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caesium-55 · 8 months ago

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—seven days. [ iii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: hi hello welcome to part three. i flunked the quiz. lemme know what you think. NOT BETA READ. NOT EDITED. this chapter kinda sux. can't believe i went through a breakup just last week and i still cant write decent post-breakup scenes.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab hope i didn't forget anyone.

masterlist.

you: *sent a link*

him: ?

him: what's this

you: benefits of crying

you: read it it's enlightening

him: some people do not cry over a breakup you know and that is totally okay

you: why crying helps.

you: 1. tears release toxins, stress hormones to be specific. it is good to let all the bad energy out.

you: 2. it aids sleep. no need for further explanation.

you: 3. crying releases oxytocin and endorphins. i know you don't know what an oxytocin or an endorphin is but they're happy chemicals.

you: 4. crying helps you receive the support you need from the people around you. EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY is okay, max. stop treating it like an STD.

him: it feels like an std

you: pussy

you: emotional vulnerability is a thing and it's normal so stop trying to be a big strong man when you're barely holding it together.

you: you may look fine now but i know you

him: please stop

you: no

you: 5. crying has a self soothing effect. very nice actually. it activates the rest and digest system.

him: what even is that

you: the parasympathetic nervous system

him: ??

you: this is why you shouldn't have dropped out of high school

you: education is important yknow

you: youre already lacking in three forms of intelligence, academic, emotional n social intelligence

him: fuck you im smart

you: fuck you 2 and yeah you're smart but only in geography

you: you probably can't do your taxes

him: im dutch so the company's account department do it for me by default

him: the american system is just weird

you: cant argue w/ u there

you: also, 6. crying helps restore emotional balance

you: see? you need that

you: yknow now that i think abt it you should consider seeking therapy

him: what makes you think i’m not in therapy right now

you: well have you considered getting MORE therapy?

You stand in front of the body mirror, holding the Red Bull polo shirt against your body to see how it looks on you for one last time. On your right sleeve, the word MANAGER is written in bold, white text. Because that was what you were. Just a manager.

In another universe this is not the shirt that you’d be wearing. The MANAGER would have been ENGINEER. In another another universe where your family has been well-off enough to continuously send you to karting school and you would have been the one driving the fucking car by now.

You know, if Max has even tried talking to Horner and suggested that you should be moved into the engineering team, then you wouldn't be stuck wearing this god-awful polo that burned your skin every time you wore it for work. Everybody reduced you as Max’s American manager and because you are American, most of them kind of just assumed that you're dumb, you know?

Does the world even know how smart you are? That you graduated top of your class, got the best thesis award, and that you had finished your masters just this year? Did they even know that a Japanese car company wanted you on their research team? That a NASCAR team wanted you on board as one of their engineers? Does Max even know?

Fuck no. He only knows that you're the best at ironing clothes and organizing his Google calendar and memorizing his entire coffee order by heart. He knew you're good at extinguishing kitchen fires and kicking ass in YSL Opyum heels. You doubt he knows that you can do Calculus in your sleep.

You can take it if the world puts you down for your appearance. But if the world puts you down because of your intellect? That's a different story. You'll take any insult to the face but not to your intelligence.

You have four days left in Monaco so you have begun packing already. You're right, everything did fit into three suitcases. Also, you haven't told Max yet. For some reason, you’re too anxious. Which is shocking to say the least because you never ever gets anxious when it came to Max Verstappen. You wouldn't have lasted this long working alongside Max if you were a pussy.

Max Max Max Super Max Max—

“[Name] here. Need anythin’, champ?”

Hearing a sob on the other end of the line immediately activates your fight or flight response. Your eyes widen and you toss the Red Bull shirt aside. Your legs leads you to the nearly empty shoe rack stationed beside the front door, grabbing the pair of shoes at the very top of the tiny shelf and throwing them on.

“I’m comin’ there. Hang on, Max. You wait for me, okay?”

He doesn't answer, just continuing to sob and the sound absolutely breaks your heart.

You run to his penthouse at a speed that will even put the RB19 to shame. Not even bothering to knock, you barge in and yell his name in the empty halls of his penthouse. You search in the kitchen. He's not there. The living room. Not there either. The room where his simulations are. Not there. You run to his bedroom upstairs.

The door is locked. Dammit. Panic overflooded your system.

“Max, sweetheart, you there?”

No answer, but you can hear a faint sound behind the door if you press your ear against the wood. Firefighter training covered how to open a fucking door when it was locked so this once again becomes a situation where you're grateful that you did that tiring and borderline suicidal volunteer work.

Max keeps a fire extinguisher inside his penthouse as per your advice. There is one stationed in almost every room inside his house. You knew there is one inside his room and another one just at the end of the hallway. You make a quick run for it and once you have the extinguisher in your hands, you run back to his door.

“Step away from the door!” you instructed while your mind mentally calculates your payment plan as you hit the door knob with so much force, the walls tremble at your strength. You're functioning on pure adrenaline. Your instincts only yell one thing and that is: go to Max. No one and nothing in this world will keep you from him. It isn't long until his bedroom door broke down. With one last final kick, it crumbles down from its hinges and you forcefully pry it open and sprint inside.

Max tucks himself in the tiny space in the corner of his huge bedroom, his knees shoved up to his chest. A 181-cm tall man trying to make himself as small as possible.

This is it. This is the bottled-up emotions he's been storing since Abu Dhabi. You cannot say you have not anticipated this. Max is bound to explode sooner or later.

Panic attacks have made a home in Max’s body since he was a child. That's what one gets when they’re parented by someone like Jos Verstappen. He killed Max’s soul and made the boy a machine and for what? To shape a child into a man, a racer that he wanted to be but failed to become at the cost of Max's mental health and childhood.

When Max looks up with that heartbreaking look on his face, you almost crumble. Almost, because you cannot crumble. Not when Max needs you.

Sometimes, you forget what it took for Max to become the champion that he is today. A childhood sacrificed for his dominance on the tracks. A whole lot of hatred from the people to become a WDC. And now, a love lost for his third consecutive championship.

“You came,” his voice cracks towards the end.

Your eyes soften, “You called, Max. Course I’ll come.”

You barely brace yourself for the impact that is Max’s body wrapping around yours in a tight hug. The man have literally launch himself from the floor to you at sixth gear speed. You stumble backwards slightly, holding his bed for support so the both of you won't fall down.

“Max—”

“No,” he whispers and his grip on your tightens as if he's afraid that you’ll slip away if he even tried to give your lungs space to breathe. “Don't speak. Stay.”

What Max wanted, what Max would get. So you shut your mouth, shuffle slightly so he'll be in a more comfortable position and allow him take whatever he wants from you. This will be the last chance he’ll ever do it anyway because in four days time, you’re flying to Texas.

You stay for what is probably hours in that position. Crumbled together on the floor, leaning against the side of Max’s king-sized bed. Your shirt is completely damp from his tears but you cannot even bring yourself to care about it.

“Your shoes…” It's the first time Max has spoken since the start of his meltdown.

“Hm?” you turn your head and your nose nuzzles against his hair, making you scrunch it up a little. His hair is tickling your nostrils. If you lean a little forward, your lips will meet the skin of his temple.

“They’re mismatched.”

Brows furrowed, your eyes move to your feet and see that Max is right. Your shoes are indeed mismatched. On your left is one of your Adidas slides and the other is your slip-on Skechers. You ran from one building to another in mismatched shoes. Fucking embarassing.

“Ignore them.”

Silence.

“You good now?”

“No.”

“Okay,” you say. “If you want to talk, I’ll listen.”

You hear Max let out a shaky breath, “Just stay for a while. Don't leave me alone.”

“Okay.”

Eventually, you manage to talk Max out of the hug. You're beginning to feel claustrophobic but you do not want to say it out right so you try to negotiate instead. That's how you and Max found yourselves inside his kitchen again. You're trying to replicate your Abuela's cheesecake, which she was known for back in Austin, and Max is…well, he's Max and he’s trying to be helpful in any way he can. If it's some other day, you'd have shoved him out of the way because you prefer working alone in the kitchen. Having eyes on you gives you anxiety. But given today’s circumstances, you do not have the heart to make Max leave so you task him with doing the little stuff like mixing things and throwing shit to the trash can nearby. And he does so splendidly.

“Thank you, by the way.”

“For what, baby?” You internally wince at your own slip of the tongue. Damn that habit of yours of calling people with affectionate call signs. Thankfully, Max seems to have not noticed it.

“For coming here.”

You shrug.

“I only did what you did for me in 2021.”

Again, your breakup with Leo was bad bad. You spent a month crying for a love lost and Max was there for you. For the most part, at least. You want him to focus on winning and winning alone that you pushed him away a lot of times but you appreciated how he was more obedient to your commands, that he held his tongue so he wouldn't piss you off even though he was not liking your words, and that he was considerate of you.

“I hope you won't go into fights though,” you chuckle. “Like I did after my breakup.”

He smiles, shaking his head lightly and you know he's recalling the memory. 2021 is a hilarious year for you, the Red Bull manager. You went viral after getting into a cat fight with a girl and a whole fist fight with her boyfriend.

You and Leo called it quits a week before Monaco and even though it had been four races since then, your heart was still in a quite fragile state at that specific race weekend. One minor inconvenience was enough to ignite a wild blaze of fire within you and nobody could extinguish the flames.

After Silverstone FP1, you were leading Max to the cool down room to brief him with Horner’s relayed instructions and someone had thrown a glass bottle towards the both of you while walking. Originally, Max was the main target of the bottle but you happened to have moved towards the line of trajectory and the bottle landed on your temple, hard enough that you stumbled upon impact.

You barely heard Max’s shocked gasp and shout of panic over the sound of glass shattering on your foot because the only thing you could register was the terrifying feeling of a thick liquid trickling down the side of your face and you didn't even need to see it to know it was blood.

The only thing you saw was red and it was on fucking sight.

Fucking Hamilton fan. Fucking Hamilton. He’s in Max’s way. He’s in your way. He’s the wall that was dividing you from your dream position in the engineering team.

You shoved the iPad you were holding to Max’s hands and marched down to the woman wearing the Merc #44 merch, swiftly jumping over the barricade and grabbing her by the collar of her pristine white Versace top.

The events that followed were too fast. You grabbed her collar. She pulled your hair. You also pulled her hair. Someone pulled her away from you. You tried to grab her, clawing her bare arms with your manicured nails. She screamed. You screamed back. You pulled out some curse words in Spanish as well because cursing her in one language alone is not enough. Her boyfriend appeared. A quick punch to your cheek. You fell to the ground.

The world stood still. There was a sting on your palm because your skin got torn from the hard surface of the concrete ground. You let a bloodcurdling war cry and your Dad would definitely be disappointed at you for using the boxing techniques he taught you for self defense purposes only to fight a guy two times your size.

Everything was a bigger blur from there. But you did remember the sensation of Max’s strong arms around you, stopping you from lunging forward again. He was saying sweet words to your ear to calm you down but your brain failed to intercept them so you could hear the words, could hear his voice, but not understand any of it. You remember Christian Horner's disappointed face that haunted you even two years later. You remembered feeling so terrified as you sat outside Christian Horner’s office waiting for the final verdict while he and Max and a few of the Red Bull higher-ups argued about your future with the team. You remembered hearing Max’s loud snarl on the other side of the mahogany door: “Did you see her face?! There was blood everywhere! On her nose, on her mouth, on the fucking side of her head!” You remembered the girl taking the case to court. You remembered fearing that you’d be sent to jail. You remembered that she lost the case because it was ruled as self defense and your injuries were grave. You remembered discovering that it was Max who used all his power and got the best lawyer to fight your case. You remembered the atmosphere in the Red Bull garage shifting when you entered it a few weeks later and everyone stared the bandages and bruises. Everyone thought one thing: of course, it would also take a monster to manage a monster like Max Verstappen. You remembered Lewis Hamilton, seven-time world champion, apologizing personally for the fight caused by his own fan. He didn't need to but he was so sincere with it that you cried when he handed you the apology flowers. God, how could you even hate this man? Your anger towards him was misplaced.

You’d been living with the guilt ever since, that you were horrifyingly violent for a day, that you were capable of killing for a day. And it could happen again. One day. God, you hoped you wouldn't have to see that day. You knew all your coworkers have been careful with angering you ever since. They're terrified of you even. Max should be, too. But then again, why would he when he already saw the horrors done by his father’s hands ever since he was a child? He was used to it.

“I won't,” he says, smiling at you. “I wouldn't want to add anymore problems for you to clean up.”

But you will not be the one cleaning it up because you resigned. You didn’t tell that to him though. Not right now. He just had a meltdown over Kelly leaving him and the news of his manager leaving him too will destroy him.

The cheesecake is a little burnt when you take it out of the oven but it actually adds more flavor to it so yeah, that's a win.

“We should drink,” you suggest.

“It’s mid-afternoon.”

“We drank at mid-afternoon yesterday,” you give him a blank stare. “With Alex and Charles, remember?”

He doesn't say anything as you make your way to his fridge and pull out two bottles of beer. Max has champagne stored somewhere but you have enough of those expensive champagnes. You need beer. Beer is good. Beer is nice. You're a beer type of person and it is time Max becomes one, too.

“I’m no scientist,” you begin, biting off the beer’s bottle cap. “But according to chemistry, alcohol is solution.”

Well, technically, edible alcohol or ethanol is not a mixture. Rather, it's a pure substance that happens to be a liquid at room temperature and typical atmospheric pressure. Pure ethanol is not a solution. Hard spirits though? That's a solution.

Beer is not a hard spirit. It's more of a fermented drink. But Max doesn't know that, though, so you don't bother explaining the science behind it.

Somewhere down the road, the two of you move to his living room. You use the Youtube app in his TV to search karaoke video and have the bestest time of your lives. You're screaming along some Daddy Yankee and El Alfa songs and Max doesn't know how to speak Spanish so he’s just vibing to it.

At 5 PM, you pull out Max’s expensive vodka bottle. Now this is the real shit. The ten bottles of beer? Those are just pregame. Max is already drunk with just those because he’s a pussy but you’re no pussy, so the only right answer is vodka! Viva la vodka or whatever.

Your throat gets tired of singing and Max gets tired from dancing, too, so you both decide to just go entertain yourselves in other ways. First, you introduced Max to beer-pong. He loses, of course. He sucks at everything not racing. Then, the two of you move onto chess. Max gives up mid-game. He cannot understand the rules. Then, lastly, you move to the billiard table Max owned. He only used it when the other guys are over and you do not even know why he bought it when he sucked at playing billiards.

“You know what Kelly said the morning before the race?” Max suddenly says and you look up at him, brow raising slightly. He’s drunk; his skin is flushed and he is all giggly and smile-y as he sits on the billiard table’s side rail and using the billiard stick as some sort of support stand to keep him from falling. You hope he won't accidentally poke himself. You're no better, too. Ten beer bottles and a few glasses of vodka. But you’re not as drunk as Max, and you still have a straight vision and you can still sink the colored balls into the pockets of the billiard table.

“Hm?”

“That it was unfair for her.”

You raise a questioning brow, “Why?”

“I bought shoes and they don't fit her.”

You blink. He laughs at himself as if he has uttered the funniest joke in the world.

“Three years of relationship gone because of a single pair of shoes,” he continues. “She wanted those shoes, too.”

Kelly….what the fuck?

“But that's okay. She….She made me open my eyes, you know? She made me realize what I truly love.”

“Racing.” It's not even a question. It's the truth.

Max stares at you, long and hard, and you look away first because you fear that if you allow yourself to stare too long, you’ll drown in those beautiful blues. This is enough heartache for the day. No need to add more.

“Hey [Name],” he begins. “If I asked you to kiss me, would you do it?”

#manager!reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #formula one #fanfic #angst #mv1 #mv33 x reader #mv33

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kyoghurts · 9 months ago

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˓ ⊹ ˚. ‹ falling (without grace.) mash burnedead

my headcanons of mash having feelings for you…albeit very oblivious.

notes. love him sm bro aughh this actually took way too long than intended, mainly because i stretched it out until the part where finn and co. noticed your relationship with mash. (i’ll post that in the part two)

i don't think he's aware of it, because things really click slowly to him.

but he knows that he likes to be your friend. to be near you in ways he's able to. drawn in your presence like a puppy following you around, inexplicably yet admittedly so.

you’d see him idling around the door once your period ends with his widely known stoic face. he’ll walk you to your next class and maybe even carry your books/belongings if you have any, without much of an explanation (because how could he explain it to you? how could he when he can’t translate these actions from the heart to make his brain understand?). mash is a quiet person, that much you’re aware of, but in this breath of quiet—you know he’s doing it because he wants to, god he’s even willing to listen to you ramble too, somehow finding it easy to digest your words. your voice trickles in his head, sometimes echoing. something blossoms in his chest spreading far and wide. he feels at ease.

he asks you if you’re free at times, because he’ll absolutely pull you towards the school kitchen as you help him make his creampuffs.

don’t know how to or where to start? it’s okay, he’ll gleefully teach you the basics. and if you ask him the journey of perfecting his skills, he’ll tell you that too, vibrance coloring his eyes.

and he’ll also take the time to learn your favorites! if you like them extra sweet, or not so much, don’t even be surprised if he gives them to you one day!

໒ ྀི⸝⸝´ ˘ `⸝⸝ ა i could just see him timidly touchy with you (but with consent, of course!!) like bumping his shoulder to yours, ghostly leaning his head against your shoulder/head, fixing your hair, poking or pinching your cheeks. its just aaaAaaaaaAAAAAA such small acts would absolutely complete his day <3

there could be moments where you’d be in the library, he’d sit across from you—again, without the mouth formulating words of explanation. he’ll tell you he wants to watch you study: flicking his gaze every so often towards you, to your materials, and eventually will feel sleepy so he takes a nap with arms crossed, resting his head against it, and there’s something about him that makes you come to a halt with what you’re doing—like an invitation of sorts, coaxing you. he looks so peaceful, his lips parted just slightly as he breathes evenly.

maybe after doing your homework you’ll also take up the wonderful offer of a nap. there’s a want settling within, you know you want him to be near you too. and so you let him tempt you like this, because it’s nice, because he’s nice. and sweet, and quiet.

so earnest in his ways, and who wouldn’t discern them as a language of his romantic feelings? at least, you do notice them. you haven’t seen him done any of these things with anyone, the thought has only arrived at the point of midnight before you go to bed.

(the next day, it’d still be the same. for you.)

(however, how long will it take for him to realize?)

you were happy like this. you like the quiet—the kind that mash brings. he doesn’t quite understand why you were smiling so brightly one day, more…warmer than he’d ever seen, and that it sends him into a state of awe. fondness written in his eyes. albeit small, the ends of his lips rise in a grin. he’s just as happy as you are. perhaps a little bit than he’s aware. flushed pink ears that tells you everything. and when you gently pinch his cheeks and greet him “g’morning, sugar” he swears he’ll do anything just to keep you calling him that.

until then, your heart shall learn to bask in the quiet, falling—slowly, even without grace.

taglist. @seneon (taglist are open! just send me an ask :D)

notes. im actually so tired rn but mash does wonders to me, hes becoming one of my comforts now. cant wait to finish the part two as wellll

#Ⳋ ★ .ᐟ — 𝒌. presents #Ⳋ ★ .ᐟ — 𝒌. mashle #mashle x reader #mash burnedead #mash x reader #mashle fluff #mashle headcanons #mashle magic and muscles #mash burnedead x reader #mash headcanons #mashle drabble #mash fluff #mashle x you #mashle imagines #mashle #mashle x y/n #mash x you #mash burnedead fluff

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iid-smile · 2 months ago

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#02 for ୨ৎ ⸝⸝ @whispytrees ⋆

hi! thank you for your order! i see you got yourself 5, 10 and 21, a little bit of everything. also you love what i write omg???? got me squealing, giggling, kicking my feet just a bit... (i screamed) you're so sweet <3 no pun intended here hehe. dazai we shall! went with headcanons since you didn't specify, i hope that's okay!

#5 🍰 | having kids together

dazai is either a suspiciously good girl dad, or the type to scare his kid whenever he can

would use the time between pregnancy or adoption process as an "excuse" to get off work, except he's actually doing a lot to make sure the little girl has the best environment to grow up with

wants to give her the childhood he never got, so he'll say yes to everything she wants unless it'll get her harmed or in danger

has no filter around your daughter, so please beware and stay close at all times!! he can and will go into deep depth about... multiple not-so-safe-for-kids topics and cause her to cry, so make sure you're ready to give her a big hug

anyways! he loves dancing with her more than anything. will buy his daughter all sorts of cute dresses no matter the age (big skirts are the best!) may even get her into dance classes; most likely ballet or ballroom. it's always cute to catch them in the act

sasses his teenage daughter back. NOTHING is getting past him. he takes treat people how you want to be treated seriously in this household

#10 🍓 | cuddling during the morning / night

morning

quite often, dazai is too lazy to get up (especially if it's for work) if you have to get up too, then you're not. keeping you in bed is most effective when he's the big spoon, because he holds you tight and squishes his cheek against your nap

tickles you because he knows his fingers get really cold sometimes. actually, he's just a really cold guy in general, it's weird.

mumbles about random things as if he's drunk. it's just him ranting about how much he love you and how much his life has changed for the better since he met you.

sleepy dazai is just clingy overall. every single one of his body parts has to be touching yours

night

you have to hold hands! it's a requirement. facing each other, spooning, on top of each other, upside down or whatever, his hand is always linked with yours

if you're already asleep, he'd quietly yap about how his day went, making sure to whisper so you wouldn't wake up.

eventually goes quiet, and just stares at you. every single detail on your face. he's not picky about looks, but you're the most attractive person he's ever seen

gently nudges your head towards his chest and tucks it under his chin, falling asleep while smiling. his biggest fear is not sleeping by your side after all.

#21 🍦 | where they like to kiss you

we all know dazai loves hands.

the back of your hand and knuckles are obvious ones, but he kisses your fingertips and wrists a lot too. fingertips are his favourite! he does this thing where he'll kiss your middle and index finger, and pulls your hand over to place them on his heart.

lips, but it's not really a kiss. it's just pressing your lips together, no smooches </3 he mostly does this to tease you, because you can always feel the small smirk he has.

shoulders too because why not? shoulder blade is where he loves to kiss you. no particular reason, it's just a nice spot for when he's behind you.

your neck would be another spot where he loves to tease, and he does the same thing where he just presses his lips against it, not kissing. sometimes just ghosts his lips over your skin to feel you shiver.

event masterlist

#୨ৎ ⸝⸝ your strawberry shortcake ⋆#order 2 coming up!#bsd event #bsd x reader #bsd dazai #bsd x you #bsd headcanons #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai headcanons #dazai imagines #dazai fluff #oopsies 5 accidentally became a dazai girldad rant

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facioleeknow · 2 months ago

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The art of pleasure ch.8

Company ° I.N.

When one girl in your class makes fun of you for being a virgin at a party, you are left distraught. It's only natural that you decide to whine about it to your best friend, Bang Chan; but he does more than lending a shoulder to cry on, he comes up with a solution. He and his 7 friends will help you and teach you all about the pleasure of the flesh. What could go wrong?

Genre: College AU, SMUT 18+ ONLY Wc: 2k+

TW: aftercare, threesome, consent is behind the scenes they are really into it and it's all consensual, pussy slapping, name calling, mean jeongin, oral (m rec), throat fucking, cumshots,creampie, let me know if I missed anything

AN: thank you for following and reading this series, I hope you all liked it! Please do leave feedback <3

The moments after your activities with Seungmin were a blur in your mind. Everything mixed together and nonsensical. You only remembered the world's softer tissue wiping away at your skin, Seungmin talking to the owner of the karaoke rooms and then his car. When you came to, you were safely tucked into bed with your clothes still on. Seungmin laid at your side on top of the bed, completely ruptured by something on his phone. His right hand slowly massaged your scalp.

“Minnie?” your voice was rough and hoarse.

Seungmin whipped his head so fast that for a moment he saw double. His phone flew to the other side of the room and in a second he was crowding you.

“How are you feeling? Everything okay?” His hand had moved from your hair to your face and was now drawing circles on your warm cheek. You just hummed and nodded, your limbs were so heavy and tired.

“Did you particularly like or dislike something?”

“I liked that we could get caught but I wanted more of your attention,” you pouted. If it had been any other moment in any other state of mind you would've been embarrassed but now you were just so content and tired that you didn't care.

“My attention was already on you, puppy, but if you want more I shall give you more,” he smiled and beamed at you. With a few stretches and pulls he got under the covers as well and promptly took you in his arms. It was weird with both of you fully clothed but you were grateful for the warmth that was seeping into you.

“Why didn't you take off my clothes?”

“You didn't give me permission, I can't take your clothes off without permission.”

Your heart warmed, he was a golden boy. Truly the perfect boyfriend anyone could have.

“I’ve always thought you were pretty, would you like to go out?” Seungmin had showed you his soft side once again and you couldn't help but be ecstatic about it.

“I was about to ask you, I was just thinking you were one of the nicest guys I've ever met.”

Seungmin hummed. His soft petal pink lips came in contact with your skin and fireworks erupted underneath it. Your head turned swiftly and you pressed a sweet and chaste kiss to his lips.

Ping. Ping.

Your phone interrupted your lovesick moment and you almost wanted to throw it away.

“I put your phone on the nightstand, you should answer it,” Seungmin spurred you on, his hands around you loosened.

Unknown number:

Hey noona, it's Innie, when are you free? I thought we could go to a cafe before our lesson. Just you and I :)

Chrispy boy <3:

Baby, how was the lesson with seungmin? We should talk about the next one, I remember you had some doubts

“It's Chan hyung, isn't it? He really likes you.”

You offered him an apologetic look, you had to go.

“Go, you can make it up to me on our date,” Seungmin pressed another feather light kiss on your cheek as goodbye and then walked you to his door after you had collected your things. The short walk from Seungmin's room to Chan's seemed even shorter that day. Knocking wasn't even an option at this point in your relationship, so you just swung the door open. Chan was laying in the bed, only in his boxers, typing something on his phone.

“Baby,” he beamed, “ I was about to text you again, come here.” You didn't even hesitate for a second before throwing yourself in his arms; you didn't care that your clothes would get wrinkly, you needed that Bang-hug.

“It went well with Seungmin.”

“Just well? Nothing else?”

“Yeah, I'm honestly just a bit worried about the next lesson, Chan. A threesome is a lot.”

“You don't have to do it if you don't want to,” his grip tightened on you and he squeezed you against his chest.

“It's not that I don't want to but I need to be sure about that other person. Do I know him? Does Innie know him? I just need to know,” you were clearly frustrated.

“What if that other person was me? Would you do it?”

You pushed yourself away from his chest to look him in the eyes.

“Are you serious?” Chan just nodded.

A threesome with your college best friend who had always treated you like you were royalty and a cute junior with dimples, a killer smile and a charming personality. That sounded like something out of your deepest fantasies.

“Okay, let's do it.”

Jeongin had insisted you two had a date alone, no Chan, just you two. ‘Its because hyung makes everything awkward,’ he had said in front of him but you hardly believed him. Chan wasn't awkward at all in front of girls, he was flirty and charming.

A cup placed in front of you snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Thank you, Innie. This place is really nice.”

The cafe was spectacular, you had never seen a place with such a balance of chic and cozy and the beverages looked delicious as did the food.

“I came here with Seungmin hyung once, I wanted to take you here. Alone.”

So that was why Jeongin didn't want Chan around, he wanted to go on a date. With you. The thought made your head spin a little, he was one of the hottest freshmen on campus and he wanted you? Luck must have been really on your side.

“You wanted to come here with me? Why?”

He was cute, unbelievably so. His ears and cheeks were completely red and his gaze was on his mug.

“I think you're nice and pretty, and I’ve wanted to go out with you for a while.”

His sudden confession left you flabbergasted. THE Yang Jeongin wanted to go out with you.

“You don't have to answer right now, noona, take your time.”

“You're so cute Innie, thank you,” you got up from your chair and leaned across the table. Your lips pressed a light kiss on Jeongin’s cheek. You were so close now, you could feel his breath on you and heard him gulp loudly. His face was almost buried in your tits, you chose a low cut shirt for the occasion and you didn't care that he could see everything you had to offer, you wanted him to see.

I.N. stood abruptly and grabbed your wrist, with a sharp tug you were at his side.

“We've talked enough, noona, let's go.”

Jeongin's thumb swiped at your folds for what felt like the thousandth time. As soon as he had gotten you in Chan's room, he had removed your clothes hastily and pushed you back into Chan's arms. Your legs had been opened roughly and a pair of arms, a pair that you knew very very well had circled your middle to keep you in place. Jeongin had taken his place between them, a scowl on his pretty face.

Jeongin's thumb caught on your clit and your back arched, finally glad for some real stimulation but retreated as soon as it appeared.

“Are you a whore, noona?”

All you could do in response was pant and wriggle in Chan's grasp. The boys were both fully naked and you could feel Chan's cock against your backside and see Jeongin's drooling precum and looking painfully hard. You wanted to put your mouth around him and suck until his soul came out of it. At the thought a few drops of sleek dropped on the covers beneath you.

“Our baby has a mouth on him doesn't he?” Chan’s voice was supposed to be comforting compared to Jeongin's harshness but the contrast made you drip even more.

A sharp slap was delivered to your pussy.

“Answer me.” Jeongin was completely different in and outside of the bedroom, now you knew why girls came out of his room with shaky legs and a bewildered look in their eyes.

“N-no, I'm not,” you managed to stutter out.

“C'mon Innie, I'm sure she only wanted to show you, not the others,” Chan argued. His thumb slowly circled your flushed cheek and you leaned into his touch with a whimper.

“Shut her up, hyung, and you whore don't you dare cum.” Chan's lips were on yours in an instant, it was an awkward position, your neck would hurt like hell after, but just the thought of Chan's plush doll lips made everything better. Your best friend was an exceptional kisser, he wasn't rushed but not too slow either and he poured just enough passion into it. As ruptured as you were, you didn't notice Jeongin gathering your wetness on his fingers and then slamming them into you. Your back arched off Chan's chest so much that he had to wrap his arms tighter and pull you towards him again. Little whimpers and moans came out of you, the pleasure was so intense after all that teasing that you couldn't even lift your head up from Chan's shoulder.

“I said shut her up, hyung,” Jeongin spoke nonchalantly like he wasn't pistoning his fingers into your g spot and abusing your already sensitive pussy. If he had kept that up, it would've taken you mere seconds to cum.

“No, I wanna hear her,” Jeongin tsked at his answer but didn't say anything; yes everybody was whipped for the baby and let him get away with murder but that didn't mean that he didn't have to respect the eldest authority. Chan lowered his head to the shell of your ear and whispered: “ keep up the pretty noises, baby.”

“Channie, I'm close,” your voice and your legs shaky. Jeongin pulled his fingers out and stuck them in your mouth.

“Mh, best I’ve ever had.” Your face felt like you caught on fire. Baby bread was nasty.

“Hyung put her down with her head dangling from the edge, I want to fuck her mouth.”

Chan's muscly arms picked you up and threw you down on the bed, your thighs slicked at the show of strength. With your head upside down, you could see and feel Jeongin's presence above you even more intensely than before.

“Open up,” his tip prodded your lips and without a second thought you opened. He was big, longer than Changbin but less thick, you didn't doubt you could take him. At the first roll of his hips, a tear rolled down your face. Your eyes focused on his heavy balls slapping on your forehead, you wanted those in your mouth too. Jeongin's continued fucking your face with fluid and deep thrusts, his face was thrown back and scrunched up. He was pretty, really pretty.

Suddenly you felt something breach your entrance and soon Chan's tick and long cock was entering you.

“Hey baby, I'm sorry, I'm so worked up, I have to make you cum quickly,” his breath fanned over your collarbone and he pressed a soft kiss on your skin before he sent you back on Jeongin's cock with a sharp, quick thrust. His thumb pushed on your clit and relentlessly circled the poor swollen bud.

“Fuck, you're so wet baby,” Chan paired his words with another few heavy thrusts. His pace was frantic and almost animalistic, you wouldn't mind coming back to him after the whole ordeal to let him take his time with you.

Your attention snapped to the other boy when he squished your face in his hand, forcing you to open up your mouth.

“I wanna cum on your tits,” his voice was strained and sexy and so was his face. Jeongin pulled out of your wet and warm mouth and started quickly jerking his cock until white ropes of cum were cascading all over your chest. In the meantime Chan was still pounding into you with brute force. Your breath was erratic, your hands fisted your sheets; your orgasm was imminent but you didn't want all that to end.

“It's okay baby, let it go, I'm right behind you,” Chan leaned to once again kiss your skin, not caring if his friend's cum was staining his lips. The extremely erotic sight sent you barreling over the edge, your pussy gushed and pulsed around him. You felt your body go lax and you didn't even notice when Chan came inside you with the most sensual moan of all. When you came back to the land of the living, Jeongin was laying on your chest, fast asleep; his cute cheek completely squished. You cooed at the sight, baby bread was back being a baby.

“Are you okay, baby?” Chan sat next to you, his eyes, completely focused on your face, were sparkling as you had hung the moon and the stars personally. You just hummed in approval, there wasn't any energy in you left for more.

“You know what I was thinking, Channie? I wouldn't mind letting you take your time with me. Next time that is.”

Chris showed you that beautiful dimpled smile that he only reserved for a certain group of people.

“I wouldn't mind that either, I'm buying you food before tho, you're gonna need energy for what I'll do to you.”

@kflixnet

#straykidsland #kpop #reader insert #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #jeongin #jeongin x reader #jeongin smut #college au #stray kids au #jeongin college au #jeongin au #bang chan college au #bang chan au

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wolfiesmoon · 9 months ago

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Countless nights

Malleus x gn!reader

i felt like writing something super cute and lovey dovey and basic after listening to can't help falling in love by elvis presley so here we are lol😌🩷

this is nothing revolutionary that hasn't been done before just so much fluff you'll throw up a furball (made of fictional fluff) by the end

There are many a night which he spends thinking of you.

Lilia had told him about it, a long long time ago. How your chest would tighten, how your face would become warm, how your heart would flutter when gazing at the person you're in love with. But he never imagined that it could feel this amazing, this freeing, this beautiful.

There are many moments he thinks of on these nights...

You run up behind him, yelling the silly little nickname he's grown to love hearing fall from your lips.

He turns around, grinning at the sound of your voice. Truly, you are a sight for sore eyes. Your little furry companion is with you, too, dozing off in your arms.

"It's so nice to see you in the hallways for once." you realise that you mostly see him in front of your dorm when he randomly shows up. Because of that, you kinda forgot that he's also a student at the school and takes classes as well.

"Likewise. It's always a pleasure to see you." He didn't say anything presumptious, so why are you making that excited face all of a sudden? Now he feels giddy.

A silence falls between you.

"Ahaha... Um... I actually have no idea what to talk about... I kinda just ran to you after seeing you..." you admitted awkwardly.

That is... very comforting to hear. All you need is the sight of him to want to be by his side. The warm feeling spreading across his body is very welcome.

He wants to hear you say that sentence over and over, but greed is not a good quality to bear, so he'll settle with hearing it only once.

"Then I suppose you wouldn't mind listening to me talk? Do you happen to be partial to gargoyles?" He takes the opportunity to talk about the passion no one seems to share with him. He's fully expecting you to say no and change the topic, and he wouldn't blame you at all in some regard. He's well aware most humans don't take interest in something as specific as gargoyles.

"I never really thought much about them before. But sure, tell me about it." you actually look really interested, waiting for him to start.

He smiles.

Oh, he just can't help falling in love with you.

"Did you hear about that new ice cream place that opened in town recently?"

When you asked him if he could spare 2 hours of his day just for the two of you yesterday, he was certainly not expecting you to open with this.

"Lilia told me you like ice cream, and I was pretty curious about the taste myself." you wonder to yourself if there's any funny flavours you wouldn't find in the human world. If so, you're definitely trying them out.

"So, uhhh... wanna go try it with me?"

You don't even realise how happy you've just made him. He has to hold back the wide smile that threatens to spread across his face.

"Hahaha, you're so strange... Though I certainly wouldn't mind." You seriously just want to... hang out with him? What a pleasant surprise, indeed. It makes his heart beat with excitement.

"Let's go!" you start running down the hill to get to town, excited to share ice cream with him.

"Aw man, it's almost impossible to choose." you're contemplating between three different flavours at the moment.

"Shall I choose for you, then?" Malleus suggests. He already picked the flavour he wants and is waiting for you to make your choice. Not that he's annoyed by that. The longer you take, the more minutes he can spend by your side. How greedy of him.

"Go ahead." you sigh defeatedly. You're truly thankful he can put an end to the awkward situation of you just staring between 3 different flavours for like, 2 whole minutes now. You're creating a line behind you, no doubt.

"You should get the strawberry flavour." Malleus recalled a story of Lilia's in which he told him that strawberries are a symbol of love in a country he visited. He feels a bit cheeky, sneaking a subtle hint in like this.

"Uh, sure! I'll have one scoop of strawberry!" you raised an eyebrow slightly at his satisfied smile. Why is he smiling now, of all times?

If he's happy, you're happy, you suppose.

The two of you decided to walk around town while eating the ice cream. It was a nice change of scenery.

You were telling Malleus about a funny potionology mishap you had with Grim and Ace today when someone bumped into you, making you lose grip of the ice cream.

It fell splat on the ground, making it no longer edible.

"Oh come on..." you looked down at the wasted ice cream sadly. It was really good, too.

"I can return it to its original form, do not worry." Malleus suggested, already about to do it when you gently grabbed his wrist. His eyes widened slightly and a strange tightness enveloped his chest.

"No need. Just hanging out with you is enough. Enjoy the ice cream for the both of us." you're really fine with just watching him. He seems very happy when eating ice cream, which you can't get enough of.

"...If you wish." he felt his whole being warming up at your sweet words.

Oh, he just can't help falling in love with you.

"Child of man. What is the meaning of this?" his expression darkens when he sees your fingers wrapped in bandages.

"Of wha- Oh, you mean my bandages? It's, uhhh, a bit embarrasing. And also a suprise." you hid your hands behind your back, not wanting him to worry about them too much.

"Tell me." he looked quite scary in this moment, almost like he was ready to kill. Is he really that worried over it? It kinda makes you feel giddy.

"It'll ruin the surprise, I'm just saying." you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. His terrifying gaze didn't falter however, so you gave up.

"Roses are really important symbols in Briar valley, so I've heard. So I kinda wanted to give you a hand-picked rose boquet for your birthday tommorow, but I was dumb and didn't use gloves to de-thorn the roses. So that's why my hands look like this." you still felt a little bad ruining the surprise, but giving Malleus peace of mind is much more important.

"Oh... So it was that, I see." Malleus still witheld a somewhat cold, scary expression. He can't stand to see you hurt, in any way. And knowing it was all for him makes him feel even worse.

Still... you wanted to make him happy so much that you willingly hurt yourself to see it happen. Warmth rushes to his face at the thought of you handing the boquet to him. That's quite a common way of confessing love among humans, is it not?

He can't wait for his birthday all of a sudden.

On these nights, he just can't help falling in love with you.

#˗ˏˋ ★ ♡ 「Wolfie’s other works」 ♡ ★ ˎˊ˗#twisted wonderland x you #twisted wonderland x yuu #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x mc #twst x reader #twst x yuu #twst x you #twst x y/n #twst x mc #malleus x y/n #malleus x reader #malleus x yuu #malleus draconia x mc #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia x yuu #malleus draconia #malleus twst

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the-scarlet-witch-22 · 3 months ago

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The Lark Ascending (A Chaconne Story): Chapter 3 (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: Being a rising soloist isn't all it's cracked up to be as you face new challenges, all while encountering Agatha Harkness at every turn.

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: Helloooo welcome to chapter 3! This chapter briefly deals with/mentions imposter syndrome & performance anxiety, so if either of those topics make you uncomfortable you have been warned. The piece mentioned in this chapter is Gluck's Melodie, from Orfeo ed Eurdice :) As always, thank you for reading & I hope you enjoy! Feel free to let me know what you think, my asks are always open!

Previous Chapter

There were few things in life that brought you as much peace as playing your violin. Taking a few hours to tune out the rest of the world and solely focus on your instrument was the fastest relief to whatever stressors were occurring. Unfortunately, that tranquility had all but vanished as of late- much to your dismay. But you tried to put it out of your mind- your week had been a blur of rehearsals, interviews, and press engagements to kick off the summer concert season, and this morning was no different. Before this evening’s big Donor’s Gala you would be leading a Master Class with promising young musicians in the area.

Getting out of the car, you took off your sunglasses, squinting as your eyes adjusted to the glaring sunlight. This morning’s temperature was significantly warmer than you anticipated, and you found yourself melting by the time you made it inside the symphony building. Setting your violin case on the ground, you allowed the AC to wash over you, while making a mental note to remember to bring a water bottle in the future as you had been forgetting all week. It was early enough the building was nearly deserted, or at least you thought so as you relaxed in the air conditioning.

“Still getting used to the LA heat, dear?”

Your heart nearly stopped in your chest as you dropped your keys. Whipping your head around, you were unsurprised to find Agatha staring back at you, amusement coloring her features. The conductor appeared to have entered the building right after you did, black sunglasses in one hand and her bag hanging off her shoulder.

While you looked like you were about to fall over, Agatha looked as put together as she always did, seemingly unaffected from the scorching temperatures.

“Agatha,” you breathed out, slowly regaining your composure as you gave the conductor a quick once over, the gears turning in your head. Symphony rehearsal wasn’t until the early afternoon, she was awfully early. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d assume the same reason as you; the Master Class,” Agatha pointed out before motioning to your keys that were still on the ground. “You might want to pick those up, it would be a shame if you lost them.”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you reached down to pick them up, feeling Agatha’s gaze remain on you. “Last time I checked, I was running this class alone.”

“Clerical error.” Agatha insisted, carefully putting her sunglasses in her bag, before adding, “I’m sure someone was supposed to tell you I’d be joining you.”

“I’m sure.” You mused, thinking about how often this had been occurring as of late.

At first you didn’t think too much of Agatha’s unannounced appearances, because her explanations seemed logical enough at the time. When she dropped in on your interviews for your Artist in Residence with the LA Symphony, she claimed getting her interview done at the same time would be more efficient. During a meeting for PR, she rationalized needing to give her final approval as the orchestra’s music director. Even your late night practice sessions weren’t safe, as they almost always ended with the conductor sneaking up on you, her cackle echoing through the empty hall as you wondered if she was trying to kill you.

But the more she popped up, the more you wondered if her actions were as altruistic as she claimed them to be.

“Shall we?” Agatha prompted before taking off down the hallway, leaving you no choice but to follow her.

Walking in silence through the deserted building, you thought of possible conversation starters, and were stumped. As comfortable as you still felt around Agatha, it had been a long time since you’d been around her this frequently.

As if she could sense your hesitation, she gave you an inquisitive stare. “Stark tells me you’ll be gracing us with a performance this evening.”

“It’s just a little something,” you replied nonchalantly, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest at the reminder, opening the stage door for the conductor. “Anything to help the orchestra.”

Agatha smirked, her hand grazing your shoulder as she brushed past you. “How chivalrous.”

Clearing your throat, ignoring the rush of butterflies from her brief touch, you changed the subject, as this was one of the few times you had been alone with Agatha all week. “So how have things been with the MSO?”

“Oh you know,” Agatha hummed, switching on the stage lights, “I’ve overseen a few personnel changes, but nothing else, really.”

“Personnel changes?” You questioned, wondering why she was being so vague while trying to recall if Monica had mentioned anything to you.

Agatha raised her eyebrows, appearing genuinely curious. “You haven’t heard?”

Before you could ask what she meant, one of the staff members came backstage, informing you the class would be starting in ten minutes.

Agatha started to walk out, but when she noticed you hadn’t moved she cocked her head to the side. “You’re not going to make me endure this on my own, are you?”

A small smile graced your lips at her jest. “Promise me you’ll be nice, they’re just kids.”

“I have no issues with the children,” Agatha insisted. “Their parents, on the other hand…”

“Not a fan of the hovering parent?” You joked, joining her onstage, the bright lights shining down on you.

Agatha frowned, a dark look in her eyes as she mulled over your words. “Not quite, no.”

The conductor set off down the stairs without another word, taking a seat in the front row, carelessly setting her bag down with a loud thump.

During your time together Agatha never mentioned much about her childhood, and you were never brave enough to ask. You knew from a few Google searches that her mother had been a rather well known concert pianist, but that was about it. Agatha had always been guarded, and as much as you tried to peel back the many layers that she used as self defense, you hadn’t managed to get through them all.

Taking a seat next to her, you checked the time to find there were a few minutes until you began. The sound of Agatha rustling through her bag was mere background noise as you scrolled through your phone. It wasn’t until you felt something cold against your arm did you notice a reusable water bottle was now resting on the armrest of your seat.

“What’s this?”

“You’re going to end up passing out on stage from dehydration.” Agatha said disapprovingly, her thick black frame glasses hanging low on the bridge of her nose as her head was tilted down, reading an updated copy of the Master Class schedule.

“I could have brought my own water,” you insisted, trying to ignore how touched you were by the thoughtful gesture.

The conductor folded the piece of paper she had been reading, adjusting her glasses as she gave you a pointed look. “I’ve watched you prance around like a parched baby deer all week, the last thing I need is for you to fall and break your violin.”

“Just my violin?”

Agatha pursed her lips, blue eyes twinkling as she evaded your question. “A simple thank you would suffice, dear.”

The weight of her gaze was nearly too much for you to bear, for you found it to be far more exposing than the brightest of stage lights, but you were unable to look away. Agatha’s fingers grasped the bottle, extending her arm until it was hovering over your legs.

The conductor looked at you expectantly, and you had never been one to deny her anything.

Lifting your hand, you accepted the bottle, fingers crossing hers as you held it in your palm.

“Thank you, Maestra,” you said, watching Agatha’s eyes drift to your intertwined fingers, neither of you moving from the contact.

Agatha lowly hummed, untangling her fingers from yours as her hand came to rest on your upper thigh. Neither of you spoke, but for once the silence felt less suffocating, allowing you to reminisce on a time where this had been normal. Closing your eyes, you wished you could stay this way forever.

The sound of voices outside the hall grew in volume, zapping you back to reality. Clearing her throat, Agatha gave your leg a gentle squeeze before letting go, and you poorly tried to hide your disappointment.

“Try to remember to drink that,” Agatha murmured as she stood up, and after a moment added, “I don’t want you to get hurt before the concert season begins.”

You weren’t sure why the confirmation that she still cared hit you as hard as it did, but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face for the entire Master Class. Agatha kept true to her word, and was on her best behavior. You only remembered halfway through the class how good she was with children, as the faint memory of the school concert day she once planned rang through clear as day.

She was still Agatha, of course. Her sarcasm and quick witted sense of humor could never be diminished, but she softened ever so slightly when offering advice after each musician performed. Her constructive criticism actually was constructive, and you were reminded how gifted of a teacher she was.

You did have to reign her in when a few overzealous parents insisted on voicing their own opinions, but overall you were pleased with the turnout.

It was surreal in a way, being in this new position. When you were younger your dream was to be a professional violinist, and it often felt as if that was the only thing you had ever been fully certain of. But you had been having a hard time finding your own way; to be able to fully accept that you had earned this. To believe that you were worthy. Looking at someone as astonishingly accomplished as Agatha Harkness, you couldn’t help but feel like a fraud.

It felt like a facade the majority of the time, your violin acting as your mask on stage, effectively shielding all of your doubts to the outside world. But it was difficult to present that version of yourself when you were standing next to Agatha, for you found yourself falling back in time to when you were nothing more than her assistant. Naturally leading you to wonder if the conductor still saw you in that imbalanced light, or if she could ever view you as her equal.

Once the last of the students left you lingered onstage, discreetly watching Agatha. The conductor was leaning against the grand piano, one hand perched on the edge while she scrolled through her phone.

“I can feel you staring,” Agatha called out, not looking up from whatever she was doing.

“I’m not staring,” you lied, clearing your throat as you took a step towards her. “Is everything alright?”

“Hm?” Agatha asked, finally glancing up at you. When you motioned to her phone, she arched an eyebrow. “Jealous I’m not giving you all of my attention?”

Spluttering, you shot her an indignant glare. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Placing her phone on the piano, the conductor crossed her arms across her chest, smirking as she took a small step forward, invading all of your senses. “If you must know, I was going over tonight’s performance with the concertmaster, she had a few questions.”

It was then that you recalled last week’s symphony rehearsal, where you witnessed what you felt had been rather visible tension between Agatha and the concertmaster, Hela. Your stomach began twisting in uncomfortable knots at the memory, while you were forced to consider why the thought of Agatha being with someone else made you feel sick.

“Hela, right?” You asked, careful to keep any trace of the growing pit of anxiety from your tone.

“That’s right,” Agatha confirmed, an inscrutable expression on her face as she regarded you. “I’ve known her for quite some time. Her brother is the new CFO of the symphony.”

All thoughts of Hela were pushed to the back of your mind. Your eyes widened, unable to contain your surprise. “What? Where’s Hayward?”

“In prison,” Agatha replied casually. “Well, I'll take that back. He’s supposed to be in prison, but I’m sure he was able to get a reduced sentence. The woes of the wealthy white man.”

“Prison?”

“For fraud and embezzlement of all things,” Agatha shared conspiratorially, leaning in closer as she whispered, “I must say, it was quite a scandal. Still a bit of a mystery as to who tipped off the feds.”

The smug expression on her face was a dead giveaway, as Agatha had never been subtle.

The sigh left your mouth before you could stop it, lips curling downwards to form a frown. “Tell me you didn’t…”

“That I didn’t do what, dear? Uphold my duty to rid my orchestra of a bloodsucking leech?” Agatha countered, pacing around as she clasped her hands behind her back.

“But prison, Agatha? Really?”

The stage creaked with every step the conductor took, finally stopping when she stood directly behind you.

“If I remember correctly you were never fond of him either,” Agatha pointed out, her breath hot against your ear as you let out an involuntary shiver from the pleasurable sensation.

“I wasn’t,” you admitted truthfully, as Hayward had been a major thorn in both your and Agatha’s sides throughout the entirety of your time with the MSO.

“Besides, I didn’t make him do anything. He was guilty,” Agatha said honestly, and although you weren’t looking at her you knew she was telling you the truth. Embellishments and dramatics aside, she had never lied to you. “I merely sped up the process of justice being served.”

Allowing the conductor’s words to wash over you, there was a pause as you decided to change the subject. “So, Hela’s brother?”

“He’s business oriented like Hayward, but far more cunning. A lot more clever, as well. He’s also not actively attempting to sabotage me, so I’ve had more free time,” Agatha explained, and you then remembered what Monica had mentioned of Agatha being absent a lot this past season.

“I’m sure you’ve been awfully bored,” you replied, your brain fixating on Hela and if there was any correlation between her absences and a potential relationship with the concertmaster.

“I’ve found…ways to keep myself busy,” Agatha delicately responded, taking a small step back.

Turning around, you gave her a curious glance. “Really? Have you been doing anything interesting?”

“This and that,” Agatha vaguely offered, folding her hands across her chest.

Deciding to test your luck, you took a step towards her. “I’m sure you’ve been doing something worth mentioning. Any traveling?”

Narrowing her eyes, Agatha scanned yours, deep blue orbs searching for something unknown as she appeared to contemplate your question. “Can't say I’ve had time for any vacations while I’m running an orchestra.”

“Of course,” you agreed, pondering over Agatha’s words while coming to the realization that either Monica misspoke or Agatha, for the first time, had potentially lied to you. But why?

Taking your silence as an opportunity to strike, Agatha raised her right hand, index finger contemplatively tapping against her cheek as she observed you. “Quite nosey today, aren’t we?”

“I think a good musician should always try to be curious,” you weakly said, wondering why Agatha was being so secretive.

The conductor snorted, “I almost forgot how meddlesome violinists are as a species.”

Ignoring the dig, you approached her for a final time. There was so much you wanted to say, to ask, but you weren’t sure where to begin as the words kept getting caught in your throat.

“I know it’s been a long time,” you started to say, as this was the first time you had addressed the elephant in the room. “But I’d like to believe that after everything we’re friends, right?”

The words burned your tongue, but you ignored the unpleasant feeling. You and Agatha were friends, sort of, right?

Agatha stiffened at your words, and for a moment you allowed yourself to believe you saw a flicker of displeasure cross her features. But, as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. An uneasy silence fell between you, and even though Agatha was mere steps away it felt as though an ocean separated you.

“Yes, dear,” Agatha finally answered, voice uncharacteristically soft. “We’re friends.”

The sound of your phone dinging caught your attention, as you gave Agatha an apologetic smile. “I should probably check that. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Seven o’clock sharp,” Agatha reminded you as she traipsed across the stage, pulling her phone back out. “Don’t be late.”

The best way to prepare the day of a performance was to get plenty of rest and stay hydrated. There typically wasn’t enough time to make any major changes to whatever piece you were performing, so hours of practicing was both unnecessary and a waste of energy. Lacking something to do with your hands, you instead spent the hours leading up to the gala in a fretful state. This had been occurring more frequently with each new performance you took on. It didn’t matter the size of nature of the event, the self-doubt you normally could keep at bay had fully taken over.

While your violin had once been your safe haven, an escape from reality, it was now slowly turning into an anxiety fueled nightmare. Lately nothing you did felt right. Every bow change was jerky, each shift of your fingers ending flat. Your vibrato was too fast, but then too slow. Nothing was good enough, and the more you attempted to fix it the worse it became.

Burdened as you were, how you ended up at the gala on time was a mystery, but you skillfully avoided the majority of the orchestra’s donors as you slipped backstage. Tony had managed to deliver everything he promised; a beautifully decorated ballroom with a room full of wealthy donors who had come to be entertained for an evening.

Part of that entertainment including you, your brain reminded you, as you watched the ending of the orchestra’s performance of Danzón No, 2, Agatha’s hands cutting them off with a dramatic flourish of her baton. The room erupted in thunderous applause, and you forced yourself to look away as Agatha shook Hela’s hand before she exited the stage.

Greeting a few members of the orchestra who passed you, a cold sweat dripped down your back as you listened to Tony ramble on stage about reaching record high donations and how the night wasn’t over yet. You had to physically stop yourself from hearing his speech on the “treat” the audience was in for with the last performance; your performance. It didn’t feel right, receiving this praise, not when you could barely make it through the relatively easy piece of music you had selected for this evening.

“You’re on as soon as Tony is done,” Pepper reminded you as she walked past with her tablet, most likely tracking the incoming donations.

The rushing sound of blood filled your ears as you stiffened, hands feeling clammy as you struggled to hold onto your violin. While you were no stranger to pre-performance jitters, this was one of the worst experiences you had with it yet, the room beginning to spin as you closed your eyes.

You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t go on with the way you had been sounding all day.

Maybe you could pretend to faint, or be ill. The latter wouldn’t be too much of a lie with the way your stomach was churning at the mere thought of walking out on that stage.

There was a light touch on your shoulder, and you thought you heard someone saying something but it was hard to hear anything over your heart pounding in your chest.

“Darling?”

Agatha’s voice managed to cut through, and you felt her hand on your shoulder rub circles as you managed to take a shaky breath, slowly opening your eyes.

The conductor was hovering over you, concern etched on her face. You hadn’t felt her grab your violin and bow, but both were safely stashed on a table to your right. The room was far too bright, and your body far too hot as you squirmed.

“Are you alright?” Agatha asked quietly. “Do you need me to get you anything?”

You briefly noticed the backstage area was mostly cleared, a stark contrast to the crowded flow of musicians that were there mere seconds ago, but you paid that no mind.

“I know I need to go out there, but I don’t think I can,” you said, trying your best to breathe but the rapid tightening of your chest making it difficult to form complete sentences.

Narrowing her eyes, Agatha stepped away for a moment, grabbing a nervous looking stagehand and saying something incoherent to them before they hurried off. The conductor was back at your side, now holding a bottle of water as she opened it, handing it to you.

“Drink,” she gently urged you, and upon noticing your reluctance she sighed. “I know you don’t want to, but drink.”

Taking a small sip, you struggled to swallow, the cold liquid acting as a shock to your system.

“Good girl,” Agatha murmured, rubbing your back for a moment before pulling away. “Now, I need you to listen to me. Do you trust me?”

Your heart felt like it was about to give out, and the room was moving at such a rapid pace you had difficulty standing. There was almost nothing you were certain of, but the one thing that you had never truly doubted was your faith in Agatha.

You barely recognized the sound of your voice as you let out a meek yes.

“Stark is out there stalling,” Agatha explained, and it appeared she was actively refraining from rolling her eyes. “But he can’t stay out there forever, otherwise we might start to lose the money we’ve already raised.”

The tightness in your chest was gradually relenting, and you were able to breathe with more ease. “I’ll be fine to perform, I just need a minute.”

The conductor rolled her eyes at your comment. “A heroic offer, dear, but you’re not going out there alone. I’m going to perform with you. That little stagehand ran off to grab the sheet music. I’ve performed Gluck before, but it’s been a while.”

That managed to get your attention, and you stared at her in shock. Agatha almost always refused to perform the piano, and had only played for you once. Despite being considered one of the most gifted pianists of her generation, the conductor had not performed publicly in decades.

“You’re going to perform with me?”

Rolling her eyes again, the conductor gave you shoulder another squeeze. “You have heard of a duet before, haven’t you?”

The room stopped spinning, and you were able to open your mouth without feeling the need to vomit. Managing to give her a weak smile, the conductor nodded, handing you back your violin. The nerves were still there, but now Agatha was standing beside you as she instructed the same stagehand on how she wanted the piano positioned and you no longer felt like you were drowning.

Tony must have received the okay from Pepper to wrap up as he transitioned out of his long speech.

“Now, I know I’ve promised all of you a performance from our current Artist in Residence, but this is a special evening, isn’t it? I’m thrilled to announce she will be joined by the incredible, incomparable, Agatha Harkness. The Maestra will be putting down her baton to give all of you her first public piano performance in years.”

Agatha’s jaw clenched at that, but when she found you staring she gave you a reassuring nod.

There was more applause, and Tony jubilantly exited the stage, wishing you both good luck as he went to converse with Pepper.

“Just focus on me,” Agatha whispered in your ear before you walked out together, the applause deafening as she strolled over to the piano, taking a seat as she stretched her fingers out over the keys.

Positioning yourself to where you could see her in your line of vision, you planted your feet firmly on the ground. Raising your violin, you set your bow on the string, trying to ignore the unsteady feeling threatening to rise yet again.

Agatha’s finger pressed down on one of the keys, playing an A to allow you to tune your violin. Rolling your bow, you checked each string until you were satisfied, giving Agatha a discreet nod that you were ready to begin.

Locking eyes with Agatha, you raised your violin on an upbeat to cue her in. The second her fingers hit the keys, you were able to pretend there was no one else there, only the two of you. Moving through each measure, you focused on the notes you had memorized, and for the first time today it didn’t feel overwhelming. Your vibrato rang through with every note, and the sound didn’t make you want to throw your violin in a woodchipper.

Agatha was a sight to behold, hair carelessly thrown over her shoulders, sitting on the edge of the bench as she slightly slouched over, fingers dancing across the keys. Although she claimed she needed the music, you couldn’t help but notice she had barely glanced at it once, her focus on you. There was something so magical about watching her at the piano, even the simplest chord she played produced the most exquisite sound.

Melodie was a piece originally from the opera Orfeo ed Euridice. It had later been transcribed by Fritz Kreisler for piano and violin. It was a dance between the two instruments, with the violin line singing over the piano accompaniment. It was both beautiful and heartbreaking, and was a rather accurate representation of your emotional state as of late.

The hesitation you had been feeling now gone as you allowed yourself to relax, focusing on growing every phrase as you and Agatha played off each other. It was funny, you had never rehearsed this with the conductor, but you played perfectly in sync. Every breath you let out Agatha inhaled as you watched her lithe fingers stretch across the instrument to form various chord progressions.

As you entered the final phrase, your fingers delicately shifted down the fingerboard as you hit your last note, slowing the speed of your bow, and extending your vibrato as Agatha leisurely played her final chords until the noise died away.

Holding still, you finally released, and as you lowered your violin there was tumultuous applause from the crowd, but all you noticed was Agatha looking at you in a way you had never seen before.

The moment was over all too soon as Tony came back on stage, insisting you and Agatha receive a standing ovation as he gleefully announced that tonight’s gala produced an all time high number of donations. Agatha rolled her eyes discreetly at you, but you noticed how pleased she appeared.

You were swarmed by enthusiastic donors, and Agatha wasn’t faring much better. The conductor made sure you were able to put your violin away before Pepper had swooped in, insisting you take pictures.

Agatha sought you out long after the crowd dwindled, a glass of wine in each of her hands.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The conductor asked, offering you one of the glasses.

Quietly thanking her, you accepted the wine, taking a small sip, the alcohol swirling around your tongue and you turned to her in surprise as you swallowed. “Pinot Noir?”

“Your favorite, if I recall correctly,” Agatha politely remarked.

“That’s right,” you confirmed, taking another small sip before lowering your glass. “Thank you, for earlier. I’m sure you’re tired of saving me.”

Agatha’s lips curled downwards, her eyebrows creasing as she gave you an unreadable expression, as if she hadn’t witnessed your earlier anxiety attack. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t think I could have gone out there on my own,” you admitted, the truth a bitter embarrassment. “I’ve been having trouble with my confidence lately.” You motioned to the now empty space and stage. “With all of this, it's just getting worse.”

Nervously biting your lip, you half expected for Agatha to crack an off-hand, witty comment on how obvious that was given your backstage freak out, but the conductor set her wine glass down, giving you her full attention.

“Go on.”

“I…”

Pausing, you came to the stark realization you had never shared this with anyone out of fear of being judged. But then you looked at Agatha, her piercing blue eyes boring into yours, and your fears melted away.

“I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time,” you confessed, fidgeting with your hands as you stared at your feet. “This is all I ever wanted, but now that I’ve made it, I don’t know if I’m cut out for all of this…I don’t…”

“You feel like you don’t belong?” Agatha guessed, and upon your small nod she added, “You obsess over every miniscule detail of each performance, and it doesn’t matter how many people say it was good, it feels like it wasn’t great. Right?”

You felt your blood run cold, as the conductor managed to hit the bullseye of your recent anxieties. Blinking back the tears that had been threatening to escape, you took a deep breath before looking back up to find her pointedly staring at the ground.

“How do you know that?” You asked softly, surprise evident in your tone, because Agatha was the most confident person you had ever met.

“Perfectionism is practically conditioned into us from the day we begin learning music,” Agatha reflected, still not meeting your gaze. “You know, my mother was a rather successful pianist.”

When you refrained from commenting, because you did know that, Agatha continued. “She’s the reason I started playing the piano. Sometimes I think she only had a daughter not because she wanted a child, but because she wanted to mold another version of herself. Nothing that I wanted ever mattered, it was always about her.”

“I’m sorry,” you said sincerely, because you couldn’t imagine having a parent like that, but the conductor waved off your apology, clearing her throat.

“Don’t be. My mother was a fool, and she remained one for the rest of her life,” Agatha said, without a trace of sorrow in her voice. “My introduction to music was one filled with fear. I had been taught to never be satisfied with myself, because I could have been better. I wasted a large portion of my childhood seeking her approval, wanting for her to be proud of me. But I eventually learned that it’s impossible to win when you’re being set up for failure.”

This was the most vulnerable Agatha had ever allowed herself to be with you, and you nervously folded your hands across your chest.

“So what did you do?”

“Well, I moved across the country when I turned eighteen, and never saw her again until she was being put in the ground,” Agatha reminisced, finally daring to look up at you. “I’ve made my fair share of mistakes over the course of my career, but one thing I’ll never regret is embracing fear.”

“Embracing fear?” You repeated, unsure of where she was going.

“Those thoughts you’ve been having,” Agatha prompted, her attention focused solely on you, “they don’t go away. They’ll most likely just get worse. So, you can either succumb to it, and let the fear of failure win, or you can embrace it and allow yourself the ability to recognize that greatness doesn’t come from perfection; it comes from having the courage to try at all.”

You had unconsciously shifted closer to the conductor as she spoke, until your shoulders were nearly touching as you both leaned against the edge of the stage.

“Has that helped you?”

“As much as it can. Music is unique, as is every musician,” Agatha thoughtfully replied.

The gears in your brain turned, thinking back on the multiple instances where Agatha had made a member of the MSO cry.

“And do you use that advice when working with your own orchestra?”

“Funny,” Agatha deadpanned, grabbing her wine glass by the stem to take a sip before setting it back down. “There’s a difference between pushing yourself too hard versus settling for mediocrity.”

“I think that’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” You pointed out. “They’re all world class musicians. I think sometimes you’re too hard on them.”

“They are,” Agatha confirmed, running a hand through her hair as you fixated in on her messy dark brown curls. “But some of them have become lazy. They don’t feel the need to improve at all, and that’s an insult to the craft. It’s my job as their conductor to make them want to perform at their very best.”

You knew Agatha meant well, and deep down you were sure the orchestra did as well.

“That makes sense, thank you.”

“For what it’s worth, I thought you were extraordinary this evening,” Agatha praised you, her hand coming to rest on top of yours. “You’ve always been extraordinary.”

The physical contact was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Relaxing under her touch, you felt your cheeks grow warm from the compliment. “Thank you, Agatha.”

Your glass of wine abandoned on the stage behind you, you allowed yourself the opportunity to enjoy this intimate exchange with the woman who had been haunting your memory for the past five years. Agatha, for her part, appeared to be comfortable as well, as her hand remained atop yours, unmoving from where she stood next to you.

“And for the record, Hela and I are friends,” Agatha murmured, grabbing your attention once more. Sensing your surprise that she picked up on what you had been hinting around, she rolled her eyes. “You’re a lot of things, darling, but you’ve never been subtle.”

Her words sounded eerily similar to what you had asked her earlier, but you had made it this far and after years of what if’s and errors of miscommunication, you had grown weary of the unknown.

“Friends….like how you and I are friends?” You quietly questioned, the implications of what you meant appeared to be obvious enough from the way Agatha gave you an amused smirk.

“No, dear,” Agatha murmured, raising her hand to gently stroke your cheek, looking at you in ways you had only been able to dream of. “Not like how you and I are friends.”

Tangling her fingers in your hair, Agatha chuckled at the involuntary shiver you let out as she leaned in, resting her forehead against yours. She was so close, and any self control you had mustered was slowly slipping. Your breathing turned shallow, eyes locked on her perfectly plump red lips.

There were so many things you wanted to say, but your brain short circuited as the conductor parted her lips, slowly moving towards yours. You could smell the wine on her breath, as you vividly pictured tasting it off her tongue. Using her free hand, Agatha tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at her, and you were lost gazing into her hazy blue eyes.

Before you could fully rationalize what you were doing, you leaned in, closing your eyes as your lips were about to meet. From the back of your mind, you thought you heard Agatha’s breath hitch as your heart raced from the anticipation.

A loud slam of a door caused you to break apart. Agatha ran a hand through her messy locks, breathing heavily and you felt your cheeks grow hot as she gave your hand a brief squeeze before stepping away from the stage, straightening her suit jacket.

A man came stumbling into the room before you could ask what almost just happened, holding what appeared to be a small cage. He looked familiar, did you know him from somewhere?

The man, who seemed to be oblivious to what he just walked into, spotted Agatha and began to nervously ramble.

“Maestra, I’m so sorry. The flight got delayed, and apparently you can’t only buy a first class ticket for an animal, so I was able to get myself one too. I tried to use my card to pay for it, but it didn’t go through, so I put it on yours. Then I tried to call you, but my phone stopped working. I tried to check into the hotel, but I realized I left my wallet at the airport. I remember you said you’d be here so I thought I’d come and-”

Holding up a hand to silence him, Agatha pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation. “It’s fine, Lang. Please stop, your voice is giving me a migraine.”

The man kept going, shuffling around uncomfortably. “Well I can pay you back for the ticket but with my current salary it will probably take me around…a year, maybe?”

Agatha waved her hand dismissively, shaking her head. “I said it’s fine, Lang. Consider that your holiday bonus.”

The conductor sauntered over to the man, reaching her hands out to grab the cage from him. Gently setting it down on a nearby table, she opened it, pulling out a rabbit. She scratched his ears as held him, annoyance gone as she gave you a small smile.

“Do you remember Scratchy, dear?”

Of course you did, you thought to yourself as Agatha brought Scratchy over to you, the hardened look in her eyes softening as you gave him a few pets. You discreetly nodded towards the man who was pacing the room, hands in his pockets, and Agatha sighed, her irritation appearing to return as she glanced back over at the man.

“Oh yes, I almost forgot. This is my assistant, Scott. He’ll be joining me for the rest of the summer.”

Scott gave you a quick wave and you couldn’t hide your surprise. This was Agatha’s assistant? He certainly wasn’t what you had pictured.

“Great,” you said, feigning enthusiasm, trying to pay attention to the conversation between Agatha and Scott, as the man told a rather strange story of his travel day.

The more he talked the more confused you were as to how Agatha hadn’t managed to fire him yet.

But, all you could really do was wonder what would have happened if Scott hadn’t interrupted, and what this meant for the rest of the summer; as opening night was quickly approaching. Your heart fluttered, as you realized the more time you spent with Agatha, the more you secretly wished you had never said goodbye to her all those years ago.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha all along #agatha harkness fanfiction

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everythingisromant1c · 4 months ago

Text

It's Always Been You - Chapter 3

james potter x fem!reader

summary - Even with things going back to normal, like your yearly Hogwarts classes, not everything is staying the same. Not to mention the fact that it's getting harder and harder to ignore your feelings for a certain someone, especially as drama starts to spread around the school.

wc [5.2k]

all chapters | <- Chapter 2 - Chapter 4 ->

The longer you went through the next day, the more you regretted staying up so late doing that prank. Your tiredness seemed to hang over you like a rain cloud all morning, and the fact that you now had to go to Potions wasn't helping in any way.

You'd all gathered into the dungeon of a classroom and went to your regular seats from the years before, you and James always being Potions partners every year without fail. The minute you sat down, Slughorn waltzed into the classroom with a walk much too merry for how the majority of the class appeared to be feeling at the moment.

"Not so fast," he sang, looking around at the seats you all had taken. "I'll be selecting your Potions partners this year, in the hopes it will inspire some ... productivity." He scanned the room, and you swore his gaze settled on Sirius for a beat longer than everyone else, and your lips quirked up. "Let's make the year interesting, shall we?"

The disbelieving stares from everyone in the room told you that nobody else seemed to care very much about keeping things 'interesting,' something that didn't phase Slughorn as he ordered you all to the back of the room. The class was one you shared with Slytherins, a fact that hadn't left everyone else either. You could've sworn it was death row from the looks on your classmates' faces.

"Matilda Rosier," called Slughorn, a short Slytherin girl taking the first seat at the corner of the room.

"Remus Lupin."

You all watched as Remus took a seat on the stool next to the girl in the green robes, offering her a friendly, albeit awkward, smile that she returned with an almost lifeless stare. You fought back a snort.

"Marcus Craggy," he then called. The broad-shouldered boy marched to the front of the room, well-known and well-disliked by half the Gryffindors in the school for his position as the captain of Slytherin's Quidditch team.

"Sirius Black."

Clearly, Slughorn wanted nothing but pure chaos this year. Sirius didn't hold his groan back, stomping over and dropping his bags down on the table next to Craggy without care. James grimaced amusedly at it all from behind you.

More names were called and only a few of you were left standing at the back of the room, including both you and James. Your hope of actually being paired with him was growing, especially after noticing at least two pairs of partners in the same house, but you didn't think you had that kind of luck.

Slughorn finally called your name next and you gave James a hopeful look before taking your seat. You sat impatiently, waiting for the sound of Slughorn's voice to announce who'd sit in the empty stool next to you.

"Sebastian Vance."

You couldn't stop the way you sat up straighter in your seat at the sound of the boy's name. Images from the first night back flickered across your mind, of the way you'd met his eyes across the Great Hall, replaying the way your friends had all had a grand time poking fun at you. You were sure Marlene was somewhere off in the distance smirking.

The sound of the wooden stool next to you moving against the stone floor stole your attention, along with the green-robed figure next to it. He took his seat, holding out a gentlemanly hand in greeting, teeth showing through his inviting smile.

"I'm Sebastian," he greeted casually, "but I guess you just heard Slughorn just say that."

You shook his hand as he introduced himself, the corners of your lips turning up. "I'm- you also probably just heard Slughorn say my name."

"Yeah," he said honestly, the both of you softly laughing. Something about Sebastian seemed to invite you in, all warm skin and bright eyes, and he had a bright smile to match. There was something about him that could have anyone charmed him in a matter of seconds.

The two of you kept talking for a few minutes, seeming to be one of the only pairings to actually engage with each other, and something settled peacefully inside of you when you'd determined maybe this class wouldn't be so horrible with Sebastian as a partner. You'd remembered he was always good at potions too, a comforting thought.

"We should probably focus," you said a few minutes later. "He already dislikes me enough." You gestured over to where Slughorn began lecturing at the front of the room. "I'm God awful at potions. Slughorn never let me forget it last year."

Sebastian shrugged. "Who cares about what he thinks anyway?"

You peered at him in wry amusement. "You? I thought you were in his Slug Club or something."

"That's more for my parent's sake than my own. Trust me, I think I'd be okay without the privilege of small talking with Sluggy."

Your jaw lightly dropped, and you fought to smother your amusement. When the two of you stopped talking, you searched subtly around the room for James, missing the mention of his name being called by Slughorn. You frowned when you couldn't find him, until you risked turning fully in your seat and finding him in the seat directly behind you.

He had a firm set to his brow that lightened when you cheekily smiled at him, noticing the quiet Slytherin boy he was sitting next to. He mouthed what you thought was a 'help me,' and you rolled your eyes at him, turning back around in your seat.

Slughorn had finally assigned a potion for each pair to brew, listing out the ingredients and steps to the room. You'd volunteered to go collect the ingredients from the front of the room while Sebastian got your cauldron to the right temperature.

You and half the class crowded around the shelves along the far wall, and you stepped into the line that had formed. There was some conversation meeting your ears busily, but the hushed voices of two Slytherin girls a few feet ahead of you were what grabbed your attention.

"Yeah, she and Potter," one of them whispered not-so quietly. You focused on them at the mention of James's name, interest peaking confusedly.

"How do we know that's what they were doing?" the other one asked.

The first girl scoffed. "Two people walk out of a broom closet together out of breath. What do you think they were doing?"

Your stomach dropped at the words that left the girl's mouth, momentarily stunned. It didn't matter that they hadn't said your name directly; you knew exactly what they were talking about. Or at least you thought you did. A thousand questions swarmed through your head—How had they seen you and James? What the hell were they implying?

For a second, you tried to force your mind to slow down and consider the possibility that maybe they'd been discussing something else. But the way that they both seemed to falter after turning around to see you standing behind them confirmed it.

One of them looked visibly awkward, looking anywhere but at you as she returned to her seat. The other gave you a judging look that you didn't like as if you'd done something worthy of shame. Even if you wanted to say something to her, put her in her place, you felt too stunned and confused to think of anything to possibly say.

You'd tried to put the incident out of your mind, collecting the ingredients you needed to brew your potion and returning to your seat next to Sebastian. Forgetting it seemed all too difficult as you became suddenly more aware of everyone around you, of the way the same two girls and a few more seemed to be glancing at you ever so often. You couldn't seem to make sense of what was happening. Sebastian definitely noticed something was wrong, but you'd brushed off his questioning and tried to hang onto your sanity for the rest of the class.

The moment Slughorn dismissed you, you'd left the room with rushed steps that your friends had to jog to catch up with.

"What's with the rush?" Remus asked you, quickly catching up to you with his long legs and brisk strides.

"Nothing, I just-" you shrugged, distracted. "Don't like Potions."

"Me neither," rang James, tone grim and weighed with audible irritation. Sirius gave him a look, rebutting with something about his own Potions partner, but the noise of your busy mind drowned the conversation out as you continued walking through the halls, lost in your thoughts.

James moved closer to you and nudged you softly in the side, giving you a private and questioning look. "What's wrong?"

You glanced up at him shiftily. "What makes you think something's wrong?"

"You always make that face when you're upset about something." Your expression stilled as you became suddenly conscious of the tug of your brow and the tenseness in your face. "C'mon, what's the matter?"

You took a second before answering, looking around wearily. "Do you feel like people are ... looking at us?" You scanned the hallways that seemed to be lined with chattering students. Maybe it was all in your head, but whispers seemed to leave the mouths of half the people you walked past as soon as they saw you.

"I don't know." James looked out into the crowded hallway with an air of casualty. " 'Suppose I haven't really paid attention."

If people really were staring, it figured James wouldn't think much of it. Your friend certainly had his fair share of popularity around the castle with all the girls who were obsessed with Golden Boy Quidditch Captain James Potter. Even being constantly in his presence, his confident habits hadn't rubbed off on you, something that was difficult to ignore right then as people seemed to be glancing your way left and right.

You wanted to tell him what you'd heard in Potions, if only to try to make sense of it, but you didn't think you knew how you'd go about even phrasing something like that to him. You were suddenly impossibly aware of James's close proximity to you and the way his arm brushed against yours ever so often as you walked. You wanted to crawl into yourself by the time you made it to your next class, and the feeling stayed with you for the rest of the day, along with an unignorable pool of dread at the bottom of your stomach.

It might have been in your head before, but now you were one hundred percent sure you weren't imagining the stares from people as you walked into the Great Hall for dinner. They would look at you, then over at James, and then continue on with their whispering as if it wasn't painfully obvious to you that people were talking about you. Judging from the conversation the two girls in your Potions class had been having, you had a dreadful suspicion you knew exactly what people were talking about.

You were able to ignore it for most of the day and even half of dinner, until you watched as three different Gryffindor fourth-years quite literally stood up from their seats to get a better look at you from down the table, practically straining their necks. You dropped your fork.

"Okay, that's it." You shook your head angrily, rising from your seat to leave.

James noticed and tugged at your wrist, frowning up at you. "Hey, where are you going? What's wrong?"

You peered down at his concerned eyes and the cluelessness behind his gaze. "You seriously haven't noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

You quickly glanced around, finding it miraculous that James could've made it the entire day without noticing the way people seemed to stare at the both of you like they were at the zoo. You gestured around. "The stares? The whispering?"

He continued to gape at you like he had absolutely no idea what you were on about. It took everything in you not to raise your voice and give all the onlookers anything more to gossip about. You sighed exasperatedly, lowering your voice.

"People are saying we..." you stopped yourself, face already going warm at the idea. You didn't think you could explain something like that to James's face, especially not when he was looking up at you like that with his undivided attention.

He quirked a brow, waiting for you to finish curiously. "We what?"

Another beat went by of you trying to find words that wouldn't leave you flushed and sputtering before Sirius cut in.

"People think you shagged in the broom closet."

Both of you snapped your heads to Sirius right away, your jaw going slack.

"You knew about this?" Your tone raised without your brain's permission, whether from anger or embarrassment you didn't know, but the people around you were surely relishing the sight.

Sirius frowned at you as he forked some food into his mouth as if he hadn't said something mortifying. "Only for a few hours." He finished chewing, looking between you and James with a visible suspicion growing. "Just so we're clear, you didn't actually shag in the broom closet last night, right?"

You reeled back in shock, wrist slipping from James's hold as you willed yourself to stay calm.

"Bloody hell, Sirius," groaned Remus, face-palming himself with a sigh. Pete looked between all of you, silently entertained.

You had no idea what the hell was going on, and you didn't feel like staying in Great Hall with most of the school for a minute longer as you figured it out. Ignoring Sirius's question, you grabbed your things, throwing your bag over your shoulder. "I'm going back to the common room."

James hurriedly stood up to follow after you, probably now as confused as you, but stopped as you held out a hand to his chest, one that you pulled back right away like the contact burned you.

"Don't-" you stopped, looking around and grimacing at all the eyes on you right now. "Please don't follow me."

With that, you stormed out of the Great Hall, head cast down as your feet moved in a hurried pace all the way back up to the common room. Your anxious footsteps echoed through the portrait and into the common room, where you counted half a dozen heads turn your way.

You felt like you were spiraling into your own mini Hell, footsteps trying their best to take you out of it as you marched up into your dorm room away from all the prying eyes. You shut the door harshly behind you, leaning against it like you'd just finished a marathon.

Lily was lying on her bed reading before she snapped her head up from her book, taking in your distressed state. "What's the matter?"

Marlene walked out of the bathroom then, face lighting up as soon as she saw you, not noticing your unease.

"Hey you," she greeted, leaning against the wall. "What's this I'm hearing about you and Potter snogging in a broom closet?"

Your expression sunk even further at her question, sending you deeper into despair. "Not you too," you groaned, collapsing onto your bed. "This can't be happening."

"What can't be happening?" asked Lily, sitting up on her own bed. Finally, one person who hadn't already heard tales of you and James's supposed broom closet romance, if you could even call it that.

"The end of my life." You rolled onto your back. Lily turned to Marlene with confusion as the latter took a seat next to you on your bed. You looked up at her. "How'd you hear it?"

"I heard it from Melissa Bagshot, but she said Horace Kneen told her this morning."

"Great." You ran a hand through your hair, turning onto your stomach to give Marlene a begging look. "Tell me you told her it wasn't true."

She paused, lips parting as her eyes evaded yours guiltily.

Your jaw dropped. "Marlene!"

"I didn't know if it was or not!"

"Can someone please tell me what we're talking about?" Lily looked between the two of you and your yelling like you'd lost your minds.

Marlene sighed. "There are some rumors going around that she and James were snogging in a broom closet last night."

"Sirius said people are even saying he and I were shagging." You felt yourself heating up again at the notion. "Can you believe it? I mean, how did anyone even see us last night?"

Marlene froze, eyes widening in alarm. "You're telling me you two were actually in a broom closet together?"

"We were pulling a prank and had to hide from Filch." Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "That was all. Nothing else happened," you promised, though the memories of James flush against you in the darkness of the closet spread through your mind like a heat wave.

"We believe you, don't worry," assured Lily. Marlene murmured her agreement.

"Thanks," you sighed. "To think that me and James would- ... he and I are only ever going to be friends." You didn't turn to Marlene to see what she thought of your words, simply letting them hang in the air like a mental note to yourself. "Plus, I'm sure Lily would have a bloody heart attack if I ever got with him."

Lily furrowed her brows. "What do you mean by that?"

"C'mon Lily," you urged. "We all know how repulsive you find him. You don't have to be nice for my sake."

Marlene and you both watched with curiosity as Lily's usual cold reserve at the boy seemed to melt with a shy shrug of her shoulders. "Oh, I don't know. He's not the worst in the world."

Marlene tilted her head playfully. "Lily Evans, are you warming up to James Potter?"

"No! I just ... " Lily glanced downward for a moment at her hands. "Don't you think he seems different ever since the summer? A bit more mature? Less annoying?"

Marlene gasped dramatically. "You do like him!"

"I do not!" Lily sent the both of you a glare. "I mean it. I just ... don't hate him as much as I used to."

You and Marlene shared an amused look, laughter bubbling through the both of you.

Maybe three months ago you would've taken your friend's words to be bad news, something more for you to obsess over and overthink everything from the moment Lily didn't seem remotely disgusted by James. But, the you now was almost excited at the idea that she was warming up to James. It could be a way for you to force yourself to forget about your feelings for him. Not to mention the fact that James, your best friend, finally might have a chance with the girl he'd been pining after for years. Even with all you'd gone through in trying to get over him yourself, you still felt happy for him.

Your happiness and laughter died out once you remembered your current situation. You felt helpless, dreading the school days to come more than you already did.

"Don't worry about the rumors," Lily said, noticing your weighty sigh. "Marlene and I will tell anyone we can that they're not true."

"Yeah," Marlene added. "People will move on as soon as they find something else dumb to gossip about." Her eyes lit up with mischief. "I say we find out who started the rumor and see how they like being the talk of the school. A good hair dye hex should do it."

You shook your head at Marlene, a grin fighting to break through your horrible mood. All three of you got ready for bed, and you tried not to give any more thought to all that had happened that day. You did your best to trust Lily and Marlene's words. Surely people wouldn't care much about this rumor, or believe it, for much longer. You could only hope they'd be right.

You were eternally grateful the next day was a Saturday because it meant you could stay holed up in your dorm rather than being stared at and whispered about all day. You loved days like this, when you had all the time in the world to finish up some assignments and-

Your comfortable thoughts were cut short at the sound of your name being called. You forced your tired eyes open to see Marlene at the door, poking her blonde-haired head in lazily.

"Your lover boy is calling after you."

You squinted over at her from your bed, voice laced with sleep. "Who?"

"James, who else?" She deadpanned. "He's at the bottom of the stairs."

"He told us he won't leave until he can talk to you." Lily waltzed into the room, leaning back against the dresser with a pointed look at you. "Please go and talk to him so he'll stop hovering by the girls' dorm rooms. Not a good look."

You let out a slight breath of laughter through your nose, rolling back onto your pillow again. "Tell him to come back after breakfast."

It was like you could hear the roll of Lily's eyes, not even looking up at her as she said, "It's almost noon."

You groaned. It took a lot more coaxing, but Marlene and Lily had gotten you out of bed and walking down the steps to the common room.

James and his unruly hair shifted into view as he stood up from his position against the wall, hands tucked away into his jean pockets.

"There you are." His eyes went bright from below. Even with the warmth in his tone, you felt too groggy to return it.

"What's wrong James?" You were aware of the unpleasant gravel to your voice, sounding nothing short of grumpy as you paused at the last step. It was obvious that you weren't a morning person like James was. He looked up at you with creases by his eyes, them dancing delicately over you as his cheeks seemed to raise.

"What?" you asked, pausing, suddenly feeling insecure about your bedhead.

He only smiled more, tipping his chin out at you. "You look cute when you're tired."

Your lips parted, lashes blinking quickly before you let out an awkward breath of something like laughter, looking down at your feet. You shook your head. "I meant," you began, feeling the difficulty of speaking to James now more than ever. "What's wrong? Why did you send Lily and Marlene after me?"

James stared at you like he hadn't said anything remotely out of the ordinary and rolled his eyes. "It's almost twelve and you're lying in bed on the first weekend back." He took one of your hands in his, swinging them both around aimlessly. "C'mon, let's go do something."

You tilted your head, staring at your interlocked hands. "I really don't feel like having people stare at me wherever we go today."

"It's not that many people."

You stopped the motion of your arms, giving him a disbelieving look.

He shrugged, relenting. "Okay, fine. But who cares about them?" He paused in thought, perking up again. "We can go to the library. You always like going there, and it's been practically empty ever since the prank we pulled."

You quickly let yourself think back to the night you'd spent charming half the books in the library to let out a scream at just a touch. The sides of your lips pulled up, James taking the sight in stride as he continued.

"Nobody's gonna bother you in there. And if they do, we can leave. Promise."

You could always tell when James was being sincere with the way he'd look into your eyes unwaveringly with a bit of hope being his gaze. It was always patient and never prying, and now it had you relenting and telling him to give you a minute to let you freshen up in your dorm before you left.

When you came back downstairs, the rest of the boys were waiting for you too, and the four of you walked straight to the library as promised. There were definitely some stares from just the walk through the halls, but not as many as yesterday. The thought was only partly soothing.

The five of you took a seat towards the back of the library, avoiding taking any books in case they were still charmed but taking out parchment and a quill instead. Or at least some of you did, since Sirius had been doing anything but studying for the first ten minutes you'd sat down.

"Must we hang out in the library of all places?" He let out a groan, tipping his chair back against the bookshelf behind him dramatically.

James eyed him from across the table through his glasses, finally having put them on to reluctantly do some school work. "We're staying in the library because of all the staring, remember?"

"Of course," Sirius drawled, peeking over at you. "Anything for the lady."

You frowned, rolling your eyes at the boy. He smirked, reaching behind him for a book. The four of you each recoiled back, expecting a screech to ring out through the room, but only silence followed as Sirius opened the book and lay it open on his face. You must've been sitting in the section of books you hadn't gotten to charm before Filch caught up to you.

"Well you can't hide in here forever," came Sirius's muffled voice unceremoniously like he hadn't almost unleashed screams into the quiet room. "Don't forget about the party in the common room tonight."

Your face dropped. "Ugh," you whined. "Definitely not in the mood to go to that."

Sirius removed the book that'd been covering his face, chair tipping forward with a loud snap to the wooden floor. The librarian shot him a glare that he didn't pay mind to.

"Are you kidding?" He gaped at you. "It's a yearly tradition. You're going."

Peter nodded from his spot next to Sirius. "Yeah, you can't miss it."

"We'll see." You peered down at the empty parchment in front of you. "I still have to study for Ancient Runes and work on our Potions essay."

Sirius grimaced, leaning back in his seat. "Can't believe that old git gave us an essay already. You'd think he'd be nice after forcing us to sit with those Slytherins." He looked visibly disgusted.

"Oh please," you said, shaking your head. "You lot and your house rivalry."

"This isn't about rivalry," Sirius argued, looking as serious as ever. "My partner is an actual dunce at Potions. If he wasn't so dense I'd think he was actually trying to blow my head off so I couldn't play our first Quidditch match."

"You're being dramatic. They're not that bad." You motioned to Peter. "Pete's partner seemed perfectly nice. She's a prefect, isn't she?"

Peter tensed at that, appearing to shrink in his seat. "She won't let me touch a thing." He let out a breath out like a shiver. "She scares me."

James and Sirius laughed as you tutted. "Well, my partner isn't bad." You dipped your quill into your ink, tone positive. "Sebastian's actually quite nice. And really great at Potions too."

"Yeah, well, he's a Slytherin." James's tone cut through the air with the same sour drawl Sirius had taken up. "Not exactly special."

You lifted a shoulder, feeling a crease between your brow forming. "He's in the Slug Club. That counts for something."

"Not when Slughorn favorites all the Slytherins like they're his own snake babies."

You looked up sharply from your parchment, confusion crinkling your features. "What the bloody hell are you on about James?"

He wasn't looking at you, a sore look on his face as Sirius and Peter snickered.

"Ignore him." Remus closed the pages of the book he'd been reading, probably from home, joining the conversation. "He's probably just upset he's sitting so far from Lily."

James squinted at Remus, elbows crossing on the table. "Ha ha," he mocked. "Liked you better when you were quiet."

Remus shrugged, wryly smiling through a lazy yawn as he leaned back in his seat.

"Speaking of Lily, that reminds me," you began slowly, turning in your seat. "She and I were talking about you last night, James."

He glanced your way, scanning your face carefully for a hint at whatever you were hiding.

"Uh oh," rang Sirius. "Might wanna cover your ears for this Prongs. Spare your feelings."

You glared at him. "Actually, it was all good things."

James leaned back hesitantly. "It was?"

You nodded. "You just came up in conversation and, I don't know," you shrugged a shoulder, words slow. "It seemed like you were growing on her." James watched as you glanced forward as if you were recalling a memory before your expression seemed to blossom brighter. "It looked like she was almost smiling, even."

A beat of silence passed over the table as everyone took a moment to process your words, but it was gone in an instant.

"Alright mate!" Sirius boomed as he stood up from his seat slightly, reaching across the table to shake James's shoulder. The librarian gave him a second warning stare from over his shoulder that told you any more yelling would have you all being kicked out.

James had offered a boyish half smile and nothing more, waving Sirius away. "Calm down, that doesn't mean anything." He shook his head. "We all know how Evans feels about me."

"Um, did you not hear the part about her smiling over you?" Sirius crossed his arm. "She wants you, mate."

"You should ask her out again," chipped in Peter. "I'd reckon she says yes."

"Wormtail's right," Remus added, to your disbelief. "You should ask her."

"Slow down you guys," you chimed, putting up a hand. "All I said is that she's starting to warm up to him. You're gonna scare her off."

"Yeah, so can we drop it?" James voice rang through the air with a seriousness none of you anticipated. He shifted in his chair, fixing his glasses. "Let's just go back to studying or something."

Sirius blanched, not having any of it. He stared at him through his lashes like he'd grown a second head. "Who the hell are you and what have you done with James Fleamont Potter?"

James ignored him and went back to the parchment in front of him.

"Look, James," you began, and placed a hand lightly on the side of his shoulder. "All I'm saying is, as long as you don't go proposing to her with rose petals just yet, you could have a chance." You were surprised at how genuine and hopeful your voice sounded discussing the topic of he and Lily, a feeling that was apparently new to both James and you in that moment. You shoved him a little playfully. "She seems to think you've matured."

"Well of course he's matured." Sirius leaned forward, gesturing to James. "I mean, have you seen those bloody glasses of his? He's like a sexy librarian."

You put a hand to your mouth at how loud he was being in the library of all place. James grimaced and responded by chucking a crumpled-up ball of parchment at his friend from across the table. Sirius dodged it with a cocky swerve to the right, the movement was too ragged for the chair that he'd been leaning back in to support. With a loud crash that had you cringing, it fell backward onto the floor, wood slamming against wood, and Sirius with it.

You gasped, all of you bursting out into laughter at the boy who glared up at you from the ground, a sight that had you wheezing. All your laughter echoed through the room without control, but you stopped the second you noticed the librarian coming towards you all, a ruefully cold look in her eye.

"Out!"

She pointed towards the door, and the five of you didn't need to be told twice. You managed to mask your amusement to collect your things for a second before you were all exiting the room, letting your laughter free as you stumbled through the hallway.

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gimmick-blog-bracket · 2 months ago

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@hellsitegenetics

I love them

I didn't know I needed to know that the weed-smoking girlfriends post was genetically a wolf, but I did, and I do. Also puts great stuff on my dash.

it’s so fun to be scrolling unhinged posts and then boom. an organism!

so many moths‼ also, unexpected comedy with some of the matches

perfect blend of silly and informative, and makes for an excellent punchline at the end of a long post. puts creatures on my dash. literally what more could you ask for

It's a really unique blog concept and a lot of times the results are pretty funny. It's great when the sequence matches the post content too!

Creatures 👍

Finds beautiful creatures out of the mess of the hellsite

Offers finality AND gives us a creechur.

I love them. English speakers talk like moths

If this blog wins, they could run the text of the winning announcement, and determine the post's genus and species!

They're also very good about tagging the type of creature depicted in the results, so as long as you mute tags of creatures you don't want to see, it's a very fun time seeing iconic legacy posts (and new submissions) being reduced down to a string of letters and assigned a random species of fish or moth or something!

uhh it’s cool

BLAST

There are so many weird bugs in the world

Yippee!!

If, as Haldane said, God has an inordinate fondness for beetles, then surely this blog proves that Tumblr has an inordinate fondness for moths.

Top tier blog as a geneticist, I love seeing obscure organisms and MOTH

Admin got rate limited after trying to blast the bee movie

the knowledge of biology to pull this off (i have taken one biology class in my life) and also the work to find all the strings honestly deserves quite a bit of praise

This gimmick blog has it all: science, pictures of animals, interaction with the text of other peoples' posts, interesting information, and a unique and fun premise. As a biologist, I'm rooting for hellsitegenetics to reach the end and take the tournament, because it is truly a standout among gimmick blogs.

If they win, perhaps this blog too shall become a cool organism :3

@one-time-i-dreamt

people sometimes dont read the URL and think that the dream is something that actually happened. creates confusion and the funny

#round 5 #tumblr tournament #polls #gimmick blog

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hey-hamlet · 10 months ago

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BNHA AU Idea - Let's Kill Sensei!

I just got reminded assassination classroom is a show that existed so im shamelessly cribbing the premise.

Midoriya Izuku didn't make it into the hero course. Without a quirk and only 10 rescue points - it just wasn't enough. Still, his score in the written exam saw him placed in gen ed - class 1C - with all of the other failed hero students. The classroom has an uncomfortable vibe - the recent and abrupt retirement of All Might after a villain attack on his home left him badly injured, coupled with their own failures, leave them all on edge.

To say they were expecting the man who walked into their classroom would be a mistake, but the gut wrenching fear that followed was almost expected.

All for One, the man they'd all seen nearly murder All Might 3 months ago, grinned - red eyes squinted in real mirth. "Hello, students. What on earth shall I teach you today?"

1C has 1 year to kill their homeroom teacher, or he takes over Japan. 1 year to kill a 200 year old villain with more quirks than UA has students. The student who kills AfO will be given 1 billion yen and moved to the course of their choosing.

What AfO hasn't told anyone is that he has a special gift for the student who manages to off him - if any of them do.

Featuring:

this is a deal with UA and the HPSC - UA wanted him with 3rd year heroics students while the HPSC insisted on gen ed - UA thinks the students have a chance, while the HPSC wants cannon fodder they can throw at AFO so they have extra time to plan.

the only person aware of this deal on UA staff other than Nezu is Present Mic - the man who was supposed to be gen ed's homeroom teacher. Nezu wanted to tell Eraserhead as well, but AfO argued that that was an unfair advantage to UA

gen!ed uraraka - without her rescue of Izuku, she didn't get enough points for the hero course

Dad for One - but Izuku doesn't recognize him (its been like 10 years, plus 'Hisashi Midoriya' had black hair). It's pretty clear Izuku is AfO's favourite student. but given that just means hes even tougher and like. Also a murderer. No one is particularly jealous.

Izuku, Shinso and Uraraka friendship - none of them really have anything to lose - either they are the ones to kill AfO or their lives are over.

#lets kill sensei au #bnha au #bnha #this is very silly and i love it honestly

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caesium-55 · 8 months ago

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—seven days. [ ii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

author's note: not beta-read. not edited. here's part 2 folks. part 3 is on the works now. did i write this fic instead of studying for my important quiz tomorrow? yes, yes i did. pls pray for my score.

masterlist.

For Christmas in 2019, Max has gotten you an apartment near his in Monaco. It is a loft apartment good for one on the 8th floor, a building away from where Daniel and Max lived. Originally, he wants to get you the unit a floor below his. You decline quickly, insisting that you are very fine with rooming with Julia and Kendall, who are both members of the Red Bull PR team whom you have gotten close with since your first year working with Red Bull. Max may have beef with the PR team for making him do a lot of embarrassing shit for the views but you're besties with most of them and actually thank them for making Max suffer through PR stuff because you cannot afford therapy and watching Max suffer through PR-related activities is a good form of free therapy. Also, Monaco apartments are fucking expensive. Red Bull might be paying you well but not well enough to afford an apartment in a country as expensive as Monaco.

“I want you close,” he tells you. If you did not know any better, you'd have butterflies fluttering in your intestines right about that moment. Sometimes, Max utter the most heart-fluttering of nonsense without meaning to. It causes your heart to stutter more times than you would like to admit.

“Well, I don't want you close.”

Max will never ever win an argument with you. He knows that. You know that. The best he can do is come to a compromise, a compromise that is usually tailored to suit whatever you want.

So you got that small loft apartment a building away, good for one person only. It's easy to clean and it's cheap, Max already said that, which makes you happy because you can set a payment plan for that. An apartment as a Christmas gift is already too much, borderline giving you a heart attack already. Rich people spending their money give you, a person of the middle class folks, heart attacks. Why can't Max be normal and give you a normal gift? A bracelet? A bag? You’ll even accept it if he gave you a slice of cheesecake. Not even your parents can buy you an apartment.

It has only been three years since the keys are passed on to your ownership and people say three years is enough time for a person to make a place home. But your apartment doesn't even feel like home, only a place you’ll sleep in if you happen to be in Monaco for the evening.

Home is that humble, two-storey house painted in red and yellow in Lynnwood Avenue, Vista Del Pueblo, Austin, a total picture of a picket fence dream. Home is Abuelo's old farmhouse in El Paso where you spent your childhood riding horses and driving ATVs across the dusty dry earth. Home is the retro milkshake place owned by the sweet old couple that has been in the neighborhood longer than your entire existence. Home is the tree-lined streets where you walked the family senior dog, Niko. Home is the Austin Fire House, your Dad’s workplace that you visited a handful of times back when you were a child to deliver cookies that your Abuela baked so your Dad could share it with his co-workers. Home is your mom’s clinic in the middle of downtown, always smelling like eugenol, disinfectant, formaldehyde, and her perfume. Home is not glitz and gold and glamor and cash cash cash. Home is not seeing wealthy people left and right. Home is not Monaco.

And it is not like you stayed long in your place either. You're always off traveling around the world with the Red Bull team and accompanying Max wherever he needs your presence. You don't even spend your breaks in that apartment because you immediately fly home to your family once a break is graciously given to you before flying off again to watch Max collect trophy after trophy.

Six days from now, you're going to be flying off to Texas. That means you have six days—less than six days actually—to pack all your crayons and go. Of course you're going to pack up the day before you leave. Doing shit last minute makes your life exciting, and it's not like you had a lot of shit to pack anyway. All your belongings can be tucked into a total of three suitcases. Three years worth of belongings in three suitcases.

you: you doin good there?

Max has been holing himself up in his penthouse since your arrival from Abu Dhabi, probably dealing with his breakup with Kelly. A shame, really. You thought the two looked good together. (Do they really? the asshole part of your brain thinks.)

And P. Thank God for that child’s existence. You hate children but P is an exception. P brings the best out of Max. Max has gotten the chance to act as the father he never had. It's heartwarming, to be honest.

him: not really no

him: can you bring me coffee

you: on it champ

Fifteen minutes later, you’re knocking on the gigantic double doors of his penthouse, a tall styro cup of espresso from that cute café two streets down and a slice of blueberry cheesecake because you’re thoughtful enough to buy him his favorite cake. You experienced a breakup before. A cake and an icecream work wonders when it came to healing broken hearts.

“You're fast,” he immediately says after opening the door. You kind of expect that he’d look worse, snotty and messy and looking like he ran from hell and back. But no, he looks……fine? His sweater and shorts look absolutely neat and comfortable and dry of snot. His hair is a little fluffy from lying on his bed but not too messy. He doesn't even look like he was crying. No red-rimmed eyes. No red nose.

You fake gasp, putting a hand on your chest for additional dramatic effect, “The fastest racer in F1 callin’ me fast. Truly honored.”

A smile plays on his lips, sidestepping and beckoning you in.

You frequently come by Max’s home, for work purposes of course, but you still cannot help but be amazed by the enormity of it every time you enter. Max’s penthouse is twenty times bigger than the apartment you currently live in. One man and a big house—it must be very lonely now that P and Kelly are no longer around. Now, you’re even more worried about what will happen the moment you go back to Texas.

Oh… You still haven't told him yet.

“Coffee,” you hand him the warm styro cup to which he accepts gratefully. He utters his thanks, taking a whiff before sipping, letting out a pleasured moan.

You make your way to his gigantic kitchen, navigating your way through his cabinets in search of a plate and a fork. You slide the cheesecake on the plate towards Max, who followed you to the kitchen and sat on the empty stool in the kitchen counter.

“Thank you,” he says, picking up the fork and taking a bite. He glances at your feet, eyes trained on your YSL. The obnoxious sound of the heels clicking against the floor as you walk probably is the one that caught his attention.

“You know, you've been wearing the same shoes since 2019.”

Points for Max for noticing. These YSL Opyum heels are the first luxury items you bought for yourself after saving for three years to buy one pair. You saw a rich international student wear it once back in university and you liked how sophisticated it looked compared to all the pairs of converse or platform boots you owned. So you made it your life’s goal to own one. In 2019, after doing tons of part time jobs in university and working with Red Bull for a whole year, you managed to buy yourself one on your birthday and you’d been wearing them to work ever since.

Your regular work uniform consists of a Red Bull polo shirt, a pencil or a slit skirt, and that specific pair of heels. Around 2021, you bought another pair to replace the old one because the old one broke. And 2022 again.

“What's wrong with ‘em?” you ask, brows furrowing as you followed his train of sight. Your heels might be a year old already but they still look fine.

Max blinks, “No, there's nothing wrong. Just…Do you think you would want to wear some other design?”

“No,” is your reply. “I like ‘em just the way they are.”

“Okay.”

Your conversation drifts into something else as Max finishes his coffee and cake. You spend the rest of the day in Max’s penthouse, lying on his plush couch while a slasher movie from the 2000s played on his wide TV. He has given you access on his Netflix account so you abused it to your heart’s content because you don't even have. a Netflix subscription. You can absolutely afford one, you just choose not to. You have opted in using your phone mid-movie because the movie is beginning to get real scary but you do not want Max to think you're a coward so you acted like you're disinterested instead.

“Oh look, Charles is also back in Monaco. Do you want to hang out together?” you nudge Max with your foot, who swats it away from him, face contorting in disgust. You show him the post on Charles private IG—yes, you were mutuals in each other's private IG because whoever is friends with Max was friends with you by extension—on your phone.

“Stop makin’ that face, my feet are nice.”

Your toenails are a glorious red now. Ferrari red actually and they suit you better than the Red Bull red. Huh, maybe you should have considered applying for Ferrari instead of Renault in 2018.

“No, it isn't.”

You roll your eyes, pulling it away from him and sitting up, “Do you want me to schedule you a dinner with Charles? You might need the bro time, you know? Dad said bro times are also important, but not as important as family time, of course. My bro broke up with his sweetheart back when I was still in uni and his best buds were the reason he was back up in tippy top shape by the end of the week.”

Max stares at you blankly, “I think I understand the words individually but not the sentence entirely. I don't know if it's the accent or you Americans just have a strange way of structuring your sentences.”

“Point is, hang out with a friend because a friend can help you move on from a pussy.”

Max hurls a throw pillow at your direction, which you luckily avoided thanks to your non-racer level but still considerably good reaction time, but unfortunately, this action causes your center of gravity to shift and before you know it, you're falling from the couch. Unconsciously, you grab Max but then Max doesn't expect that you’ll grab him so now, you’re both falling off the couch and onto the floor.

You groan.

“Fuckin’ ass, man. That was uncalled for.”

He flips you off.

Nevertheless, Max ends up following your advice though and calls Charles to hang out the next day. Lestappen fans should be thanking you on Twitter the next day for bringing those two together on an off-day in Monaco. Maybe they'll hang out and eat together in a restaurant? Maybe they'll go on a yacht picnic?

Except Max sends you a message at high noon.

him: sos

you: is your kitchen burning

him: no

him: but this is still an emergency and you need to come quick

him: he’s with his girlfriend and i don’t want to thirdwheel

you: succ it up

him: you can’t do this to me

him: i just got my heart broken in abu dhabi

you: where are you

him: home

him: i also need help in cooking

Charles is the one who answers the door when you knock. He looks genuinely surprised when he sees you and you deduce that Max hasn't told him that you're coming over.

“Babe, who’s that?” you hear Alex’s voice behind Charles and you light up immediately, quickly moving past Charles to throw your hands around the sweet young woman.

“Alex!” Alexandra laughs and hugs you back. The sound of her laughter is as pretty as she and God definitely has favorites because why did he sculpt this twenty-one year old like the daughter of the Aphrodite while you look like you were born from one of Hephaestus’ sperm that lost the gene pool contest? The world is unfair. You always get the short end of the stick, may it be career-wise or appearance-wise, and you can't even bring your personality to the table because normally, without the whole act of professionalism and sophistication you put on, you act like an extroverted American frat boy on a good day and a sassy drag queen slash war freak on a bad day so yeah, you guess that's the short end of the stick, too.

“Seriously?” you look up and saw Max holding a frying pan, staring at you unimpressed. You roll your eyes and slowly pull away from the hug, gaze returning to Alexandra.

“How’ve you been, sweetie? Been a while since I last saw you.”

You didn't get a chance to talk to her in Abu Dhabi and in Las Vegas.

“Good,” she replies, smiling sweetly and ugh, you want to pinch her cheeks so bad. But Charles is pulling you away from Alexandra before you can do so.

“No, no, she is mine, yours is right over there,” Charles says, pointing at Max, who's still standing there in the corner. “Go on. Shoo.”

You roll your eyes before walking up to Max, “‘Sup?”

Max raises a brow at you, “So Charles’ girlfriend gets a hug and I get a sup?”

“Well, she's Alexandra Saint Mleux and you’re just….” you look him up and down. “Nevermind, what you trynna cook?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“I thought you said you were cooking.”

“I said I needed help with cooking.”

Your eyes narrow into slits, “You’re going to let me do the cooking, aren't you?”

“You know that pasta you made in September that you said was your mother’s recipe?”

A sigh escapes your lips as you roll the sleeves of your button-up to your elbows and power-walked your way to the kitchen, the sound of your YSL heels clicking against the floor bouncing against the walls of Max’s kitchen.

Lunch goes great. Charles and Alexandra love your cooking. Max has even asked for seconds. Good to know that he's eating well. Somewhere down the line, champagne is served even though it’s mid-afternoon and the four of you're sitting in Max’s balcony, staring at Monaco scape below. Thankfully, it is a cloudy day in Monaco. The heat of the sun isn't too harsh on the skin. Despite that, you hand Max a sun screen.

“Sorry about Kelly, by the way,” Alexandra says. Your conversation has drifted towards Max’s failed relationship now.

“That is very nice of you to say,” replies Max, smiling slightly. “But I’m okay.”

You give him a look, clearly unconvinced. Admitting vulnerability gives him hives so he's definitely lying.

“You look too okay for a guy who ended a three-year relationship,” Charles muses and his words get you immediately thinking.

Oh? So they’ve been dating that long? You never noticed.

“Even [Name] looked worse when she broke up with that Williams mechanic two years ago and they dated for like what? Barely a year?”

“Unprovoked!” you exclaim. Alex and Max laugh.

But yeah, Charles is right. When you broke up with Leo in 2021, it was not the prettiest sight. He entered Williams mid-2020 as a mechanic and he immediately caught your attention. He's kind and handsome and a very sweet guy. You have similar interests—engineering—and a similar sense of humor and you just….work so well together, you know? You were sure he was your soulmate the moment he cracked up that Physics pickup line and you know it was the same with him. You swore to God that you’d run away from all the British charming assholes but Leo made you eat your own words and gave you a run for your money.

But alas, 2021 season came and Red Bull Racing became busier than ever because Max and Hamilton got crazily competitive and Max demanded your full attention, needing you as a support system to win.

And Leo. Well, he’s busy, too. Engineers are always busy. But he felt neglected because all your attention was on Max. He felt like he was competing with Max for your attention and it shouldn't even be a competition in the first because Leo was the boyfriend and Max was not. And you cannot even deny that you prioritized Max that year. You wanted Max to win. You needed Max to win, so he can finally ask Horner to move you to the engineering team.

Losing Leo is devastating but Max won the WDC title that year and while you spent nearly a month crying over Leo after the breakup, you're hoping that at least, in 2022, you’ll finally get that damned engineering position at the cost of losing your soulmate. That the tears you shed and the broken heart you carried inside your ribs will be worth it if it was in exchange for your dream. Then, it does not happen. The job isn't given to you and you spent the early months of the 2023 season wishing that you have chosen Leo instead of Max Verstappen.

“You’re still friends with him, right?” Charles turns to you.

“Of course,” you say honestly. You're still mutuals on IG and he still hearts your IG stories at times. You still talk, too, on the freer nights where there's a lot of time to waste. “We ended on good terms.”

“How about you, Max?”

“Can we not talk about this please?”

The four of you empty that bottle of champagne and once the sun has begun retiring for the night, Alex and Charles also left. You're soon to follow, fixing your tote bag and going through the mental checklist in your head so you will not forget anything and not waste energy returning here to pick it up.

“You can stay for dinner.”

Max’s offer surprises you.

“No.”

His face drops as quickly as your answer came.

“You're goin’ to let me cook again.”

“No, I’ll cook.”

You give him an unimpressed look. Clearly, you're not convinced.

“I swear, I’ll cook.”

“What if I get poisoned?”

“You won't get poisoned.”

When you continue staring at him, he sighs.

“Just stay please?”

Of course, you stayed. He asked after all.

You keep your eyes on him as he makes dinner with clumsy hands and a bit of unsureness behind his actions.

“You're goin’ to burn it, honey,” you point out.

“What honey? I didn't put any honey in it.”

You blink. He blinks back.

“You’re gonna give me aneurysm one day.”

Shaking your head, you walk into the bathroom at the end of the enormous hallway, lock the door behind you, lean your back against the door, and slowly slides down until your ass meets the cold bathroom floor. You slap a palm against your forehead and purse your lips to stop a scream from erupting.

God fucking dammit, Max is too adorable back there and this is not doing good things for your heart.

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