have weapons? What if the police are called? What if something happens that you aren’t prepared for?

You’re screaming. Curses, their names, or whatever whatever you don’t even know what the fuck you’re saying because your toes are kissing the edge of madness.

Dragged a good distance away, your yells devolve into incoherency, your nose and eye sockets smashing into Taehyung’s solid forearm so hard it hurts.

Make it out, make it out, make it out. For the love of everything in the fucking universe and beyond it, make it out alive.

Some movements and backs straightening are the last things you see before getting pulled around the corner.

And when Yoongi calmly rolls one of his shoulders, you feel a wick of your soul burn out.

Panic. Worry. Panic and more panic. The car ride that Tae paid for is the blurriest muddy water you’ve ever waded through.

Truthfully, you don’t even remember blankets being pulled over your shoulder. Where even are you? Oh, you’re in a bed. Whose bed are you in because this isn’t yours. But what does it matter anyway what does anything matter anyway nothing matters there’s nothing you can do you gotta get up and go back over there get up get up go—

As soon as you yank his bedroom door open, Taehyung is there, holding you back and pushing your frantic energy back inside. “Tae, if you don’t let me—”

“Do what!”

“I’m going back!” Wrestling out of his strong hold, you bolt down his hallway, head clanging as your shoulder bumps into a wall. “We need to go back—”

“Stop!” You hear running as you burst through the living room, whizzing past the glowing television. “We have to stay here—”

No no no. There’s no way you’re staying here when you need to be back at that lot. Who the fuck would call for help if anyone needs it? When they’re gonna need it? Your vision proves so blurry you can’t even find your shoes—

Arms wrap around your waist and you fight back with a scream, “Let me go!”

“Stop and just think for a second—”

“Why aren’t you with me on this, they’re—”

“Dumb as fuck!”

Your friend’s quick comment is so sharp it cuts your breath. As you still in his firm but comforting hold, you finally stop to breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe as you’re turned to level a look with his eyes.

Eyes that are red-rimmed and so, so raw. “They’re idiots,” Taehyung grits out. “But they will be alright.”

From the shake of his voice, you find that neither of you think that for sure.

“I need to.. To…” Your breaths are ragged, energy spent and head dizzy from your quick exit from his bed. As you come down from your volcanic high, every weight the world places on your back proves too much.

“You need to relax,” Tae advises, guiding you further back inside. And you don’t speak as he leads you past the couch, past the pictures on his hallway wall, and into the dark of his bedroom.

Maybe it’s over. Right? Maybe someone will answer if you ring them up. “Call. I need to call…”

“Shh,” he soothes again, walking you backwards away from his door. When the bends of your knees hit his bed, Taehyung lets you down slowly until you’re sitting. “I’ll do it.”

Brain fried from hyperactivity, you can only nod.

Your friend steps away to fiddle with his phone, the light illuminating his beautiful features in the night. When he holds it to his ear, this is when you hear rain and the television in the living room, noticing that it’s playing a movie he watches for comfort.

Shit. He’s going through it just like you are, and yet he’s still finding energy to calm your nerves? What have you even done to deserve him?

Guess you know how to choose your circle, too.

Going unanswered, Taehyung lowers his hand, thumb rubbing the homescreen before gripping the device hard.

Both of you are in the same boat. So steer when he can’t do it anymore. Soft but assertive, you rise to your feet, offering your embrace while calling his name, “..Tae.”

When he turns, the man wastes no time in dropping his phone to bring you in close. “It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, and you hear his words on your head but feel the trembles in his chest. “Okay?”

Feeble fingers grab at his soft shirt, and you bury into his scent while soaked and tired eyes shut.

You want to believe him. You do. You do.

But hope may be a bitch.

So you don’t.

Forever passes while you both lie still in his bed, with Taehyung holding you close and keeping you subdued with notes of honey and wood. You both try to have conversation, but it’s disjointed and manufactured, so giving up is a group effort.

You’re about to give up on a lot of things before you both jolt at Tae’s phone vibrating.

The world shifts quick as you both sit up, the call immediately being accepted and a low greeting whooshing at your side, “Hey.”

With bated breath, you hear Jimin on the line. “Hey.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, we’re all alright, but…”

We. We, we, we, all of them thank the fucking world. As your breath is held, Taehyung’s voice is solid, “Say it.”

“My eye is pretty fucked. Yoongi’s face is cut up and he’s got some nasty bruises on his—”

You don’t even remember yanking the phone to your mouth. “Where is he.”

Jimin audibly pauses on the line before having the audacity to chuckle. Irked and feeling ire bubble back to the surface, you seethe, “This isn’t funny, Park. Where the fuck is he?”

“With us.” Us. Shit. “In the car.”

Oh.

“Your brother’s here, too.”

“Ah.” That means they’re all there. They’re all heading home. “Am I on speaker.”

“Umm.. Yeah.”

As much as you’re relieved they’re all okay, stockpiled anxiety transforms into anger, your limit striking the thundering sky. “Actually, you know what? Good. Now I can say you’re all idiots and immature as fuck.”

It’s your sibling that responds first. “Hey, wait a damn minute—”

“I waited long enough!” you scream, ignoring Taehyung’s wide eyes.

You know you need to relax. But you can’t help what’s happening right now and all you feel is pain. “I know this shit isn’t new to y’all, but really? You didn’t need to do this.”

“He was gonna—”

“All you had to do was play the game! Why’d you have to make them mad? Do you even know what could’ve happened back there?” Damn it, you weren’t supposed to cry during this part, not when you just want them to know they fucked up.

And the response is dead silence. Because of course it is. But if they won’t answer you here, they’re gonna answer another, “Just tell me one thing,” you plead. “Is this gonna happen again?”

That one your brother answers with finality. “They won’t be coming around anymore.”

Gulping, you give Taehyung a glossy-eyed look before staring at his lit screen again. Trying not to let your voice waver, you accept his response, “Okay… Are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah, the hits I took were weak as fuck. I’ll get home soon so if you wanna order in tonight we can.”

“Fuck that.”

“Huh?”

What an idiot. “Bro, you don’t even know how fucking mad I am,” you accuse through gritted teeth. There’s no way in hell you wanna deal with their bullshit. Ignoring your pleas and staring harm in the face? Forget it. “I’m going to Yuri’s.”

“What? Nah, come home tonight and we’ll talk.”

“I just—No.” Taehyung has to grip your shoulder before pulling you into a hug. And you’re still steel in his arms because you haven’t been this upset in ages. “I’m not talking to any of you for awhile.”

And you mean that.

“…Fine. But go asap then. I don’t want you out late on your own.”

So you gotta listen to what he wants but when it comes to what you say, it’s crickets? Goddamn, you’re furious. “…Of course you don’t.”

And you hang up before anyone can say anything else.

You open the front door to your brother leaning against the hallway wall.

Both of you eye each other, one of you with a perfectly fine face and the other that isn’t so lucky because he’s a fool.

And no words are exchanged as you trudge your frustration to the kitchen.

Ice. Bandages. Dinner. Anger propels you through it all.

Whipping up a quick but hearty meal, you let your brother patch himself up after demanding he showered. The smells of comfort food waft through your nose as things sizzle on the stove and, through the whole process, you don’t think about anything except how upset you are.

They’re all okay. But like Taehyung so abruptly put it, they’re all stupid.

As you turn off your burner, you transfer everything to a bowl, sighing so loud it seasons the top with fire. When you approach the bar, your actions speak pretty damn loud—the dish clank shoving out a question from your sibling,

“Is there something you wanna say to me?”

“There’s a bunch of shit I wanna say to you.”

“It’s about Yoongi,” he asks, the absence of hesitation making your insides squeeze. “Isn’t it.”

But luckily for you, your rage is so potent that it overruns your fear. As soon as your brother stands up and starts to repeat his question, your correction clangs through the room,

“It’s about all of you! You say you wanna be there for me but what the fuck will doing this shit do?”

Freezing, the man waits in shock as you keep going, “Yes, that guy deserves hell. I was so scared when he grabbed me at the club.” You stop to swallow. “But I had them both there and we left.”

Fuck, this is hard. Having to relive that shit is difficult but you need your brother—and all of them, for that matter—to know how hurt you feel right now. Mustering up enough bravery to get to the goddamn point, you finally squeak out,

“If I lose them? Lose you? Because of something as stupid as a fight?” Your eyes search his, and your heart cracks when you see glassy sheen amongst his bruises. “What would I do then?”

You expect silence. And silence is what you get. It’s drawn out, loud, and telling. “We know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes lifting to meet yours with sincerity. “And we’re sorry.”

Another moment passes between the two of you, the food you made left uneaten on the counter and the rest sitting still on the stove. But you know your sibling will eat it all tonight, whether you’re there or not.

And you step forward at the same time he holds his battered arms out.

Freshly showered, he still smells like rain and exertion. But his heart beats under your chest, he’s present, and back home—things you need to stop taking for granted.

But you’re still mad. And getting things off your chest has only made you tired, so you decide that it’s finally time to go before you circle back to other scary territory brought up tonight. “I’m leaving now,” you announce as you step away. “But just think about that.”

“I will.”

“I’m serious.”

“I will.”

Staring, you take note of his cuts and injuries, wondering how the others are faring even though you don’t wanna deal with anything else. Because it hurts too much, and if you see who you’re thinking about, there’s no telling what you’d do if you were like this with your brother. There’s no telling how you’d…

No. You choose to go the easy route this time. Everyone can simmer in their sore, swelling consequences while you have a night of de-stressing with your friends.

So you leave to go pack without another word.

It’s raining.

Hard.

And even though your car is heading to Yuri’s, your heart is beating backwards. Tugging you somewhere else and not letting up.

With a ping of chill, you can’t shake it. Braking at a stop sign close to your destination, you sit in silence, letting the rain pelt every side of your vehicle and wondering what the hell to do.

Truthfully? Your brother looked like shit. But your body isn’t telling you to go back to the house, which can only mean one other place. And you know for a fact you don’t wanna talk to him, either.

So fucking upsetting. They did all that for what? You can barely keep your thoughts in a row because they keep yelling at jostling each other just like everybody did on the court. If anyone had to fight the dipshit, it should've been you.

Fuck! Your head connects with the wheel, an inner monster rumbling with the thunder because you’re so fed up with everything that happened.

Your brain is the one yelling. But your heart is begging for it to listen. Go to Yuri’s? Go to Yoongi’s. Find shelter in that warm bed of hers and sink in her plushies to comfort you?

A sigh. Maybe you can at least call him to tell him off one more time. He needs to hear what you told your brother because if you ever, ever lose him—

Your eyes burn.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

No answer.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

Pick up. What the fuck.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

…Turn the fuck around shit, shit, shit.

Curses flying, you whip your vehicle in a flash, heart pounding so loud it’s blocking out the storm. Which is morbidly impressive considering how horridly it’s pouring.

Thinking in leaps, you pivot and make another decision. Tell her and make it all quick.

Yuri: Outgoing Call

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m not coming.”

“You okay?”

“I’m going to Yoongi’s.”

“Yoongi’s? Why?”

Ah, shit. Oh, fuck. She doesn’t know.

Banging the steering wheel, you smash your teeth, stressed as hell from braving the rain in the dark and now snitching on yourself to someone else.

Damn it. What do you say? What can you possibly even say when you’re so mad and stressed and conflicted and worried—

“Hello?”

“Because he’s the one,” you whoosh out, your vision quivering twice as much as it should. “And things went down after the game and now something feels wrong.”

“Oh, shit. Is that why y’all didn’t come to—”

“Yes.” When you say all this out loud, now it has weight. Horrifying weight on your chest and a block pushing down on the gas. You hear a bit of shuffling on the line, and you’re starting to get so anxious that you blurt, “Please don’t say anything. Please.”

“I won’t. Not about this.”

“Thank you.”

“Hang up, babe. Make it safe.”

“Okay.”

Go, go, go. Please, just get there.

Letting up, you change your speed, hoping to everything good in the world that this feeling you have is only a feeling and nothing more.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

What a strange emotion, wanting his reason for not picking up solely being because he doesn’t wanna talk to you. That is an answer you can deal with.

But you still can’t fight off the jagged pulses telling you it’s something else.

After an agonizing drive, you finally see his complex, tensing harder the further and further away you have to park.

Whipping into a spot, you screech into it before hauling your bag out, popping the trunk and desperately grabbing a plastic box you always keep inside.

And the mad dash drenches you long before you seek cover, your bones shivering shivering shivering from the chill.

Yoongi has to be home. His car is here.

But he still won’t pick up the fucking phone.

Skidding at his door, your knocks are rapid, knuckles singed from the ice cold wraps.

Answer, answer, answer. For fuck’s sake, he better answer.

After a haunting moment of silence, you decide to call one more time, head wet and bones shivering as you press the phone to your damp ear.

Finally. “Hello.”

“Open the door,” you jump into commanding, hearing nothing other than a voice that sounds so crushed and low that it crumples you inside.

“You’re here?”

“Yeah, let me in.” Fuck, your teeth are clattering against each other, whether it’s from the rain, the cold, or anger, you can’t tell.

But the reply you get is the coldest thing imaginable. And it sets your whole body aflame.

“Not tonight.”

Hell no. Hell fucking no Yoongi is not going to get rid of you that easily. Not when you have a boatload of things to say and only one dock to dump them all on, “Yoongi, I swear to god—”

“Not tonight—”

“—you don’t let me in I’m—”

“Go home—”

“I’m fucking staying out here until you open the goddamn door!”

Oh, you’re pissed. You’re so fucking pissed because this all could’ve been avoided if none of them were stupid. Or prideful. Or whatever the fuck boys decide to be when they can’t let something go.

And this man still has the audacity to give you the stiff arm, silence on the line before he rasps out another short, “I’m serious.”

“No.”

“Go home.”

“No!”

He says your name. So, so softly, before a gut-wrenching,

“Please.”

Breath shaken, you rest your forehead against chilly wood, hoping it quells the fire you feel rising from your rib cage.

You can’t give up. Not when you have so much to say. Not when you have to check on him and make sure he’s fine.

Not when you give into the strongest premonition that you need to be nowhere else but with him tonight.

You will stay. Stay, stay, stay. Even if he doesn’t want to see you.

Voice trembling in rage and concern and everything in between, you feel your eyes sear through when they close, mission boiling down to one more desperate choice,

“…No.”

You’re cold. And wet. But you will stand out here for as long as it takes him to let you inside—a night, a day, no matter what.

And for a moment. Or a few. You think he’s dead set on making you prove that.

But you finally, finally, finally hear a sigh before a lock turn, and you try to prepare yourself for what you see but he opens the door and his face comes into view holy shit he looks like a wreck—

“What the fuck,” you grit out as you rush in with vision swimming, digging into your bag for the medkit you hastily stashed and swinging off your sandals because you gotta get something in the—

A hand grips you hard, tugging you back before you even register what’s happening.

As your feet stumble back onto linoleum, your gaze snaps to the ground.

And your breath cuts like it’s your last.

Shards.

Pieces.

Thousands of wood and glass chips litter the entire open area of the living room.

And realizing where they came from strikes like lightning.

Fuck. Oh, fuck, what did Yoongi do?

“I told you, doll.”

You choke on a sob.

“Go home.”

Your breaths return before you straighten, tears flowing freely as you don’t know whether to start cleaning up the chaos or finally facing the one who caused it.

No, no, no. Get rid of it.

Throw it out, all of it, all of it.

A new fire roars to life, forging your steeling commitment as you wrestle out of Yoongi’s hold.

What did he do, what did he do?

Revving with smoke out of your ears, you burn a path to the kitchen, grabbing a trash bag before marching into the wreckage. Up go the biggest pieces first, chucked into plastic before the smaller ones follow.

Throw it all. This one, this one, and this one.

Yoongi isn’t even wearing shoes. He can cut himself up even more if this all stays where it is.

Shit, this is everywhere.

When you realize you’re gonna need a broom, you storm back into his laundry closet to yank one out and keep going. When you go to sweep, the sharpest voice cuts through your fingers.

“Stop.”

Your grit grips the tool even tighter. Because you won’t. Don’t dare look into his expression, either, because you know that one glance will melt every scream on your tongue. So you stay resolute and shoot rejection to the ground, “No.”

“Just go, please.”

“No.”

This hurts.

This really, really hurts.

Yoongi has never, ever said these things to you and it feels like a knife jabbing into the same spot over, and over again. You almost prefer three new months of no contact over whatever the hell this is.

But you have to keep going. Eyes clenching, lips wobbling, you must keep going.

Because you came here for a reason other than this mess. And he’s gonna have to do better than this to kick you back out into the rain.

“I got it.”

“Let me do it.”

“Your brother needs you.”

“Yeah, well, I already tore the fuck into him and I’m gonna do the same to you.” You harden your fist on the sweeper, tugging it more towards your shoulder with finality. And you gather all the energy you need to leave no more room for arguments, because Yoongi is going to listen, “So sit down.”

It hurts.

He wants to say shit. You know he wants to.

But he only breathes hard with eyes closed, following your orders and carrying his dark clouds to the dining room.

When he finally leaves you alone, this is when you look his way.

In sweats and a shirt, he appears fine. But with a deep pang, you notice he’s slightly limping. Judging from those knuckles, you wonder if they’re red from the fight or from hitting another wall of his apartment.

Or from whatever the fuck happened around your feet.

Shit.

While he dumps himself at his table, you clean up the pieces of his rampage, mentally noting that one plan of yours has now changed.

This one. These, too. A string here. A metal piece there.

You don’t know how long it takes you. All you know is that you’re burning inside, determined to clean everything and sweep this chaotic energy away.

One more. Two more. Another one here.

As soon as you’re done, you lug the trash bag out of the front door and don’t give a shit what happens to it now.

Keep going. There’s more that you need to take care of.

The fuel inside of you rages on, anger conflicting with anxiety and past worries and sadness for something that didn’t even happen. As you spin, you vow yourself to keep pushing until you can’t anymore.

Sniffling. Shivering. But staying strong because things could’ve gone a lot worse.

Yoongi meets you by the table, messy, damp hair shielding his features. “You’ve done enough.”

“I still need to—”

“Just.” He looks away. “Go home, doll. I can’t do this tonight.”

“Do what? I’m helping you.”

That’s what you do for each other, right? You both help each other. But now you’re not so sure because Yoongi comes back with not an acknowledgement, nor a way of relenting.

But ice.

“Who said I needed it?”

And in all the time you’ve spent with this man, this is the first time you’ve felt downright cold. “Yoongi, what?” Your eyes travel across his face, chest caving in when there’s barely any hints of vitality. “Are you serious?”

“You think I’m joking?”

“You’re kicking me out? What happened to saying you’d never do that, huh?”

“I say a lot of things.”

…Oh.

That hurt. That… That physically couldn’t have hurt any harder.

Nodding, you look away, shaking your head in disbelief because you are on the verge of losing it. “You know what? You do say a lot of things.”

Walking away, you start rearranging pillows on the couch pushed askew. “Like how perfect I am.” Picking up his books from the now non-existent coffee table. “And how there’s no one else.”

As you give the volumes a new home on his intact tv stand, you turn to face him again. “Those are just words, too, huh?”

Yoongi kicks his head back with a smile, one that cuts instead of mends. “Nah… Not tonight.”

“Not tonight what.”

“We aren’t doing this tonight.”

“The fuck we aren’t.” It’s his turn to walk away, with a slow head shake that you really don’t like. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.” Yoongi shifts his head to the side, but not enough for you to fully see him. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want you to. “But you’re going home.”

Something’s off. There’s something completely off but all you feel is sadness and rejection in your ribcage. “So this is how it happens, huh. Now I’m just like everyone else.”

He finally faces you, miles away even though you’re just rooms apart. “You’re gonna go there?”

“I am.”

“Wow.”

That’s what he comes back with? This is gutting you from the inside out and you have no idea what’s happening but now rage is flaring into your mouth, “You think I wanted to come here? After what all of you did?”

“Do you even know?”

“No! But how the fuck would I? You don’t tell me shit!”

“That’s cus—”

Your response sears over his floors, “I can take care of myself. But none of you told me about that dude from the court. None of you.” Breath shaken, you continue dumping out all your thoughts and previous concerns, “If I had known? That whole Dalo thing could’ve been avoided and I would’ve ran.”

For a person that you’ve come to know as so warm, Yoongi’s entire aura freezes you over as you keep talking. “And today? You know how fucking scared I was? If I… I…”

All he does is stare. Why isn’t he doing anything else? Is he really flipping the switch and choosing to legitimately let you leave this time?

Fine then.

“You know what?” Giving up, you laugh—harsh, and breathy, and without any joy at all. “Forget it. You’re not even listening anyway.”

“I swear to—I just said not tonight.”

Frustration from the game, fear from the ambush after, anxiety from not hearing from them. All of it coalesces into something you can’t even control anymore. Your buffer shuts off, the monster you created seizing the reins, “No, I get it. I do! You want me gone. Sure. See you in three more months.”

Stunned, Yoongi huffs in disbelief, jaw working overtime. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am. Trying to help you but it looks like you don’t even want that. So good fucking bye.”

And it looks like he has a beast of his own because his next response to your last attempt has you reeling back in shock,

“Who asked you?”

Dark liquid drips onto your soul.

You can only stare, unblinking and feeling like you’re in an entirely different universe. “Who asked me? Who asked me.”

“That’s what I said.”

Forget the question of who asked you because… Who are you even talking to? Who is this person standing in front of you because it’s not the Yoongi you know. It’s so jarring and hurtful and strange that you truly feel thrust into the middle of a nightmare.

You’re gonna do it. You’re actually gonna leave this time.

“You know what? Kiss my ass, Yoongi.”

God, it hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

It hurts.

You don’t even know where this is all coming from. All you know is that you’re angry and there’s no stopping the hot magma bubbling in your center.

Silence fills the room.

And it rains. It pours.

But finally, you hold a sob back before burning a shaky path to his door, wrestling with the lock before yanking it open—

Only to have it shut back in your face, so thrown when you realize you’re getting spun. Air whooshes out of you before your shoulder blades connect with wood—

And this is the goddamn breaking point. The walls you haphazardly built to keep you upright collapse and tumble. It’s so potent and blinding that you don’t even realize your hands are connecting with his chest in the weakest, saddest ways and you are outright screaming.

“God, what the fuck! I told you to—We didn’t hear from you for hours and I—I didn’t know if you were okay—”

“Whoa, hold u—”

“I thought the worst and I—didn’t even get a chance to—I finally told you want I wanted and you—Fuck—”

“Just listen—”

“Don’t ever do that again! I don’t wanna lose you and today was so fucking scary and I’m not, fucking, leaving—”

Your lips are smashed to hell, his lips bruising so hard you feel it in the back of your skull. And it’s a whole storm as Yoongi pins you against the door, leg wedging between yours and his hands gripping you like a vice. It’s intense. It’s overwhelming.

“I swear to—”

You don’t know what to do. What to do what to do what to do, and all your madness jangles as you’re yanked and slammed against another wall, breath leaping into his open mouth before you tug at his hair, digging anger through his shoulders.

“Can’t fucking listen, can you?”

“No,” you rip from your throat, shoving him back only to gravitate right back and lock lips again.

And he rips at your clothes, tearing the front of your shirt so far your chest emerges on full display. Before you can even react to the cuts on his face, Yoongi’s hand clenches around your throat, making you gargle just how you fucking want to right now.

“Shouldn’t even fucking be here.”

“When has that ever stopped us.” You groan as you get rapidly led back into something hard, and you realize it’s the dining table digging into your ass.

“He’s still home.”

“So?”

“Shouldn’t you—”

“Then kick me out!” you taunt. “For real. Let me go. Fucking do it then.”

Yoongi works his jaw before gripping tighter, making you groan and your gut flare into something primal. Nostrils flaring, he moves to grip your head hard enough to make your stomach flip but not firm enough to scare you.

Never to scare you. “You aren’t gonna leave me alone.”

Your eyes are ice.

“Are you.”

You solely watch in determination, breath harsh from your nose and billowing out like steam. Drilling your answer into his eyes, you charge the surrounding air enough to spark like the flashing sky outside.

And Yoongi cracks like lightning.

“Goddamn it.”

Everything happens at once and in quick succession. Teeth grit to hell, Yoongi pulls you upward before fast stepping you to his bedroom, slamming you through the door before you shove him right into his desk.

Things teeter and shake and clang with each impact, your storm disrupting everything in its path and creating a tornado of desire and thoughts in your brain.

Something swirls and twists between your souls, tightening and condensing into emotions darker than midnight. And as angry as you are, it’s slipping into a dangerous mania, and you’ve never been this excited for anything in your life.

“Stubborn.”

“Coward.”

Your back stings as you’re pushed back into his door, the wood smacking into the spackle of his wall. Rough lips smother yours as you claw at his shoulders, neck, hair, and you hear him growl into your mouth,

“Want me to kiss your ass? Suck my dick then we’ll talk.”

“Fuck you. I give better head than you anyway.”

His words rival the deepest growl, “Prove it.”

“Make me.”

Whirlwind. Storm. Tempest. At this point, it’s a whole goddamn high. Your body is thrumming and the only way to feed your anger is to channel it through actions.

And truth be told, you need this. You both do. With all the high strung emotions that had nowhere to go until you collided?

This is liberation.

You’re shoved onto your knees before Yoongi dives into his pants, and you’re already hungry and impatient enough to help him shrug his sweats down before he can do it himself.

“Choke on it,” he commands, holding his dick and watching as you note how hard he already is. When you waste no time taking him in, you elicit the deepest groan you’ve ever pulled from him when you fling spit onto his length.

Maybe his reaction is to your face. Because you’re still mad as fuck and you aren’t done letting him know that.

With a passing thought, you realize that this is all new. But you’re welcoming it because it’s working. Only Yoongi can bring out this passion even in anger, or maybe the two of you were going to get to this point no matter what.

“Fuck.” He steadies the bottom of your chin while you suck him off. “Uh huh. Got anything else to say?”

You flick him off, and he hums with a rumble, his cock reacting and hitting the back of your prideful throat.

“Fuck you, too, doll.” His talks devolve into hisses, grunts, moans when you slobber all over yourself, and your cunt is already dripping with your own slick. “There you go. Gonna take it all? Or are you gonna keep running that mouth?”

And you pop off before taunting, “Find out, pussy.”

And you’re swallowing him before he shoves you all the way forward, your body arching up in a gag but filled with him him him, your nose flat against his pelvis and his dick squeezing tears from your eyes and your throat overstuffed to hell and there’s no way he’s gonna forget this moment. You’re making damn sure of it.

Another middle finger raises as you’re tensing around him, and you can barely hear him above you but you do know he’s massively pleased. Tears stream down your eyes when you’re yanked off, gasping for air and being pulled off the ground.

“Holy fuck.”

Throat hoarse, you attempt speech but it doesn’t matter anyway, because his lips steal them all. And your cunt is slapped with a whole palm, making you flinch and shoot out a whine into his kiss.

Before you know it, your body hits the bed before he joins you, arms bulging as he rips your top open completely. You can’t even think straight as he teases your earlier efforts, “I’ve had better.”

“Oh, you fucking—Shut the fuck up,” you growl, a moan leaving without permission as he palms your cunt again. Just when you think he’s gonna top you, Yoongi hauls you up, hastily leading you around the bed until your back connects with another wall.

You love that shit. And you’re starting to think Yoongi is very, very aware of this fact.

“Take those fuckin’ pants off,” he orders. “And hands on the wall before I put them there.”

“Can’t make me do shit—”

Fingers grip your chin before Yoongi gets right into your face, primal instinct making you go on full alert. As his tongue prods his cheek, your whole lower body quivers. “I can. And I will, if you don’t behave.” Tapping your jaw in a warning, he hums. “Now do what I fucking say.”

Holy shit, he’s not playing around. Which only heightens your desire to peaks previously unreached, and you’re shucking your bottoms off while he yanks his drawer open for condoms. Hurrying, you fling your clothes away before planting—

Yoongi smashes his whole front against your back—pinning your whole body against the cold, rough wall—before intertwining long fingers with yours. “Good girl.”

Hitching your hips back, he sticks your ass out as you slip, and you feel his cock tease your entrance. Groaning, you grip your hands into fists as he continues to rub your cunt but never enter. Denying, denying, denying. Smacking your pussy and still not letting you feel him inside.

And it’s maddening. “Please!”

“Please what,” he asks, giving your ass a spank that has you flinching into the wall.

And, without any shred of mercy, this goes on for longer than he’s ever held out. It’s so sickening that tears start flowing from your eyes, and you devolve into saying anything to get him to fuck your brains out. Between spanks on your ass, slaps on your tits, and aggravating kisses on your back, Yoongi doesn’t let you phase him for minutes.

It’s when you choke on a sob that he finally, finally squeezes inside of you, checking for your nod before wrecking you completely.

“Oh, fuck—” Your eyes shut tight as you try to keep yourself upright, hands pushing against the wall as your legs shift with every thrust.

“This ass. Fuck.” Yoongi’s pace is relentless, hands bruising your hips and your cheeks smacking into his pelvis over and over and over. “It’s a goddamn problem.”

You’re trying so hard. So, so hard to stay on the wall. But your hands are too sweaty; they're starting to slip with each attempt. “Bed,” you command. “Bed now.”

And he obliges immediately, pulling out and yanking you back. Mouth to your ear, he both checks in while making your legs jelly, “You tapping out?”

“Break my fucking back,” you rasp in return, hearing him growl in satisfaction before burying you facedown into his bed. As he plunges inside again, you grip at his sheets, driven to the brink and reveling in all the things he’s saying to you while feeling him in your stomach.

Suddenly, you feel your arms pulled back, and you yell into his mattress as he buries himself even deeper. Everything you’re screaming makes no sense, but the phenomenal sensation you feel as you go limp renders you speechless anyway.

Yoongi knows exactly what he’s doing as he pushes his thumb into your asshole, because you clench so hard around him that he chuckles darker than dark. Careening into space, you kiss the edge of euphoria before he inconveniently pulls out, launching a sling of insults from your mouth.

“What was that?”

“I said fuck you!”

“Thought so.”

Not done in the slightest, Yoongi hauls your thighs so flush against him that you have to use your fingertips for support. Just as you’re about to argue, he rams into you from a new and impossibly enticing angle and holy fuck it feels so good you want to weep.

“Put that fucking hand down,” he growls, smacking away the fingers you didn’t even know were on your mouth. “If you wanna talk shit.”

“Fuck—!”

“Uh huh. Let it out, baby girl.”

You’ve never felt this out of control. This wild. This out of body. Your head is yanked back, your back pressing into the front of his shirt before you feel him so far into your guts that you quiver.

Now at the mercy of his tongue in close range, you hear his gravelly tone in your ear, “What’s my fuckin’ name.”

“Asshole—”

A hard smack to your tits has you crumpling with a whine. “Say it.”

“I’ll say it if I wanna say it—”

Another spank to your inner thigh and you’re gone. Eyes roll as he tweaks your nipple, and your words are almost garbled when he grips your chin from behind. “This what we’re doing? Hmm?”

You laugh breathy before you taunt, “Uh huh.”

“Mm…” Despite your laugh, you shake. “I wouldn’t do that, doll.”

“Make me. Bet you can’t.”

Tensed and veins angry, Yoongi grips both your tits before snarling, “That’s enough.”

Swiftly, he shoves you down into the sheets, muscular frame pinning you as he strokes up into you just right. Again. Again. It’s all too slow and too effective and you’re trying to stay mad but all you can feel is perfection, your back arching at his thrusts and mewling at his low growls in your ear.

“You wanted this.” Another thrust. “Talking shit.” Your jaw goes slack. “Pissing me off.”

Your groan is downright erotic. Why why why? Just knowing you’re making him this mad flutters your cunt and, from the sinister chuckle shooting into your neck, Yoongi definitely felt that.

“Fuckin’ thought so.”

When he reaches to grab your breasts, the last thrust has you crying out in a flurry of pleasure.

Every single thought is Yoongi, from beginning to end in a biblical cycle of debauchery. Exertion leaves you slick, sweat coating the expanse of your skin only to press into his bed, your mess your mess your mess. At his hands. The smacks of his cock. The rolls of his hips. Are you gone? Are you here? If he’s bruised then you feel like you are, too, and you welcome the temporary pain as Yoongi’s fingers dig ever deeper into your waist fuck one’s now pinning your head down.

The moans you let out are unending, and your thighs shake when all you get in response is a laugh of condescension.

“Look at you. Can’t even stay mad.”

“Fuck you!” You’re close, you’re close, you’re close again. Release is at your fingertips, but Yoongi yanks himself out to rip it away from your outstretched fingers. “No!”

“What, doll.”

“Please!”

“Nah.”

Body sore, you’re flipped over with no mercy as something else presses against your cunt.

Fucking hell, he’s eating you out now? Shaking, you feel Yoongi’s tongue swirl around your thrumming clit before he sucks, edging you to the point of tears and heartbreak. And it proves too much as you grab at his head, yank at his hair, because he lets up when you’re close.

Every. Single. Time.

Your madness spirals into your curses, and he relishes in your despair, continuing to lick and suck and slap your thighs with patience. “What do you say?”

“Please!”

“Mm. Not loud enough.”

“Yoongi, please.”

“Oh, we’re saying names now?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it aches. It’s starting to borderline hurt. “I’ll be good,” you barter, beg, plead with a head spinning off its own axis. “I’ll do anything.”

“Do it yourself then.”

Later, when you look back on tonight, you’ll be embarrassed and shy to hell. But right now, you’re so over any shyness that you don’t hesitate, reaching down to rub at your clit and moaning when it’s so sensitive.

And Yoongi gets a front row seat.

His groan is gutteral. And it doesn’t take you long to quicken your pace, bucking your hips and whining to the ceiling. You’re so so so close it’s right there—

Your hand is smacked away. And after you try to wrestle out of his grip, you are a flat out, blubbering mess. “Yoongi… Please…”

“Nah.”

This is torture. And you’re frightened at how much you’re enjoying it. “I’m so close.”

“You’ll come when I say you can.”

“Please! …Please..”

“You done being a brat?”

“No! Fuck. Yes!” If you weren’t so far gone, you may have deciphered a tiny smile of amusement. But it won’t be for months later until you’ll realize that you were wrong.

Because the menacing flash of teeth you see is much too wide to be anything other than pride. “The fuck did I say? Use your words.”

You know you’re still upset. You know Yoongi is still upset. But for some reason, you feel closer to him than you have in awhile, and you wonder if lust and madness are two sides of the same coin. “Let me come. Please.”

Yoongi finally obliges with something he hadn’t pleasured you with yet. And your vision blanks as you yelp at the sensation, his slick fingers pistoning into your folds so fast you’re arching so taut. From between your quivering legs, you hear one final command,

“Then fucking come.”

And you burst, so hard you almost feel like something threatens to spew from your cunt. But all you can do is shake and thrash under his grip, so erratic that you feel like Yoongi’s starting to pin you down. Gone, gone, gone, you’re sure the veins of your neck threaten to break through your sweaty skin.

Then you feel his cock thrust inside of you, and you whip your head forward only to get your airway cut off. “Again,” he calmly repeats, flinging you back to the last time this happened.

Only this time, there’s even less room for you to make any other choice.

“I said again.”

Your body cannot fathom disobedience, pulsing and milking his perfect fit. Over, and over, and over. You hear rumbling from a dragon above, feel breaths of steam whooshing as it watches you come undone.

“Yoongi—”

A light slap to your cheek is your only warning before your chin is tugged, lips smushing into yours to swallow your straining sobs. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your body is still thrumming, inundating around his cock until your emotions spill from your core. Toes. Fingers. Everything is straining and locking in place.

“So fucking hot.” He rips your soul right out. “Shit.”

You fly through time and space, gathering emotions and feelings and spiraling spiraling spiraling. Crying. You’re crying. Full on crying you’re so overwhelmed with everything truly you were so mean to him you upset him holy fuck you should’ve left when he told you to—

“Baby.”

But you cannot stop crying, choke choke gasping on sobs.

“Babe.”

“I—I—”

Your name stabs you with a crisp shot, coupled with a firm grip on your chin, snapping you back to lucid. And Yoongi’s eyes are frantically searching your own. “Look at me.”

You do. Do you? You do. And his eyes…

They’re not angry at all. It’s pure concern. Steadfast concentration. And something reflecting your soul. “Breathe.”

“Oh, shit,” you whisper, coughing and reaching for oxygen you didn’t know you were denying. Air rushes back into your lungs as you inhale.

“There you go. Keep going.”

You do, gulping down air and hiccuping a breath or two. Your cheek is being caressed, you think. And with another pass, you know it is.

“Relax for me.” And you hiccup a sob. “Breathe, babe.”

You do, you do, you do. Yoongi kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and you breathe more and more through it all. “You with me?”

“Always,” you answer, filter off because you are hanging by a thread and he’s holding the top. “Please don’t kick me out ever,” you hiccup. “Please, baby, I’ll do anything for you but I—could—never handle that—”

You’re tenderly hushed before lips slide over yours, attempting to swallow your thoughts and your sobs and your oncoming tears. As you flood his bed with apologies, Yoongi keeps wiping them all.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Babe.”

“You told me so many times—”

“Breathe, angel.”

You blink at the change in name, and it makes you focus just a bit stronger. Floating down from the precipice.

“I wasn’t kicking you out,” he slowly explains, kissing sweat from your forehead. His words feel like a calm, rock-filled river over your eyes. “I felt like an idiot and hated you seeing me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Just… Like this.”

“You’re perfect like this,” you hitch out, not caring about what flows out of your mouth. “So perfect. Always to me. I just wanted to help you, baby, I’m so sorry—”

He hugs you so tight more tears squeeze out.

And so do more confessions, “I… I care about you. I think a little too much. If I lost you, I wouldn’t—be able—”

“I’m here.”

“So please don’t push me away.”

“I won’t.”

“I know you don’t make promises but—”

“I promise.” Without an ounce of doubt, Yoongi places a firm, lingering kiss on your temple. “Promise. Fuck.” As he holds you tight, you feel him shake before you hear the tiniest sniff at your ear.

Oh. He doesn’t need to be like this, too. You try to move your hand up between your bodies to comfort him, but your whole limb feels gelatinous. So you simply whisper, “It’s okay, baby.”

You can’t tell how long you lie like this, with his beautiful weight on yours. But time is irrelevant when your mind is unwinding from hours of whirring, starting to finally accept the fact that everyone is okay and you don’t have to be angry anymore.

“Come on,” Yoongi rasps, voice cracked and airy. “Let’s go.”

“Hmm?”

“Shower.”

“Oh. Okay.”

You’re so thrown and dizzy from what just happened that even getting to the bathroom is a blur. What you kinda feel is Yoongi holding you upright when your legs buckle, but you don’t remember when he leaves your side to turn the water on.

As he flips on the light, your eyes squeeze until they adjust, and you watch as he tests the water while fully clothed. Air conditioning starts to give you a chill, but the shower warms up just in time because he reaches out to guide you inside.

Wait. Is he not joining you? Bleary, you grab at his shirt when he steps away, eyes pleading. “Are you coming in, too?”

Yoongi stops before he gives a shake of his head. “I’ll take mine when you’re done,” he says through a slight smile. “We’ll take care of you first.”

That doesn’t make sense. Even in your depleting haze, you know something doesn’t add up. “You can join me now. I don’t mind.” When you try to lift his shirt, Yoongi visibly flinches when you brush over his ribs.

And all the murk around your head vanishes in a snap.

He kept his shirt on that whole time. Not once did your positions allow you to see his upper body fully. And now he’s not gonna get in the shower or take his shirt off?

Your voice lowers two octaves when you reach full clarity. “Let me see.”

Unblinking, Yoongi tries to back away, “Don’t worry—”

“Let me see it, baby,” you command, breath cut until he finally allows you to lift his shirt up holy fuck those injuries look so painful tears prick your eyes. “Oh, my god, Yoongi—”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re hurt.” You feel these wounds deep in your ribs, and you tell him to get your kit what the hell he fucked you while feeling those?

Attempting to alleviate your stress, Yoongi decides to strip fully and step into the shower, ignoring your pleas to grab your med kit and promising you can take care of him when you’re done washing up.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, doll.”

“Are you sure?”

“Promise.”

And when his arms wrap around you, this is when you finally let go. Huge, chest-wracking sobs echo around tile, and Yoongi stays quiet through your cathartic release.

There’s another reason you were so upset. And it has nothing to do with any of them, but with yourself. The main reason you’ve been so riled up and frustrated is because… This is technically your fault, too.

But, unsurprisingly, he won’t let you take any blame whatsoever.

“You got hurt cus I said to play.”

“Nope.”

“I wore the outfit that day.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“And lost my friends at the club.”

“No.”

Sniffling in quick succession, you think about one other option. Some form of closure that can double as compromise. Voice soft, you suggest the last resort you have,

“How about we share it.”

Yoongi blinks twice before he clarifies, “You wanna share the blame?” When you nod, he huffs through the tiniest smile of confusion. “Mm. Then it’s our fault.”

“Okay.”

After shaking his head, he closes his eyes, molding his forehead with yours. “What are you doing to me.”

A sniffle. “Wrecking your water bill.”

His laughs join yours as you barely get your sentence out before giggling, and to feel him so close and present and here makes your worries slink down the drain.

Hands trace down your arms, walking along falling rivers before creating ponds with your fingers intertwined. “Gonna clear me out someday.”

“Duh.”

He’s himself again.

And after a whole night of chaos, you feel like yourself again, too.

That’s all you both need to feel peace.

You keep that tranquility carrying you through his room, peeking into his closet to grab the biggest shirt and sweats you can find before drying your head.

But no matter how much water you can dry, your body will keep being washed in relief. And it’s the calmest feeling, watching as Yoongi does the simplest things near his bed.

Your lips curve when he pulls up his pants; your heart beats when he grabs a tee. It’s in this moment that you admit that these outfits of his are your favorites, and you gravitate to him as he slips cotton over his damp head.

“Come on,” you softly offer as you turn. “I’ll make food and get you some ice.”

Again, Yoongi just stares with a faint smile. But his eyes are alive again, so you’re more than fine if he just follows your lead without a word.

In the kitchen, you pause amongst the appliances, the cabinets watching as you utilize your phone to find a good recipe. “What shall we eat… Stew? Or, wait—”

Looking up, you eye him in thought before choosing to focus on something else. “Actually, let’s figure you out first.”

Opening yet another tab to add to your hundreds, you type away before selecting a good starting point. “Okay, let’s see. You’re breathing fine, so no bruised ribs. Umm…”

Scroll, scroll.

“It looks really bad there, though. You sure you can move right?”

Despite asking, you go right back to your phone before Yoongi can even respond. Scrolling and clicking and reading again.

Scroll, scroll.

“Okay, so no bruised ribs, and according to this you don’t have any broken bones. And nothing fractured, either, thank god—”

“I love you.”

Time bursts.

Your chest glows.

Everything starts to beat, beat, beat in slow motion.

And you don’t even feel like you’re in the room anymore. “…What?”

You need to hear it again. You need to need to need to, because if you heard him wrong, you will check yourself and bolt right out the door.

His eyes.

Despite the battlefield on his skin, they are dripping, and sparkling, and full. The whole world suspends as he stares right into your soul, caressing it with his wounded hands and cradling it in his bruised arms.

No matter how hard the moon will try—for years, and years, and years more—it will never outshine this single, shaken, solidified admittance.

“I love you, doll.”

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to fucking do.

Why is Yoongi saying this now? Why is he choosing now of all times to make you the happiest person in the universe?

No.

Happiness isn’t even close to what you feel and you’re pretty sure you’re crying but nothing makes sense and your vision plunges under sunlit waters.

“And you don’t have to say anything. I know I don’t deserve to.”

What?

“I can’t be everything you want. Or need. Or whatever the fuck I’m trying to say. But I just needed you to know because I can’t fucking fight this shit anymore—”

You lunge forward before he offers his last syllable, careful to avoid his wounds and not mush his face because he would do the same for you.

And it’s all too much tonight. The lingering fear, the dying anger, the floods of relief, the joy. You can’t stop your sobs from coming out in bursts, your whole body wracking with overwhelming emotion as he grits into your skin,

“Goddamn it, I—”

“Yoongi—”

“—so fucking much.”

Yoongi loves you. He’s here. He loves you, loves you, loves you and the beats of your heart pulse orange and blue, blue, blue.

Nothing will ever compare to this moment. Nothing. You will bottle this one up in a jar to place next to all the others you have stored, and when you are lonely, or hurt, or even when you’re doing just fine, you will uncork it to surround yourself with this memory and know that everything will be okay.

He loves you.

Fuck, he loves you?

You choke out his name with a sob, and he squeezes you even harder. When you can’t reply with anything else, he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, his tears taking root and blossoming into beautiful vibrant fruit all along your rib cage.

He loves you.

Why can’t you seem to say it back? What the fuck is wrong with your tongue?

Maybe it’s because saying it doesn’t feel like enough. Like it’s laughable that there are words for this feeling because they don’t nearly represent what you harbor in your very being for this man.

There’s no way any words are enough. Not for him. Nor for you. Because right now, Yoongi needs something more. And you’re going to give him more than everything.

“Yoongi, I—”

He captures your lips in his, and you let him push you against his counter and consume you everywhere he wants to. Between his claims, your sobs have room to breathe. Which makes for a horrible showing of your attempting to say what you want to. “I… I can’t… Yoongi—”

Fingers press into the back of your head, a forehead smushing into yours and shutting you up completely. “I’m sorry,” he says, words rolling down the tracks your tears have walked. “I won’t ever be able to say that enough.”

“Baby,” you hiccup, resting a hand over one of his. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.” You squeeze his hand, feeling the lovely digs of his knuckles in your palm. His scent wafts around you like an embrace, and you know there’s nothing quite like it. At all. “You’re okay, so I’m okay.”

After he plants a warm kiss on your temple, you feel his hands ball into fists at your ears. “I just—fuck.”

There’s no telling what he’s thinking about in that brain of his. But you need him to know that there’s nothing more for him to be sorry for. All you care about is that he’s present, responding, and himself.

“Babe,” you whisper, still not believing those three words coming out of his mouth. “I’m here.”

“I know.” He sighs, smushing into your lips and holding you so tenderly, yet so tight. As he laps at your tongue, you’re more than sure he can taste your rainfall.

None of this is real. Because you can’t believe it at all. Even as Yoongi continues his journey across your neck, your shoulders, your jaw, your face, you still can’t piece together that this is truly happening.

When you feel him hard on your pelvis, you remember that he didn’t get the same release you got earlier. But you’re not gonna be the one to suggest going again, all of this will be what he decides.

And what Yoongi decides is to pull you closer, breathing you in while you do the same. His kisses are never ending, and your hands roam languidly along his shoulders, his hair, stretching across the expanse of his back. One that has held the weight of the world and then some.

His name leaves your mouth in a sigh, your back arching as softly as the kisses being planted along your breasts.

“If you only knew,” he whispers, laughing to himself as he wraps an arm around your side.

“Knew what?”

“Nothing, babe.” You gasp into his next rough press to your lips. “You’re so—fuck.”

You said you’d let him lead. But as Yoongi starts to walk you into his bedroom again, you think about his injuries and feel more concerned after knowing they’re there. So you quietly stop him as you reach his bed, “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be alright, doll,” he whispers, lowering you down and smiling so tranquilly your heart lurches. “As much as I think you enjoyed the first time, this time will be better.”

Giggling, you fight the heat from searing your cheeks as you smile. “You enjoyed it more than I did, I think.”

“I don’t think so.” Yoongi smirks, getting up. “Lemme get a cond—”

“It’s okay,” you halt him with a hand, and he freezes.

Full stop. No movement. Not even a breath. “...What?”

“We don’t…” You swallow, stomach fluttering at his expression. “We don’t have to this time.”

Because Yoongi’s eyes have not left your face. “You sure?”

Then something causes you to smile. Knowing that if there’s anyone you want to do this with, it’s this man right here and now. There’s genuinely no one else in the world with whom you would wanna share this experience, and the fact that he’s still asking makes you emotional.

Cradling his face with the most tender touch you can imagine, you confirm, “Just for a little bit.” And you add something you think he needs to keep hearing. “I trust you.”

Gulping down any extra emotions spilling from your heart’s chalice, your words come out a little wobbled. “And I want to, if you want it, too.”

“I want what you want, doll.”

“Then it’s okay.”

Clothes on or off, you still feel so shy underneath him.

But this time, you vow to shove those feelings of unworthiness to the side. Because you are fully invested in this moment above all others. And Yoongi deserves more than you can give.

When he slowly tugs his sweats from your legs, you’re already choking back tears. As he climbs on top, you await the connection you never in your dreams would’ve imagined.

And when Yoongi stares at you one more time, you know exactly what he’s asking.

“Yes, my love,” you wisp into his skin, craning up to kiss him and swallowing his last slice of doubt. Knowing you’ll say it again and again and again.

His brows pinch as he kisses you—slow, purposeful, understanding. Then he positions himself, and you can physically feel his hand brush your cunt as he does so. If he ever asks if you felt him shake, you will deny it. But only for a year or two.

As soon as you feel him—only him, solely him—you swell with a current of emotion. And it pulls you all the way under when he’s fully sheathed inside.

“Holy fucking shit.”

“Yoongi—”

“Fuck.”

Simply having him inside, with no barriers or obstacles in between? You’re already close. There’s no early explanation, but you already feel overwhelmed enough to come.

No no no. You want this to last forever, so you wait for Yoongi to gather himself because he appears to be fighting, too.

Chuckling, you ask, “You good, baby?”

And your lover snaps his gaze to your face, bangs sweeping across your cheeks and eyes unblinking. “Yeah, just...” He stares at your inquisitive expression before whooshing out a harsh breath. “Just this is about to make me bust.”

You burst into laughter before admitting you were just thinking the same thing, and his slow grin makes you want to cry. “We’re not good at this.”

“No. You’re too good at this. I can’t even move.”

“Yes, you can,” you whine. “You wreck my shit all the time.”

Feeling a twitch more prominent than ever, you giggle as Yoongi puffs out pained amusement. “Doll, if you keep talking like that, I’m pulling out.”

“Okay, okay,” you surrender, loving how out of sorts he seems. He’s fighting for his life and you’re enjoying the hell out of it.

“You’re a little too perfect right now.”

Maybe one day you will agree with him. But that day is far from reach, your head shaking in quiet disagreement.

“You are.”

“Nowhere close,” you whisper.

His nose brushes against yours. “Say that again and see what happens.”

“Is that what you tell all the others fuck!”

His shove up your cunt makes you see stars. “What did I fuckin’ say?”

“What—”

Another launch has you careening through space, lip bitten and suppressing a hearty whine. “You think there’s someone else?” Again. “Hmm?”

Again.

You’re so dazed and mind-fucked to pieces that your speech is barely audible. But your chin is grabbed as you’re snapped straight, and your eyes try their hardest to focus on slitted ones above. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

You just laugh, whine pinging sharp into the ceiling as he shoves forward so hard your whole body shifts upward. “Oh, yeah?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond with words, thrusting up again and sending you twisting and winding towards the edge unbelievably fast. “Uh huh.”

“Make me then,” you gasp out. “Make me really sorry.”

The sound Yoongi makes comes from deep within his stomach, the rumbling hum shooting right into your veins like liquid fire.

And the full-on attack he bursts into renders you completely speechless. Everything Yoongi does pulls you deliciously in all directions—his thrusts, his chain hitting his chest, his grip on your wrists, the way he snags your chin. Everything.

“Taking me so well like this.”

“I—”

“So fucking tight.”

Fuck fuck fuck it’s habitual for you at this point, and you unhinge your jaw a split second before he smacks the side of your face. Desire lowers your lids halfway as you feel empowered, and you don’t even recognize your voice as you order him on the spot. “Do it again.”

Yoongi doesn’t stop his pace as he keeps his eyes on you.

“Do it again,” you growl, fully limp and a groaning mess when he does exactly what you want.

Fuck, the pain feels good. So good that you reach up and choke him out. But the back of your head is grabbed before you feel hungry lips smash into yours. You feel your wrists pinned again by one large palm, air chilling for a moment before a hot mouth captures one of your nipples. “Oh, fuck, Yoongi!”

“Uh uh.”

“Please—please—”

You’re still tensing as he devours your chest below his shirt, strokes now slower but just as powerful.

Your arms still haven’t been freed, but there’s something about being under his control that has you loving this position. Without question. Maybe it’s the fact that you can see him now, losing himself just as he saw you washes in the throes of passion.

And he licks, sucks, lolls his tongue all over your tits, whispered praises sinking through your bosom as he keeps a grip on your wrists.

“Baby,” you gasp. “I’m close, I’m—”

“Shit.” Air whooshes over you before you feel your arms freed and him yank himself out, and you freeze as he unloads right on your stomach, a sharp cocktail of pride and shock in your gut.

Holy fuck, Yoongi was that close? Did he hold out as long as he could? Shit, he’s breathing so hard his jewelry shakes as it dangles.

You’re still so surprised that your arms are still locked into bends, and he glances up at you from his kneeled state. “Fuck,” he laughs, and is that… Is Yoongi shy? “Thought I could hold out.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure through your own tiny chuckle. “Oh my god, I promise.”

He leans down to plant a heart fluttering kiss on your lips, but you hate how he looks pained on the way down.

Those hits he took… Now you kinda understand his perspective. Because now you want to avenge him in five hundred thousand ways—almost half as many ways as you want to show him how you feel.

“Stay there, beautiful,” Yoongi orders as he moves to get off the bed, wincing in passes. “I’m not done with you.”

Damn. He looks even more exhausted than before. “Baby, are you sure?”

But Yoongi walks right to his bathroom to retrieve a towel, and your eyes may as well transform into hearts when you watch him come back to you. So handsome, even now. Even when he’s simply holding a washcloth, hair completely mussed, soul sparkling and face bruised.

As he sits to clean your face before moving to your stomach, you can only observe his eyes. So experienced. Calm. At peace. When they drift to yours, it’s instinct that has you shying away. “What, love.”

Another reason to crumble inside. “I just… nothing,” you whisper.

And Yoongi finishes with the cloth before tossing it somewhere. “Tell me,” he says, lying down on the ribs with more damage. “I wanna know.”

“Come on this side,” you tell him, and he obliges without a word. “It’s a secret.”

“A secret?”

“Mmhmm.”

Yoongi settles before lifting your chin, rubbing an affectionate thumb over any tears still persevering on your cheeks. “I can keep those, you know.”

Smiling, you fold way too easily. “Okay, I’ll tell.”

When he leans in, your nervousness and excitement to tell him almost spoils your ability to do so. Like someone gifting a present while wanting to say what it is before it’s even opened.

“I love you, too,” you whisper, tears sprinting to your ducts as Yoongi freezes. When he looks at you, you can’t help but choke on a sob seeing his eyes get as red as the marks on his cheek. “And you deserve more than I could ever give.”

His eyes hold the heavens and the seas.

You’re right. Just saying it isn’t fucking enough.

You’re already liplocked again before you can think, saltwater on your face and you don’t even know whose eyes it came from.

Determined, Yoongi starts kissing a trail from your lips to your jaw, and you start to cry as he makes his own journey down the expanse of you.

All of you.

Is this what it feels like? Is all of this actually, genuinely real?

You hope so, because you feel devotion in each press of his lips, and every touch will be remembered in its own right. Its own pocket of time.

Every single stop.

It almost feels divine when his mouth reaches your folds, lapping at your essence and swirling around your clit. When you say his name, Yoongi says nothing, instead palming your thighs and eating you out like he has all the time in the world.

Swelling, you already feel close.

But the way he gets you to fantasia is so natural that you slide into your quivers seemlessly. The transition into your heaven flows like a stream, and your waves engulf his tongue and coat his mouth without trouble.

This is what it feels like. What it feels like with Yoongi.

And you wanna keep making love until only sleep can take you from him.

Your hands jut into his hair, gasping as he keeps his pace, and no matter how you squirm he is dead set on holding you down until holy fuck you’re coming again.

How? What’s happening to you? This constant stream of release is shocking you to the point of crying out, and Yoongi groans into your orgasm and prolongs it with the whole press of his tongue.

“Holy fuck, baby—!” Another wave overcomes the next, and you outright quake in his hands, eyes rolling and vision blinking white. Muscles lock as you can’t keep up with the pleasure, and you’re mercilessly let go only for lips to descend on yours.

Your tears spill into your ears as you kiss him back, wrapping tired arms over his shoulders and raking in deep.

“Fuck.” And you feel his cock lodge against your entrance, and you’re amazed how hard he is again.

Does he want what you want? Is he ready again?

As Yoongi quietly gets up to get a condom, you’re amazed that he wants to keep going after everything that’s transpired. But, if he feels like you do, he’s ready to keep going until the sun comes up three whole times.

When he sits next to you, your better half appears shy as he bites the wrapper. “Don’t take this the wrong way.”

“Oh, I already know.”

“K. But god, I fuckin’ want to.”

You bite your lip to hold back your smile, remembering what he said a long time ago and bringing it back full circle for the next thing you both wanna try. “One day.”

Yoongi only grins.

And for the next hour, your lover, your secret, your home gives you everything he has, and you come for him more times than you ever have in your life.

Every time, he drags your pleasure out, expertly tearing you down with his movements and building your confidence up with his words. He tells you you’re perfect, and he disagrees when you disagree. When you find tears on your face, he kisses those away, too. When you feel along his silver, he simply watches you in silence.

No sadness, doubt, nor anger to be found.

After you physically can’t do any more, Yoongi lies at your side, silent as you play with his hair. You do your best to stay still, not wanting to accidentally push into any of his injuries that you’re gonna beg him to get checked in the morning.

Once he’s healed? That’s when you’ll never let go. Because you want to crush him into you completely. Mold into him, just so he can feel the brevity of your highest affection.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” you finally whisper. “But I really was so mad at you. All of you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

Yoongi stares, seeming to withhold something from you before he palms your cheek. “They were gonna follow us home if we didn’t, babe,” he reveals, snapping your heart back in two. “We all knew that.”

“Oh, fuck.” Everything hits you at once: why they stayed, why you and Taehyung had to leave. Why Tae didn’t bring you straight back to the house. And the burns at your eyes match the searing in your gut. “I didn’t… I didn’t think about that.”

When you start to cry, Yoongi sits up and hangs his head between his sweats. “You don’t need to think about shit like that,” he murmurs, sounding defeated as ever. “But we talked after you told us off. We won’t hide that from you anymore.”

Sniffling, you whisper out a thank you. But you don’t want Yoongi to feel like he has to distance himself, so you untangle him—slowly, gently–-before bringing him into your chest.

After dealing with all that and the tempest in his living room, this man still let you in. From the looks of things, there’s a lot that he had been fighting, and you’re more than appreciative that he opened his door. Not knowing how to put these feelings into words, you say the first things that come to mind. And for some reason, they feel heavier on the way out,

“Thank you for letting me in. It was raining really hard.”

Yoongi stiffens hard before holding you closer.

“Babe?”

No response. Just another batch of weighted quiet.

Worried, you tilt your head. “Hey. Look at me.”

If he stays right where he is, you’ll have to respect that decision. But he ends up pushing himself up, and as soon as you see moonlight catch on a falling tear, all your instincts reach for him, “Oh, fuck, come here.”

You surround him with everything you have, wanting every single bit of warmth birthed from his love to fill his space instead of yours. Whatever he needs, you will give. “It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, holding him so close but not nearly close enough.

Never close enough.

His face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you will let him live there whenever he needs to. “I’m not mad anymore, okay?” God, you hate how he’s still so silent. You get it, but you hate whatever made him default to this state. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

After light rain fills the room, your soul breaks at a sniffle, and you crush your love even tighter.

“This isn’t about that, doll,” Yoongi finally whispers, burying wet eyes further into your shoulder. “It’s just…”

It’s what? What’s he thinking about? Hopefully it’s not anything—

“It’s so fucking better when you’re here.”

When you choke out a sob, his body locks, words pouring from nowhere and everywhere. “I sleep better. Eat better. Fuck, I even feel better even if nothing else changes.”

“Yoongi…”

“It’s true.” Sighing, he sniffles again before letting his weight drop onto you in resignation. Or relief. “I mean that.”

“Then… Those three months…”

“One day, I’ll tell you everything,” he offers, making you wonder what the hell he’s been through in the past. And if it has something to do with that guitar he smashed to pieces. “But from now on, you can be here whatever you want.”

Many things have shifted tonight. As if an earthquake had upturned everything between the both of you, only peace has settled in its wake. A peace you had never felt before. As you brush fingers through his hair, you joke, “So I can come to those parties you host, too?”

“Those weren’t my idea, by the way. Jimin made me.” Kissing your shoulder, Yoongi continues to admit, “He was worried. And hoping you would show.”

Oh. That’s news to you.

“I knew you wouldn’t. But.” He exhales before nestling in further. “I did hope to see you, too.”

“It’s okay.” You rub the back of his neck, your fingers feeling nothing but warmth and the softness of his clothes. “It would’ve been too obvious.”

“What would’ve.”

“That I wanted you all to myself.”

“You already have that.”

When you stiffen, your words are tiny. “You know what I mean.”

Yoongi laughs soft, taking one of your hands in his and bringing it up for a kiss as you blurt, “My brother was the one that invited me. To come to those, I mean.”

The way he blinks is comical. “Huh.”

“I know.” It’s your turn to bring his hand close, kissing along his knuckles before you stare out the window behind him. “It makes me wonder if he knows.”

“What if he does?”

You snap your eyes right to his. “Does he?”

Yoongi watches your lips linger on his fingers before he tells the truth, “No.”

“Okay. But you’re sure I can stay?”

“Who do you think you bought those groceries for?”

Oh. Wait. “What?”

Grinning so sly, Yoongi reveals the plan he had all along, “I get you for a week, right?”

Oh. Holy shit. You cannot quite possibly deal with what this man is saying. That whole time you were shopping for his list… No wonder he was already done with dinner when you got there oh you’re gonna get him back for that.

Light bursts from your center as you grit out through a grin, “You sneaky little—” Pulling his tilted mouth in for another kiss, your heart pulses little pink stars as he leans in with a laugh, and you meet lips again and again until he slowly, reluctantly stops.

“One day,” he murmurs out of nowhere, and you flick your eyes to his. “I’ll be better.”

Of course he will. You have no doubts. But, just like he always does for you, you’re gonna start offering the same reassurance out loud, even if he knows it’s there.

And you can’t contain your little laughs at your own joke, despite him just staring into your face right after you crack it, “Don’t make it just one day, silly.”

Even if you’re very serious, it’s in your nature to lighten things up. Especially after hearing such wonderful news for what’s coming. Clutching a little bit of his shirt, you whisper with complete devotion,

“We’ll make it as many as we can.”

You hate how you feel him freeze, knowing what that means, what plaguing little thoughts are embedded in that tiny shift.

Yoongi’s still hesitant to accept.

Because you are, too. In many ways. But this man has been picking you up and making you stronger day after day—in both his presence and absence—that you can’t help but fight to do the same.

Does he ever think about you? Does he know that you’ll always be with him? No matter how close or far apart you are? You hope so. Because it’s so true that your heart is searing that promise into your soul, branding it as a reminder to reciprocate all this genuine love you’ve never been given before.

He loves you?

You still can’t accept that as fact.

…Maybe one day.

You chuckle to yourself, deciding to keep talking because Yoongi is still so very quiet. “At least. Until the day I get to meet my cat,” you huff in triumph. “Then I’m running away with her.”

It’s a perfect strike of a match. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You pretend to pout. “But I’m starting to think she ran away already and you won’t fess up.”

Yoongi laughs so suddenly you flinch. After a playful scoff, he tries to make you feel better, “She’s still here!”

“Lies.”

“How much are you betting, doll.”

“How much are you willing to lose, babe.”

“This much,” he finally says, pinching your sides and hissing laughter when you scream. “Maybe I’ll make you leave after all if you’re gonna be a problem.”

“You did threaten to kick me out before.”

“Huh? When?”

“That day I showed up,” you remind him through a chuckle. Thrown back to that first night, you start to see all the parallels between then and now. And how vastly different things have become. “Said you were gonna kick me out for hustling you.”

The glorious laughter from the depths of his belly makes you grin, and you cringe when his brows pinch in both laughter and pain. “I should’ve!”

He needs to get those hits healed. “You really should’ve.”

“Played me from the very start. You happy with yourself?” When you nod, Yoongi shakes his head. “Course you are.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” Your eyes meet, which proves dangerous for you because he bites his smirk before pulling you in for a kiss. “Thought I was gonna say it, huh.”

“No!” You lie. Because no, you certainly were not! “…Maybe.”

“Guess what.”

Suddenly paranoid, you give him a look, already expecting to be tricked again.

But Yoongi captures your lips without warning, curling your toes into sheets you’re now achingly familiar with. After a few passes, he shifts above, planting a hand at your side and letting his chain slide against your chest as he slots a leg in between yours.

Yet again, you think about that first night, that first time. The first of apparently, surprisingly, wonderfully unexpectedly many.

Who would’ve thought rain and a broken ego would bloom into something good? Who would’ve believed a person so close to your roots would be your home?

As he lets up with one last slow stroke of his tongue, you whisper, “What were you gonna say?”

At this, Yoongi spreads closed lips, taking his time planting a peck on your nose. “I just fucking love you, doll.”

Oh. He’s a menace and the most annoying tease on the planet.

When you can’t do anything but flee into his chest, Yoongi immediately laughs, forcing you back out of your little shell. “You can’t hide now, babe.”

“I can!”

Leaned forward in your struggle, you give him no choice but to swoop his head into your neck. Which backfires on you immensely because he decides it’s the perfect time to rasp deep against your ear, “I love fucking you, too.”

His name flies out of your mouth in disbelief and embarrassment, and his heightened amusement puffs into the burning column below your chin.

This is the moment something comes over you. Slams into you. Washes you in present nostalgia like lingering footsteps on a balcony.

And it hurts. It really, really hurts.

Instead of laughing along, you come down from your high, squeezing him like the pillow that couldn’t replicate his warmth for months. “I miss you.”

After a second, Yoongi questions, “How? I’m right here.”

You know that. You do. But with every hello there’s a goodbye, and you don’t want that this time. Especially now that your heart knows that his beats the same.

Breathy and shaken, you rest your head in his chest, hoping he doesn’t hear but does at the same time, “I still miss you.”

Strong fingers weakly press into your sides, and while you can’t see him, you know for a fact that his smile is gone. Because he also knows goodbye is coming again, and you can’t stay here forever as long as this is all a secret.

You feel a sigh wisp over your head before words that make no fucking sense follow it out, “I can’t do shit like this anymore.”

…What?

No. No no no he can’t be done just like that you both just confessed everything you need to fight say something anything anything—

“I wanna do this the right way.”

Oh.

Yoongi’s chest… It’s shaking.

Pushing yourself up, you search his eyes for answers. “What are you saying?”

When he looks at you, there’s a fire in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it has been there all along, and he only needed a spark to set it ablaze. “I’m saying I’ll tell him, doll. Just me.”

Oh. Oh, shit. Didn’t he say not yet? Didn’t he say he needs more time? He said he’d figure it out what is with the sudden…

Your tears are automatic as Yoongi roams his gaze from one eye to the other, and he’s swallowing before taking a step. A step you didn’t think he’d make. One you didn’t have the courage to take yourself.

When he utters the words, your soul lets rain fall just as the storm resides.

And right as moonlight shines through his blinds.

“I’ll tell him everything.”

tbc. :)

so... how did it go! | join the server!

a/n: so. here we are, over two years and 250k+ words later. thank you for sticking with me if you're still here, and thank you for being the most amazing readers a writer could ever, ever ask for. if you can interact or let me know what you enjoyed/like, i would be eternally grateful. these two parts took all of me, and i'm gonna take a break for a little bit before starting on the next part. a/n 2: thank you for also being here despite the highs and lows! things have really weighed on me for awhile, which prevented me from working on this part forreal. but my mental feels a lot lighter now, and i am ready to keep running with y'all. so thank you for your support and encouragement, no matter how you show it! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

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