#everyone defeated today will rise again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

urdreamydoodles · 3 months ago

Note

Hello could we get an all headcanon list of how the x-men would cheer up their S/O failing during training and the S/O feels bad?

X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

How they handle your frustration of failing during training (Part.1)

You struggles with your powers during training, feeling frustrated and defeated. Each X-Man—uses their unique approach to provide comfort, guidance, and encouragement, helping you regain confidence and control.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Erik Lehnsherr, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Wade Wilson, Rogue, Wanda Maximoff & Pietro Maximoff

This headcanons gives me a warm feeling, and I hope it will be the same for you guys ♡ Thank you for this prompt. Hope you like it — Love, Marie, your friendly marvel fangirl

Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

- You’ve been pushing yourself during training for days, trying to keep up with Logan’s intense regimen. But no matter how hard you try, you just can’t seem to get that one move right. Today is no different. You misstep during a combat drill and hit the mat hard, frustration bubbling up as you fail again. Before you can even rise to your feet, Logan is already there, offering a hand to help you up, though his brows are furrowed in concern rather than disappointment.

- "Yer pushin’ too hard, darlin’," he says gruffly, his voice low but soft. He kneels beside you, not quite touching, but close enough for you to feel the warmth of his presence. His hand brushes against your shoulder as he helps you sit up. "Ain’t no need to be perfect. Everyone screws up." The way he looks at you is steady, unshakeable, as if to remind you that failure doesn’t make you any less strong in his eyes. He’s seen enough failure in his lifetime to know that it doesn’t define you.

- You vent your frustration, feeling defeated, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. Logan listens patiently, the rare moments of vulnerability that you share with him something he takes seriously. He waits for you to finish before he sighs, a sound that’s not quite exasperated but full of understanding. "Ya can’t be hard on yourself like that, sweetheart. Nobody gets it right all the time, not even me." He gestures toward his own scars, the ones that haven’t fully healed despite his regeneration. "I’ve been fightin’ for longer than you’ve been alive, and I still screw up. That’s how ya learn."

- His arm wraps around your shoulder, pulling you in close against him. Logan isn’t big on words of comfort, but actions speak louder with him. He holds you tightly, letting you lean into his strength. "We’ll keep workin’ on it, but don’t think for a second that failin’ makes ya weak. Yer stronger than ya know, and I’ll be right here helpin’ ya see that." His voice is gravelly, but there’s an undeniable warmth in it. Logan might be tough, but for you, he’s a steady anchor, never letting you feel like you’re truly failing.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

- The training room is silent except for the sound of your breathing and the faint swish of cards flying through the air. You’ve been training hard with Remy, but tonight you just can’t seem to keep up. You miss your targets one after another, frustration mounting in your chest. Finally, you throw down your weapon in defeat, sinking to your knees as a rush of embarrassment and anger overtakes you. Before you know it, Remy is there, crouching beside you with a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

- "Cherie, what’s all dis about?" His voice is low and teasing, but there’s no real mockery in it. He scoops up the fallen weapon and twirls it between his fingers like it’s nothing, making you realize how effortlessly talented he is. "Ain’t no reason to get all worked up." You look at him, half-expecting him to laugh at your failure, but Remy doesn’t do that. Instead, he nudges you lightly with his shoulder, that charming grin never fading. "We all got days like dis. Even ol’ Gambit ain’t perfect."

- You explain how much it bothers you that you’re not getting it right, and Remy listens with a surprising amount of patience, leaning in close. He takes your hand in his, twirling a card between his fingers as he talks. "Y’know, cher, de best t’ieves don’t get caught by bein’ perfect. Dey get caught by not knowin’ how to improvise." He winks at you, the red in his eyes gleaming mischievously. "You gotta learn t’ roll wit’ de punches. Missin’ a mark ain’t nothin’ but a chance to find a better way."

- He rises to his feet, extending a hand to you, his eyes twinkling with a playful confidence that somehow makes you feel better without even trying. "C’mon, let ol’ Remy show ya how to turn a mistake into a masterpiece." When you take his hand, he pulls you close, spinning you around in a mock dance before setting you back on your feet. "Next time, when you miss, just smile like it was part of de plan." His charm and confidence radiate through every word, and though he doesn’t take life too seriously, he has a way of making you see that failure isn’t the end of the world. With Remy, even messing up can be fun.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

- The training session is supposed to be routine, just another round of practicing your abilities under Kurt’s guidance. But today, everything feels off. You stumble over your moves, unable to get the timing right. The frustration builds until you lash out, teleporting too recklessly and crashing into the ground, embarrassed and angry with yourself. Before you can even process it, a familiar 'bamf' fills the air, and Kurt is by your side, his blue hand gently touching your shoulder.

- "It’s alright, mein Liebling," Kurt’s voice is soft, soothing in a way that immediately calms your fraying nerves. He crouches next to you, his glowing yellow eyes filled with concern but not an ounce of judgment. "Training is hard for everyone. Even I had my share of accidents." His tail swishes behind him, playful and light, as if trying to lift your spirits with its gentle motion. He leans in closer, offering a small, supportive smile. "You are far more capable than you think."

- You voice your frustrations, feeling like you’re failing at something you should have mastered by now. Kurt listens, not interrupting once. He’s always been a patient listener, especially when it comes to you. After a moment, he takes your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles softly. "We all fall sometimes, Liebling. But we get back up. You know why?" He tilts his head, his expression gentle yet confident. "Because we are stronger than we realize. And I know you, you are strong."

- With a quick teleportation, Kurt brings you both to your feet, holding your hands in his as he stands behind you, guiding your next move. "Let’s try again, ja? Together this time." His presence is warm, comforting, and unwavering. As you train again, his encouraging words follow every move, helping you correct each mistake without making you feel bad. By the end, you feel more confident, his belief in you helping to dispel your self-doubt. Kurt’s kindness and faith in you always have a way of making everything feel a little more possible.

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)

- Training with Erik is always intense. His expectations are high, and you’ve been working tirelessly to control your powers under his strict guidance. Today, though, nothing seems to be working. You fail again, and frustration hits hard as you watch Erik’s face, waiting for the inevitable disappointment. Instead, he stands silently, arms crossed, watching you carefully before he finally approaches, his sharp gaze softening just slightly.

- "You are capable of so much more than this," Erik says, his voice deep and unwavering. There’s no anger in his words, but the weight of his belief in you makes your heart twist. He walks closer, stopping just inches away, his hand lifting to rest against your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man known for his cold, calculating demeanor. "Failure is not a weakness. It is a stepping stone. You are learning, not failing." His confidence in you is absolute, even when you doubt yourself.

- You try to explain how hard it’s been, how the pressure is getting to you, but Erik doesn’t let you spiral. He interrupts gently, his voice firm but not unkind. "Do you think I was born with control?" He gestures around the training area, his magnetic power subtly manipulating the metal in the room. "I struggled. I failed. But I refused to let it defeat me. And so will you." There’s no room for doubt in Erik’s mind when it comes to you. His belief in your potential is unshakable, even when you’re at your lowest.

- Erik steps back, his posture regal, but there’s a flicker of softness in his eyes meant only for you. "We’ll begin again," he says, but this time, his hand lingers on your shoulder, a rare display of affection. "But you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. Do not forget that." His words, combined with his touch, make you feel more grounded, more capable. Erik may be hard on you, but it’s because he knows what you’re capable of, and he refuses to let you give up on yourself.

Scott Summers (Cyclops)

- Scott is always a patient instructor. You’ve been training with him for weeks, but today, everything seems off. You’re fumbling with your powers, unable to hit any of the targets he set up, and frustration is boiling inside of you. Finally, you drop your head, feeling defeated, expecting Scott to lecture you on precision and discipline, as he often does. But instead, he approaches quietly, a gentle look on his face.

- "Hey," Scott says softly, his voice calm and steady. He places a hand on your arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "It’s okay to have bad days." His hand moves to your chin, tilting your head up so you meet his gaze. "You’re not failing. You’re learning." The way he says it, with so much belief in you, makes it hard to stay upset with yourself. Scott is always so calm, so sure, and it’s easy to forget that he’s been in your shoes before.

- You sigh, telling him how useless you feel today, but Scott just shakes his head with a small smile. "Do you think I’ve never messed up?" His tone is kind, and he chuckles softly. "I’ve failed more times than I can count. Controlling these powers—it takes time, patience, and trust in yourself. And I trust you." His words make something inside of you ease, the pressure lifting just a bit as he steps closer, brushing a hand across your back.

- "We’ll keep at it," he says, his confidence in you never wavering. "Together." He doesn’t push you to try again immediately, instead taking a moment to stand by your side, his quiet presence enough to make you feel less alone in your frustration. "I’m proud of you, you know? For sticking with it, even when it’s hard." His praise is gentle but sincere, and in that moment, you realize that Scott isn’t just your teacher—he’s your partner in this, always ready to lift you up when you fall. With him by your side, failure doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.

Jean Grey (Phoenix)

- Jean has always been understanding, especially when it comes to the challenges of training. Today, though, you can’t seem to get anything right. Your powers are erratic, slipping out of your control, and you’re overwhelmed by the weight of it all. You stumble and fall during an exercise, burying your face in your hands out of frustration. Before you can even process your emotions, Jean is kneeling beside you, her telepathic presence a gentle, soothing hum in the back of your mind.

- "Hey," Jean says softly, her voice filled with warmth and understanding. She doesn’t push you to get up right away. Instead, she reaches out, taking your hands in hers, giving you a moment to collect yourself. "It’s okay to struggle," she whispers, her words wrapping around you like a soft blanket. "I’ve been where you are." There’s no judgment in her tone, just an endless well of patience and empathy, something Jean has always had for you.

- You try to explain how overwhelmed you feel, but before you can say too much, Jean gently presses a hand to your forehead, sending a wave of calm through your mind. "Breathe," she whispers, helping you find your center. "You’re not alone in this. I know exactly how it feels when everything gets out of control." Her own experiences with her powers, with the Phoenix Force, make her the perfect person to understand what you’re going through. She knows how terrifying it can be to lose control, and she’s there to guide you through it.

- Jean helps you back to your feet, but she doesn’t rush you to continue the training. Instead, she wraps an arm around your shoulders, holding you close. "We’ll take this one step at a time," she assures you, her telepathic presence still brushing against your thoughts, offering you comfort and strength. "And I’ll be here, every step of the way." Her faith in you, her unwavering support, makes you feel like you can handle anything, even the hardest days. With Jean beside you, you know you’ll never face your challenges alone.

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

- Training with Wade is always unpredictable. One minute, he’s cracking jokes and making everything feel like a wild circus, and the next, you’re actually trying to focus on controlling your powers. Today, though, you’re struggling, and nothing seems to be going right. You’re feeling frustrated and defeated, your powers misfiring left and right, and Wade’s relentless humor isn’t helping. "Why so serious, babe?" he says with a grin, tossing his katanas in the air like it’s no big deal. You sigh, not in the mood for his antics.

- Wade notices. He may be goofy and seemingly oblivious, but when it comes to you, he’s sharper than he lets on. His voice drops a notch, and before you can say anything, he’s suddenly right in front of you, flipping his mask halfway up so you can see his expression. "Okay, let’s hit pause on the jokes for a second. You’re beating yourself up, and I don’t like seeing that." His tone is sincere, and it throws you off because Wade rarely shows this side. He cups your face in his hands, thumbs brushing over your cheeks, and gives you a rare, genuine smile. "You’re not failing, babe. You’re a badass who’s just having an off day."

- You let out a long breath, admitting how hard it’s been to keep up with your training lately. Wade, in typical Deadpool fashion, takes your hand and pulls you into a ridiculous dance, twirling you around like you’re in the middle of a ballroom. "You know what we need? A dance break. Clears the mind, lifts the spirit, and gives you an excuse to hold onto this sexy body of mine." His playful charm is disarming, and though you try to stay serious, you can’t help but laugh. That’s what Wade does best—he makes you forget about your worries, even for a little while.

- After a few spins and twirls, Wade stops, his hands still holding yours, his eyes uncharacteristically focused. "We’ll keep working on it, together, okay? You’ve got this. And if you ever feel like quitting, I’ll just annoy the crap out of you until you’re too distracted to care." He winks, and though he’s back to his usual goofy self, the love and support behind his words are crystal clear. Wade might joke around a lot, but when it comes to cheering you up, he knows exactly what to do.

Rogue (Anna Marie)

- Training with Rogue can be tough. Not because she pushes you too hard, but because you can see how much she cares, and you hate letting her down. Today, nothing is going right, and your frustration builds with every failed attempt. You collapse onto the floor, defeated, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on your shoulders. Rogue is there in an instant, kneeling beside you, her gloved hand resting gently on your arm. "Hey, it’s alright, sugah," she says softly, her voice filled with warmth and understanding. "Ain’t nobody perfect."

- Rogue sits beside you, her touch careful as always, and you can feel her empathy radiating off her. She’s no stranger to struggling with powers, especially ones that feel out of control. "I know how hard it is," she says, her southern drawl as comforting as ever. "Trust me, I’ve been there. But you’re not alone in this." Her words are soft but filled with conviction, reminding you that she knows exactly how it feels to be overwhelmed by abilities you can’t always control.

- You voice your frustration, telling her how you feel like a failure, but Rogue just shakes her head, her green eyes kind and understanding. "Listen," she says gently, "failure don’t define you. It’s how you get back up that does." She pulls you into a gentle hug, careful with her touch as always, and you can feel the sincerity in her words. "You’ve come so far already, and I know you’ve got what it takes to keep goin’. Don’t be so hard on yourself." Rogue’s support is unwavering, and her belief in you starts to make you believe in yourself again.

- After a moment, Rogue pulls back and gives you a warm smile. "How ‘bout we try again, but this time, we take it slow?" she suggests, her tone gentle but encouraging. "We’ll get through this together. You don’t have to do it alone." With Rogue by your side, the pressure eases, and you feel a renewed sense of determination. She’s not just your partner—she’s your rock, always there to lift you up when you’re feeling down.

Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)

- Training with Wanda is a delicate balance between pushing your limits and finding peace with your powers. You’ve been working hard, but today, it feels like everything is falling apart. Your powers are out of control, and every mistake feels like a personal failure. You stand in the middle of the training room, your hands trembling, and you can’t seem to stop the frustration bubbling inside. Wanda watches from a distance, her face calm, but you know her well enough to see the concern in her eyes.

- Without a word, Wanda steps closer, her presence calming in a way that only she can be. She doesn’t rush to comfort you with empty words. Instead, she reaches out, her fingers brushing lightly against your arm, her magic weaving softly through the air around you. "Take a breath," she says quietly, her voice soothing. "It’s okay to feel frustrated, but don’t let it consume you." Her powers, always so controlled and graceful, seem to hum in sync with yours, and the chaotic energy swirling around you begins to settle.

- You tell her how you feel like you’re losing control, how the training has been harder than ever, but Wanda listens patiently. "I know what it’s like to feel overwhelmed by your powers," she says softly, her gaze distant for a moment, as if remembering her own struggles. "But you’re stronger than you think." She steps closer, her hand finding yours, and her touch is warm, grounding. "You have a gift, and with time, you’ll learn to master it. But for now, give yourself the space to grow. It doesn’t have to happen all at once."

- Wanda’s magic intertwines with yours, not in a forceful way, but as if she’s guiding you, showing you how to find balance. "Let’s try again," she says gently, her hand still holding yours. "But this time, don’t focus on getting it perfect. Just focus on feeling the flow of your power." With her calm guidance and unshakable support, you feel the tension in your chest ease. Training with Wanda isn’t just about control—it’s about learning to trust yourself, and with her by your side, you know you can face whatever challenges come your way.

Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver)

- Training with Pietro is intense. He’s constantly moving at a pace that’s impossible to keep up with, and even though you’ve gotten used to his rapid speed, today feels like a total disaster. Your powers aren’t working as they should, and every time you try to focus, you feel like you’re falling further behind. You groan in frustration as Pietro zips by, his voice already coming from the other side of the training room. "Come on, babe, you’re doing fine!" he calls out, but the speed in his tone makes it sound like everything’s easy when it’s not.

- Seeing your frustration, Pietro finally stops in his tracks, appearing right in front of you in a blur. His cocky grin fades as he notices the seriousness in your eyes. "Hey, hey," he says, stepping closer and lowering his voice. "I get it. I move fast, but this… this doesn’t need to go that fast." He places his hands on your shoulders, his blue eyes softening. "You’re not failing. You’re just thinking too much, trying too hard. You need to relax, slow down—well, you know, as much as you can around me."

- He steps back and starts pacing, but at a slower, more human pace than his usual blur. "Listen, I may be fast, but I’ve had my fair share of screw-ups. Like, that time I tried to outrun a lightning storm and got zapped. Not my brightest moment." His self-deprecating humor pulls a reluctant smile from you. Pietro smirks, seeing that he’s lightened the mood. "The point is, everyone screws up. It doesn’t mean you’re any less amazing." His confidence is infectious, and you feel a spark of motivation return.

- Pietro takes your hand, this time moving at a pace you can manage, guiding you through the training slowly. "We’ll get there, one step at a time. You don’t need to rush. And when you’re ready to speed things up," he flashes a grin, "I’ll be right here to keep up." Training with Pietro can be overwhelming, but with his unwavering support and playful attitude, he always manages to lift you up and keep you moving forward—even if it’s at a slower pace than he’s used to.

220 notes · View notes

mrchiipchrome · 1 year ago

Text

Airport Dad

W.C. - 1.8 k

---------------------

“RISE AND SHINE EVERYONE, we leave in an hour. I expect everyone to be ready at least five minutes before we go.” The girls around you groan at the loud intrusion, all having been asleep only moments before.

You were notorious for being a real pain in the ass when it came to flying. Everyone had to get up bright and early, even if the flight wasn’t for another 4 or more hours, or even in the morning. You personally made sure that everyone had their passports and all necessary paperwork, leaving last to make sure that everyone got on the road safely.

“Remind me why we decided it was a good idea to stay over?” Lotte groans out, raising her arms high above her head as she stretches.

“I don’t know” Vic groans back to the taller girl, light now hitting her eyes.

“ALESSIA I hate your girlfriend right now.” Kyra tells your girlfriend, who’s come up behind you to place her head on your shoulder smiling at your friends.

Leaning on the doorframe, you turn your head to press a soft kiss to your girlfriend’s lips. She smiles against your lips, her hands coming to settle on your waist.

Gagging is what makes the two of you break from the kiss, turning your heads to see all three of your friends with disgusted expressions on their faces.

“Breakfast’s ready, we’ll be downstairs if you need us.” You tell your friends, the three of them nodding in their sleepy haze.

After a while, both you and Alessia can hear the rushing footsteps thumping against the steps of your stairs. When Kyra comes rushing into the kitchen, sock clad feet gliding all over the floor, neither you nor Alessia are surprised.

“TOAST!” You share a smile with your girlfriend at the Australian's childlike excitement. You do get a little worried about your chairs though as she nearly throws herself into one.

The next two musketeers come down the stairs at a civilized pace, neither of them having the same type of energy as the brunette.

“Eat up, you’ll need the energy for today.” The girls around the table nod at your words, eating peacefully, or in Kyra’s case, very rapidly.

“Less, you feel like helping me bring all the suitcases down?” She nods at you, leaving her seat at the table to go help you.

When you and the forward are fully out of sight and earshot of the other girls, you pull her into a deep kiss. Lips moving frantically against the other’s, tongues meeting each other in the middle, her hands in your hair, yours on her waist.

“What’s happening up there? Doesn’t sound like you’re moving any suitcases.” Lotte’s voice once again interrupts your kiss, and now it’s your turn to groan. Your head drops down to Alessia’s shoulder, and she laughs at your defeated expression.

“Nothing Lotte!” You shout back at her, separating your body from your girlfriend’s.

The two of you start to bring everyone’s suitcases down, careful not to let them scratch the floor. Everytime you and Alessia meet at the top of the stairs, you share a sweet kiss, mostly for the sake of your sanity.

Eventually you start to round everyone up, telling them to go brush their teeth and do anything they need before departing from home. There was after all not a very long time until you had to drive to the training grounds to board the bus, a mere 25 minutes.

Unsurprisingly, you had already completed all your tasks long before waking the girls, same as Alessia. You’d been together long enough for her to be accustomed to your habits, and in some cases adopt them for herself.

“Kyra, did you brush your teeth?” You ask the young girl who’s bouncing on the balls of her feet. The fast, enthusiastic nod you get from her puts a small smile on your face, ruffling her hair.

Kyra gives you a playful glare as she smooths down her hair, pushing you when she’s done.

“OKAY PEOPLE, let’s go through the checklist. Everybody have their headphones?” You pause, waiting for the three hums to come. “Phones? Chargers? All other essentials?” You get hums after every thing you name, the three girls in front of you not having to worry about their passports or tickets.

“Baby, stop worrying, everything’s going to go smoothly as it always does.” Alessia comes up behind you, rubbing your shoulders soothingly and leaning up to press a small kiss to your cheek.

You take one of her hands into yours as you turn back to look at her, pressing a quick peck to her lips so as to not disgust your friends. Still, you hear scattered gagging and low boos coming from the girls.

“Yeah, yeah we get it. You’re in loooooooooove.” Lotte drags out in a sickly sweet tone, she loves to tease you two about your romance.

“Mhm, we are.” Just to add to the effect, you lean in to kiss Alessia once more, this time a slow and sensual kiss. After breaking away from the embrace you peck her lips a few more times just to be extra sweet.

“Lots, you can help me put the suitcases in the car. Vic and Kyra, choose where you want to sit in the backseat. Lessi love, please make sure they’re settled in correctly.” You’ve already started moving by the time the first words leave your lips, pulling Lotte along with you.

Within a record time, everybody’s sitting in the car, seatbelts on and bags in the trunk. Vic sat directly behind the driver's seat, leaning her head against the window, Kyra sat directly in the middle, trying to convince the others to do the marshmallow thing, and last but not least was Lotte who sat behind the passenger seat.

“One marshmallow, check it out, woo” You hear Kyra singing absentmindedly in the backseat, slapping her thighs in the rhythm of the song. “Come on, let’s do one”

Two hums of agreement followed and a small ‘Yay’ came from the Australian girl, your girlfriend having started driving.

Sitting in the passenger seat was you, staring down at your phone looking over all the details of the flight. Normal airport dad activities.

“Y/n, could you film our tiktok?” Kyra taps on your shoulder, breaking the staring contest you had with your phone screen.

“Hmm?” She smiles at you innocently, shoving her phone into your hands. “Oh, okay?”

Way too focused on getting the perfect shot of the three girls, you don’t notice the small, incredibly loving smile Alessia has on her face. She just loves how good you are with her, well your shared friends.

On the seventh take, the girls strike gold. All three of them manage to get the rhythm and words perfect, resulting in loud wooo’s and cheers just as Alessia pulls into the parking lot.

“Thank you Y/n/n” The young girl presses a sloppy, joking kiss to your cheek, and the girls in the car laugh a little at the enthusiasm.

“Ughh” You jokingly wipe the kiss away with your sleeve, instead moving to kiss your girlfriend’s cheek.

“OH the betrayal, the anguish” Kyra throws her arm across her chest dramatically, like they would in a victorian era painting.

“Come on Ky” The girls in the backseat exited the car and started to walk in the direction of the other red clad women, leaving you and your girlfriend in the car, alone.

“You’re such an airport dad.” Alessia giggles out against your lips, pressing against each other in a featherlight embrace.

“Mhm, you love it” She can feel her body shuddering slightly at the whispered words, the low tone just low enough for her.

“Yeah, I do” With that, your lips press against hers fully, moving against each other vigorously in a familiar dance.

“We should probably get out.” You whisper once again.

“Yeah, we should.” Another peck is delivered to your lips before the girl opens her door, leaving you to laugh slightly before exiting the car yourself.

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, yeah that’s all.” Stacking the suitcases on top of each other, you drag them all over to the rest of the women.

“Lessi, be a dear and take a bag, please?” She takes her own from your grasp, letting you give the others theirs.

“Thank you Y/n” The three musketeers sing out in unison, getting a wave in response before you depart in search of Jonas.

“Less, your girlfriend might be the most fatherly person on this team” Alessia hums in agreement, shoving her hands in her pockets.

“She’s just…worried. Time management and all that is not her greatest quality.” Your girlfriend responds quietly, but lovingly at the same time.

“Well, she’ll be a great mother at least” Lotte shrugs in Alessia’s direction, the blush overtaking Alessia’s face turning her into a tomato.

“Mhm, she will.”

“Less, time to get on the bus.” She jumps a little when you place your hand on her shoulder, the touch unexpected.

The entire bus ride is spent beside your girlfriend, laughing and sharing soft conversations that would get interrupted every once in a while by a surprisingly loud teammate.

“Gather around, gather around” You hear Jonas shout, all the girls standing in a circle around him. “Standard procedure, give the attendants your passports so that we know that you’re ALL here and that we’re not missing anybody.”

Leaning down, you open the smallest pouch of your carryon bag, pulling out a plastic bag containing 5 passports stacked neatly on top of each other.

You beckon the four women over, checking each passport before handing them to their owners.

“Be careful with these, I can collect them from you later if y’all want me to.” You tell them all, worried expression painting your face.

“Aye aye captain” Vic salutes you, making you crack a small smile.

“Okay, get on with it, Less and I’ll be right behind you” Alessia’s arms are both around your waist, her head on your shoulder as your arm is wrapped around hers.

“You’ll be a great mother, you know” Your lover mutters sweetly into your ear, feeling your body perk up under her arms.

“You really think so?” The slight insecurity in your voice makes her look up at you, love filled baby blues staring at you intently.

“No, I know so.” She places a quick kiss to the underside of your jaw before she starts to lead you to the entrance of the plane.

“I love you Alessia Russo.”

“I love you too Y/n Y/l/n.”

“UHHH Y/N, I LOST MY PASSPORT!”

“KYRA COONEY-CROSS YOU HAD ONE JOB!”

There was absolutely no doubt in Alessia’s mind that you’d make an amazing parent, but maybe it would be wise to wait a few years, no matter the baby fever she may or may not have.

#woso #unc soccer #alessia russo #woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #lionesses #arsenal wfc

761 notes · View notes

puppym3 · 5 months ago

Note

farmer!reader x writer!hyunjin who is her secret admirer and he sent her letters? the farmer is new to the town, getting away from the cities and hyunjin is the last person she met after everyone in town since he's always in his cabin near the beach

kind of like the game, stardew valley!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ dear farmer,

wc: 4.4k

warnings: fluffy cuteness, confessions, literally not much to warn you on this is just rly cute, mailman chan, fisher jisung, farmer reader, author/writer hyunjin, hyunjin refers to reader as his muse, (LMK IF I MISSED ANY!)

a/n: THIS IS TOO CUTE OH MY GOODNESS GOODNIGHT. i was literally gushing writing this i hope i wrote it the way you were imagining. i love stardew valley so tysm for suggesting this!!!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The small village you moved into was a far cry from the bustling city life you once knew. The quaint charm of the town, with its winding cobblestone streets and picturesque cottages, had drawn you in immediately. Seeking a fresh start and a simpler life, you had purchased an old farmhouse on the outskirts of town, eager to put down roots and cultivate your own land.

The townspeople had been incredibly welcoming, each of them eager to meet you. You quickly found yourself immersed in the community, sharing smiles and stories at the local market and lending a hand wherever you could. Despite the warm reception, there was one resident you had yet to meet.

You had heard whispers about him from the other villagers—an enigmatic writer who rarely left his cabin by the beach. The townsfolk spoke of his talent with a mix of admiration and curiosity, but none seemed to know much about him personally. It wasn't for lack of trying—the local mail carrier, Chan, had admitted defeat after only one attempt to reach out, grumbling something about a ferret with a temper.

A part of you had always wondered what his writing was like, and what kind of man would choose such isolation. Perhaps he was shy, or simply enjoyed being left to his own devices. There had to be a reason why the villagers hadn't tried to reach out to him again, and yet—

"Hyunjin isn't one for conversing," Chan insisted, taking the bundle of envelopes from his bag and sliding them into the mailbox outside your farmhouse. "You don't have to worry about him."

You glanced toward the direction of the beach, watching the sun dip down over the waves. Why did his isolation make him more interesting to you? You supposed you should be grateful for his lack of interaction; with the busy work on the farm and the number of people you already tried to help each day, you didn't have time for many social gatherings. Still...

"Well," you sighed, dusting off your hands and returning the empty milk bottles to the box on your porch, "thank you, Chan."

The mailman smiled, his dark eyes crinkling in the corners. "Any time."

Heading toward the field, you squared your shoulders, determined to focus on the day's tasks and push any thoughts of the mysterious writer aside. You still had some planting to do, after all, and a long walk ahead of you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A few days later, you woke with a yawn, stretching your limbs in your bed. Sunlight poured in through the windows, illuminating the small room. The warmth was pleasant, a sharp contrast from the chilled breeze outside. You couldn't help but smile, thankful that winter had yet to roll around. The transition to farming was a busy one, and the prospect of facing your first snowfall was more than a little intimidating.

Rising from the mattress, you threw on an old, oversized sweater, not bothering to change into your work clothes before making a quick cup of tea in your kitchen. It was an easy routine to settle into, the steamy brew doing wonders for your motivation in the mornings. Once your mug was half empty, you changed into a pair of old, paint-stained overalls and made your way outside.

"You have mail today." Chan greeted you with a warm smile, already standing in front of your mailbox. "I wasn't sure if I'd catch you or not. It's nice to see you awake so early."

"Yeah, yeah." You grinned, nudging him in the arm playfully. "What's the big delivery?"

"Just the usual." Chan shrugged, sliding a few envelopes from his bag and setting them down in the mailbox. "Some advertisements and invitations to parties."

You paused, peeking inside. It looked like the usual bundle of mail—some from fellow townspeople and some from local companies looking to get your attention. You hummed in thought, glancing over the usual assortment before a handwritten letter caught your attention.

It was written in simple script, the envelope adorned with a tiny blueberry stamp in the corner. It stood out against the other, more formal pieces of mail. The sight made you pause.

"Oh," you said, your curiosity piqued. "This one looks different."

"Huh?" Chan followed your line of sight, his eyes widening when he spotted the letter. "That's... oh. Oh."

You blinked. "What? Do you know who sent it?"

Chan fiddled with the strap of his bag. "I recognize that writing," he muttered, refusing to meet your gaze.

"Really?" You said, curiosity piqued.

He paused, glancing around your front porch. "You know, I'm a bit busy today. I should head off," he stuttered, already backing away. "Goodbye."

Before you could question his reaction any further, the mailman was already hurrying away down the path to the next house.

Furrowing your brow, you took a step back. Had you said something wrong? Maybe it wasn't a big deal; you could always ask Chan about it later, anyway. In the meantime, you were eager to see what the letter held.

The moment you picked the letter up, your senses were overwhelmed with a comforting, earthy scent. You recognized it immediately. It smelled of the ground after a spring shower, or of the rich dirt after a hard day's work in the fields. You breathed it in, the smell quickly becoming your favorite. You had always associated the earth with a sense of peace, and this scent was no exception.

Smiling softly to yourself, you broke the seal with ease, unfolding the crisp parchment paper to reveal the same script. You were surprised by the neat handwriting; each letter was carefully drawn out, the author's focus clearly evident in their penmanship. You began to read, your smile growing as you devoured the contents of the letter.

To the farmer,

You know, I've always thought the sun is kind of funny. The sun rises and sets, and then rises and sets again. Sometimes the sky is blue, and other days it is white. But in every sunrise, there is one thing that stays the same. It's you. You always rise with the sun. I used to wake up when it was light outside, but these days I've started to wake up earlier. It's a good way to start the day. I know the sun is your companion in the mornings.

Your admirer,

You stared down at the words, the heat of a blush rising up your cheeks. How sweet, you thought to yourself, holding the letter a bit closer. You had to admit that it was nice to read—to know that someone in town noticed the time of day you woke up and, what's more, noticed how much you liked to work under the early sunlight. You hadn't thought about the author much before, but now, you were eager to meet them.

Before you could think it over, you folded the letter with care, sliding it into the pocket of your overalls. You glanced up toward the sun, letting it wash over your face for a moment before heading to work. The sun was your companion, after all. You may as well take advantage of its light.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Over the next few weeks, the letters continued. Each day, Chan would deliver one to your doorstep. It became part of the routine, and you quickly grew accustomed to the extra attention. Every time you spotted the blueberry seal on your front doorstep, your heart leapt with joy, eager to see the new message written within.

Sometimes the letters were short; other times they were long. Occasionally, the author would ramble, describing a favorite memory from their childhood or sharing a silly joke. You read each word carefully, often smiling or chuckling as you read, already eager for the next message. The more letters you read, the more you wanted to learn about this mystery person.

A part of you wondered who this author might be. The only clues were the scent of earth on the pages and a few hand-drawn images. You had been able to rule out Chan; it would be near impossible for him to write a letter each day and still be on time to the next house. That left you with little knowledge of the writer's identity, though you hoped that the writer might eventually share their identity.

Today, a soft rainfall pattered down over your fields. You sighed to yourself as you entered the house, wiping the mud from your boots before sliding them off on the mat in front of your door. Another busy day in the fields was over. Tomorrow was a new day, one where you would finally plant a new patch of carrots. The prospect of the harvest kept you motivated as you reached for the envelope, eagerly tearing it open with a smile.

As you read the letter, your smile slowly faded. A hint of fear and excitement coursed through your veins, leaving you a little shaken as you absorbed each word.

To the farmer,

It's getting colder here. Soon, I'll have to wear a scarf every day, even indoors. I wish I had the courage to share more of myself with you. Maybe if we ever met in person, I wouldn't be so nervous. I can't wait until I'm brave enough to tell you more about me.

Your admirer,

P.S. I hope the sun will rise tomorrow morning. You always end up rising, and I trust your routine.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The letters started to come with less often. Sometimes you would receive one per day. Other times, you might get one a few days apart, with only one letter on the weekends. You hated to admit that it left you feeling a bit sad, your mood growing darker as time passed.

"Oh, Chan." You tried not to sound disappointed when you spotted the mailman walking up your path one morning, a few letters in hand. "Any letters from H?"

"Hmm, I don't think so." He shrugged, sliding a few letters into your mailbox. "Let me see. Oh! There is one."

He handed you a new letter, a faint smile on his lips. You quickly broke the seal, not bothering to glance over the others as you eagerly opened the newest one. Your eyes widened at the words you saw before you.

My dearest,

I'm sorry that my letters haven't come as often lately. There was a big change at the publishing house I'm working for. I didn't tell you about that before. I've been trying to keep my letters shorter since I have less free time now, but I always find myself wanting to write more to you. I guess I can't help myself.

I'll keep writing letters if you keep reading.

Yours,

P.S. Thank you for working hard every day. It helps to see that the world still spins, no matter what's happening in it.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Have you ever thought about trying to meet H?"

The question made you pause. You were out by the docks, fishing with Jisung. The young man was your favorite fishing buddy, often sitting on the end of the dock in silence with a small smile. You both had been there for an hour, but this was the first time he'd spoken today. You blinked at him in confusion before setting your fishing rod aside, a curious look on your face.

"What do you mean?"

Jisung smiled. "It's obvious you enjoy their letters," he pointed out, reeling in another fish from his line. "Maybe you could meet them?"

You stared down at your reflection on the water, chewing the inside of your cheek. The truth was that you hadn't considered the idea, mainly because you couldn't decide if it was a good one. It wasn't like the writer had never suggested the idea—it was the whole purpose behind their first few letters, but something about that made you hesitate.

It was as if you were waiting for H to come to you when they were ready, and vice versa. It was a little scary, to be honest. The thought of finally meeting the person you'd been so connected to these last few weeks made you a bit nervous, to say the least.

"I guess I should." You nodded, casting your line again.

"Well, I'd like to meet them too," Jisung said, glancing toward you. "To approve."

You smiled at that, rolling your eyes playfully. "What's not to like? They write beautiful letters and draw nice little pictures," you laughed, watching the bait at the end of your hook. "Maybe I should meet them."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

That night, you made your decision.

"Chan! You have a moment?" You waved the mailman down the next day as he passed your house on the trail, a few envelopes in his arms.

He looked over in surprise, smiling as he hurried down the path. "Good morning," he greeted you. "How's the farm?"

You smiled back at him. "Great, hey, you seemed to know a little bit about H that you aren't telling me." You said, getting straight to the point. "Do you know anything more?"

The mailman frowned for a moment, before sighing. "Well, you should go to the beach." He said, gesturing to the coastline, visible over your house. "Hy—I mean, H, they live near there."

You blinked, looking to where the mailman was pointing. "They live near the beach?"

"Yeah."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had to be the grumpy writer who lived alone that you hadn't met yet. That was your only option, right? He had to be H. Who else could it be? You sighed to yourself, gathering your things in a bag and setting off in the direction of the beach.

It was a bit of a hike, the ocean path curving and twisting to take you along a scenic route. You didn't mind the walk, though, pausing often to take in the scenery. By the time you arrived at the beach, you felt a little calmer. The beach was deserted; though that didn't surprise you. It wasn't too warm today. The air was cool and refreshing, with a few clouds rolling by overhead. It was the perfect day for a walk on the sand.

You scanned the coastline for any signs of a cabin, spotting one in the distance. It was nestled between the cliffs, overlooking a small patch of beach. It seemed a bit hidden, the sight making you smile to yourself.

The author had to be a loner, just like you were.

Taking a deep breath, you approached the cabin. As you came closer, you noticed a small, stone path that led to a patio on the beach. You spotted a wooden swing, rocking slightly in the breeze. A person sat on the seat, their head ducked in a book as they sat under a shady umbrella.

As you drew closer, you saw the mysterious person, his dark hair was a little messier than usual, with a few strands falling in front of his face. He seemed lost in the book in his hands. His eyes were glazed over and unfocused as he sat, oblivious to his surroundings. The sight made you smile, a sudden feeling of affection coming over you as you approached.

You recognized that messy hair and those dark, mysterious eyes.

It was Hyunjin. It was Hyunjin who lived alone near the beach. Hyunjin, the man you had only heard a few stories about from Chan and Felix, but he looked even better than you had imagined.

"Oh!" The man looked up and saw you approaching him. His eyes widened for a second before he cleared his throat, turning to face you with a hint of panic in his expression.

You paused at his reaction, stopping in your tracks. You suddenly felt very silly, not even considering that Hyunjin might not actually want you to visit him. You tried not to frown as you considered the possibilities. Had Hyunjin forgotten about your correspondence? Had you been a mistake? Was this a terrible idea?

"H-Hyunjin!" You stammered, cursing yourself for not planning this a bit better. You could already feel yourself start to sweat. "I'm the farmer, it's nice to finally meet you."

You held your hand out to Hyunjin, who eyed you up for a moment, his expression unreadable. You swallowed thickly, preparing to turn back around and run away—

"The farmer." The words sounded breathless. Hyunjin slowly placed his hand in yours. You couldn't help but notice how his eyes were trained on your face. His cheeks looked a little red as he held your hand in his own. It felt warm and a bit calloused, a clear sign that he was a writer. "It's nice to finally meet you too."

You felt the butterflies in your stomach flutter as you watched him, trying not to let the emotion show on your face. This was H. It was Hyunjin who wrote such beautiful letters to you and sent you drawings in the post. Hyunjin was your author, the person you'd connected so easily to through ink and paper, and he was so beautiful.

"It's nice to put a name to a face." You murmured, letting your eyes wander over Hyunjin. "You're just how I imagined."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"So," You sat next to Hyunjin on his porch, staring up at the sky above you. It was beginning to grow darker, the evening sky giving way to a more vibrant sunset. "How'd you get so good at writing letters?"

Hyunjin smiled a little to himself. He leaned back against his hands, his long legs stretched out on the floor. "I've always loved writing," he confessed. "But it was different before, when I was younger."

"Different how?" You asked, looking over at him curiously.

He let his eyes close. "Before I left the city, I worked at the publishing house." He explained. "I always wrote stories there, but they weren't really... mine."

You blinked, watching the way his long lashes fluttered against his cheeks. "They were stories that people hired us to write," he said quietly. "But I liked doing it. I felt like I was doing something special with the words, even if they weren't my words. I wrote all day and got paid for it. But there was always this... nagging voice in the back of my mind, wondering if it was good enough."

You felt a lump form in your throat. "It sounds like it was a good job," you whispered, not wanting to ruin the moment. "Why did you leave it behind?"

The author chuckled. "I got sick of it." He sighed, opening his eyes and looking up to the sky. "It felt so empty. I wasn't making my own decisions. I wasn't getting paid because the stories were mine."

You swallowed. "But here?" You gestured toward the beach, your heart swelling in your chest. "You can write about whatever you want?"

Hyunjin looked to you and smiled softly.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As the days turned to weeks and then to months, the two of you fell into an easy routine. You visited Hyunjin every morning, bringing breakfast along with you, and Hyunjin always made sure to leave you a letter by your front door in return. Sometimes he would be waiting outside his cabin when you came, eager to talk about a new plot point that he came up with the night before. Other times, he would be asleep by the time you got to him, only stirring from his slumber when he heard you set breakfast out on his porch.

And he wrote to you every day, leaving letters on your front doorstep, each one signed off with a different nickname. Some days, the nickname was short, others, it was longer. But he always ended the letter with a promise of a new chapter, just as he had with the first one, so long ago.

On your fifth visit, this time you brought him a letter. He was surprised to see you hand it to him. He blinked down at the envelope in his hands, running a thumb over the words on the paper.

You were nervous, you were nowhere near as good as him, but you assumed that speaking in his language would gauge his appeal.

To my writer,

You are more talented than you give yourself credit for.

Thank you for always writing so beautifully,

Your admirer,

The farmer

"I wanted to send you a letter today." You whispered as his eyes scanned over the letter.

Hyunjin looked up from the page. His expression softened as he set the letter down. He held out his arms in invitation, his lips curving upwards as he stared back at you. You didn't need him to repeat himself, throwing yourself into his arms without hesitation. You leaned your head against his chest and listened to his heart beat. The sound made your heart race. It was as if Hyunjin's heartbeat had become a part of you. You could hear the rhythm and knew it was a part of you as well, just as much as it was him.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Over the course of your visits, it was inevitable that your relationship evolved into something deeper. It began with subtle touches—a brush of your hands against each other as you sat together on the porch or the feeling of Hyunjin's gaze on your face as you read a story he wrote. As you began to notice his attention to detail, the way he was able to capture emotions with words you didn't know how to express, you realized how much he had given you.

You had never considered yourself an introvert, but something about being around him made you feel at ease. The thought made you blush. There was a strange warmth that settled in the pit of your stomach whenever you were around him. You began to crave it, yearning to feel it whenever you could, whether you were spending time together on the beach, walking the trails along the coastline, or simply sitting on his porch swing, talking about nothing at all.

And slowly, that warmth grew into something more. The more time you spent with him, the more you wanted to be close to him. It started with soft smiles and light touches, followed by gentle touches and lingering glances. It began as something innocent, but the longer you were with him, the stronger it got. You were becoming addicted to it, longing for the next chance you would get to see him, to touch him and feel that rush of electricity course through your veins.

You found yourself waking up in the early hours of the morning to watch the sunrise. You began to count the seconds until the mail came. You went to bed late every night, staying awake until your eyes hurt to stare.

Your visits grew longer, your conversations becoming deeper.

Hyunjin became your new favorite distraction.

"It's a book." He had whispered as you both lay on the beach, his gaze trained on the stars above you. "I'm writing a book, I think."

"You think?"

He had nodded, the hint of a smile on his lips as he spoke. "Yes, and I've started to wonder..." he had paused then, looking to you as his cheeks turned pink. "That you're my inspiration."

You felt your breath hitch at the admission, a blush creeping up your neck to stain your cheeks. "What do you mean?"

He had sat up and looked at you with those deep, dark eyes.

"You're the one that I'm writing this book for. It's yours, my feelings, my thoughts, everything in it is for you." He said, reaching up to cup your cheeks. "I think about you when I wake up and when I go to sleep and when I go for my walks," he had smiled shyly. "You're the only person that's on my mind and it feels so good to feel that way about something again."

The warmth that spread through your veins made you dizzy, but you found yourself smiling, a small sigh escaping your lips.

You wanted nothing more than to be Hyunjin's inspiration forever.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

And soon the book was complete.

It was the last page in Hyunjin's journal that had been filled with his scrawled words and thoughts. It had taken him months, but he finished it, his heart and soul on each page.

Hyunjin read it to you as you sat on the porch swing, wrapped in a blanket as the wind blew off the sea. He sat with you and held the book in his hands, turning the pages as he spoke. His voice was soft and melodic as he told his story. The words came easily to him, the sentences flowing smoothly together. He paused often to look up at you, his eyes searching yours. His voice grew quieter with each word, until finally, he was whispering the last page.

You felt the tears well in your eyes, threatening to fall as he closed the book and set it aside. The silence that followed felt heavy, your mind still processing what he had just told you.

The book was a confession to you, a way for Hyunjin to express all of the feelings he had been struggling to express for the past few months. He told you that you were his muse, his reason to wake up each morning. You were the person who made him feel whole, complete, and it was all he wanted in life to be by your side, to feel this way for as long as he lived.

The book was about the two of you. He wrote it all, the letters he sent and the drawings he drew, just for you, to tell you how much he loved you.

Your tears spilled over, a few trickling down your cheeks as you sniffed quietly, a smile spreading across your lips as you stared up at him. He watched you closely, waiting for your response. With a shaky breath, you closed the distance between you and Hyunjin, leaning in. His eyes widened in surprise, his breath hitching as he realized what was about to happen. Your lips met his in a tender, hesitant kiss, pouring all your gratitude, relief, and affection into that single moment.

Hyunjin made a quiet noise, almost like a gasp, but he quickly responded, his lips moving against yours with a gentle yet fervent intensity. His hands found their way to your cheeks, cupping them delicately as if you were something precious and fragile. He deepened the kiss, and you felt a wave of warmth and security wash over you.

Time seemed to stand still as the two of you stayed there, lost in the moment. The world outside faded away, leaving only the sensation of his lips on yours, his hands cradling your face, and the steady rhythm of your racing hearts. Every pent-up emotion, every unspoken word, all lost in that moment.

And there was something that you had never mentioned to anyone before, something you were embarrassed to admit, something you had been keeping hidden deep within your heart.

You loved the author who lived by the sea.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist for my beauties : @loverbangchan, @reignessance, @imperfectlyperfectprincess1, @armystay89, @ihrtlix, @jiyeonslays, @lovestaysblogs, @jeyelleohe, @celebration88

#skz #stray kids x reader #stray kids #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin fluff #straykids #stray kids hyunjin #skz fluff

185 notes · View notes

whotfwritesthat · 3 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 | 𝐝. 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐨

➶ navigation

in which daniel ricciardo cries in the arms of his secret girlfriend after finishing his last f1 race.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: crying, emotional, revealing of a secret relationship, swearing 𝐚/𝐧: lawrence baretto, if you ever see this (please don’t), i’m so sorry to stealing your interview and giving it to y/n, i hope you’re not mad<3 thank u for being an example of true journalism and giving danny the space in this interview instead of trying to do something for the views and drama!

also! part two with a smut?? anyone??

i paced anxiously around the media zone, as i waited for the one person i wanted, no, needed to see.

he just looked so heartbroken this morning. so… defeated. “i don’t even wanna get on that track.” — he whispered as i brushed my fingers through his hair. the singapore sun was lazily rising, giving every surface in the hotel room a comforting yellowy-orange embrace.

i wanted to protect him from everything that was outside of this safe haven. every nosy journalist, every crazy speculation, every forced smile from team members.

it was basically an open secret, for days. everyone knew. but they didn’t even respect him enough to give him the goodbye he deserved. no, there was so much sneaking around, talking behind backs and all that other bullshit…

“can we just stay here?” — he asked, looking up at me, as we laid on the bed, his eyes full of hope, as if he genuinely believed i’d be able to somehow get him out of the responsibilty of driving his last race. i nodded my head in response, as i felt my eyes fill with tears at the sound of his quiet sniffles.

i knew there was nothing i could do to make it better. there was nothing anyone could do to make it better.

”stop biting your nails.” — i quickly got pulled out of my own spiraling thoughts by mark, the cameraman i was working with. that’s right, i reminded myself, working. i was at work. it was time to focus on exactly that.

i felt how sweaty my palms became, both from anxiety spreading around my whole body and from gripping the microphone. all of the other drivers were already here, giving interviews, laughing and sometimes innocently flirting with the journalists. — ”can you get yourself together? what’s up with you today?”

there are pros and cons to having a secret relationship that noone knows about. today was definitely one of the days that reminded me of the cons.

and then i saw him. sweat dripping from his forehead, his unzipped racing suit still around his hips, as he walked into the room. i looked at his face, his cheerful smile present as always, but his teary eyes ruining the joyful facade he was trying to mantain. i knew he was looking for me and i could see feel his relief when he noticed i was there, just a few steps away.

i couldn’t move, as he came closer. my head telling me to stay professional, keep it together. just ask three questions and let’s get out of here. you can comfort him back in the hotel. — i thought — not here, with all the curious eyes and runny mouths around. my heart said the opposite. he needs you now. fuck the secrets.

”i’m sorry you all had to wait for me.” — suddenly he speaks, in that soft voice of his, and i’m brutally thrown out of my thoughts. time to make a decision.

i look up into danny’s eyes and i grip the microphone and i’m just about to put it up his chin, when i can suddenly see everything. the teary eyes, the shaky fingers that still grip the water bottle, the slight tremble of his lips. and i do it. i open my arms for him to fall into.

he doesn’t hesitate for even a second. i can feel him melt into the hug and i can feel the tears dripping onto the neckline of my tshirt. i tangle my fingers into his slightly sweaty curls and gently run through them. i hear his quiet sobs and my heart breaks yet again. i don’t even care that most of the people in the room are now staring at us and exchanging whispers. i just know it’s the only thing i could do.

”they won’t let me race in austin.” — he whimpers through the tears and i just close my eyes. i can feel pure anger and disappointment running through my veins.

they won’t let him race in austin. and they know damn fucking well it’s always been his favourite track. it’s always been his track.

”i even had a special helmet already prepared for it.” — he whispers, as he moves just centimeters away and kisses my forehead. it’s my time to melt at the sweet gesture. i can physically feel mark’s eyes piercing through me from behind.

”i’m so sorry, love” — i only manage to whisper back, as he shakes his head and quickly wipes the tears off. the smile is back on and my heart clenches at that. it hurts more to see him smile now than it did to see him cry.

”it’s okay. it really is.” — he replies in his regular chirpy voice now. i can see how hard he’s working to pull himself together. — ”go on.” — he says softly, pointing at the camera.

”i don’t… you don’t have to. if you’re not… ready.” — i only managed to stutter.

”come on, y/n.” — he looks at me, his eyes full of something i couldn’t quite understand yet. — ”give me a proper camera goodbye.”

i just nod my head and look over at mark, who i think is still processing what he saw a few seconds ago. he says a quiet ”go” and i look down at my notes, before turning my eyes to danny.

”we saw you sit in the car for a while before getting out at the end of that race. what was kind of running through your mind, because you don’t normally do that, and i mean ultimately… what’s going to happen over the next couple of weeks?”

i knew i couldn’t just reveal what he said to me. that it’s official. that they’re dropping him. it had to stay a bitter secret, until the assholes at vcarb decide to tell the whole world.

”um… well… i…” — danny struggles to find the right words. my eyes tear up a bit as i look up at him, patiently waiting, not saying anything. — ”yeah, a lot of emotions, because um… look, i’m aware it could be it and yeah… i think it’s also… just exhausted after the race, so there’s… i don’t know, just a flood of many emotions and feelings and exhaustion and um…”

he stutters and circles and can’t find the right words, something that’s never happened with him before. he was always the easy driver to interview, always full of energy, ready to flirt and yap about god knows what. i can’t stand to see him like this.

”yeah… the cockpit is something that… um…”

i can see him tear up again and look down at me for help. i immediately understand and put my hand over his, gently intertwining our fingers. i can visibly see him relax when my thumb grazes his palm over and over again.

”i got uh… very, very used to for many years and… just wanted to… wanted to savor the moment.” — he finishes, with his eyes glistening with tears and smile again present on his face.

”thanks danny.” — i deliberately leave out the few words about hoping to see him in austin, that i had written down in my notes. not after what i heard.

daniel just nods and after mouthing a quick smiley ”wait by the car” to me, he moves on to another journalists that are waiting for his after race comment.

”not a word.” — i say quietly to mark, as i turn around to him to help him with all the electronics. i can see his cheeky smile in the corner of my eye and i just roll my eyes at that.

”you could’ve told me, that’s all i’m saying.” — he chuckles while rolling up one of the cables.

———

it’s almost two am when danny joins me at the parking lot. it’s empty and this time the only witnesses to our hug are the stars.

”i’m so proud of you for surviving today.” — i say quietly, as he hides his face in my shoulder. there are no tears this time, just his broken heart and mine, desperately wanting to save him from all the pain.

”i guess this is it, huh?” — he takes a step back — ”not the end i was always imagining.”

i give his hand a gentle squeeze, as i lay my head on his shoulder. we both stare at the entrance to the paddock in the distance. — ”not the end you deserved, danny.”

#f1 #hurt/comfort #fluff #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader

121 notes · View notes

luvknow · 7 months ago

Text

sanguine satellite | lee minho

Summary: The last time you saw Minho was five years ago when you rejected him to live out the rest of your twenties in the city. The next time you see him is on your birthday with another woman in his arms, and it sparked everything that was good, bad, and ugly. Now, after years of not being in each other’s lives, Minho tries to repair the friendship he broke while you fight your changing feelings. As you struggle navigating your friendship with him, you struggle more to navigate being single in this next stage of your life. Characters: Lee Minho x fem!Reader, feat. other idols Genre: friends-to-strangers-to-lovers, romance, angst, emotional hurt with comfort, happy ending, slice of life Additional warnings: cheating, alcohol consumption, food, aged up a bit and in turn age insecurity, a lot of mentions of a best friend with another idol WC: 18.1k

Today was a pivotal day in the office. Quarter two earnings were released to the public and other divisions of the company and, well, let’s just say with the increasing rise in inflation and the impending recession that everyone refuses to acknowledge, no one wants to buy anything. As a result, the earnings reported negative and stocks dipped, morale was low, and to top it off, it was only Monday.

In a way, this was a metaphor for your life; a tumbleweed of all things that could go wrong did go wrong and formed into an amalgamation of nothing to show for. Some people found value in the mundane, but this was supposed to be the peak of your career, your magnum opus, before progress plateaued and you couldn’t stand the idea of not feeling enriched. To wake up, leave, work, and go home was the reason you wanted to leave your home in the first place for something richer in the heart of the city. But you felt defeated after clocking out at 8:30 PM and slumped on the seat in an empty train cart.

The view of the lively apartment high rises and the warm light of slow brick-and-mortars made the late night train rides worth the twenty minutes. Work wasn’t always this draining, but after climbing the corporate ladder, more money meant more responsibilities and it quickly drained the light from your eyes as it did with many of your peers and friends. Youth was fleeting and today you felt like Ponce de Leon searching for the fountain to no avail, but at least the train would take you as close to it as it possibly could.

After packing up your life from home five years ago to move with your friends, the only plans twenty-something-year-olds ever had in place were reservations at 9:00 PM because you called the hottest spot the day-of and drinks at the bar next door after clocking out at 5:00 PM. You were young, excited, and hungry for life, barely sober most days and experiencing what it meant to be young; but what must be given, something must also be taken. Now, rent was rising, salary increases were few and far in between, and instead of deciding what martini you should be ordering, you were stuck wondering if being a worker bee individual contributor was worth the lull schedule or if taking the path to management and telling whiny subordinates what to do was worth the salary bump.

You and your friends once joked that stuff like this was what people in their thirties worry about. Today is your thirtieth birthday.

You didn’t have time for dinner and once again thanked the real estate Gods who put a restaurant so greasy at the corner of your block that you practically slid on a snail trail to the front door of your loft. So, here you were; eating under-salted french fries, chugging a crispy diet cola, with oil stains on your white button-up, ready to spend the rest of your birthday and probably the rest of your life alone on your overpriced and uncomfortable couch watching the latest drama you’d sob your eyes out to. All you needed now was a pet as your companion and you’d be the whole single-in-your-thirties package. Maybe you’d use that as leverage in your dating apps: looking for a partner, a pet, or both.

After fumbling with the keys, you sighed into your dark, cavernous home and dropped your bag at the door. When you turned on the lights, you saw the ghost of your soul leave your mouth in a loud gasp.

“Surprise!!”

You were greeted with streamers, glitter, balloons, and your closest friends wearing little party hats with their beautiful smiles. You never doubted they remembered, and most wished you happy birthday at midnight, but you should have sensed something was wrong when Chaeryoung asked for your door passcode because she ‘forgot her chapstick on your coffee table.’

She was the first to tackle you in a tight hug. “Happy birthday, mi amor!”

“Let the woman take her shoes off first, damn,” Jisung scolded.

“Wow, there’s certainly a lot of you,” you giggled after prying her off. “You guys shouldn’t have. Really! It’s Monday.”

“All the more to celebrate something worthwhile,” Chan grinned, handing you a glass of wine. “Welcome to the club.”

“Ugh, thanks.” Chaeryoung yanked away the oily bag of fries while you were distracted with the happy juice. “Hey, I’m hungry!”

“Don’t fret! We are having a dinner party because that’s what thirty-year-olds do.”

“Except we ate already because we thought you were coming home well before 9:00 PM,” Hyunjin grinned sheepishly.

“No, yeah, I love when my friends watch me stuff my face.”

The dining table was decorated with burgundy candle sticks, red roses, and black bows. It was definitely a step-up from your twenty-first bubblegum pink and pastel confetti birthday, but this almost seemed… meek? Romantic, sure, but a little dark for a birthday. As Chaeryoung scrambled to fill your plate with take-out and prepare the cake, everyone took their place back at the table. The lights dimmed and out came a jet black cake with a toy knife and red frosting that read, ‘Happy Deathday to Your 20s!’

“A bit dark, but accurate,” you mused.

“Make a wish-!” A knock came at the door. “Shit.”

Everyone looked at each other awkwardly. Chaeryoung, Chan, Hyunjin, Jisung, and their partners were present and those were the only people you regularly hung out with. Who could be left?

“Are people still coming?” you asked.

The boys collectively shot a look at a wide-eyed and frozen Chaeryoung, none of them willing to break the news or catch a stray. “Um…”

“What did you do?” you accused. “You didn’t invite that one guy I told you about last month, did you?”

“No, but I wish I had.” Another knock. “Coming!”

“It’s not a coworker, is it?”

“Worse,” Jisung mumbled. “For you, at least.”

“Minho!” Chaeryoung exclaimed happily. “You’re just in time!”

“What -” you hissed at the boys, “- the hell?!”

They all held their hands up in defense. Minho passed the threshold and your twenties flashed before your eyes. The once blondish short and styled middle part now hung loose in soft chocolate strands; eyes that once held the universe were dark and doe-like; and arms that once moved freely in his sleeves now tightened around them. He was a completely different man who you hadn’t seen in five years and here he was at a pivotal moment of your life, about to celebrate you and the life you’ve lived without him for the better half of the last decade. It took all your might to lift your sore legs to walk over to greet your guest and restrain from strangling your best friend. He wore clothes appropriate for a casual dinner party that didn’t spill into the blues of corporate-wear, clearly aware of this occasion, and a small gift bag. His appearance was intentional, not upon happenstance, which made this whole ordeal a lot weirder.

Following him in, hand-in-hand, was a woman. A stranger. Two strangers in your home.

He pulled away from Chaeryoung’s death grip and you locked eyes. It’s awkward, to put it politely; to put it rudely, it was horrifying. Your nervous system certainly felt nervous, firing fight-or-flight responses the way he drank you in like the first sip of a bitter negroni. How someone could evolve and change to the point of being unrecognizable should be studied by Darwin.

He’s the first to break with a small smile to ease the tension. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you breathed.

“Happy birthday, _____.”

The bag is small and neatly wrapped with care in your favorite colors. The woman behind him smiled sweetly. “Thank you. You really shouldn’t have. And thank you…?”

“Oh, right. This is Karina, my girlfriend of two years.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot about you. And happy birthday!”

You brain buffered when she bowed. How awkward, because you haven’t heard anything about her other than her existence. You never thought he’d have someone so beautiful. Minho blocked you on social media a long time ago, so you wouldn’t have recognized her. Chaeryoung had to kick you back to life. “Ah, it’s nice to meet you, too! Welcome to my home.”

“There’s wax on the cake!” Jisung warned.

“Oh, hurry in! _____ was about to make a wish!” Chaeryoung pushed the three of you to the dining area.

There’s a bitter taste on your tongue watching him dap up the boys and watching her hug them so warmly. You never faulted them for being neutral. They were just as much as his friends as they were yours but having him here created a thick glass wall on your side of the table, like he was icing you out in your own home; that you paid with your own hard-earned money, mind you! This was as close to a defense mechanism you could build.

Nine people were watching you, all of whom were paired with another in the room except Chaeryoung, in your home. There’s a heavy shroud of dread that’s draped over your makeshift invisible box you struggled to keep upright. This was supposed to feel like a celebration of you, but it quickly turned rotten when you realized you were the only single person on your own side of the table, being made a spectacle as the couples moved closer and watched more intently. It was like they were watching a ghost of singles-past, feeling more appreciative of the life they procured together as you watched their hold on each other tighten ever so slightly.

“Make a wish,” Jisung sang.

You stared blankly at the three sparkling candles. What was there to wish for? You had a good career, a warm home, food on the table, and loved ones who kept you up on your feet. You supposed a better work-life balance would be feasible, but that was something within reach and in your control. To wish is to pray and to pray is to beg, and you weren’t one to beg for anything except for the pickles Chaeryoung picked out of her sandwiches. What was something that even you couldn’t control, something you had to ask some spirit dwelling in the ether for?

A flash of Minho’s eyes boring into yours made your face hot. Maybe you’d just let this wish go to waste instead.

You blew out the candles and applause erupted with Chan eager to cut into the cake. It was your favorite flavor from your favorite local baker whom you trusted every birthday and holiday to deliver the finest treats. At least this part of your birthday was perfect.

“So, what does thirty feel like?” Hyunjin asked. “Do you want the number of the senior home down the street from me?”

“Ha ha,” you drawled. “Aren’t you next, Hwang?”

“Actually, Minho’s next – ow!”

Chaeryong didn’t hide how she elbowed his ribs. She then gave a wide smile and her fingers danced. “Do you feel more mature?”

“As mature as a dry-age steak.”

“Well, you pair well with red wine, at least.” Chan raised his glass. “Here’s to you and to all of us, our priceless friendship!”

Most of us, you wanted to correct, but decided against being uncouth. “Cheers!”

When you were all in the younger halves of the twenties, conversations were about memes, pop culture, and the new hottest bar that just opened. Now, as you were ranting about quarter one earnings and the Windows 11 update, the others doubled down on the corporate jargon. Even Karina, who revealed she was a consultant in tech, participated in the conversations. Minho was the only one who remained quiet, but he was simply enjoying the company, leaning back in the chair with his arm around his woman. For someone who had never visited or even wished well on past birthdays, he was making himself quite at home.

Your birthday dinner lasted long enough to finish off three bottles of wine between everyone and for all the food to disappear, making clean-up much easier. As everyone scrambled around your home clouded in buzzed-up nonsense, Jisung was the one to tour your apartment with Minho and Karina, telling the tale of every picture you hung on a wall or framed on a credenza.

“This was when we went to London one summer after my graduation,” he said. “I’m the youngest, so I was the last one and we decided to make it a big celebration. I think this was the day Minho and _____ got lost and almost hopped on a train to Edinburgh by accident. This one was from Chaeryoung’s twenty-fourth birthday. I think Minho took this picture, actually.”

“Where are you in these pictures, Minho?” Karina wondered innocently.

There’s a breath of silence in the loft aside from you who didn’t pay any mind to his girlfriend’s ignorance. Not like you expect your fallout to be a topic of conversation over a candle-lit dinner date, anyway. You also didn’t expect that look on Minho’s face when he realized that to be true.

“He’s usually the one behind the camera!” Jisung answered, not exactly lying. “You’ve seen his Instagram and how he composes his cat pictures.”

Minho didn’t try to correct him, and they quickly moved on.

As it was the first day of the working week, Chan, Hyunjin, Jisung, and their partners were the first to leave. For whatever reason, Minho and Karina decided to stay back. Karina’s motive was unclear; either she was really bad at reading the room or the effort to be friends was genuine, but even when Minho asked if she wanted to leave with everyone, she decided against it.

“Let me help you take the garbage out,” she offered Chaeryoung.

“I can do it,” you and Minho said in unison.

“Nonsense! It’s your birthday and this one had a little too much to drink before coming here and when we got here.”

Chaeryoung gave you a sympathetic look as they carried several bags out to the ground floor. What a convenient day for the chute to be broken! They’d take the five-to-ten minutes of traveling to the ground floor out to the back where the bins were.

And then there were two, standing on opposite sides of the kitchen island, unable to look each other in the eyes after five years of abandonment.

“Hi,” he greeted again, lips flat-lined and unsure of how to move this conversation forward.

You beat around the bush. “What are you doing here?”

His tongue poked his cheek. “I ran into Chaeryoung last weekend at the bar I work at and asked what she was doing for your birthday.”

“Why would you ask that?” you asked coldly.

“I… just knew she'd be doing something for you. Maybe she took it as me asking to get invited, but that wasn’t my intention. I think she panicked, invited me anyway, and here I am.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“I could’ve,” he agreed, and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that asked, ‘but why would I?’

You looked away. “Isn’t this a far drive for you?”

“I live here now. Well, not here; on the other side, closer to downtown and near that bar.”

“Oh. How long have you been a city dweller?”

“About two years now.”

That lined up with his relationship status. It was a fact that it was easier to find partners in the metropolitan, yet somehow you were the only one to remain alone after being one of the first to move here. How was it that Minho managed that in under a month? And if he’s been here for two years, how have you not realized that?

You swallowed the rest of the wine in your glass. “How do you like it?”

“I love it.” He ran a hand through his tired head of hair, creating a split down the middle. The redness on his face had spread from his nose to his cheeks, as it always did when alcohol invaded his bloodstream. “I see why you wanted to move here.”

He, too, must have seen how time was of the essence, and with what little time you have in your young lives, the highest quality of life would be to live where your peers were thriving. If only he understood this years ago.

You nodded sourly, feeling the loneliness resurface after having to repress it for so long. “I’m happy for you.”

“Your mother once told us, ‘mean what you say and say what you mean.’ You don’t have to lie.”

“Don’t tell me what my mother says.”

Tension as thick as jell-o separated you from him. There’s a brief stare down after your threat, or what sounded like a threat, and you swear there’s hurt behind those big eyes of his, but he wouldn’t be the victim here; not when he was the one who left your life and blocked you out of his. He didn’t have the right to be offended by your unwelcoming attitude when he was never welcome to begin with. On your birthday, at that.

Chaeryoung saved the evening and rushed back inside, afraid of the damage you’d tell her later.

“Ready?” Karina asked, squeezing Minho’s bicep.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, being the first to break contact. You didn’t help him see his way out, but he said over his shoulder once more, “Happy birthday, _____.”

“Thank you for coming,” you called out sharply.

“It was nice meeting you!” Karina said cheerfully.

“You, too.”

Chaeryoung, the kind woman and hostess as she is, hugged them both and hastened to lock the door. She rushed back, clinging to you and holding your arms inside, likely afraid that you’d break something or chug the rest of the fourth bottle.

“I’m so~o sorry!”

“He told me how it happened. Tell me why I’m not surprised?”

“It was at the bar near your work that I told you about. You didn’t come because you had some reports to submit before midnight. And who do I see behind the bar? Minho, of all people! He was running that shit like the navy! It was hard to talk long over the music, but we said our hellos and he quickly brought up the fact you were turning thirty and asked what I was doing because he knows how much I love you and I’m the bestest friend ever – Anyway, I told him about the surprise, and he looked so damn sad! Jesus Christ, so you know me, an empath, I had to at least offer him an invite. I didn’t think he’d take it, nor did I think he’d ask to bring a plus one, like, yesterday!”

In the midst of her ramblings, you squirmed free from her grip and pulled the poor pouty girl into a tight hug. “I will not let him ruin what you’ve done for me. I love you and appreciate you.”

“It was so hard!” she whined. “The boys are so unreliable! I ask them to buy something for decorations, they don’t answer, and when I ask a few days later they’re like, ‘I got it a while ago,’ and I’m like, ‘why didn’t you say something?!’ and they’re like, ‘I didn’t think I’d need to as long as I brought it the day-of.’ Can you believe that?!”

“After over ten years of friendship, yes, yes I can.”

After cleaning up the remaining crumbs and dishes, Chaeryoung found the gift that Minho and Karina left on one of the chairs. “Did you open it?”

“No. What if it’s a bomb? Can you do it?”

She tossed out the tissue paper and peered inside fearlessly. “Oh!”

“What is it?”

“A gift card and a perfume bottle; a pricey one. Ooh, it smells good!”

The gift card was to a new bar that was opening on the same block as your office. Your boss was excited to finally have a happy hour location so close that you haven’t gone a day without hearing about it since its announcement. The name on the card said ‘DAHLIA’ and the amount it held was five hundred dollars.

“Huh,” Chaeryoung mused, “isn’t this address very close to where you work? And you like dahlias. Scary coincidence.”

“Do you think he’s stalking me?”

“Maybe it’s Karina.”

The perfume was in a sleek clear bottle with a white face and gold cap. It smelled of marshmallows, orange blossoms, and neroli. It would be the most expensive thing you’d own, cosmetics wise.

“They open on Friday,” she said giddily. “We should go!”

The projected menu on their social media did look really good… and they had variations of your favorite drink and ones you’ve never heard of.

“Think of it as a ‘celebration’ to the start of a new quarter! Since it’ll be slower now, right?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, accepting that poor-quality reasoning for a twenty dollar cocktail. “Ok, let’s go!”

Your best friend squealed happily and dug through your closet, plucking out the shortest skirt in your wardrobe.

On Thursday, Chaeryoung canceled on you to go on a third date with the guy she’s been seriously interested in. She was hoping to finally become an exclusive dating couple; not exactly boyfriend-and-girlfriend, but they’re not allowed to see other people since they’re exclusive, so it’s a label-without-the-label situation that you struggled too hard to grasp. If the majority of your peers thought that way about dating, maybe it was a good thing you remained single.

When you exited your office’s high-rise that day, on your way to the train, you passed by an alley in between the Italian place and the coffee shop you and your co-workers frequented. There was an inconspicuous red ‘OPEN’ light at the end above a black door that caught your attention. In a small serif font, the letters ‘DAHLIA’ was stamped on the door. Friday was supposed to be the official opening day according to their social media pages, but there was no mistake it was open as indicated by the bouncer standing guard.

You did have the gift card in your wallet, and you were craving that crispy green tea highball they had in one of their posts. It was only 6:00 PM, maybe they’d have some happy hour deals going on and you could report back to Chaeryoung with your findings.

You walked up to the doorman. “Hi, are you open –”

“I.D.”

Well, that answers that. He allowed you to pass into the low-lit glowing bar. It wasn’t busy like a Friday evening, but almost all of the tufted couches and chairs were filled, leaving a semi-vacant bar up for grabs. The aura of the bar is what one might describe as ‘vibey and chill’, as the low hum of the bass from the hip-hop song in the background vibrated your heart. This was as soft as a soft-opening could get.

On the menu, there was a special on the drink you were looking forward to and a snack pairing: rice paper and seaweed chips with a salt and togarashi seasoning. You knew all those words separately but couldn’t comprehend them together.

“I.D., please,” the bartender asked.

You fumbled for your wallet and mumbled, “Why bother carding at the door if you’re just –”

You dropped your wallet when you saw Minho at the other side of the bar in a white button-down that was buttoned barely half-way. His lips curled teasingly.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you gasped, popping your head up after picking up your wallet. “What are you doing here?”

“Is that the only way you’ll greet me from now on?”

You felt your face burn even before any alcohol entered your system. “Chaeryoung mentioned you worked at the other bar nearby.”

“I own that one, too. This one I just opened.”

“Oh, well, that makes more sense. Wait, ‘own’?” He nodded sheepishly. “But that bar has been there forever. I thought that old guy owned it?”

“He was looking to retire, so I jumped the gun and bought it. Kept it mostly the same, added some things I thought would pick up a trend, and it did so well that I was able to open ‘DAHLIA’.”

“That’s incredible,” you congratulated. “I guess I shouldn’t feel so bad that the gift card is so expensive.”

He smiled, but it didn’t translate to his eyes. “Do you work nearby?”

“At the tall building down the street.”

He’s just as taken back as you are. Maybe he wasn’t stalking you. “Crazy coincidence. But it’s late already. Long day?”

You sighed. “Most days are this long.”

“Yikes. Can I get you a drink?”

“The green tea highball looks good.”

“Coming right up.”

Minho rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and did his witchcraft. In a highball glass, a ludicrously elongated ice cube was placed. Then, two shots of Japanese whiskey from the mid-shelf (never mind the overpour), an ounce of cold brew jasmine green tea, and what little space was left was topped with club soda. Using a long bar spoon, Minho mixed its contents and offered it to you with a stainless steel straw.

You hummed happily. “Whoa.”

“I agree.”

“Where was this on my twenty-first?”

“I dare you to Google the whiskey I used and see if you think we could have afforded that at twenty-one.”

“I see your point.”

There’s a long pause of waiting for the other to say what they mean and to mean what they say. You thought about how coldly you displayed yourself to Minho and it ate up your thoughts the whole week. Even when he was the one who wanted you out of his life, he was the one to find you and it seemed he was here to stay, to be next to where you worked, and to be a part of your everyday life as you’d think about him every time you passed this alley between the office and the train. Was this a gift or a curse?

The wound was still fresh, but he was not the only one to blame.

You cleared your throat. “Listen, I –”

“I think –”

You both paused again. After all these years, your wavelengths were still in sync.

“Go ahead,” you offered.

“I think…” …We shouldn’t talk when we see each other? I shouldn’t have given you a gift? We should unpack the trauma we gave each other over coffee some time? “You should try the snack pairing.”

Possibly the best words to leave his lips. “Please.”

“One sec,” he said before running to the kitchen.

Your palms were sweaty, but if anyone asked, you’d feign it was from the condensation on the glass. Your first real conversation with Minho in five years was more stressful than presenting to upper management. Any courage of apologizing had fizzled and the fear of being vulnerable was chilling. You hoped the rest of the drink would give you that push.

Minho came back slightly breathless with a bowl of curly seaweed and rice chips with red seasoning. He stared at the glass that was almost full just a second ago.

“Would you like another one?”

Your vision was already swirly. “No, thank you. But these look delicious.”

The crunch from the fried rice paper was loud enough to make some heads turn. It was salty and the seaweed flavor shined through. The punch from the togarashi made you wish you had taken up the offer on another drink.

You let out another happy hum, and your sinuses cleared. “Wasabi!”

“Really sobers you up, huh?”

“I can smell colors.”

He let out a genuine laugh and you got a glance of his little bunny teeth. You wondered if he’d still have them when he was sixty.

The shy bartender fiddled with the kitchen towel. “You were going to say something?”

“Right. I’m –”

“Excuse me!” a customer approached the bar. “Can I have an espresso martini?”

“Absolutely!” Minho said in his customer service voice.

Espresso martinis were all the craze these days, especially with the ladies. You understood why, they were delicious and reminded everyone of a sweet little treat before the work day. You watched as Minho threw in his Boston shaker ice, vodka, coffee liqueur, and cold brew, and shook with all his might. The muscles you noticed on your birthday shined through, as the veins on his forearms and biceps were put to work. Your eyes traveled shamefully to his open chest, focusing on the groove in between. He poured the creamy drink into a martini glass and added it to her tab.

You drank the complimentary ice-cold water before he returned.

“Sorry about that.”

“No, no, I’m the one interrupting your work.” Despite drinking a multitude of fluids, your throat was dry and sharp, like the words were scraping skin on their way out. Just say it, dammit! “I’m sorry how I treated you on Monday.”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have ambushed you like that after so long.”

“Yeah, you really shouldn’t have.”

“For that, I’m sorry. But I’m not sorry for attending.”

“You should have chosen another time to meet.”

“Your thirtieth birthday is important. It’s a huge milestone. I couldn’t dream of missing it.”

“I don’t think that’s for you to decide.”

He hung his head in a way that a puppy would when being punished. “I know.”

“You –” you choked. “I don’t know. I don’t know what or how to feel.”

“Maybe we could start over.”

“Start over?”

“Hi,” he held out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Minho, I’m a bartender and chef, and we met when we were nineteen.”

“Minho –”

“Would you like to get coffee next door some time?”

“You are ridiculous.”

The rush of after-work over timers hit the bar like a thirsty school of fish. Two other bartenders jumped in, but they needed Minho to keep up a good speed. From his navy pants pocket, he pulled out his business card and slid it over.

“My number’s on the card.”

It was different from the one you had saved on your phone and he knew that. “Wait, I need to close out my tab.”

“It’s on me. Let me make up for Monday.”

He didn’t allow you to get a word in before taking the next customer. His mannerisms made every customer smile or blush. ‘Come closer’ he’d gesture with his finger, leaning in to hear their order, and winking after handing off the final product; rinse and repeat.

You left a hefty tip under your glass and slipped away from the crowd. At home, you spent half an hour rubbing your cheeks, unaware of how sore they were after the train ride.

The business card hung on your fridge under a London magnet. Every day, you’d wake up, stare at it while filling your water bottle, leave for work, come home, and stare at it some more as you prepared dinner. In the same serif font in black ink, in the center of the card was his full name. Under it said ‘Restauranteur’, followed by ‘DAHLIA’, the Japanese flavors-inspired bar, and ‘RED LIGHT’, the one with American flavors. His phone number and email were in small print, all information embossed on an off-white business card. ‘Classy’ was the most appropriate description of such a card, while yours was so plain in comparison. Technology products didn’t need that kind of pizazz, to be fair.

The next time you saw Chaeryoung was for a girls’ night-in on a Wednesday to gush about her new exclusive not-boyfriend. She noticed the business card while putting the dishes in the sink and plucked it from the fridge, already aware of what transpired on Thursday before.

“‘Restauranteur’,” she scoffed. “Ok, Minho.”

“I know, right? Can you believe he bought out that sleazy old man?”

“I always wondered why the quality went up all of a sudden. I can’t believe he hid that from everyone else, too! We’ve all been meeting around that area for months! Why did he give you this, though?”

“I guess he changed his number.”

“What? He’s had this number for a while now.” You shot her a deadpanned look. “Oh, right. You wouldn’t have known whether he changed it or not. Did you hit him up?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I? It feels… too soon.”

“Five years feels too soon?”

“No,” you sighed, unable to form the words in the right sentence. “We’re already on awkward footing after my birthday. And seeing and talking to him made my blood pressure spike to an unhealthy degree.”

“So, you’re nervous?”

Nervous wasn’t right. It felt much deeper than that. “Afraid.”

If anyone knew the degree of pain and confusion you held for Minho, it was Chaeryoung. She always did her best to understand, but there are some things one must experience to understand, and this was one of them. She held you firm by the shoulders and knitted her brows.

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

The music streaming on your phone paused as your best friend moved swiftly to the couch, already propping her feet up on the chaise before you could register what happened. The clicking of your phone keyboard over the bluetooth speaker snapped you back and you ran to join her.

“Wait, don’t!” you warned.

“‘Hey, bro’,” she said as she typed, “Too casual?”

“I’m thirty. I don’t say ‘bro’.”

“All right, jeez. ‘Hello, Minho. I hope this text finds you well. Per our last meeting – ’”

“Now you’re just being a dick.”

“I’m kidding, relax! ‘Hi, it’s _____. It was nice seeing you on Thursday.’”

“I wouldn’t say it was a ‘nice’ meeting.”

“Oh, my God, shut up. ‘Good to see you on Thursday,’ happy? ‘Would you like to get coffee some time?’ And send. This is fun, it’s like when we used to project our dating app DMs on the TV! Oh, wow he’s typing already. Asshole, he never answers any of us in the group chats until the next day.”

Texting a boy and sweating, waiting for his response… Were you thirteen again? The notification ding made your heart jump.

Your brows furrowed, matching Chaeryoung’s. “‘Hey! Of course I would. Just tell me when.’ Um. Tell him sometime next week?”

“‘Tomorrow at 11:00AM?’”

“Chaer!”

“‘See you then.’ You’re welcome!” she cheered, tossing your phone on your lap.

“Now he’ll think I’m excited…”

“Whether you are nervous, excited, or afraid, shouldn’t that mean something? That maybe you still have him in your cold, dead heart somewhere?”

“It took years of therapy to heal what was wounded. I don’t know if this will feel like closure or if I’m opening up my stitches.”

“And I’ll be here to help suture if it comes to it; again and again!” she encouraged, leaning her head on your shoulder. “I just want our friend group back together, you know? This is a start, sort of.”

“I know. Don’t get your hopes up, though.”

“Too late.”

The day it happened, the clouds were grey, and they cried and cried, pouring down the heaviest rain of the year. It rattled Minho’s windows like bullets made from hail, drowning the silence and filling the room with nothing but sorrow.

Tonight, you were celebrating your new job and the big move. After the plates were emptied, the music that played over his speakers slowed, and filled with wine and tenderness, you two swayed to the rhythm in each other’s arms. First, he had your hand in his and lightly hovered over your waist, leading the waltz across the living room with ease. As the songs progressed, his hold on you tightened. He laced his fingers with yours, traveled his hand to your lower back, then placed the other there, too, after wrapping your arm around his neck. He pressed his forehead to yours, the tips of your noses touching and nuzzling so sweetly it made your heart soar.

He sighed happily, shoulders relaxing under your arms. “Should we be doing this?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” you replied light heartedly, “you are just a friend, after all.”

“Do friends do this? Should we ask Chaeryoung and Jisung?”

“Not if you want to hear them gagging all night.”

His breathy laughs hit your lips and his eyes fluttered closed. “I want to kiss you.”

You’ve wanted to kiss him for five years. “Then kiss me.”

“And I want you to stay.”

“Stay?” You took a step back, hating the cold air that replaced his space. “What do you mean ‘stay’?”

“Don’t leave,” he begged.

“Minho –”

“Stay here with me.”

“No,” you said firmly. “This is the biggest thing to happen to my career, and I’m not throwing away this grand opportunity. Won’t you come with me instead?”

“You know I can’t leave my family right now.”

“Then,” you sighed, “do I wait for you?”

“Wait? We have options; what about long distance?”

“You know how vigorous my career is. I work long days and long nights. I can’t call you or text you the way that other people do.”

“So what?” he argued, throwing his hands up in frustration.

This was the first time you were having this talk. Never before had either of you revealed the feelings that mingled in the air whenever you were in the same room together. For years, you repressed them, too scared to cross the thin line that separated friendship from lovers and unwilling to feel vulnerable and reveal the true feelings of your heart. Because truthfully, you wouldn’t have time. You wouldn’t have time to drain and pour your heart into something – someone – that wasn’t the projects that laid out on your office desk, and how was that fair to someone you loved so dearly? As much as you wanted to love and to give, you couldn’t.

“I can’t,” you repeated. “That’s not fair to either of us. We deserve one hundred percent of each other, not fifty, or even ninety.”

“You’re not even willing to try?” he mumbled.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “How could you spring this on me the weekend before I leave?”

“This was my only chance –”

“No, it wasn’t. You had five years. Five years! And you know how important my career is to me!”

“What about me? Aren’t I important to you, too?”

“Don’t,” you stuttered.

“No, it’s not that I’m not important, it’s that your career is more important. Is that it?” When you couldn’t answer, he nodded his head, accepting the poor answer. “All I wanted was for us to try.”

“I can’t give you one hundred percent of me.”

“Then I’ll give more! One hundred ten percent; one hundred fifty!”

“How long can you last like that when you don’t know when we’ll be together again?”

“I won’t know unless we try.”

“I don’t want to try. Trying means uncertainty. For five years, I have been certain about you. But I’m certain it won’t work when we are not present.”

“We’re going in circles.” Minho turned and ran a hand through his fluffy, light bronze hair. This color on him, you remembered, made him look so young.

“I can wait,” you whispered. “We can be friends still, and –”

“I don’t want to be friends.”

You couldn’t decide if your mouth should hang open or sew it shut forever. Still, you managed to slip out, “What?”

“It’s all or nothing for me, _____.” His eyes mirrored your glossy ones and the tip of his nose that was just on yours a second ago was reddening. “I don’t want friendship with you. I want love and passion, and I want you to tell me you want it, too. We aren’t friends; we never were really just friends, you know that, don’t you?”

“I know.”

He closed the gap and his hands found yours, squeezing so tightly it was almost painful. “Then show me that you know! Tell me you want this! Tell me you don’t want to be just friends! Tell me you want me, desire me, that you can’t go a day without having me, the way I would for you!”

You shook your head. Long distance relationships never worked. You witnessed it through your coworkers, through friends, and bosses, and even old classmates who had deleted every existence of their past love and left no digital footprint on their timeline. Every relationship you ever knew to be long distance had never worked out, and you knew this one wouldn’t be any different.

He let go and stepped away. “I wish you a fulfilling life in the city –”

“Don’t do this.”

“– and I’m sorry, but I can’t be friends with you –”

“Minho, please…”

“– I can’t be just friends with someone who has my heart and doesn’t know what to do with it.”

Instead of rescinding, instead of apologizing and taking the leap of faith, taking the risk that came with being vulnerable and open and raw so you could see what it meant to be loved and cherished by someone who wanted to love and cherish, you decided to lock your heart away and to never reveal it to anyone ever again.

That was the last time you saw Minho. On your thirtieth birthday, he broke every layer you built to protect yourself in a matter of seconds.

“Earth to _____!”

In between ‘DAHLIA’ and your office, there was a coffee shop with outside seating. As you waited at one of the tables, the record player in your head had recalled that night, and once it started, it wouldn’t stop until it finished. Just as you finished, Minho arrived and waved a hand in front of your face and you wondered how long it took for you to notice.

“Sorry! Daydreaming.”

“About work?”

Did he truly think your mind was entirely consumed about work? “Yeah. Work.”

“Well, you keep daydreaming, and I’ll get us coffee. What would you like?”

“No, it’s my turn to get you something!”

“Nonsense! You also tipped me way too much. You still order the usual?”

If you were one thing, you were consistent. “The usual.”

Minho would do this finger-gun thing when he was feeling awkward, and he did so as he walked to the counter. His outfit wasn’t as formal as the night you saw him at the bar. His jeans were black and his sweater a bright cobalt; a color that allowed him to be the center of attention when he wasn’t asking for it.

You were the one to ask him to meet - or rather Chaeryoung was - but you didn’t consider what you’d talk about.

He came back with your usual and his usual, which was an iced americano. At least he, too, was consistent, and that hadn’t changed.

“Busy at work?” he asked, clearly not sure what to talk about, either.

“Yeah. Always busy, sadly.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said your hours would be long.”

“No,” you confirmed, “I wasn’t. What about you? What’s your work day like as the city’s coolest restaurateur?”

“You flatter me. I work at ‘RED LIGHT’ during the day, and head to ‘DAHLIA’ at night.”

You tried to estimate his work hours in your head. “Back-to-back?”

“Yup.”

“Everyday?”

“Kind of. If it’s slow on like, a Monday or Tuesday, I’ll head out early and let the closers handle it. Otherwise, my day off is whenever I feel like it, but it’s not a real day-off. I use those days to answer emails and organize the budget or the inventory. Takes every waking moment to run a restaurant or bar, you know?”

“I don’t know. How do you balance everything?”

“Well, I love my job. It’s hard, but I don’t find it draining. I guess that helps. I don’t mind waking up at five in the morning, working, and going to sleep, at least not yet. I’m sure I’ll hit a wall someday, but I’m doing my best to not let that happen.”

You’re afraid to ask the next question. “How do you balance your relationship with Karina when you’re so busy?”

“Phone calls, Facetime, designated nights for dates, surprise visits, little gifts and flowers here and there,” he nodded, looking at the table. “It’s hard, but we’re trying. That’s what’s important.”

Your coffee’s bitter and you didn’t want to bother with it after a couple of sips, but you keep at it to keep your lips occupied and to hide the way your teeth grit at the underlying accusation. “That takes a lot of patience. Some people struggle with that.”

He caught your drift and it appeared he realized he deserved that. “And you? Seeing anyone?”

“No.”

“Not even casually?”

“No. Some dates here and there, but they never stick.”

“Why is that?”

“Either they’re boring, too intimidated by a strong female corporate supplicant, or I’m the problem.”

“Isn’t it -” he began but stopped himself. “Never mind.”

“Say what you mean,” you pushed light heartedly.

“Isn’t it lonely?”

It’s true that it seemed like Cupid made his way around your friend group and you were the last to get hit. When your friends came home at night, they’d be welcomed into open arms and warm bodies. You came home to snacks and warmth was in the form of a fuzzy blanket you kept on the couch. At the height of your career, you once believed that love could wait, that it would find you at the right time and you’d know right then you were ready. As Minho sat across from you picking your brain about the emptiness that came with climbing the corporate ladder, the fear of feeling incomplete was imminent.

You wouldn’t let him see that part of you.

“I like my alone time.”

“But you have so much love in your heart.” He cleared his throat, regretting the arrangement of those words when he saw how your face twisted. What would he know about what’s in your heart? “Who do you give your affections to?”

“Must it be romantic?” you retorted. “My love is given to those you saw on my birthday.”

“I guess not. You’ve always been a romantic, though.”

“Five years is more than enough time to change who I was the last time you saw me.”

“Is that change good?” he asked nervously.

‘Is the result of feeling loveless from rejection and isolation a good change? Are you an idiot?’ you wanted to ask. But that would put the blame on him and blaming him meant acknowledging how much he affected you after all these years.

“Is that change good,” you repeated thoughtfully. “Neutral.”

“Neutral?”

“I think the decision we made five years ago put us where we are today; we’re both successful young adults thriving in a beautiful city. But I lost you as a result. So, the good must come with some bad. That’s neutral, no?”

His lips formed a smile, but again, it did not travel to his eyes. “You know, I was scared to come here today.”

“I’m not that terrifying, am I?”

“At first I thought, ‘wow, Chaeryoung did not try hard to pretend to be you at all.’”

You giggled. “No; no, she didn’t.”

“And then I thought, ‘we’ll be in public. She won’t kill me in front of people, right?’”

“Kill you!”

“But I know that wouldn’t have stopped you either way,” he grinned. “You haven’t killed me yet. Is it crazy of me to think of this as a good sign?”

“A sign! Is there something you’re looking to gain out of this meeting?” you teased.

“Yes,” he admitted, “a friend.”

Your mouth hung open slightly, unsure of what to say, but your face twisted in a way that mimicked your thoughts. “A friend?”

“I know you and I have said and done some unkind things back then that we may not be able to forgive each other for, but after seeing you on your birthday, I couldn’t stop thinking of you. You may not believe me, but I miss you.”

Your head and your heart were in conflict. You had spent all this time trying not to miss him. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, unwilling to say the truth. “I… I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t be. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you all of a sudden. But… do you think it’s possible? That we could be friends again?”

How quickly would you lose him a second time? “I think we shouldn’t force it.”

“Friendships bloom naturally, of course.”

A flash of pink blurred your peripherals before it became the center of your attention. Karina held a finger to her lips as she approached Minho from behind, covering his eyes with her slender fingers. He took her hand and kissed it, leaning back to look at his glittering diamond with hearts in his eyes. They were a beautiful couple and it was as clear as day how much they adored each other. Witnessing love was supposed to be like looking at a garden of roses, but as you sat across in a front-row seat, you thought to yourself how much you disliked the smell of roses, anyway.

“Hi!” she greeted happily. “Sorry to interrupt, but we have lunch plans.”

You shook your head, dismissing the tightness in your gut. “No, please interrupt. I’m sorry for keeping him.”

“Would you like to join?”

You would rather jump off the roof of your fifty-floor office building. “Thank you, but I made plans with my co-workers already.”

“Then, we’ll have to get dinner some time!”

It pained you how much you disliked her. She didn’t deserve it. “Dinner some time sounds great.”

As Minho got up to leave, he leaned over the table and in a hushed tone said, “I just want you to know that you still cannot hide your feelings on your face.”

“My boss thinks it’s my killing charm.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Minho’s wink was like a button that set off every alarm in your body. As he walked away, hand-in-hand with the love of his life, you tortured yourself watching them recede until they rounded the corner.

–

Unfortunately, it was common workplace etiquette to have drinks with your coworkers after hours now that your schedules had slowed down. How convenient it was that ‘DAHLIA’ was open and even more so that your coworkers were eager to go. Initially, you tried to wiggle out of going, but your close comrade Choi San wouldn’t allow it.

He slammed his veiny hand on your desk, and you jumped. “Jesus -”

“_____ _____,” he boomed, loudly announcing your government name.

“No.”

“Come on! You haven’t joined us in, like, forever!”

“Forever will continue.”

“And if I bribe you with free drinks?”

You paused typing. “I’m listening.”

“You, me, and the forty-fifth floor at ‘DAHLIA’ in ten minutes.”

“‘DAHLIA’?” you repeated. “Does it have to be that bar?”

“Mingi already called the place to reserve. Why, is it not good?”

“No, quite the opposite.”

“Then make haste, my lady!”

The whole way across the street, San had his arm around your shoulder in a tight grip, too afraid to let you slip at the slightest chance of hesitancy. The smooth skin of his forearms touched your neck and it was close enough to smell the cologne he dabbed just minutes before leaving the building, which you now realized to be on purpose.

Inside, a bunch of young corporate acolytes gathered all throughout the bar, all of whom you worked and were familiar with. Minho, though busy taking their orders, saw you and San come in. He did a double take, eyebrow twitching upwards at the arm suffocating your neck. Your lips formed the words, ‘kill me’, as San guided you forward to the line to order.

Small talk with San was never small when he easily filled you in on his latest interests and hobbies. The other women in the office who were nearby engaged with him enthusiastically. Admittedly, there were a multitude of reasons why San was popular around the office. He was intelligent, always willing to lend a helping hand, had a positive attitude even when days were long and tough, and most importantly, he was so hot that your boss had to jokingly warn him several times to tone it down. His argument was it wasn’t his fault that button-downs were tight on his back and arms.

Minho was the one to usher you forward with his index and middle fingers.

San wrapped his arm around your shoulder again for no apparent reason. “Hello!” he greeted enthusiastically.

“Hi. _____,” he addressed to you informally.

“‘Sup, Minho,” you sighed.

“You two know each other?” San inquired. “Is that why you didn’t want to come?”

San’s only flaw was that he talked too much. Your jaw ticked. “Old friends. And no, that’s not why.”

“Oh!”

“What can I get you two?” You thought you heard ice in Minho’s voice, but you must be mistaken.

You needed something strong. “A negroni, please.”

“Double that,” San said.

Minho neither confirmed nor denied hearing the order before starting on it. Finally, you’re able to breathe easier when the weight of San’s muscly arm lets you go, confident that you wouldn’t book it out the bar. He instead turned his body to you, creating a wall and making you feel like you were under a microscope.

“Your presentation to the team yesterday was, um, amazing,” he stuttered.

Calling a weekly work presentation amazing was odd; he’s heard you lead them probably a hundred times by now. “Yeah? Thanks.”

“And the way you were able to answer all of the questions Boss Man fired at you? It’s no wonder you’re his favorite.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m his favorite.”

“Well, you’re my favorite.” As soon as those words left his lips, he pursed them together and shut his eyes. “I-I mean the team’s favorite.”

You nearly snorted, though your smile was hard to hide. “That’s… certainly an honor -”

“Two negronis,” Minho interrupted as he pushed the glasses forward.

“I got it,” San reiterated.

“Thanks. I’ll get the next one. I’ll meet you over in a bit; gonna talk to my good ol’ friend here,” you forced a grin. Like an obedient dog, San joined the others at the reserved tables.

“Wow, he’s…” Minho trailed off. “A lot.”

“Mother always said not to say mean things.”

“That was me being nice. Don’t tell me that’s your type.”

“Minho! That would be highly inappropriate workplace behavior,” you teased, though he didn’t seem amused. “Besides, what do you know about my type?”

He smirked. “I think I would know better than anyone.”

The twinge in your chest was crushing. Had Cupid returned with sturdier arrows? “Remember, things can change.”

“Did they, though?”

Why did that matter? “I’ll see you later, Minho.”

The whole night, San hovered over you like a shadow, more than he ever had before. Maybe he saw Minho as competition after your coworkers prodded for the story behind you and the hot bartender. He wouldn’t have to worry, though, as he was highly mistaken about both Minho and having interest in someone you worked with.

You would thank San in the morning for dragging you out that night because he reminded you the importance of camaraderie. It was nice to be surrounded by people who shared the same professional struggles as you and it was freeing for everyone to let their walls down. Many of your co-workers were also single and struggling, filling the bar with chatter about failed dates and competing to see who had the worst one as of late. This was the first night in a long while that you had fun, and even though the man that haunted your thoughts was less than twenty feet away, you wouldn’t let him ruin this one night out of many.

But you felt it; that burn in the back of your head like twin cigarettes had bore themselves into your skull; the piercing eyes of an onlooker who couldn’t look away from you and the buff man next to you all night. Each time you tried to catch him in the act, he had anticipated it, busying himself with a customer or peeling orange twists, and when you looked away, you’d feel it again.

Like a worm eating its way through an apple, the fire in Minho’s eyes consumed you.

–

‘Wya?’

On a random weeknight, Minho texted you this just as you were leaving the office. You looked around outside looking for a sniper or an inconspicuous spy but did not see anything suspicious or sensed any danger. To that, you replied with, ‘Leaving the office. Why?’

‘Don’t move.’

If you weren’t panicking before, you were now. Then, from around the alley where ‘DAHLIA’ was, Minho popped up with a tote bag on his arm and an apron slung over his shoulder. He waved and flashed his feline smile, unaware of how cryptic his texts were.

“You didn’t literally have to not move,” he teased.

“Maybe you should normalize giving context.”

“Context is: do you have dinner plans tonight?”

Your plan was to pick up grocery store sushi and binge watch TV, if you’d call that a plan. “Not really. Why?”

He gestured to his tote bag. “I was going to my test kitchen. Do you want to be my guinea pig?”

You considered saying no, but free food was involved. Plus, this is what friends would do, right? “Where’s this test kitchen of yours?”

“In my townhome. ‘Test kitchen’ just sounds cooler.”

The train ride to Minho’s place was the same distance as yours, just in the opposite direction. There wasn’t a ‘nice’ or a ‘bad’ side of the city, but you definitely wouldn’t classify this as the ‘bad’ side. Rows and rows of townhomes occupied endless streets in this neighborhood and each one had its own charm. Minho’s was right in the middle and the reddest, brickiest one on the block while the others had conformed to a more modern grey stucco-style.

The inside was anything but traditional though, with touches of modern style and technology. The first floor was similar to your loft, with an open floor plan combining the kitchen and living room meant for a true host and entertainer. The kitchen, of course, was the most updated, with a fancy six-burner stove, a magnetic display of different knives, and a giant white-granite island.

Soonie, Doongie, and Dori greeted Minho first by rubbing up against his calves and then greeted you second, unaware of the time that passed and recognizing your scent like you were only gone on a short trip.

You gasped happily, scratching their little heads and ears. “My fat ‘n furry step-children!”

“Looks like they missed you,” Minho chuckled.

“Oh, I missed you, too!” you cooed. “Can I help with any prep?”

“Can you help wash the produce?”

“Yes, chef.”

You tried not to stare too long at Minho while he tied the apron around his waist and rolled up his sleeves. There were vegetables in his tote bag you’ve never seen before, like the bulbous onion-like thing that smelled of licorice and a variation of a mushroom that looked like it would turn you into a zombie.

“Everything’s a vegetable or a fruit,” you noted.

“I’m attempting some vegetarian and vegan options outside of a salad and some dessert. If it doesn’t work out, the Thai place down the street is really good.”

Minho instructed you to cut vegetables in ways that you didn’t even know had a name to the technique. You had to tell him to talk to you like a five-year-old because you were not someone who knew what it meant to julienne a carrot or prepare the mise en place.

The first dish was a seared cabbage wedge. Cut the head into wedges; sear on the pan; make a soy-sugar-rice-vinegar saucy thing; shave a potato and toast it like a breadcrumb; retrieve the soy-and-smoke-cured egg yolk and… shave it?

“What do you mean ‘shave it’?” you muttered, holding the hardened yellow orb of congealed something in one hand and a sharp sword-like thingamabob in the other. “Isn’t it going to burst?”

Minho, bless his heart, stood behind you and guided your hands together. His hands, despite going through hundreds of washes and touching all things hot and cold, were soft and warm on top of yours. He had you shave one quarter of the solid egg yolk over the dressed cabbage wedge.

“The yolk is cured, so it’s solid all the way through,” he said.

His breath tickled the shell of your ear and it turned hot. Was the oven set to a thousand degrees? “O-Oh! Wow, that’s cool. Is it done?”

It was only then that Minho released his hold. “Yup. Try it.”

Cooking was a hidden form of sorcery. It was one of the most complex and delicious dishes you’ve ever eaten. Salty from the potato breadcrumb, savory from the egg yolk, and sweet from the soy sauce, feeling different textures and flavors so good you had to stop yourself from moaning.

“Good?” he asked. All you could do was nod vigorously with eyes wide and glittering. He smiled genuinely and his eyes sparkled, too. He opened his mouth and said, “Ah~”

That was your cue to feed him a bite. You gathered the perfect amount of everything onto a fork for him. As he chewed, his brows knitted together thoughtfully and you’re unsure of what that expression meant. From his pocket, he took out a small field notes book and scribbled something quickly.

“You don’t like it?”

He shook his head. “No, I like it a lot.”

“Why is your face like that?”

“What’s wrong with my face?”

“You look so angry.”

“That’s just how my face looks.”

Next was a vegetarian bone marrow. Nothing about bones or marrows sounded remotely vegetarian, but Minho handed you two fat king oyster mushrooms to halve and remove the centers while he sautéed a medley of other mushrooms in salted butter, garlic, and thyme. There was a comfortable silence in the kitchen as you both worked. Nothing felt awkward, or forced, or as bitter as your last meetings were.

As you waited for Minho’s further instructions, you toured the living space and observed all the pictures. You were in about half of them. Most were of your entire friend group, but many were significant moments in your lives, like graduation, birthdays, talent shows, or candid solo pictures. After all these years, when you kept any evidence of him hidden in a shoe box in your closet, he displayed you loud and proud. You glossed over the number of pictures of Karina for your own sake but seeing her face that many times made you stop looking.

When you turned back, Minho was staring at you so intently, he forgot to pretend he wasn’t watching.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he cleared his throat. “Um, the next step is ready.”

Under an immersive blender (“Immersion blender, silly.”) was the sautéed medley and the guts of the king oyster mushroom, softened cream cheese, and olive oil. The paste was bagged and piped back into the charred and seasoned center of the cut-out king oyster mushroom. With a flame torch, Minho darkened the paste, creating a bruleed outer layer, and topped it off with pink peppercorns, pecorino, and chives. Triangles of buttered toast were the vehicle.

Minho took a spoon and scooped out the center. “A little bit of ‘marrow’ and voila. And the ‘bone’ is edible, too, obviously.”

Your eyes teared up at the fireworks of umami. “Will you cater for my next birthday?”

“For you, I will.”

After course upon course of seared and leafy bites of savory and salty goodness, you greenlit practically all of them to Minho’s dismay (“Guinea pig means to critique, not suck up to.”). Dessert was the final leg of courses. From preserved lemon sorbets to chocolatey bites of flourless cake, you would fall into a deep sleep tonight on a cloud of spun sugar.

“I’m drunk on life,” you sighed happily.

“I like you best that way.”

“Seriously, Minho, you have something really good here. I’m no expert, but I think –”

“Wait!” he interrupted. “Chocolate on your lip.”

“Huh? Here?” you licked once.

“Not even close.”

“Here?”

“No.”

“Where’s a napkin?”

“Hold still, will you?”

Minho held your chin between his thumb and index finger and tilted up. Like a surgeon, he meticulously wiped away all evidence of your inner chocolate-devouring goblin with his other thumb. For a moment, he lowered his hand to wipe it on his apron, but he caught you looking at his lips.

“Th-Thanks,” you whispered.

He took the chocolate-covered thumb and sucked it clean, maintaining his gaze before it lowered. “My pleasure.”

The kitchen felt hot and it was hard to breathe. The alarms in your head went off again; the longer you stayed, the faster you’d fall. “I-I should go.”

“Wait –”

“This was great by the way!” you called as you backed up towards the door. “S-So good! And thank you, I will pay you back for any groceries!”

“That’s not necessary, I invited you here.”

“Let me know what you decide to add to the menu, and I’ll-I’ll stop by some time, yeah?”

You didn’t give him the opportunity to answer before running out the door.

–

The following weeks after your inappropriately intimate tasting, you avoided Minho as long as you could. It hadn’t even been a month since you saw him for the first time and you already crossed the thin line that was never meant to be crossed. You couldn’t even be strong for that long before you fell back into the routine of desiring the one man you weren’t allowed to have.

This was the curse of Cupid. He had successfully shot and landed an arrow into every friend you loved, pairing them up with their person and the match-up was so right it was scary. Somehow, at the perfect time under the correct circumstances, your friends found the ones that completed their other half, or so they said, and you witnessed love in full bloom every time it happened and everyday since. When it was shoved in your face like that, how could you not think about what you were missing out on every single day of your life?

You used to think considering a couple as two halves was a disservice to humanity. Halves implied that part of you was missing; it suggested that one could never be whole alone, that they spend their whole lives finding someone who fit the two-piece puzzle. A two piece puzzle was supposed to be the easiest puzzle in the world, but in a box filled with over eight billion pieces, it would take forever for Cupid to pair the pieces. At twenty-five, after that stormy night, you once believed that you could survive as one single piece among the eight billion for the rest of your life at the bottom of the pieces pile, if it came to it; but now that you’re the last of the friend group to yet find your match - at thirty, at that - maybe Cupid had a point to the whole two halves make a whole argument.

Because admittedly, as much as you tried to convince yourself on your thirtieth birthday, you didn’t feel whole. Hell, you barely felt like half; and every time you saw Minho, bits of you were being chipped off to the point that you were scared of losing your half of the puzzle.

To distract yourself from thinking about Minho licking chocolate from your lips, you finally jumped the gun and downloaded dating apps for the first time. Well, Chaeryoung and Jisung did.

“Put on your bathing suit,” she ordered.

“Excuse you.”

“What? All your selfies are so normal!”

“Normal is a good thing, Chaer.”

“But it’s not,” Jisung piped in. “Dating is not what it used to be. Before, it was as simple as looking pretty, saying your favorite song or movie, and naming the restaurant you want your first date to be at. Now, you have to get personal. Name a niche hobby, what character from a TV show represents you the most, what childhood trauma affected your frontal lobe development -”

“Ok, I get it.”

Jisung and Chaeryoung sandwiched you tightly on the couch even though the view of the tablet was easily seen. Chaeryoung filled in all the prompts for you a little too enthusiastically while Jisung was there to judge through the lens of the male gaze and snacks.

The woman beside you cackled evilly. “This is so much fun! I can’t believe you’re finally doing this. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment?”

“Seriously. What man made you do this?” Jisung teased.

You yanked the tablet back. “No one.”

“Liar.”

“Who do you think, Han?” Chaeryoung stated bluntly. “Who else could have brought this blessing upon us?”

“Oh,” he mused, “duh.”

“Shut up, both of you! No one made me do this. Am I not worthy of finding love?”

“Of course you are. Just not this way.”

“Why not this way?”

“Just watch.”

The second someone completes their profile, it’s like the app forces it at the top of everyone’s algorithm. You received a lot of interest and private messages in the first five minutes, many of which were… bold…

“Men are so uncouth,” you groaned. “Is sex all you think about?”

“Yeah,” Jisung shrugged, pointing to his head and then his groin. “Two heads, two brains.”

“Ugh, gross.”

Chaeryoung swiped left at lightning speed. “Too young, too old, too short, too tall, too smart –”

“I like smart,” you pouted.

“The key to a healthy relationship is to be smarter than them.” Jisung didn’t argue, as he was happily committed to his intelligent partner (a mystery to all, as no one knew how he bagged a research fellow).

There’s a knock on your door. The three of you look at each other in confusion.

“You two need to stop secretly inviting strange men to my home,” you accused before getting up.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Jisung defended, “did you?” Chaeryoung denied.

When you opened the door, a disheveled Minho stood there with an oily bag in his hands. He raised a brow. “Am I that strange?”

Just as you were trying to trust in the dating app algorithm, the Gods and Cupid said, ‘let there be chaos!’ “You, specifically? A little bit.”

“Ha ha,” he drawled. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yeah!” Jisung called from the couch. “This is girl time, Min!”

“Shut up!” Chaeryoung pulled Jisung up from the couch and they both patted your head before rushing out the door. “We’ll see you later, _____!”

“Y-You don’t have to leave!” you practically begged.

“Honey, it’s past-nine on a weekday, yes we do!”

“I didn’t realize the time,” Minho frowned, looking at his watch. “I was nearby with Hyunjin and thought I’d stop by with some fries to make up for Chaeryoung tossing them out on your birthday.”

You don’t even remember that happening. “That’s so nice of you.”

“I can come back another time.”

“No!” you said an octave too high. “No, please come in!”

Minho’s outfit was more casual than ‘DAHLIA’s typical button down and tight slacks and you deduced he was working at ‘RED LIGHT’ today. There were multiple oil and/or beer stains on his shirt and his hair was parted and pointing in different directions, evidence of his hand having to go through it several dozen times out of stress.

“You look…”

“I know,” he sighed, plopping the bag on the table. “There was a work-lunch event today that turned into dinner for some corporate slugs. Then, Hyunjin was looking at a location for his coffee excursion and asked for my help. Four hours later, I’m starving and thought of you.”

He was thinking of you a lot lately, it seemed, and it was hard to deny that you reciprocated. “This is wonderful, thank you. I owe you two dinners now.”

“You don’t ‘owe’ me anything. Friends don’t owe; they treat.”

“My treat next time, then.”

“And the next,” he reminded with a smirk. “What were you girlies doing just now?”

“Um,” you hesitated, cheeks stuffed with potato. “Making me a dating profile.”

He raised a brow in the same way when he saw you walking in with San: questioning and dissatisfied. “You never had one before?”

“I was on-and-off when I first moved here, but I couldn’t stand to open the apps after a couple days of usage.”

He does the thing with his fingers when he gestures to come close. You noticed his hands were veinier now than when you were younger.

“Let me see.”

“Let you see my dating profile?” He nodded. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, I’ll give you an opinion through the male gaze.”

“Why do you think Jisung was here?”

“Certainly not that.”

Defeated, you handed him your phone with the app open. There’s a twinkle of curiosity wondering how he’d react, but you wanted to tame that fire quickly. He scrolled and swiped, then scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled.

His face was stern when he said, “You already have a lot of admirers.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

He didn’t answer and continued to scroll. “What about that guy you work with?”

“San? What about him?”

“Nothing came of it?”

“Didn’t I tell you that would be inappropriate?”

“Is that the only reason stopping you?”

You squint your eyes at your all too curious friend who hadn’t looked up from your phone since taking it. He popped fries in his mouth rhythmically like a metronome until he caught the heat from your gaze. He looked up and did a double take.

“Hm?” he asked.

“Why are you so curious?”

“So, there’s another reason stopping you?”

“And if there is?”

“And if there is…” he repeated, fiddling with your phone charm. “Would you tell me?”

The inkling of assumption tickled annoyingly at the corners of your mind. Was he asking to let you know that he knew he was the reason for your desires? Or was he asking to tease you, to prove to you that if you had made the right decision all those years ago, you could have been in Karina’s position? That all this time you spent away from him, your journey for companionship started too late. And sure, your bank account was as filled as your stomach, but was it worth it when you had no one to share it with?

He waited patiently for your answer, but you heard his foot tapping rapidly on the wood. Your mouth opened, then closed, and you finally shook your head in shame, because your lips were cursed to speak the truth or nothing at all and you would rather deny than to admit.

He licked his lips, and that gesture alone sparked something in your core. Then he nodded in a way that expressed sourness, as if this confirmation was exactly what he expected but not what he was hoping in both the nonverbal response and the underlying tone that trailed behind it.

You broke the silence. “How’s Karina?”

“Good.” He was quick to shake his head. “Actually, I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since lunch a month ago.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve… been too busy.”

Shameful and embarrassed, was what you gathered from his response. As he should; to criticize your decision only to repeat the cycle when he found fulfillment in his career was so… Hypocritical was not a strong enough word. Betrayal, perhaps, was the most correct, but that didn’t satisfy you, either.

You wouldn’t get satisfaction from any angle, though. No matter how you viewed it, it was selfish to consider yourself relevant here. Minho was hurting; everything you feared about relationships had flowered before him and crushed the idea that perfection could be achieved as long as both people tried. But it seemed that although he tried, it wasn’t enough, and maybe his ideals were more out of the ordinary than he anticipated.

“It’s put a bit of a strain on our relationship. She wants to settle down and I… I thought I did, too, but… you know, my places have been growing so much, and…”

As he trailed off and off through a list of excuses, it took you all the way back to the night that it rained. You also spat excuses from your pockets and got nowhere. Now, Minho was on your side, but it didn’t feel great, either.

“What’s more important to you?” you asked.

That was the age-old dilemma, wasn’t it? What was most important to someone as an adult who spent most of their life getting educated and preparing for the professional world to milk money from consumers; the career they adored and earned or the love they found along the way? One could argue they could live without love, but could one live with themselves if they gave up their dream? How many rom-coms have you and Minho laughed at where the world that movie was set in was in a vacuum and the couple always chose each other? Though the plot was fake, the dilemma was real, and the choices they made in the movies were just not realistic.

“Important,” he chuckled, understanding what you were getting at. “Why can’t both be important to me?”

“They can, but it’s clear your efforts are imbalanced in one direction. Otherwise, we would not be having this conversation.”

The fries were long gone. Minho stood up and tossed the bag in the trash before grabbing the unfinished bottle of wine leftover from your birthday and two glasses. You supposed tonight would be the most appropriate night to finish it off. Plus, Minho needed it, apparently.

“I tried, you know,” he sighed, “I really did. I text every night; I send her flowers to her office; I cook for her, shower her with gifts, and tell her regularly that I-I…”

Minho didn’t complete his thought, but you knew what he meant to say. Why would he not, for your sake? “That you love her?”

“Yeah. That I loved her.” Your glasses raised in sync. “I get it. I’m not as present, and I get her love language is quality time, but when did the thought stop counting?”

“Have you considered you two aren’t compatible?”

“Anyone can be compatible, no? Where’s the effort?”

Now you were feeling annoyed. Were these digs subconsciously at you? “Effort can only go so far. You said her love language is quality time. You could do everything in between, but you’re not there to hold her, to kiss her, to tangle under the bed sheets as much as she wants, then guess what? She’s never going to feel the love that she wants and deserves.”

“What about me? What about what I want?”

“I don’t know what you want. Does she? Do you?”

Minho chugged the rest of the cabernet in his glass, nose wrinkling, before pouring in more with a heavy hand. You ignored how cute his nose looked. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Ok, so you can’t complain is what I’m hearing.”

A chuckle huffed through his nose, annoyed that someone who he confided in didn’t feed into his fantasy that his ideology was gospel.

“Ahh!” he groaned loudly to the ceiling. “Fucking hell. I thought this was supposed to get easier when we were older?”

“What? Love?” you scoffed. “Look at us; I’m stuck on the apps and you’re stuck in your ways. You think this gets easier just because we have more ‘life experience’?” Your air quotes were overly exaggerated. “No, dude. People are dumb at every age.”

“I’m not dumb,” he pouted.

“You’re a little dumb.”

He giggled a bit and it traveled down his belly to a full laugh. You couldn’t help but smile, too, which grew into your own fit of laughs, and the condo was filled with ugly laughs and tears of joy, pain, and all that was locked inside your’s and Minho’s souls since inception. These nights were the ones you once looked forward to.

When the giggles died down, he stared blankly at the swirling wine in the glass and asked, “Do you think we could have worked out?”

You felt your cheeks and nose flare brightly. “Worked out? Like if we tried?”

In some other tangential timeline, Minho moved to the city. Maybe he still bought out ‘RED LIGHT’, and you would visit him everyday after work and bring your coworkers in to show off your hot bartender boyfriend. Then, you’d take the train home together. You’d wind down on the couch watching a couple episodes of something light and crawl into bed in each other’s arms. Your lips would never leave his unless it was to come up for air, arms wrapped around his naked torso as he crawled on top, and mumbling praises and poems of how much you adored him.

Like an asteroid that orbits a planet, you revolve your life around him and his happiness. If you tried long distance or if you gave up your career, it would be a difficult feat, and happiness would not be found in that desert. Leaving for the city was for the best. He eventually found his oasis, and you were still on the long journey of finding yours in between the infinite dunes.

Before you realized, your nose burned some more and your vision blurred. “I think it still would have been really hard.”

“Would it have been worth it?”

“I think…” you hesitated, but the wine in your veins was overtaking, “it would only have been worth it if it was with you.”

“Then, why?” he begged. “What happened to ‘it’s better to have loved and lost’?”

“After all this time, you still can’t see what I see. I never want to risk something where I would lose you. So, I didn’t think I’d lose you if I said no.”

“This is… so stupid…”

“Don’t insult me in my home.”

“No, I… I…” he stuttered, and it’s just now you see his eyes were glossy, too. “I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s so fucking stupid.”

It was stupid; you moved out to move on, and here he was at your door bringing you french fries and opening bars across from where you work, invading your life like a decade-old infectious disease with no ailment known to man-kind. It was stupid; he was taken, spitting out confessions of his failing love story to the one he ended, telling you he still thinks of you before he sleeps. It was very stupid, and it pained you not to fall for it.

You shook your head. “Don’t.”

“______ -”

“You can’t think of me.”

He reached out across the table to take your hands. You allowed it, because you were a weak, weak woman, starving for touch and hungry for him. His skin was rough and tired from the dehydrating soaps of the service industry, but they felt so right.

“Tell me you don’t think of me,” he demanded. “Tell me, and I’ll leave.”

“What does it mean for you to leave? You will leave my home, and then what? Will you try to be better for her? You’ll stay in my life and we can be friends? Or will you leave permanently and change the dynamic of our friend group forever for the second time?” By now, the tears were falling and words choked as they came out, but your grip on him betrayed you and you held on like he was hanging off a cliff.

“I… The… The former…”

“Then, no. No, I don’t think of you. I’m not tormented by you, I’m not in ruins when I see you, I don’t smell you on my clothes, I don’t see you when I close my eyes, or in stranger’s faces when they pass, I don’t dream of you, and I definitely don’t think of you every second of everyday!”

“You can’t even convince yourself anymore. Why won’t you be vulnerable with me?”

“Vulnerability is weakness, Minho! I have been strong for so long; without you, at that!” your voice was shrill and loud and you couldn't be bothered to sit. You were up from your chair, leaning over the table, and he winced as you kept going. “You come here, turn my life upside down, and ask me to be vulnerable? To lower my guard around you? After you abandoned me all because the circumstances weren’t right at that moment? Fuck you.”

He got up from the table to get to you and towered over you, torso much wider than you remembered. He was too close, and you could feel him feel you. Your body hadn’t turned to face him, too scared to face your biggest fear, so he forced it upon you by holding your shoulders. His eyes, so big and brown that it was easy to drown in them, dug deep into yours and pleaded with everything he had in his heart.

“Fine, don’t be vulnerable, but show yourself some mercy, for fuck’s sake.”

“Mercy? I want someone I can’t have. How does that merit mercy?”

He faltered a bit and you regretted the moment you invited him in. His eyebrows furrowed in what you thought was pity. Your head dropped in shame; that was the last thing you needed. His hands moved to hold your face as if he never wanted you to drop something so precious to him ever again.

“Don’t,” you repeated.

His forehead connected with yours and suddenly, you felt young again. It’s what you needed, what you wanted, but…

“I want to kiss you.”

The rush from five years ago hit you like a truck. “I want to kiss you, too.”

Every emotion, every desire, collided into the kiss. His hands swiftly moved to your waist and pulled you in until every millimeter of you touched some part of him and soon your hands were lost in his hair. His lips were soft, and you always imagined them to feel like petals of a tulip, but he was earnest and there was some pain in the amount of pressure he pressed into you. The pain felt good, the feeling of being wanted made your heart soar, and you two exchanged gasps and moans as your lips moved fervently, hungry for indulgence after being teased with temptation. But his tongue tasted sour, and bitter, and nothing like the coffee and chocolate you once dreamed of, because this circumstance was yet again not right. He tasted like rotting fruit because stolen fruit was never sweet.

You broke away, gasping and sniffling and it was so hard to breathe. “You’re not mine,” you cried.

“But you have always been mine,” he whispered, with his breath ghosting your lips.

You shook your head, over and over until you freed yourself from his grip, wishing you’d be free of him forever. You turned your back to him, unable to show your face as you said, “I think you should leave.”

Back then, you wished he fought for you as much as he wished you to do the same. You wished he’d followed you, or waited for you until the time was right, but of course time didn’t wait for anyone. Deep down, as you broke into pieces in your dining room, you hoped he’d fight for you then, too, and proclaim that his heart belonged to only you. You were fooled twice, and as the saying goes, shame on you.

The failure of reciprocity would weigh you down just as much. You never fought for him the way you wished he would for you for the simple fact that you weren’t allowed to. He was a taken man, a man who said not too long ago how he told her he loved her every single night, and it would destroy you how he’d go home later and still say those words.

You believed everyone was worthy of love, including you. The love you wanted wasn’t supposed to feel tainted or spoiled. No matter how much you wanted him, how much he claimed he wanted you from the very start, you wouldn’t be that kind of woman who stole someone’s man, and therefore you would not confess to anything else that lay hidden away in your heart.

Minho left quietly. The battle was over, and you broke down on the floor.

Heavy and loud sobs escaped your quivering lips in a poor attempt to dissipate the pain that expanded in your chest. Your cries echoed into the open loft until you couldn’t stand the sound of your voice and wasting tissues, but your body wouldn’t let up. So, you transferred yourself to the bathroom, running a hot shower and curling up on the tile until the water ran cold. Here, your cries were muffled by the artificial rain, just as you had cried into the storm that ugly night long ago.

You called in sick the following day.

–

For the next quarter, you were happy you were swamped with work, for once. That meant waking up early, taking the train when the sun had barely risen, and leaving when it had long gone to sleep. It was the same for most people in the office and you were blessed with not having to conjure up a lie to get away from San’s advances to get you to happy hour.

In sum, you hoped it meant you’d be too busy to think of him, but when you had only a single moment, a single second of freedom, he invaded every bit of you. He was a virus, a parasite, sucking the life out of you like he was reminding you what you desired that once was within arms reach was now lost forever. Like Icarus, you fell from the ether into despair, surrounded by darkness from the absence of the sun in your only moments outside of the office. On days when you were off, you had begged your boss to let you come in, to distract you with some enrichment of any stupid task even if it meant gluing together inadvertently shredded proprietary documents for sixteen hours, but HR would catch on too quickly, was what he said.

You hoped to fall hopelessly in this troposphere of purgatory forever, operating through the days on autopilot, but your heart had sunk to your gut and it ached to land on the earth to end the pain. Just as you were getting the hang of flowing with the wind, Minho called once. Then, he called twice. On the third, you almost answered, but when your eyes welled and you struggled to breathe, you figured it was your body’s reaction to falling faster and further beneath the clouds. You spent those nights he called curled up in some corner of your home under a multitude of blankets waiting for the headache and heartache to subside, but by then the night turned to dawn and time was limited.

Chaeryoung would call, too; she’d text; she’d send you food, coffee, and chocolates, and much of it went cold because any sight of food made you nauseous. Lately, you moved so slow that sustenance wasn’t a necessity anymore, nor was it a pleasure. She was always quite the worrywart, so you tried to answer as much and as vaguely as you could, but at one point it was too exhausting to keep up the lie and you gave up, leaving her with one-worded answers that didn’t satisfy either party.

And so you continued to fall; continued to cry, rot, and falter when all you had done was taste forbidden fruit.

His birthday approached faster than you could get over him.

For a while, no one seemed to mind your absence besides Chaeryoung and Minho, who had called to see if you were attending any of the last-minute get-togethers or planned reservations in the recent month. The one big one you regretted missing was Chan’s birthday, who was rightfully miffed, but you hoped the gift you shipped would make up for it. You kept up with social media, though, and liked all the pictures that came from those nights.

Each post, you’d look for him. You’d admire what he was wearing; you’d wonder what cologne he was wearing; you’d imagine the way his eyes lit up when Karina walked in the room. But she wasn’t in any of the photos.

You didn’t tell anyone what transpired the second time with Minho. It was too embarrassing to have fallen for him twice, which sent feminism back at least a decade. You were going to conjure up some work-related lie to get out of his birthday celebration, but Chaeryoung wouldn’t allow it and even went as far as messaging San for confirmation about your work schedule.

In a huff, she busted through to your home before you could reject her kindness. Normally, your girl was all smiles and full of expressions, but tonight she was strict and stern, which meant she was mad. Very mad.

“I need you to not message my coworkers, please,” you said as she filtered through your closet. “I don’t want a meeting with HR on Monday.”

She didn’t turn to face you when she snapped, “It felt like you were lying, so I had to double check.”

“I wasn’t lying. It was busy, but we just lightened up after the deadline yesterday.”

“So, why couldn’t you tell me that?”

“I needed an excuse to not go tonight.”

She shook her head, clearly frustrated with how insufferable you were being. She turned to you with glossy eyes and you regretted avoiding her lately. “Aren’t I your friend?”

Her having to ask really stung. “You’re my best friend.”

“Then can’t you tell me why you disappeared for three months?”

“I… it’s hard, Chaer…”

“For God’s sake, _____, you’re thirty. Act like it, and use your words!”

“I can’t,” your voice cracked, “I can’t see Minho.”

Her face softened, realizing maybe that night when she left you with someone you saw as a stranger was not what a best friend did. You watched her scan through your slumped posture and sunken eyes before she lunged and hugged you tightly. Tears burned, the feeling of gentle humanity fulfilling your highest hierarchy of needs overflowing all your emotions.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“We kissed,” you whispered back.

“And?”

“I kissed back.”

“But?”

“He’s not mine.”

She pushed you to arms length, eyes knitting sternly. “I think you should go tonight.”

“Chaer -”

“Trust me. You might regret it. It’s his thirtieth, after all.” She pushed away the hairs that cling to your forehead before running to grab some make up. “Let me do your make-up! It’ll be like your twenty-first all over again.”

She sat you down on your bed and began to dab away at the color-correcting pallet. A box of tissues lay next to her so she could catch the tears before they fell. She created a large pile in the end.

“Do you want him to be yours?” she asked after a long moment of silence.

You wanted to smell him on your clothes, adore him in your dreams, and wake up next to him. You want him to be yours, only yours, and to not have to share him with someone who he also chose. Under this sanguine circumstance, still, you smiled at this very thought, because of course the answer was, “Yes.”

And she, too smiled, her own tears forming while she dabbed yours with another fist full of tissues. “Then, go to him.”

“But -”

“_____,” she breathed sternly, sniffling a bit. “You stupid, stupid people-pleaser. Fight for yourself, for once.”

When you thought the battle was long over, little did you know you were still fighting all this time.

Despite trying not to think of him, as his birthday approached, the calendar terrorized you to get him a gift. Just in case, you know? It was a fancy Nakiri knife whose steel was decorated in waves. The Internet told you that a chef’s knife was similar to that of a samurai’s sword, so only the highest quality of Damascus steel was preferred. As you held the box in your hand at his front steps, your mind and heart kept battling with each other and debated whether or not getting a personal gift was too intimate versus a gift card to some generic restaurant to establish a boundary.

But wasn’t the boundary already too blurry, anyways?

Chaeryoung pushed you inside the already-unlocked door. All the boys and their partners and Chaeryoung’s now-official real man were already there surrounding the island. Minho, who just had a grin on, dropped it quickly upon seeing you come in and straightened his back. It’s like deja vu from your birthday.

Karina wasn't present.

Your body’s instinct was to turn and run out the door, but Chaeryoung anticipated your every move and was quick to block you. She squeezed your hand and tugged you further inside. You greeted the boys and their partners first, who all said a variation of, ‘long time, no see,’ before reaching Minho. His expression was still starstruck and confused. He didn’t appear angry. Perhaps it was a feeling worse than that, which could not be translated through his face.

With sweaty hands, you handed him the small rectangular box. “Happy birthday.”

He was hesitant to take it, as if to question the possibility of diffusion of poison through the skin. His hesitancy allowed you to get a whiff of his bourbon vanilla cologne. “Thank you.”

“Oh, so you’ll come for Minho’s birthday, but not mine?” Chan pouted.

“Some things are worth coming out for,” you retorted.

The night went on and you played your role as an onlooker in the background, hoping to blend in with the walls and remain unnoticed so as to not ruin the night. You watched him and the boys shove each other playfully and inhale any and all food Minho made. Who’s to say that thirty was old when the epitome of youth was in the souls of a group of hungry boys? Conversations and debates picked up from when they last saw each other. Some of them filled you in and others forced you to answer without knowing the majority opinion. Laughs and giggles filled the kitchen and even when it seemed that Minho didn’t want to whenever you answered, he couldn’t help himself from smiling at your ridiculous answers, though he stopped when he’d catch you watching him.

As the clock ticked forward, your anticipation for Karina to pop in at any moment dwindled. Maybe she was also having a rough quarter three and taking a late night at the office, but to miss her boyfriend’s thirtieth was… a choice, even if they were fighting or some other strange reason. But then four hours turned to six hours and then it was, ‘damn, it’s already 2:00 AM?’ and she never came.

“Are you ready to go?” Chaeryoung asked at the front door.

Minho was now alone in the kitchen and there were a lot of dishes left to wash. You should help him.

“No,” you said. “I’ll call you later.”

She had a hard time hiding her grin as she left.

You approached him slowly like how you’d approach an angry cat because he was scrubbing the dishes a little too furiously. He didn’t look up despite knowing what you were up to.

“Can I help?” you asked.

Still, he refused to look at you, but he handed you the sponge. Well, that was progress, right?

Dishes and clean up were completed in silence. No chit-chat, no music, just the sound of running water and dishes clinking in the cupboards. The task was finished in good time, and just before you decided that your stay was long overdue, he pulled another deja vu card.

“What are you doing here?” he mumbled to the floor.

“It’s your thirtieth birthday. Chaeryoung told me to come.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“I could’ve.”

A salty laugh - or perhaps a scoff - was uttered. He was tired, you were tired, and the air was cold and stale. The topics orbited like a satellite, coming ‘round for another turn for a different thirtieth celebration, if either of you would even call it that.

Minho let out a big sigh. “Only you can disappear for three months and come back into open arms.”

The words arranged sounded like a compliment, but it was clearly the opposite. “I don’t expect to be forgiven.”

“No, you shouldn’t. I tried calling you.”

“I know.”

“Texting. E-mailing. Fuck, even snail mailing!”

“I know…”

He threw his hands in the air, as he did whenever he was frustrated, and turned to take a breather from your nonchalance. You were supposed to be fighting for him, not letting him slip away like this, but why was this so hard when loving him came easily?

“I shouldn’t have come over that night,” he said after returning. “I was trying too hard to be friends again and I crossed a point where I couldn’t return from.”

“Isn’t that the story of our friendship?”

“Is that how you feel?”

“We were never really just friends, were we?” you teased.

“No,” he admitted softly, “we never were.”

Your eyes met for the first time that night. His were red and puffy, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in three months.

You swallowed the rock in your throat. “Where’s Karina?”

“I don’t know. I broke up with her a while ago.”

Your chest felt tight and your voice bubbled out a garbled, “Why?”

And his mirrored, to the point where he had to clear his throat. “I don’t love her anymore.”

“So, is it true? Is it better to have loved and lost?”

“I wouldn’t exchange my days with her for anything.”

It didn’t make sense; it just didn’t. When someone loved that deeply, how could they throw that person away so easily?

“I’m sorry,” was all you could say.

“I’m not.” He cleared his throat. “I loved her and she loved me. It was fulfilling, and now it’s not. It’s just how it is.”

“Isn’t that painful?”

“If it means I get to feel like I’m flying, I think I can handle it.”

The concept, the idea of that, was just too hard to grasp. It took your wax wings melting to realize that the journey upwards was worth the descent.

“Enough about my failures,” he said hoarsely, “What about you? How… how are you doing?”

How were you supposed to admit that tonight was the first night you had a proper meal? That sleep only came under the influence of some generic-brand silver liquor? That you plucked a fist full of grey hairs the day before? Would admitting to vulnerability prove that you were fighting for this? For him? Or would it make you look pathetic?

“I’ve been doing fine.”

The centers of his brows scrunched together and his lips pursed. He inhaled heavily, his sniffles echoing through his quiet home.

“Are you?” he stuttered, voice distorted and desperate. “Really?”

No, of course not, and that much was clear when you started to cry.

“Because,” he continued, “if you can’t tell, I’m… dying on the inside.”

“Because of me?” you whispered, feeling the weight of your actions collapsing.

“Because of you. It’s always because of you. Everyday for the past ten years. It’s always been you.”

“Why couldn’t you forget me? Why? When you were the one to throw me away?”

“How!” he cried out. “How could I forget about you, when all I wanted was you?”

“You wanted to change me! You wanted me to abandon my career.” “I wanted you to try!”

“And you were right!” Sobs choked in your chest. “You were right. If I loved you, I should have fought for you. I should have tried harder. And I really shouldn’t have admitted those feelings to you when you were not mine. For everything that I’ve done, I’m so, so sorry.”

“You should be. You are so mean,” he hissed, pointing harshly. “You torture me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Even when I close my eyes, I see you.”

“I’m sorry -”

“I named my fucking bar after your favorite flower! And now you stand here in my home asking me to forget about you? How am I supposed to even begin doing that, hm? How, when everything around me reminds me of you?”

Your sobs were visceral and messy, and you buried your face in your hands. Maybe tears held the youth Ponce de Leon searched his whole life for the way yours could fill the fountain in minutes and how wiping them took away two decades of your life.

“I’m going to ask you once more,” he whispered. “One last time, and I’ll leave it be forever because I’m fucking tired. Do you think of me as often as I think of you?”

You caved in when all else went wrong and there was nothing else to hide. “Everyday.”

“Do you want me as much as I want you?”

“No,” you replied, “Because I need you. Now, let me ask you: do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?”

His lips quivered before he laughed and you do, too, because that was the cringiest thing you’ve ever said. He held your face, that precious face of yours that he adored so much, dabbing away your tears. His eyes fluttered to your lips, a habit he couldn’t shake off after all these years.

“I need you to kiss me,” he demanded.

He tasted like honey and his lips fit yours like the second half of a two-piece puzzle. This was slow and deliberate, no longer going at the crushing speed of fervent passion because you had all the time in the world together now, and Minho was always the type of man to take his time. You couldn’t stand to leave his lips even for air and they ghosted his only for a few seconds before you tip-toed and pressed yourself deeper against him. Your hands were occupied with gripping his shirt at his waist to keep him in place. When you felt his smile on your lips, you grinned back and held him by his beautiful face.

“I need you to stay,” he formed on your lips.

“All I need is you,” you answered.

Even while traveling to his bedroom, both of you refused to separate as you bumped into furniture.

“We should take this slow,” he mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

“Get acquainted with each other, or whatever,” you concurred after removing his belt.

“Maybe get coffee some time?” he asked into the crook of your neck.

“Or a drink? I know this really cute bar called ‘DAHLIA’.”

He threw you onto his bed. After removing his shirt, he crawled on top. “I think I’ve heard it.”

“Oh yeah?” You undid his pants zipper. “I know the bartender. A little narcissistic, though; he thinks he’s so hot.”

He trailed kisses down your lips, to your neck, to your sternum, to your stomach, until the top of your panties where his fingers hooked. “I know he is.”

You called Chaeryoung the next afternoon. At first, she scolded you for not texting her when you got home, but when she checked your location during the call, she screamed so loud that Minho dropped the spatula while making your breakfast.

The sanguine satellite would continue to orbit her world and revolve her life around his happiness; and he would continue to do the same.

#lee minho #lee minho imagines #skz #stray kids #stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #lee know fic #lee know x reader #romance #friends-to-strangers-to-lovers #angst #emotional hurt with comfort #a doozy................. my longest one yet me thinks #nawt to bring in one piece but the way i screamed TAKT looking at that minho pic yeah

172 notes · View notes

suniix · 1 year ago

Text

small bite | (botw) link x reader

synopsis | reader gets cute agression and bites link

word count | 624

note | two posts in one day is insane but sorry i’ve fallen into a rabbit hole ever since totk came out so have another blurb!! 😣 first time writing for link so idk how i feel about it 💔 (also yes i just did one for inumaki i like the idea leave me alone)

The campfire made crackling sounds as Link fed it more logs. The sun had set long ago, the moon rising to take its place and casting a white glow across the land. The two of you had been traveling for a long time without breaks, so when you suggested that the two of you should rest for the night, Link offered no complaints. You were tired, the horses were tired; a break would benefit everyone.

You sat on the ground, far enough away so you wouldn’t get burned but close enough to still feel the warmth of the fire. Link took a seat right next to you on the floor, holding up mushroom skewers with a grin.

“Seriously? We just ate not too long ago.” You laughed, accepting the skewer nonetheless.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence, enjoying the small dinner Link had made (though, to be honest, you know he’ll make more, his stomach is like a void that never gets full). Finishing your skewer, you close your eyes, basking in the ambiance of the night. Somewhere in the distance, there was a cricket chirping. The grass tickled your legs as a small breeze passed through, making you shiver. It’s moments like this that give you hope for a new life after Ganon is defeated. Soon, you’ll have peaceful nights like this every day.

A rustling sound brings you out of your thoughts. Turning to look at Link, you noticed him preparing another skewer. You hold back a laugh, knowing you were right. Link hears you nonetheless and raises an eyebrow, almost as if saying, ‘What?’. You wave him off, a small giggle managing to escape. “It’s nothing, you keep eating.”

Link rolls his eyes, but you don’t fail to see the small smile growing on his lips. It’s not often that you get to see it, but he has a really nice smile. You wish you had the Sheikah slate right now to capture it.

In this moment, you can’t help but admire how beautiful he is. The light from the fire gave his sun-kissed skin a golden glow. His eyelashes are long, something you’ve commented on several times while on your journey together, casting shadows against his cheeks. Actually, his cheeks are unusually round today.

You’re tempted to squish them.

Silently debating whether or not to squish, you figure he wouldn’t mind. He does it often to you; this is only fair. Link turns to look at you as you lean in, half expecting you to kiss him, but instead you cup his cheeks. He gives a confused hum as you gently squish them for a few moments.

Slowly, you begin to pull him close to you. Now, Link thinks, now is when you give him a kiss. To his surprise, you bit his cheek. He doesn’t pull away; he just silently sits there as you bite his cheek.

When you pull away, Link is sitting there, confused. Link raises his skewer to you, gesturing for you to take it. This causes you to burst out laughing. “No no! I’m not hungry haha, just wanted to bite your cheek!”

“.. you sure?” Link asks, half expecting you to bite his cheek again.

“Yes, Link, I’m sure.” You laugh. You grab his free arm and wrap it around your shoulder, snuggling into his side for warmth.

Link goes back to eating, pulling you closer with his arm, still wondering where your sudden urge to bite him came from. While he was distracted, you turned to his arm that’s wrapped around your shoulder and bit his forearm. He flinches, once again caught off guard.

“If you’re hungry, please tell me.. I promise I didn’t eat everything and can make you another skewer.”

thank you for reading till the end! :D

masterlist

#link x reader #botw link x reader #botw x reader #loz x reader #link imagine #link fluff #botw #breath of the wild #[📝 sunni writes]

879 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

Text

A Guiding Hand 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, violence, abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: My dudes.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your shoulder hurts. Your ribs too. You keep your arm across your middle as you drag your feet down the pavement. The impact of the bed frame continues to throb tenderly in your flesh.

The embarrassment is worse than the pain. You barely hold back the hot tears behind your eyes. You can still hear Professor Smith’s voice. He was mortified, just as much as you. How can you ever face him again?

You’re not going to. You give up. Lee is right. You’re too stupid. You’re useless. You’re destined to end up just like your mom. Not quite. You doubt there will ever be a man who would waste his time.

You dab away the moisture along the brims of your eyes before you enter the convenience store. You nod at the cashier and duck down the middle aisle. You find a canister of your usual brand and linger before the shelf. You don’t want to go back yet, but you know the longer you take, the more reason there is for Lee to complain.

You pay and head back out into the street. The sky is grey and clouds dampen the air. There’s a rainstorm coming. It’s a perfect setting for today.

The apartment rises before you and you sigh in resignation. This is it. The rest of your life. Well...

One day your mother will cast you out. It might be sooner than later with how Lee hangs around, how he commands her. He doesn’t see a place for you there. You don’t see one for you anywhere. What will you do then?

As it is, all you have to your name is your laptop, your ratty clothes, and the debt you won’t be able to pay back when you fail this course and drop out. You’re defeated by the time you get to the top of the stairs. You keep your head down as you enter the apartment and slide the chain into place.

You’re met with thick grunts and the slap of flesh. Your mom’s whimpers are muffled but Lee’s carnal noises are untethered. Your breath traps in your chest and your skin razes hotly. You try to ignore it as you enter the kitchen and set the canister on the counter, leaving the change on the lid.

As you back up, there’s a glimmer of movement from your left. The bathroom door opens, revealing the back of Lee’s rutting body. You cover your eyes in horror as he huffs and puffs, your mother’s strangled cries trickling out as she’s hidden behind the door, between him and the sink.

“Put a pot on,” he demands as he grips the door and bites his lip, putting more into his thrust, “we’re almost done.”

He smirks and winks before he snaps the door shut. Your stomach stirs with nausea and you quickly spin away. You shake as you near the counter. You have no other choice. You know if you ignore him, he’ll make sure it all gets worse for you. He’s already ruined so much.

You put the change aside and uncap the canister. You peel back the freshness seal, your bandaged hand making it all the more tedious. The coffee grounds catch on the gauze. You fill the tank of the machine and set the pot in place. You measure out the coffee and flip the lid down, hitting the red button before you walk away.

You can still hear them. Even as you shut your bedroom door. You face your room and turn on the light. It’s worse than when you left.

Your bed is half off the frame, your bookshelf’s been cleared onto the floor, your laundry basket is overturned, and your laptop... It’s under the chair. You cross the room and bend to pick it up. You examine it; loose hinges and the frame is peeling away from the monitor. Your heart plummets and you drop into the chair.

You have to prop the screen up against the wall to keep it open. Awkwardly, you reach across the desk to reach the keyboard and hit the power button. To your surprise, it boots and the screen lights up. The colours are all off; the dark is now light and the reverse. The mouse pad doesn’t work, or half the keys.

It takes you twenty minutes to sign in. Aside from your burnt hand, the state of the laptop is more than enough to deter you. You watch the desktop load helplessly and several notifications pop up along the right side of the screen. You don’t read any of them as you see the name; Dr. Raymond Smith.

You know what they are. Just like before. He's repulsed by you. By the way you live. He saw the truth and you can't hide it any longer. It's not worth it to deny it any longer.

It was all a stupid idea. As stupid as you. It's easier to just give up. You don't know why you tried in the first place.

You'll put in a request to drop the course. If you can. You can't do much given the state of your laptop. You can't do much at all in life. That's the way it will always be.

📓

The last... however many days you've been awake. Waiting. Dreading. Expecting Lee to burst in and humiliate you again.

Every time you try to close your eyes, you swear you hear the door knob. You put the chair under the knob. You're so tired. Exhausted to the bone. You need sleep badly.

You lay down, head swimming with agony, and your eyes close without another thought. You can't resist the heavy blanket of fatigue that drapes over you. There is nothing. A void of sheer desolation that wraps around your body, submerging you like dark water.

You wake with a start. The vision of blue eyes fade in an instant. Eyes you know. Not the vivid irises of the sinister man in your mother's room, no a pair of almost crystalline orbs, soft and diligent. You shake of the thought and rub the stitch from your forehead.

You smell. You've been wearing the same clothes since that day. How long ago was that? You can't count. You haven't showered, the room is the same mess he made of it, your life too.

You don't move. You don't want to. Not until the gentle tap comes at the door. You groan as the handle turns but the chair keeps the door lodged in place.

"Sweetie," your mom calls through, "will you let me in?"

You stare at the door. Your limbs refuse to move. You can't lift even a finger. You close your eyes and listen to her beg. You hate that. You hear it constantly, the way she begs him to stop, to listen, or just to be kind.

Go away.

When you open your eyes next, there's a banging on the door. The chair lurches and the legs scrape on the floor, but the door stays shut. You hide again, pulling a pillow over your head.

Time flows into vague droning and shades of grey. Your head is foggy and thick. Suddenly, you're awake and staring up at an angry face. You're torn out of the bed and dragged to sit at the edge. Only Lee's unbreakable grip keeps you from flopping onto your back.

You stare up at him dumbly then your eyes search past him. The chair is broken on the floor. You look back to him, head lolling. You blink as he snarls.

"What're ya doin'? You're drivin' your ma batty! And I gotta listen to it so you get your ass up."

You try to swat him away and whimper as your hand pulses and fire course through your skin. You force your spine rigid and try to shrug him off. You shake your head and cradle your hand in your lap, the bandage stained and smelly with puss.

"Get on you fucking feet," he lifts you as if you weigh nothing. You as good as dangle from his grasp, "cupboards are empty."

"Sweetie," your mom's birdish cheep comes from the doorway, "we got the credits. I wrote a list for you."

"Laying in the dark all day, what else you got?" Lee scoffs and lets you go. You waver on your feet and look dully over at your mothers shadow. "Fucking stinks in here."

You shuffle past him silently. You don't know what to do, you just know you need to be away from him. You feel sick. You're dizzy and drained.

You put out your uninjured hand to take the list from your mom. Your stench ripples off the hoodie. She smiles through a curled lip.

"Sweetie, you should get changed first," she slurs and give a doelike flutter of lashes. Drunk, as always. Maybe you should start. Maybe you wouldn't have to feel so much.

You nod and go to the closet. Lee prowls around your desk but you're too hazy to care. You pull out a new hoodie then go to the dresser to find some loose sweats.

You stop and stare at the man standing by your bed. The thick silence strangles you as he growls under his breath. Your mom trills with nervous laughter.

"Lee, come on, she gotta put new clothes on. Honey, can you make sure you grab an extra chop for him?"

You shrug and you hug the rumpled clothing with one arm and stare at the floor. He can have yours. Your stomach is so empty, the very idea of food makes you want to wretch.

"Mmm, stop dragging your ass," he snarls as he stomps to the door, "fucking starving."

You wait until he slams it. You expect that. You don’t even react. You lay the clothing on the desk and peel off the dingy layers. You pull on the sweats and swoop the sweater over your head. If you keep the hood up, you won’t have to worry about your hair or face.

You take the list and stuff it in your pocket. Each step is a stagger. Your body is stiff and sore. You go out into the hall and brace yourself for another attack. You only hear your mother murmuring in the kitchen. You edge away and sit on the floor as you put your shoes on.

You stand and fumble with the locks on the door. You can barely get your fingers to co-operate and your burnt hand is in flames. The bandages barely cling to the flesh. You shut the door behind you without using the key and head down the hallway.

Down the stairs, you can see the yellow sunlight seeping in through the front doors. You emerge, squinting into the shine, and raise your hand as you try to see through it. Your head pounds at the intensity of daylight.

You trod between the freshly mowed plot of grass before the building and stop by the sidewalk. You sway and try to shake the cobwebs out. You look one way then the other. The heat gathers under your sweater and you hunch down even more. It’s an unusually warm day.

Your name startles you before you can find your bearings and set off for the store. You must be delirious. Maybe you should’ve found some stale bread to chew on. Rings of colour form in your vision as you turn around to face the echo of your name.

The figure moves decisively towards you. You have to be hallucinating. It can’t be him. It’s probably that guy who always asks for a light between puffing smoke towards the doors.

“I’ve been emailing,” Professor Smith says. You lean back on your heel and grimace. He isn’t real. “You... are you well?”

You stare at him. You try to see through the delusion but can’t. You look down at your trembling hand then turn to peer down the street.

“I have to go,” you croak over your dry tongue.

You turn away, feet tangling, and stagger on. You can hear him following. His steps are fleet and light. In a moment, he’s at your side.

“Please, you look ill, slow down,” he touches your arm and you rip away from him.

“Leave--” you stumble and throw your arms out to balance yourself, stopping short as you nearly keel over. “I’m okay.”

“You clearly aren’t. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for over a week. After our last meeting, I’m certain you can understand my concern--”

You face him and scrunch up your nose, “Professor,” you stammer out, “you don’t have to worry about me. No one does.”

You quickly veer past him and fall into a clumsy sprint across the street. You barely dodge a car on your way to the other side and you’re out of breath as you meet the curb. You keep your head down as you hurry away, hoping he’s not persistent. He’ll go away. He’s not real, so you just have to stop thinking.

#a guiding hand #dark fic #fic #raymond smith #dark!fic #dark raymond smith #dark!raymond smith #raymond smith x reader #the gentlemen #series #au

133 notes · View notes

willalove75 · 1 year ago

Text

Alcina's New Maid Pt. 16 Lady Dimitrescu x Reader

Summary: Karl Heisenberg comes to visit and things get interesting.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI

Tags: Light angst, mostly fluff

Notes: Part 16! I'm so sorry this chapter is so late! I struggled writing this more that I have with any other chapter before and idk why. But I hope you all enjoy it regardless💕

Click here for the rest of the series

The next day Cassandra woke you up just as the sun was rising to start training once again. You tried to look at Alcina so she could convince her daughter to let you sleep in a little more but she just laid there with a sleepy smile on her face. Both you and Alcina knew that once Cassandra had her mind set on something there was no talking her out of it.

The two of you worked on the same things you did yesterday. She helped refine your stance and the way your body moved and shifted as you dodged her attacks.

Breakfast came and went and it was back to training. You knew that she meant well and was only trying to help you, but Cassandra was wearing you out. Training went through lunch, the two of you only taking a short break to eat when Zina brought food out to the courtyard.

Not long after that Bela and Daniela showed up and they both sparred with you for awhile. The three girls had three very distinct fighting styles. Cassandra always took the offence, advancing often and quickly. Bela was more calculated. Even though you were training for self-defense she still kept herself at a distance and made you come to her. Daniela was the definition of chaos. She played both offence and defense, advancing and pulling away so you came towards her and retreated often. Her moves were erratic and unhinged and not for a second were you able to predict what she was going to do next. You could tell she was less formally trained than the other two, but from your sparring session alone you knew she was just as lethal.

By the time the dinner bell rang you were starving and exhausted. The four of you shuffled into the dining room where Alcina was already seated.

"How was training girls?" She asked.

"She did really well, improved a lot more than I thought she would." Cassandra says.

"She's better than I thought she was going to be honestly. She almost knocked me off of my feet a couple of times." Bela says as she takes her seat.

"It was SO much fun!" Daniela exclaims.

"Draga?" Alcina asks, looking at you.

"It was good, tiring, but good."

Alcina can see the exhaustion in your face and gives you a small smile.

Dinner was delicious, as per usual. Although they could have put a leather boot on your plate and you would have devoured it without a second thought. The conversation was light, the girls and Alcina talking about how their days went. You stayed quiet for most of the meal just listening; there wasn't anything you had to add to the conversation. That coupled with exhaustion you were happy to not have to participate in doing anything other than eating.

"So after dinner I was thinking I can show you how to get out of a grapple." Cassandra says.

"After dinner?" You say, your eyes darting toward Alcina with a pleading look in them. There's no way you're gonna be able to do more tonight.

"Cassandra I think that's enough for today."

"But-"

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, bug, but I need y/n in good shape for the meeting and I can't have her falling asleep. She needs rest. You can continue the day after tomorrow once your uncle leaves."

Cassandra hangs her head in defeat.

"Fine."

Alcina chuckles at her daughter and looks back over to you with a wink. You give her a small smile as if to say "thank you."

It took everything in you to not crawl up the stairs and flop into bed once dinner was finished. Alcina suggested everyone relax in the library after dinner and as tired as you were you didn't want to miss it. As tempting as your bed was, you managed to avoid passing out on it after you showered and headed to the library.

The girls picked their books and Alcina plucked one off of the shelf after perusing her options for a few minutes. You lazily flipped through a magazine you found laying around while you lounged on the couch.

"No book tonight, draga?" Alcina asks.

"Nah," you toss the magazine onto the coffee table. "I'm too tired to focus on reading."

Alcina sits in her large arm chair and places her reading glasses on the bridge of her nose. Gods she looks hot. You're too tired to try and hide your stare and Alcina smirks.

"Come. Sit with me, draga mea." She says, beckoning you with a slight nod of her head.

As you walk up to her, Alcina wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you up into her lap. You drape your legs across her thighs and rest your back against her arm.

"Comfortable?" She asks, looking down at you.

"Mhm." You say, cuddling into her.

Due to the way you're sitting and the height difference your face is pretty much against her boob. Normally this would drive you crazy, sending pulses to your core; but tonight they're your soft pillows.

Alcina lets out a soft purr as she runs her fingers through your damp hair and the soothing noise lulls you into a deep sleep.

When you wake up you're in Alcina's bed. Your eyes adjust to the darkness of the room and you realize it's still nighttime. There's a single light in the room coming from a lit candle on Alcina's vanity where's she seated. The warm light flickers across her, illuminating her porcelain skin and raven hair, highlighting the details on her face. Even though you're too far away to see, you're sure her smile lines and crows feet are bathed beautifully in the light as it dances across her skin. What isn't in the light is cast in a dark shadow. It's mysterious and beautiful, just like her.

Your heartbeat must have given you away because Alcina sets down the papers in her hand and turns to look at you.

"You're awake." She seems surprised.

"That I am. What time is it?"

"It's late, it's the middle of the night."

Alcina stands up and makes her way over to the bed.

"Why are you awake?"

"I work most nights at this hour."

"You do?" You're a little shocked, in all the times you've shared a bed with her not once did you ever feel her leave in the middle of the night.

"Mhm." She hums and sits on the edge of the bed. "The mutation allows me the privilege of needing less sleep than a human. After a few hours of rest I continue working."

"Every night?"

"Every night, save for a few rare occasions where I treat myself to the calm of the night and relax."

"So do you just wait until I fall asleep to leave?" You say, sounding more hurt than you expected.

"No, draga mea." She brushes your hair away from your face. "Most nights I fall asleep with you in my arms and get up later. Others I will lay there and listen to your heartbeat and your breathing for a few hours before I get up and work."

"If I didn't know you so well I'd say that's the creepiest thing I've ever heard." You laugh.

Alcina chuckles and slides under the covers next to you, pulling you into her.

"Well I am certainly glad that you know me then, draga."

With a kiss to your forehead you wrap your arms around her waist and rest your head on her chest. Alcina traces lazy circles across your skin where you shirt rode up on your back and you listen to her heartbeat with a sigh.

"Tired, draga?" She asks.

"No. Just relaxed, happy." Alcina hums in response.

"Good." She says.

As the scent of her perfume envelopes you, you become more aware of your senses. The silky fabric of her nightgown beneath your fingers, her toned muscles that lay underneath her soft skin, the feeling of her chilled fingers dancing across your back. You can hear her heartbeat, strong and steady, accompanied by each breath she takes. The rhythm of your heart steadily increases as you feel her body adjust underneath yours.

Alcina slides down from laying against the headboard and you rest you head in the crook of her neck when she settles. The scent of her perfume is stronger there and it makes you feel like you're floating.

The skin on her neck is soft and tender as you nuzzle against it. The hum she releases in response is nearly a purr and you smile against her skin. As your focus shifts back to her fingers, still tracing circles across your back, you hold Alcina a little tighter.

"My sweet, perfect girl. My beautiful little pet." Alcina whispers into your hair before placing a kiss on your head.

Too entranced to realize it, you place a light, open-mouthed kiss on Alcina's neck. You only realize it when you feel her chest rumble underneath you with a purr and feel the vibration of her voice.

"Draga." She says with a soft yet stern voice.

"Sorry." You say as you remove your lips from her neck.

"No need for apologies." She lifts your chin with a finger and your eyes meet hers. Leaning down, she places a kiss on your lips. When she pulls away she doesn't pull away fully, leaving her lips to brush against yours. "If you continued I don't think I would be able to control myself, is all."

The way her warm breath caressed your face, how her lips grazed yours as she spoke made your brain fuzzy.

"Don't." You whisper.

"Don't?"

"Control yourself. Don't."

Alcina smirks and captures your lips in a passionate kiss. Your heart begins to beat harder and you bring your hand to her face to deepen it. She places her hand over yours and pulls back from the kiss. Turning her head, she places a kiss in the middle of your palm and holds it against her cheek.

You can see it in her eyes: the want, the need, but you also see hesitation and worry.

"What's wrong?" You ask.

"It's not that I don't want to, draga. It's taking all of my self restraint to not pin you down and ravish you right this second." She sighs. "I fear that we might be moving too quickly. We only started rebuilding what we had a few weeks ago. And then you were hurt and-" Shaking her head, she takes a deep breath. "this is too important to rush iubirea mea. I hope you understand."

And you did. You understood perfectly and as disappointed as you were, you knew she was right. It was evident that your bodies were ready but your hearts and minds were still playing catch up.

"I do, Alcina. I do." You say, nuzzling back into her neck.

"Fetița mea dulce. Cât de mult te iubesc." She whispers as she runs her fingers through your hair. (My sweet girl. How I love you so.)

The two of you lay in a comfortable silence. The steady beat of her heart accompanied by the sensation of the lazy circles she's tracing along your skin relaxes you. Alcina lets out a soft sigh and you look up. Following her line of sight you notice she's staring at her vanity with the papers she was looking over scattered across it.

"Do you have to keep working?"

"Unfortunately."

"Can you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

"Of course my love." She says, nuzzling into your hair and placing a kiss on your head.

Alcina holds you in her arms until you drift back off into a deep sleep once more. When she's certain you won't wake up she gently lays you down onto the bed and kisses your forehead. She takes a moment to study your face as you sleep. She loves how peaceful you look, how you look like an angel. Her angel. After a minute she makes sure you're tucked in and continues working for a few more hours before joining you in bed once more.

Alcina was only in bed with you for about an hour before you woke up next to her. When you wake up you roll over and meet a stunning pair of golden eyes staring back at you.

"Hi." You say, your voice raspy with sleep.

"Good morning, draga."

"How long have you been awake for?"

"Quite some time."

"When did you come back to bed?"

"Approximately an hour ago."

"I'm surprised you didn't start getting ready for the day already."

"The thought did cross my mind, but laying in bed with you for another hour was much more appealing. Even if I didn't sleep."

A smile crosses your face and you curl into her, burying your face into her hair.

"Waking up next to you is one of my favorite things." You sigh.

"Mine as well, draga mea."

She places a kiss on your shoulder and wraps her arms around you, soaking in the moment before the two of you have to get up and get ready for the day.

After breakfast Alcina heads into her study to do some work before Heisenberg arrives and you hang out in one of the sitting rooms near the dining room and start to read a book Daniela recommended.

Just as the book was beginning to devour your attention the doors to the room swing open and slam against the wall. The commotion startles you and you snap your head towards the direction of the sound.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here? A rogue maiden?" You sit there speechless as you take in the man before you.

The man is tall, but not nearly as tall as Alcina. He's wearing a grease-stained shirt and pants, a long tan trench coat, circular glasses, and a hat. There's a gigantic hammer that looks like it was put together with scrap metal and gears found in a junkyard slung over his shoulder and he begins to wave it around haphazardly. You can tell that the man is unshaven and by the way he's stomping his muddy shoes across the freshly polished floors, he has little manners. There's a ruggedness to him, very much the opposite of the prim and proper aura that radiates off of Alcina.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" He says with a smirk as he walks closer. "Such a pretty little thing-" he reaches up to touch your face and you can see the grime underneath his fingernails and the dirt on his fingers.

"Heisenberg! Get your filthy man hands away from her!" Alcina shouts just before his fingers graze your skin.

He spins around and you have to duck to steer clear of the hammer.

"What?! I didn't even do anything!"

"And for the love of gods watch where you swing that thing!" She snaps.

"Nice to see you too, Godzilla. Oh I've been great, thanks for asking. Yeah the lycans have been doing well on their search for those hunters that keep entering your castle's territory. You're so very welcome for protecting your precious land!" He says sarcastically. "And I was only going to tell this pretty little girl here that she should get her ass back to work before you stick her in a barrel for your next fresh batch of-."

"That is enough." She hisses.

You give Alcina a look and her eyes shift to you and back towards Heisenberg, which doesn't go unnoticed by him. He looks at you and back at Alcina and starts laughing as he turns back towards you.

"Oh I get it now, you're more than just her little maid, aren't ya sweet cheeks? You got yourself a pretty one here Alci, I wonder how long this one is going to last."

Alcina's eyes burn into the back of his head as the anger in them grows. Her fists are clenched tightly at her sides, there's no doubt she's doing everything she can from letting her claws out and taking his head off where he stands.

He sees how Alcina is reacting to his words and you notice him inhale deeply through his nose. He looks between the two of you for a moment before his eyes fall on you once more and you see that they're full of mischief.

"Whenever you get bored of this one, hold off on turning her into your next blend and be a good sister and send her my way-"

He reaches out to touch you again and his words are swiftly cut off when Alcina grabs him by his collar and throws him clear across the room. His back slams into the wall leaving a small crater behind.

Alcina stands in front of you in a protective stance, her claws are out and her chest is heaving with anger.

"I warned you, Heisenberg, do not touch her." She growls.

"What the fuck!" He yells as he picks himself up off of the ground. "What's your fucking problem?!"

He looks up and sees how Alcina is standing in front of you, how she's protecting you. He sees the look in her eyes and it clicks. Once it does he lets out a chuckle that turns into a hysterical laugh.

"I fucking knew it. I could smell you all over her from a mile away Alci." Alcina growls at him. "Oh calm down, the fact that your temper is bigger than you are is astonishing, truly. Don't worry, I won't touch your precious little human."

In an instant his hammer is flying towards him and he catches it in his hand. Your eyes grow wide, you definitely weren't expecting that. Heisenberg walks over to one of the chairs and plops down into it, resting his hammer against the chair and Alcina relaxes enough to retract her claws.

"So does Miranda know about your little," he pauses to think of the right word. "friend, here?" Alcina tenses up as she narrows her eyes at him. "I'll take that as a resounding 'yes.' I'm surprised that bird bitch hasn't taken her as one of her test subjects, especially if she knows of your interest in her. What's your name, kid?"

You look up at Alcina and she nods her head at you and you tell him your name.

"Hah, and you already got her trained? I wonder how many trips to the dungeon that took."

"She has never set foot in there and she never will." Alcina growls before she takes a seat next to you on the couch.

"So, kid, what debts did you have that got you shipped to this hellhole?" He asks you.

Alcina cuts in before you can speak.

"She has no debts and she can leave whenever she chooses."

"HAH!" Heisenberg laughs out loud. "I'll believe that when I see it. Really kid, what's your deal? In all my years I've never heard of someone hanging around here willingly. What's the catch?"

Alcina growls and you slide your hands around one of her fists clenched in her lap. You can just barely hear her breath hitch in her chest before she looks down at you. The anger in her eyes softens and you give her a small smile.

Looking back at Heisenberg, he has the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.

"Holy shit, I never thought I'd see the day. Someone finally tamed the beast and lived to tell the tale." Alcina rolls her eyes at him. "Now I really gotta know where the hell you came from."

"I grew up here in the village." You say. "She basically rescued me. My aunt and uncle kept me as their maid and had me raise their five children. Then I met her and she brought me here." Looking up at Alcina you see her looking down at you. A smile pulls at the corner of her lips and you can see the adoration in her eyes.

"Yeah, sure." He says and earns another eye roll from Alcina. "You were gonna stick her straight into a barrel after you had your fun with her, weren't you?" Alcina snaps her heard towards him and growls again.

That's the third time he's mentioned that and you have no idea what he's talking about. The confusion on your face must be obvious because he starts laughing again and looks at Alcina.

"She doesn't know, does she?" Alcina tenses up again and gives him a death stare. "Kid, do you know what goes on in the dungeon down there?"

"Heisenberg." She hisses.

"A little." You look between the two of them. Alcina is glaring at him, if looks could kill he'd be dead where he sat. Heisenberg still has a shit-eating grin on his face as he stares back at Alcina.

"Were you ever told why maids suddenly disappear?" His eyes don't leave Alcina who growls at him as a warning.

"I know Miranda experiments on them-"

"Did she ever tell you where the blood wine comes from?"

"I-"

"You are walking into very dangerous territory, brother."

"Did my dear sister ever inform you that she sacrifices her maids and turns them into the wine-"

"ENOUGH." Alcina roars. "That is enough Heisenberg."

"What?! She deserves to know if you were planning on making her next seasons newest-"

"I SAID ENOUGH." She yells, standing up to her full height.

Your mind starts to spiral as they argue. Why didn't she ever tell you that's what she does with her maids? That there was more to their disappearances than just Mother Miranda experimenting on them? Was that her original plan with you? To buy you and turn you into wine? Did she actually care for you in the beginning or was it just to butter you up before she killed you? Everything that happened in the first few weeks of your arrival is suddenly brought into questioning.

Panic starts to wash over you and the walls begin to feel like they're closing in. You try to breathe but your lungs feel constricted. You need to get out of this room, now.

Jumping to your feet you run past Alcina and Heisenberg and out of the room. The girls are just coming down the stairs when they see you run out the front door.

"Damn you, Karl!" Alcina yells before chasing after you.

Once you get outside you bend over and rest your hands on your knees and try to breathe. Your breaths are short and fast and you can't seem to slow it down.

Alcina's footsteps rapidly approach you and you stand up only to realize your hands are trembling and tears are rolling down your cheeks. Before you know it, she's kneeling next to you and rests her hand against your back.

"Shh, draga, breathe with me, okay? Deep breath in."

You try but you can't seem to get the air to fill your lungs.

"I can't." You say.

"Yes you can. Do it with me, easy, breathe in," you manage to take a bit of a deeper breath in. "and out. Good, just like that."

Alcina walks you through a few more breathing exercises and your panic begins to fade. You grab onto her dress and bury your face into her as your tears keep falling. She wraps her arms around you and holds you tight.

"I'm so sorry, draga."

"Why didn't you tell me?" You cry into her.

"I wanted to, I was going to, I promise I was."

"Why didn't you tell me the other day?"

"I was too afraid of overwhelming you. I had told you so much and it was already so much for you to process, I didn't want to add to that. I'm sorry, I should have been the one to tell you, not him."

"Was that your plan, after you brought me here? To just kill me and use my blood for your wine?" You pull back and look into her eyes and see guilt. "That's what you were going to do, wasn't it?" Alcina closes her eyes and a tear runs down her cheek. "Tell me the truth, please Alcina."

Golden eyes meet yours and fill with tears.

"I considered it. I would be lying if I said I didn't. But I promise that was not why I brought you here."

"Then why did you bring me here?"

"Draga, I've already told you-"

"Tell me again, please. I need the whole truth."

Alcina sighs and wipes the tears from your cheeks.

"I brought you here because you deserved better. Because they didn't appreciate you there. Because you are so much more than just a caretaker and a housekeeper. You are so beautiful and thought so low of yourself and I couldn't accept that. At least if you were with me, you would be appreciated the correct way. And I know I've failed at that more than once and I still haven't been able to forgive myself. But you deserved so much better and you were even more wonderful than I ever could have imagined, draga. I never expected to fall in love with you, I just hoped that you would live out your days here and be happy. I never thought you would find your happiness in me. And the only reason I ever considered doing that to you was in case I was wrong about you and you ended up being just another rude, ungrateful girl. But after those first few days, especially when my daughters were bothering you in the library, I knew that wasn't who you were. You were so kind to them, you treated them so well even though they made your job more difficult. I knew I was right about you, but I didn't realize just how incredible you were, draga. I am so sorry."

Alcina wraps her arms around you and holds you close to her. You wrap your arms around her neck and bury your face into her.

"How much more is there that I don't know?"

"Not much, but there are some things."

"Can you tell me?"

"I will my love, I promise. Can we get through this meeting with Miranda first? After that I'll tell you everything you want to know."

"Okay. Deal."

You pull away a little and look into her eyes. After you wipe the tear stains from her cheeks she rests her hand on your face and brings you into a deep kiss.

"Te iubesc, draga mea."

"I love you too, Alcina."

You and Alcina sit there for a minute as you soak in being with each other. The anxiety completely fades into the comfort she's brought you and you can feel like you can breathe normally again.

When the two of you part she stands up and dusts off her dress.

"Did you not want him to know about us?" You ask her.

"I was hoping you would never have to meet him because he is the most insufferable creature I've ever come to know. But he loathes Miranda and that alone makes him trustworthy. But since he was able to figure it out, I'm not concerned."

A loud crash comes from inside the castle and Alcina growls as she brings her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

"I don't even want to know what they are getting up to in here." She grumbles. "Come, draga. We should get back inside."

As soon as the door closes behind the two of you, you see something shiny fly through the air in your direction. Alcina quickly steps in front of you and she lets out a loud hiss and the room goes silent. When you walk out from behind Alcina, you see a large steak knife lodged deep into her leg. You freeze in horror for a moment before watching Alcina yank it out and turn her head towards you.

"I'm fine draga, there's no need to worry."

Blood pours from her leg for a few seconds before it stops and in that moment you remember her regeneration abilities and let out a breath.

"What did I tell you, especially you, girls, about throwing sharp objects in my castle?!" She yells. "If this were to hit one of my staff, or her," she says, gesturing to you. "you would wish the Black God itself would come and punish you because the wrath I would unleash-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, we get it." Karl says, interrupting her. "Big scary claws, our parts would have to grow us back, we've heard it all before bigfoot, don't get your panties in a twist."

"That almost hit her!"

"I wasn't aiming for her!"

"Then what were you-" She turns around and sees a picture of her taped to the door with knife marks in it.

With a growl Alcina chucks the knife at Karl and it stops right before the tip pierces his chest. He looks down at it in shock for a second before it clatters to the ground.

"Sorry mother." The girls say in unison.

"Can we please get to business now that you've effectively ruined one of my good dresses?" She says.

"Yeah, sure." He says with a shrug.

The six of you head into a larger sitting room and Alcina goes to change. She comes back in a long black dress and pulls you into her lap after she sits on the couch next to you.

"No more trouble in paradise?" Karl says with a smirk.

You roll your eyes at him and Alcina looks down at you with pride before kissing you on the cheek.

"Before we begin, draga, I would like to formally introduce you to Karl Heisenberg, my idiot younger brother and another one of the four lords of the village."

He tips his hat at you and leans back in his chair, crossing one leg so his ankle is resting on top of his knee. He lights up a cigar and blows the smoke up into the air.

"Bela, my book please." Alcina says.

Bela walks over and hands her mother a leather-bound book and a pen. Alcina places them in your lap and kisses you on the head.

"Draga, will you please take notes? It'll be good practice for the meeting, although I fear she won't actually have you take notes-"

"Why the hell is she going to be taking notes at the meeting?" He asks.

"Mother Miranda insisted on it."

"Oh fuck, she knows about her, knows about her?"

"Yes."

"Alcina-"

"I know."

"Fuckin' bird bitch. Do you know what she wants with her?"

"No." She says with a sigh before pulling your head into her chest and kissing the top of it.

"How the hell did Miranda find out?"

Alcina tells him what happened when Mother Miranda arrived and what transpired when you met. When she's finished, Karl smokes his cigar with a pensive look on his face.

"Well, that sucks."

"I will say the same thing to you that I said to Donna. If Mother Miranda does anything, I will stop at nothing to protect her." Her grip around you tightens and you rest your head on her chest to try and calm her.

"And what did Donna say?"

"That her allegiance is with me."

"And Sal?"

"He doesn't know about her. And I don't trust him. He will do anything to be in Mother Miranda's good graces, even if it means going against us."

"No fuckin' shit. At least we don't have to worry about him all that much. He's pretty useless as it is."

Alcina shrugs and runs her fingers through your hair.

"So how do we go about killing the bitch?" He asks with a grin.

"We don't. Karl you know she's too powerful. There is nothing we can do, not yet."

"Well if she wants her we could-"

"I will not be using her as a decoy or pawn in whatever moronic plan you have in that grease-filled head of yours."

"But-"

"No." She says with a growl.

"Fine, fuckin' bitch." He mumbles. "Lets get this over with."

You begin to take notes as Alcina and Karl talk about the hunters his lycans have encountered. He says that they found thirteen of them and his group of seven lycans were able to kill about ten of them. Three of the hunters managed to get away and four of his lycans were killed in the fight. The lycans that were left were beat up enough to not be able to follow where the three went so they retreated back to the factory.

"Then yesterday, they came across another six hunters. All wearing the same symbol as the last group." He pulls out a pendant from his pocket and hands it to Alcina who examines it. "Luckily I sent nine lycans out so none of the hunters managed to get away and all of my lycans came back this time."

"Any prisoners?" She asks.

"Nope."

"Ugh." She groans, rolling her eyes. "How many times do we have to have this conversation-"

"Chill out sasquatch, they tried. One guy was left and my lycans tried to drag him back as prisoner but the guy put a bullet in his head before they were able to get any useful information out of him."

"Well, that's new."

"Yeah, they were pretty surprised."

"So in a week there have been nearly twenty hunters? And three escaped?"

"Yup."

"I don't like this."

"And they were armed to hell too. Massive guns, tons of ammo, they aren't fuckin' around."

"Military grade?"

"You know it."

"I really don't like this. Have you expanded coverage near Donna and Salvatore?"

"Yup, found a few rogue hunters that didn't seem affiliated with these guys and only two that were by each property. But they weren't as close as they are to you."

"How close were they able to get?"

"About four miles out."

"The closest anyone has come in decades has been two miles."

"And I'll do my best to keep it that way. But from the looks of it, they're scouting. No hints of an invasion yet but I think they're planning."

"Do we know where their base is?"

"Haven't located it. Next time my guys find a group of them they're gonna stalk them back to the base."

"Good."

"So what do you wanna do, sis?"

"I need more patrols throughout the entire territory. If they're calculated they may try and strike from multiple angles. Also more guarding Donna and Salvatore's homes as well."

"I can't stretch them too thin, you know how much ground there is to cover for the castles territory alone?"

"I am aware-"

"Oh mom, can we go with Uncle Karl and patrol?!" Cassandra asks.

"Oh yeah! We haven't hunted hunters in so long!" Daniela says.

"Absolutely not."

"But-"

"No. It is too dangerous. You three are not going anywhere near this until we know what we're up against. My word is final."

"I could use the extra-"

Alcina growls at him and he shuts his mouth.

"Once this meeting is over with, and if things here return to normal, I will go out one night and cover some ground and see what I can find."

"Sounds good to me."

"Our priority should be finding their base and taking at least one prisoner alive to question them."

"Glad we can agree on something."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, I'm fuckin' starving! When's lunch?"

Alcina rolls her eyes and looks down at you as you finish up your notes.

"May I?" She asks.

You hand her the notebook and she flips through the notes you've taken. When she gets to the last page she nods with approval.

"How are they?"

"Very impressive, draga. I think you're more than prepared for the meeting, in terms of note taking at least."

"I don't think she'll be takin' many notes there, sis." Karl says.

It throws you off a little when you realize his tone isn't antagonizing like it's been since he walked in. You can feel Alcina deflate a little under you at his words and she holds you tight.

"Hey," you say, looking up at her. Her golden irises meet yours and you stare into them while you cup her face. "everything is going to be fine. Whatever happens, we'll figure it out, okay?"

Alcina nods and rests her forehead against yours as she closes her eyes. Her hand cups your cheek and she brushes her thumb against your skin.

Karl watches as Alcina melts into you. Sure, he's met his sisters other paramours, not that any of them had lasted very long - but right away he could tell this was different. Never in his long life has he seen Alcina act like this with someone. She's always been possessive of her partners but when she ran out after you, well that was new. Now this, watching as you, a tiny human, comforts her, he can barely believe it and it's happening right in front of him.

The lunch bell rings and you and Alcina are pulled from your moment. She sits up straight and adjusts herself, you notice a slight blush forming under her makeup. That and the way Karl is staring at the two of you, this must be new territory for the both of them.

You hop off of her lap and follow the girls into the dining room while Alcina and Karl follow behind.

Everyone takes their seat and Karl goes to put his feet up on the table. Alcina growls at him and he stops halfway through the motion.

"It's truly amazing that you've lived as long as you have without learning any manners." She murmurs.

"Sorry not all of us grew up as stuck-up nobility with etiquette classes and maids to wipe our asses for us. Fuckin' bitch."

"Must you use that language in my house?"

"Can't you mind your own fuckin' business?!"

"Child."

"Bitch."

The girls begin giggling and Alcina glances over at them and only gives them a little bit of a look. Karl diverts his attention to you and he has a mischievous smile on his face.

"So, kid, what in the hell made you attracted to bigfoot over there anyway? You got a size kink or something?"

"KARL." Alcina yells as the girls bust into laughter.

"Come on, I gotta know. I mean, it's gotta be her size, right? There's no way anyone can be attracted to her personality, unless 'massive fucking bitch' is the kind of trait you look for in women." You look between Alcina - who's fuming - and Karl who has that shit-eating grin back on his face.

"Don't dignify him with an answer, draga."

"Oh thank the Black God, I thought you were dyin' Alci. Actin' all sweet back there. But there's the controlling bitch I hate. Glad to see you're back to normal. Do you always let her control you like that?" He asks you.

You know he's just trying to get a rise out of Alcina so you just shrug your shoulders at him and continue eating.

"You really got this one whipped. I should make you a fuckin' collar that says 'Property of the Big Bitch.'"

"But what will your little lycans wear then?" You say.

Alcina looks at you surprised, but pleased. Karl's mouth hangs open for a moment before he laughs out loud.

"She speaks! I thought she was a fuckin' mute."

"I'm not but I wish you were." You quip.

The girls break out into hysterics again and Alcina hides her chuckle behind her wine glass. Karl laughs again and nods his head in approval before devouring everything on his plate.

The rest of lunch went well. Aside from Alcina getting so mad at Karl she threw a chair across the room and threatened him with her claws a few times. You and Karl got into a rhythm of throwing digs at each other and he and the girls told stories of all of the trouble they've gotten into over the years.

When lunch was over you and the girls said your goodbyes to Karl and you helped clear the table. The girls flew away to go play with the new weapons he gave them and Cassandra managed to convince him to make you a dagger.

Alcina escorted Karl to the front door, not trusting him to wander off to find the girls and throw more sharp objects around the castle.

"So, she really did tame the beast, huh?" He says with only a hit of antagonization.

Alcina rolls her eyes at him and he laughs.

"She seems like a good kid."

"She's wonderful."

"Nervous about the meeting with Miranda?"

Alcina sighs.

"Nervous doesn't begin to cover it."

"Donna said she has your back, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, then I got the kids back."

Alcina stops and stares down at him. They've hated each others guts since the moment Karl was given the cadou and really only got along for Miranda's sake and because both of them hate her more than they hate each other. But over the last couple of decades their mutual hatred for Miranda caused them to have more of a older/younger sibling relationship and the hate between the two of them faded. Not all the way, but more than either of them ever would have thought possible.

"Thank you." Alcina says.

"This doesn't mean we're fucking buddies or anything. But I know if anything happens to that kid, you're gonna be a fucking mess. And we need you to keep your shit together because we need you to take down Miranda." He looks up at her and she nods at him. "Plus, I like her and I know Miranda wants her for something and whatever it is, it ain't gonna be good."

"Thank you, Karl."

"Yeah, yeah. You owe me for this."

"Invoice me." She says as she walks away.

Alcina finds you in the sitting room again, now decorated with the crater in the wall from Karl's body, as you continue your book.

"There you are." She says with a smile.

"Here I am!"

Alcina plucks the book from your hand and puts it down on the table next to you. Before you can protest she lifts you into her arms and pulls you in for a tight hug. You wrap your arms around her neck and she sits down on the couch.

"You okay?" You ask.

"Yes, I just needed you close."

You nuzzle into her neck and she hums in response.

"So he was interesting." You say.

"He certainly is something. He didn't lay a finger on you, did he?"

"No, each time he went to touch my face you stopped him. I think he was doing it just to piss you off, honestly."

"I don't doubt that for a moment. He's such a child."

"Does he control metal or something?"

"Yes, he controls the magnetic fields therefore able to control all metals."

"That explains a lot."

"You mean why knives were being throws across my foyer? Yes. It certainly does."

"That scared me. I forgot you have that healing power for a minute and watching you pull that knife out of your leg almost made my heart stop."

"It's nothing to fret over, draga. It'll take much more than your average kitchen knife to do any real damage to me."

"Good." You say as you nuzzle into her again.

"I'm sorry for not being completely honest with you. I know we agreed to rebuild our relationship on trust and honestly, but I was so worried that all of that new information would be too much for you to handle all at once. I know I'm on thin ice, I hope I didn't lose your trust again."

"I do wish you told me, but I understand why you didn't. And I think you're right, I think it would have been too much for me to process all at once. I wish I learned it from you and not him, but that's not your fault. I still trust you Alcina. You aren't on as thin of ice as you think you are."

"I deserve to be."

"You've done so much to regain my trust." You say as you sit up and look her in the eyes. "You've been listening to me, taking things slow, being honest. You've apologized more times than I can count. You don't deserve to be on thin ice. I forgive you, Alcina."

"I don't deserve your forgiveness."

She looks away from you and you bring your hands to her face and guide her back to look into your eyes.

"Hey, stop that. Yes you do."

"I don't understand how you can forgive me after I've committed such atrocities."

"Because I love you. And because I understand why you did what you did. I think you definitely went about it the wrong way, but I get it. Even after everything you did, after learning about the other sides of you, I still love you. And if none of that deterred me from loving you, I don't think anything will. You have to forgive yourself, Alcina."

"I don't know if I can." She says, looking down.

You bring your hand under her chin and bring her gaze back up to yours.

"Yes you can. You just have to allow yourself to do it. At least try, for me?"

"I'll try for you, iubirea mea."

Her lips meet yours and she pulls you in for a soft kiss. She kisses you a few more times and with each kiss her smile grows wider until she's peppering your face with chaste kisses. You start laughing as she turns to pin you down onto the couch and continues to leave lipstick marks all over your face and neck. By the time she releases you from her grasp you're covered in her crimson lipstick and the both of you are sporting wide smiles.

"Oh dear, it looks like I may have made a bit of a mess out of your face." She says with a laugh.

"I can only imagine, there's isn't an inch of my skin that isn't covered in your lipstick is there?"

She takes your chin between her thumb and forefinger and examines your face before placing another big kiss on your jaw.

"Now there isn't." She laughs. "Come draga, lets get you cleaned up."

#willalove75 #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #wlw fanfic #lady dimitrescu fanfic #re8 lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescuxreader #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina x reader #alcina x female reader #resident evil alcina #re8 fanfiction #re8 village #re8 alcina #re8

297 notes · View notes

runariya · 6 months ago

Text

Drive to Survive (JJK) • Chapter 5 “High Expectations”

pairing: F1driver!Jungkook x female race engineer!reader genre: colleagues2L, formula1!AU, racing!AU, drama, kind of fantasy/cyborg!AU fic rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: denial, mean media, more conflicts, irritating Jungkook, angry Jungkook, anger issues, Mingyu is sus, physical fighting, a lot of cursing word count: ~ 6.670

🎵 BLACKPINK - Playing with Fire 🎵

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to the sport of Formula 1 are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • series masterlist • 06

The backdrop of Monaco's glitz and glamour is overshadowed by a cloud of frustration and disappointment that hangs heavily in the air of Mercedes. The race had been going well, with Jungkook holding onto the lead for most of the last part of the race. But everything changed in the final moments. Mingyu had snatched victory from the jaws of defeat, overtaking Jungkook just before the finish line.

Jungkook sits at the table of the debrief, still in his racing suit, his face thundering with frustration. You’re seated beside him, clearly uncomfortable, knowing that you are both about to face the brunt of Toto’s anger.

Toto stands at the head of the table, his expression a storm of barely controlled fury. "Alright, let's get straight to the point," Toto begins, his voice sharp and unforgiving. "What happened out there today was unacceptable."

Jungkook shifts in his seat, looking down at his hands. His knuckles are white from clenching them so tightly. You know as well as he what's coming and brace yourself for it.

"Jungkook," Toto continues, "you had the race in the bag. P1 was yours. But in the final lap, you let Mingyu slip past you. How did this happen?"

Jungkook takes a deep breath, struggling to find the words. "I... I lost focus for a moment. Mingyu saw an opportunity and took it. I didn't react quickly enough."

Toto's eyes narrow, you’re sure you heard a snort coming from George. "Lost focus? This is not a game, Jungkook. You can't afford to lose focus for even a second. We have worked too hard to let this slip away."

He turns his attention to you, and you try to stay calm under Toto's intense gaze, supporting Jungkook's excuse while keeping your suspicions about Mingyu hidden. "And you. What were you doing during all of this? Your job is to keep Jungkook informed and focused. How did you let this happen?"

You take a deep breath. "I was giving him the necessary updates, but... there was a moment of distraction."

Toto's voice rises. "A moment of distraction? We're here to win championships, not to entertain distractions. And what was that I heard during the race? Did Jungkook call you 'babe'? During a race?"

There are some giggles and hushed conversations heard in the room. Jungkook's face flushes with embarrassment, and he opens his mouth to defend himself, but Toto doesn't give him a chance.

"This is exactly the problem," Toto snaps. "Personal relationships have no place on the track. You need to focus on your job, Jungkook. You need to focus on winning. And you," he points a finger at you, "need to keep him focused. I don't care if you're best friends or dating. When you're on that track, it's all about the race. Nothing else matters."

The room is silent, the weight of Toto's words hanging heavily over everyone. You feel the sting of the reprimand keenly. You know Toto is right.

"I'm sorry," Jungkook finally says, his voice low. "It won't happen again."

"It better not," Toto replies, his tone still harsh but with a hint of resignation. "We're in a fight for the championship, and every point counts. We can't afford any more mistakes like this."

He looks around the room, his eyes meeting each team member's gaze in turn. "We are Mercedes. We are the best team on the grid, and we will not let this defeat us. We will learn from it, and we will come back stronger. Is that understood?"

A chorus of affirmative responses echoes through the room. The team knows that Toto is right. You have to pull together and focus if you want to reclaim Jungkook’s position at the top.

The debrief continues with a detailed analysis of the race. The team goes over every aspect, from strategy to pit stops, looking for areas to improve. Jungkook and you listen intently, taking notes and absorbing the feedback. You know that you have to do better, and you’re determined to make sure that this kind of mistake doesn't happen again. And with the heavy weight of your phone in your pocket, you know you’ll succeed.

As the meeting wraps up, Toto takes a moment to address Jungkook and you privately. His tone is softer now, though still serious, it still doesn’t lessen your fear of being scolded again.

"I know this is tough," he says, looking at both of you. "But you are both talented and capable. That's why you're here. I need you to put this behind you and focus on the next race. We can still win this championship, but we have to be at our best. No more distractions, understood?"

Jungkook nods. "Understood, boss. We'll make it right."

You also nod, feeling a new determination to let Jungkook calling you babe slide. "We'll be better prepared next time."

Toto gives you a nod of approval before he leaves you both alone. "Good. Now go get some rest. We'll regroup tomorrow and start preparing for the next race."

Just as you’re about to leave the room after Toto, Jungkook stops you by your wrist. His grip is firm, urgent even, but at the same time soft as his thumb caresses your wrist twice.

“Listen, about what I’ve said…”

You cut him off, Toto’s words still ringing in your ears. “You’re good. You heard him, let’s put this behind us and focus on the next race.”

You maintain eye contact, trying to decipher the emotions swirling inside Jungkook’s eyes, but the scolding from Toto is too fresh and present in your mind to really get a read on him. Jungkook reluctantly nods and slowly lets your wrist go as his hand lowers to his side. Your wrist feels empty without his touch, and you try to suppress the urge to reach out to him, unable to handle the sadness in his eyes. So you do the only thing you’re capable of at the moment—you turn around and leave.

Monday’s morning sun peaking through the windows of your office at Brackley warms your frozen self, a welcome comfort after the rain that drenched you on your walk here. Now, seated at your desk, you stare at your computer screen with a growing sense of dread. One headline after another flashes before your eyes, each one more invasive than the last, letting you forget the jet lag from yesterday’s flight.

"Is Jungkook's New Flame His Race Engineer?"

"Exclusive: Jungkook Spotted Carrying Drunk Engineer to Hotel!"

"Racing Scandal: Jungkook Caught in Heated Moment with Taehyung"

You scroll further, your heart sinking with every new piece of gossip. The pictures are there too, clear as day. Jungkook carrying you to the hotel, his arm under your legs, your head resting against his chest. Another image shows him dragging you away from Taehyung, his face a mix of anger and protectiveness. The sight of these private moments splashed across news sites and social media makes your stomach churn with embarrassment.

You feel a flush of shame creep up your neck, a burning sensation that spreads to your cheeks. How did it get this far? You’ve always prided yourself on your professionalism and dedication to your dream job. You've spent years working tirelessly, building your career in a field dominated by men, earning respect through sheer hard work and unwavering work ethics. Yet, here you are, the center of a tabloid spectacle, your professional reputation hanging by a thread.

As you sit there, helplessness starts to give way to anger. Anger at the invasion of your privacy, at the way your personal life has been twisted into fodder for gossip. But most of all, anger at Jungkook. How could he let this happen? Why did he have to get involved in these public displays that were bound to attract attention? Your resolve hardens, and you decide that things need to change. You need to maintain a professional distance from him, this time for real.

A sharp knock on your door pulls you out of your thoughts. Joongki and Jungkook enter your office, their expressions a mix of concern and determination.

"Hey," Joongki starts, his voice gentle. "Jungkook here told me you wanted to talk to us both."

You nod, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. "Yes, we do. I have something important to disclose." You glance at Jungkook, your anger still simmering beneath the surface. "Mingyu has metal parts on his neck and thigh."

Joongki’s eyes widen in surprise. "Metal parts? What do you mean?"

You turn your computer screen around, showing the pictures you took of Mingyu's racing gear, explaining your solo mission last weekend. "I found these modifications on his gear. They're not standard issue, and I suspect they might be affecting his performance."

Jungkook steps forward, his brow furrowed with concern. "We need to talk to Toto about this. If Mingyu's using illegal modifications, it could change everything."

You shake your head firmly. "No, not yet. We need more evidence before we bring this up to Toto. I need your help, Joongki, to analyse the telemetry data regarding Mingyu's heart rate. Please don’t ask me how I got my hands on them. But I would appreciate it if we could look for any anomalies that might indicate he's using some kind of enhancement."

Joongki nods, his expression serious. "I can help with that. We'll need to go through the data meticulously."

Jungkook looks frustrated, but he doesn’t argue. "Alright, but we need to move quickly. The longer we wait, the more races he could win unfairly."

You nod in agreement, your resolve strengthening. "We will. But we need to do this right. We need to be thorough and have undeniable proof before we make any accusations. There’s enough drama as it is.“

As Joongki and Jungkook leave your office, you let yourself slump further into your chair. Your anger at Jungkook still simmers, but now it’s focused into getting Mingyu, even if it’s only temporarily. You will get to the bottom of this, and you will protect your team’s integrity. And most importantly, you will maintain your professional distance from Jungkook, no matter how difficult it might be.

The rest of Monday and all of Tuesday were consumed with denying interview requests from various tabloids. Toto urged you, Jungkook, and the rest of the team to ignore the rumours and stay focused on the championship. Determined to heed his advice, you spent the last two days immersing yourself in your work, avoiding any moments alone with Jungkook unless they were race-related, and only speaking to him in professional settings.

It's Wednesday afternoon, and you're holed up in your office yet again, eyes glued to the computer screen as you analyse the latest data on Jungkook's performance. The numbers and graphs blur slightly as your thoughts wander back to the headlines and the images that have haunted you for days. You take a deep breath and try to focus, but it’s fruitless.

Giving yourself a short break, you think back to your school years, a time when fitting in seemed like an insurmountable challenge. The boys back then showed little interest in you, if at all. A handful might have paid attention for a couple of weeks, but it never lasted. You were always different, and it was clear they couldn't quite understand you. Everyone around you insisted that a girl who wore skirts and dresses couldn’t possibly be into Formula 1, much less the engineering aspect of it. They never believed you. You were either too girly or too smart in their eyes, never fitting into the neat little boxes they tried to put you in.

When you went to college, you faced the same skeptical attitudes. Some men showed interest, but by then you had learned to protect your boundaries fiercely. You wouldn't break your rules for anyone, determined to stay true to yourself and your passion. It was a hard-earned lesson: to guard your dreams and your heart equally, not letting anyone diminish what you knew you were capable of.

Now, working for Jungkook, everything feels different and infinitely more complicated. His charisma is undeniable, a magnetic force that draws you in effortlessly. He's easygoing and fun to be around, which lures out a playful side of you that you couldn’t show when you were younger. With him, you let your guard down in ways you never thought you would. It’s dangerous because you’ve found yourself enjoying his company too much, and it’s affecting your focus.

Younger you would be disappointed, seeing how your ultimate dream of being a race engineer in Formula 1 has taken a backseat. You worked so hard to get here, to prove everyone wrong, and now you feel it slipping away because of Jungkook’s influence. You remember Toto’s words clearly: you’re supposed to keep Jungkook focused. This is not a game; it's the road to success, the path to a championship win. But how can you keep him focused when every time you're near him, both of your focuses shift only to each other?

It's a horrible realisation. You know Toto is right. There is so much at stake, and losing focus now could cost you everything you've worked for. The road to the championship win requires absolute dedication and unwavering commitment, and any distraction could be disastrous. You try to steel yourself, reminding yourself of the sacrifices you've made and the dreams you've held onto for so long. But Jungkook’s presence makes it all so complicated. You know you have to find a way to regain control, to put your dreams back in the forefront where they belong. This isn't just about your career; it's about proving to yourself and everyone else that you belong here, that you can be both a skirt-wearing girl and a brilliant engineer.

You resolve to tighten your boundaries once more, to not let Jungkook’s charm derail your ambitions. The stakes are too high, and you owe it to your younger self to stay true to the path you’ve carved out against all odds. You can’t afford to lose sight of your goal now.

The door to your office creaks open, and you stiffen, sensing his presence before you even look up.

“Hey,” Jungkook’s voice is soft, almost tentative and you wonder if your thoughts summoned him. “Got a minute?”

You keep your eyes on the screen, pretending to be engrossed in the data. “I’m busy, Jungkook. What do you need?”

He steps closer, his shadow falling over your desk. “You’ve been avoiding me for three days now. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on,” you reply curtly, still not looking at him. “Can we talk about the throttle position? My data shows your strength lessened during the Monaco race. I think we might need to adjust it before we leave for São Paulo tomorrow.”

Jungkook sighs in frustration. “Can we not do this right now? I’m trying to talk to you.”

You finally look up, meeting his eyes with a steely gaze, hoping the sadness is well hidden. “I am doing my job, Jungkook. If you have a problem with that, maybe you should take it up with someone else.”

He crosses his arms, his jaw clenched. “Why are you acting like this? We were fine before. What changed?”

You stand up, pushing your chair back with more force than necessary. “What changed? Are you serious? Have you seen the headlines? Do you have any idea what this is doing to my career?”

Jungkook’s expression softens slightly, but he doesn’t back down. “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen. You know that. But avoiding me isn’t solving anything.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” you snap. “I’m trying to stay professional. Something you clearly don’t understand.”

His eyes flash with hurt, but he keeps his voice steady. “But this isn’t just about professionalism, is it?”

You glare at him, refusing to back down. “What else would it be about, Jungkook? All I’ve ever wanted is to do my job well. To be respected for my work and as a person. And now all anyone sees is this…this scandal.” You gesture to your screen, your face not able to hide the deep sadness and helplessness anymore.

He takes a step closer, his frustration bubbling over. “I didn’t ask for this either! But you’re shutting me out completely. How is that fair?”

“Fair?” you laugh bitterly. “You think this is about fairness? I’m trying to protect my self, Jungkook. Something you don’t have to worry about.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “And what about us? What about the friendship we’ve built? Does that mean nothing to you?”

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. “Of course it means something. But right now, it’s not my priority.”

“Then what is?” he demands, his voice rising. “What do I have to do to meet your standards?”

The question hangs in the air, and you feel a shockwave of realisation hit you. You’ve been so focused on maintaining your professionalism, on protecting your career, that you’ve overlooked how much this is affecting him too. The intensity of his question, the raw vulnerability in his eyes, leaves you speechless.

Jungkook takes a step back, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just…I don’t know what you want from me. I’m trying my best here.”

You swallow hard, your resolve wavering. “I want… I need you to understand that this is my dream job, Jungkook. I’ve worked so hard to get here, and I can’t let anything jeopardise that. Not even…not even you.”

His shoulders slump slightly, the fight draining out of him as you see him swallow dry. “O…okay. But I need us to be okay.”

You look at him, really look at him, and see the toll this is taking on him as well. The tension in his shoulders, the weariness in his eyes. You’ve been so wrapped up in your own fears and frustrations that you’ve failed to see his struggles. And even though this should only affect you professionally so Jungkook can do his best on the track, it stings your heart violently.

Taking a deep breath, you overpower the urge to step closer to him. “Jungkook, we’re okay. Just…I don’t know…just let us keep our distance when it’s off work.”

He looks at you, but you can't bear to meet his gaze any longer. Instead, you sit down and stare intently at your screen, trying to ignore the weight of his presence. His voice, barely more than a whisper, reaches your ears. "Okay."

And this time, it's him who leaves.

It’s Thursday as São Paulo gears up for the race weekend. The teams barely had a week to prepare between races, and the stress is written on all faces.

You find yourself in Joongki’s hotel room, barely landed two hours ago and seated on a plush chair near the window. Jungkook leans against the wall, arms crossed, his face unreadable since your fallout. Joongki sits at the small desk, spread out papers and maps of the track still lying around from the briefing he had with George, but the real discussion is far more covert.

“We need to talk about our next steps regarding Mingyu,” Joongki begins, his voice low and deliberate. “We can’t afford to let him get away with whatever he’s doing. If he wins again, it’ll just raise more questions from Toto you can’t answer.”

You nod, feeling the weight of the task ahead. “I agree, but I won’t get close to him again. Last time was too risky, and I don’t want to leave myself vulnerable like that ever again.”

Joongki sighs, rubbing his temple as you see Jungkook tense up in your peripheral. “I understand, but we need evidence. Without it, we’re just speculating.”

“There has to be another way,” you insist, your voice firmer than you expected. “I’ve already compromised myself once for this job. I won’t throw my dignity away like this again. Ever.”

Jungkook shifts uncomfortably, the memory of that night still fresh in both your minds. He stays silent, but you see the regret in his eyes. He doesn’t argue, just nods in agreement.

Joongki looks between the two of you, sensing the tension. “Alright, let’s brainstorm alternatives. What if we involve Taehyung? He’s got connections and might be able to help us get the data we need.”

You think for a moment, considering the idea. “What kind of data are we talking about? Heart rate was useful, but we need more to expose Mingyu if he’s using some kind of technology to enhance his performance.”

“Three key data types come to mind,” Joongki says, leaning forward, counting on his fingers. “First, we need detailed telemetry data, specifically focusing on his muscle activity and reflex times. If there’s something unnatural there, it’ll show.”

“Agreed,” you say, making a mental note. “What else?”

“Second, we should look at his G-force data during the race,” Joongki continues. “If he’s able to withstand higher G-forces than a normal human, that’s a big red flag.”

“Right, and the third?” Jungkook asks, finally speaking up.

Joongki nods. “We need to analyse his neural response times. If his nerves from his brain to his body are reacting faster than humanly possible, we’ll have our answer.”

You lean back, considering the plan. “It’s risky, but if we can get Taehyung on board, it might just work.”

Jungkook nods, his expression serious. “I’ll talk to him. He trusts me, and he knows what’s at stake.”

“Good,” Joongki says, his tone decisive. “We need to move quickly. The race is in a few days, and we can’t afford any mistakes.”

You all agree, and as you leave Joongki’s room, Jungkook catches your arm, his eyes searching yours.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For everything. I didn’t realise how much this was affecting you.”

You give him a small, tired smile. “It’s okay. Let’s move on, hm?”

“Right,” he agrees, his grip tightening briefly before he lets go. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”

You both part ways, the weight of the mission pressing down on you. There’s so much at stake, but for now, you focus on the task at hand. It’s time to prepare for the race and gather the evidence you need to uncover the truth.

The next morning, you sit beside Jungkook, this time at his hotel room which is conveniently beside yours. He reaches out to Taehyung, explaining the situation in hushed tones over the phone. Taehyung listens intently, and after a few moments of silence, he agrees to help. You arrange to meet him later that evening after the training is completed, away from prying eyes.

As you walk later that day through the bustling paddock, you can’t shake the feeling of eyes on you. The rumours, the headlines, they all swirl in your mind, but you push them aside. Focus. This is bigger than any scandal.

That evening, you, Jungkook, and Joongki meet Taehyung in a discreet location off the track. The ambiance of this small bar is casual, but the conversation is anything but.

“I’m in,” Taehyung says, his tone serious. “I’ve got a few contacts who can help us get the telemetry data. Muscle activity, G-force, neural response times—consider it done.”

You exhale in relief. “Thank you, Taehyung. We couldn’t do this without you.”

“Just make sure this doesn’t blow up in our faces,” he warns, though his eyes are filled with determination. “We’re playing a dangerous game.”

“We know,” Jungkook replies, his voice steady. “But we don’t have a choice. If Mingyu is cheating, we need to prove it.”

With Taehyung’s help, the plan is set into motion. Your nerves flare up with every step you take towards the truth about Mingyu. The anticipation is overwhelming, and your thoughts race uncontrollably, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

Additionally to that, every encounter with Jungkook is a test of your resolve. His sad eyes haunt you, reflecting a pain you can almost reach out and touch. It's getting harder to maintain your distance, especially when you see the shadow that has fallen over him. The spark of his playfulness, once so vibrant, has dimmed not only with you but with every member of the team. The laughter and mischief that used to light up your days are now replaced with a heavy silence, and it's something that breaks your heart every time you witness it.

Yet, despite the ache in your chest, you can't let yourself waver. This path, as painful as it is, still seems like the right one. It's better this way, you remind yourself, even as doubt tries to creep in. Sacrifices must be made, and perhaps, in the long run, this will lead to something better for both of you. But the weight of this choice, the cost of maintaining this distance, is a burden you carry alone. And every time you see Jungkook's sad eyes, you're reminded of the price you're both paying.

The pit wall at the São Paulo Grand Prix, the 21st race of the season, stretches before you as the Autódromo José Carlos Pace is alive this Sunday morning with the roar of engines and the fervour of fans. Sheltered from the sun, you communicate with Jungkook through the radio with your heart pounding in sync with Jungkook’s heartbeat on one of your screens.

"You're doing great, Jungkook. Just keep your focus," you say, watching the telemetry on your screen. Jungkook, in his Mercedes, is in a fierce battle for the lead with Mingyu. The two have been neck and neck for the past ten laps, exchanging positions with each daring overtake and defensive manoeuvre. The Interlagos circuit is testing both drivers to their limits.

Halfway through the race, you spot something unusual. „Animal before you.“ You say hurriedly to Jungkook.

„Got it.“ Jungkook confirms while you lean slightly to Joongki to catch his attention.

“Joongki, look at this,” you pointing to a screen where the live TV broadcast of the race shows a particular scene on loop. “It’s not normal. No one can react that quickly.”

On TV, the scene captured shows as Mingyu approaches a tight turn on the circuit just before Jungkook. Out of nowhere, a capybara wanders onto the track. In a move that seems to defy human capabilities, Mingyu swerves with uncanny precision, narrowly avoiding the animal without losing control or speed.

Joongki frowns, nodding in agreement. “You’re right. This could be the public attention we need.”

You hum in agreement and get back to monitoring Jungkook, your eyes flicking between the screens. The tension is overwhelming, every second feeling like an eternity.

Lap after lap, Jungkook and Mingyu push each other harder. You keep a close eye on the data, ready to advise Jungkook on the best strategies. "Remember, save your tyres for the final push. We still have a few laps to go."

As the race enters its final laps, the tension mounts. Jungkook is still in second, right on Mingyu's tail. "He's slowing down in the corners. You can take him on the straight," you suggest, knowing the DRS zones can provide the advantage Jungkook needs now that he’s a breath away from Mingyu.

The final lap begins. "This is it, Jungkook. Just stay calm and wait for the right moment," you urge. But you can sense his frustration growing. He's been so close to victory the last races, and this race is no different.

"I'm going for it," Jungkook responds, his voice edged with determination.

"Jungkook, wait! Not yet, there's—" but before you can finish, you see him dive down the inside into Turn 4.

Mingyu defends aggressively, leaving just enough space for Jungkook's car. It's a risky move, and you know it. "Jungkook, back off! There's not enough room!" you shout into the radio, but he doesn't listen.

He overestimates his grip and underestimates the corner's complexity. The front of his car touches Mingyu's rear wheel. Time slows as you watch both cars lose control, skidding off the track and into the barriers. The impact is hard, and debris scatters across the runoff area.

"Jungkook! Are you okay?" you call out, heart pounding out of your chest.

A moment later, his voice comes through, shaken but unhurt. "I'm fine... I'm sorry."

With both Jungkook and Mingyu out of the race, the lead now falls to George. A small drop of bitterness rises in your throat. With shaking hands, you pull off your headset and place it aside. You grab your head, elbows on the table, struggling to process the crash and its consequences, ignoring the cameras pointing at you.

It doesn’t take long for the race to finish, and soon the two wrecked cars are being brought into their respective paddocks, with Jungkook and Mingyu walking closely behind of each car. The high sun illuminates the scene, and the media swarms like bees, eager to capture every moment of the aftermath. Both drivers have barely had time to process what happened, their adrenaline still coursing through their veins.

You keep your distance, avoiding more drama than necessary. You can see the anger etched on Jungkook’s face, and you know Mingyu isn't far behind, his own fury likely brewing. The clash on the track has set the stage for an inevitable confrontation.

The moment Mingyu steps into the paddock, his eyes lock onto Jungkook. There's a brief silence, heavy with tension, before Mingyu strides forward, closing the distance between them.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Mingyu shouts, his voice cutting through the noise of the crowd. "You just had to push it, didn't you?"

Jungkook's jaw tightens, and he takes a step forward. "I was going for the win, just like you were! It's racing, not a damn parade!"

The media's cameras and microphones are thrust closer, capturing every word. You take one step towards them, wanting to intervene, but stop. The two drivers are already too far gone.

"Racing? That wasn't racing, that was reckless! You ruined both our cars!" Mingyu's face is flushed with anger. "Do you even care about the consequences? Or is it all just about you?"

Jungkook's eyes flash with rage. "You think you're the only one who wanted to win? I had every right to go for that gap!"

Mingyu scoffs, his tone dripping with disdain. "Right, idiot. And look where it got us. Out of the race, both of us, because you couldn't stand me being a better driver than you."

The tension escalates, and the crowd around them grows larger. Members of their respective teams are inching closer, ready to intervene if things get out of hand. You stay in near proximity, knowing your presence might help calm Jungkook, but it also makes you a target.

Mingyu steps even closer, invading Jungkook's space. "You know what? Maybe it's your team that's the problem. Clearly, they don't teach you patience or strategy over there," he says, casting a pointed look in your direction.

Jungkook's fists clench at his sides. "Don't you dare talk about my team like that. We race hard, and we race fair. Unlike some people."

Mingyu smirks, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Oh, right. Your race engineer, the one who can't even control her own driver. Pathetic."

The insult directed at you is the final straw. Jungkook's face contorts with fury, and before you or anyone can react, he lunges at Mingyu. They collide, fists swinging and shouts echoing through the paddock. The media captures every second, the flashes of cameras creating a strobe effect around the struggling drivers.

You want to scream for Jungkook to stop, to tell him it's not worth it, but you know you have to keep your distance to avoid escalating the situation. Both men are significantly taller and stronger than you, making it impossible to intervene either verbally or physically.

Mingyu lands a punch on Jungkook's side, and Jungkook retaliates with a jab to Mingyu's jaw. The scuffle intensifies, their movements full of aggression and frustration. The crowd's noise crescendos, a mix of gasps, cheers, and shouts.

Members of both teams finally manage to break through the throng of media. They grab hold of their respective drivers, trying to separate them. It takes several men from each team to pull the enraged drivers apart.

"Let me go!" Jungkook yells, struggling against the strong arms holding him back. His eyes are locked on Mingyu, who is being restrained by his own team, his face red and his breath heavy.

"Calm down, Jungkook," you say, finally having the courage to step in front of him after more team members are involved. "This isn't the way to handle it."

Jungkook's chest heaves with exertion, but he finally stops struggling. His gaze shifts to you, his expression a mix of anger and regret. "He insulted you," he says, his voice still thick with emotion.

You nod, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know. But this isn't how we respond. We handle it on the track, next time."

Mingyu, now somewhat calmer but still glaring daggers at Jungkook, spits out a final taunt. "Next time, try not to crash into the competition if you want to win."

Jungkook's muscles tense again, but you tighten your grip on his shoulder. "Enough, Jungkook. Let's go."

Reluctantly, he lets his team guide him away from the scene. The media continues to buzz, already crafting headlines for the next day’s news. As you walk away, you hear the murmurs and whispers of the onlookers, the fallout from this incident just beginning.

Back in the relative quiet of the backroom of the Mercedes garage, Jungkook finally allows himself to collapse into a chair, his head in his hands. "I messed up," he mutters, his voice barely audible.

You sit down next to him and run soothing circles on his sweaty back, the tension of the past hours starting to drain from your own body. "Yep," you plop the ‘p’, sighing as you rub his back, “but right now, let's focus on what we can control. We'll get through this."

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and apology. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, the door slams open.

The moment Toto steps into the room, the air seems to crackle with tension. His eyes blaze with fury, and you can feel the temperature drop as he marches towards you and Jungkook. Your hand, which had been offering a fracture of comfort to Jungkook, withdraws instinctively as if burned. Jungkook, too, sits up straighter, his posture rigid, preparing for the wave of wrath that’s about to break.

“What the fuck were you thinking out there?” Toto’s voice is a low, dangerous growl, but it cuts through the room like a knife. He looks directly at Jungkook, his eyes sharp and unforgiving. “I’ve told you time and time again to listen to your fucking team, to your fucking race engineer. We have strategies for a fucking reason!”

Jungkook’s jaw tightens, and you can see the battle raging within him. He wants to defend himself, to explain, but he knows better than to interrupt Toto when he’s like this.

“You had no business making that move,” Toto continues, his voice rising. “You were warned. And what do you do? You ignore it, you crash, and you take out Mingyu as well! For fuck’s sake! Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Jungkook?”

Jungkook’s eyes flicker with a mixture of guilt and defiance. “I thought I could take him,” he says, his voice steady but strained. “I saw a gap and—”

Toto cuts him off with a sharp gesture. “You saw a gap that didn’t exist! You let your ego get the better of you. This isn’t about you; this is about the team. We win together, we lose together. But today, you cost us millions! The fucking car is a wreckage!”

You can feel Toto’s gaze shift to you, and though his anger isn’t as fierce as it is for Jungkook, you know you’re not off the hook. “And you,” he says, pointing a finger in your direction. “Why didn’t you make him stop? You’re his race engineer. It’s your job to keep him in check.”

You open your mouth to respond, to explain that you did try, that you warned Jungkook, but the words die in your throat under Toto’s intense stare. “I did try, Toto. He... he wouldn’t listen,” you manage to say regardless, your voice barely above a whisper.

Toto’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t press further. Instead, he turns back to Jungkook, his anger morphing into a deeper, more personal disappointment. “You are our golden boy, Jungkook. You have the talent, the skill, the potential to be the best. We’ve given you every opportunity, every resource. And you repay us by throwing it all away? By starting a god damn fight in the paddock?”

Jungkook flinches as if struck. The fight with Mingyu is still fresh in everyone’s mind, the footage likely already spreading across social media, casting a shadow over the team’s reputation. “He insulted our team,” Jungkook mutters, but there’s no conviction in his voice now, only regret.

“And you think that justifies physical violence?” Toto’s tone is incredulous, again rising in volume. “This isn’t some fucking street brawl; this is Formula 1. You have to be better than that. You have to show restraint, control.”

Jungkook lowers his head, and says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a moment of silence, heavy and oppressive. Then, Toto sighs, the anger in his eyes dimming slightly, replaced by a weary frustration. “You let your team down. You did. But you’re also one of the best drivers we’ve ever had. That’s why that’s even worse.”

He steps closer, his voice softening just a fraction. “You have special privileges because you’ve earned them, because you usually win us races and championships. But those privileges come with responsibility. You have to be a leader, an example for the team. Not a liability.”

Jungkook nods, swallowing hard. “I understand. I’ll do better. I promise.”

Toto nods, accepting the apology but not yet ready to forgive. “You’d better. We’re running out of races, and this championship is slipping away. We need you at your best, not just on the track, but off it as well.”

He turns to you again, his expression still stern but not as harsh. “And you. Make sure he listens next time. If he doesn’t, find a way to make him. We can’t afford another day like today.”

You nod quickly, relief mixing with the residual tension. “I will, boss.”

Toto takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly, trying to release some of the pent-up frustration. “All right. Both of you, get some rest. We’ll debrief tomorrow at the headquarters. And Jungkook,” he adds, his tone softening slightly, “take some time to cool down. We need you focused, not fired up. Fucking hell, I’m off doing damage control with the FIA. So pray you won’t be banned from the next race!”

As Toto leaves the room, the door closing with a heavy thud, you and Jungkook are left in the silence. Jungkook leans back in his chair, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply. The weight of the day’s events is clearly bearing down on him.

You sit beside him, the anger and fear from earlier now replaced by a shared sense of resolve. “We’ll get through this,” you say quietly, massaging your temples. “Just a little more time and we’ll have enough evidence.”

Jungkook opens his eyes, meeting your gaze. “Thanks,” he says, his voice dripping with emotions you refuse to place. “For everything.”

You nod, offering a small, reassuring smile.

The two of you sit in silence for a while, the enormity of the day slowly sinking in. It isn’t much but the company you offer each other suffices.

01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • series masterlist • 06

a/n 2: lmk what you think in any way you like! please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

taglist: @jksusawife

34 notes · View notes