#sorry to focus on the female characters

[pinkeoni]

During his emotionally charged speech in the van, Will says one particularly potent line.

"When you're different... You feel like... a mistake."

This line is highlighted visually by the camera shifting positions to outside of the van, a shot that is only used one other time to punctuate the end of the scene. This line holds extra weight and the show wants you to know it.

I already made an analysis on the word mistake and what that means for Will, but I want to look at the word different, which feels emphasized in the delivery of the line as well.

"When you're [pause for effect] different..."

It's popular headcanon among st fandom that "everyone in Hawkins is gay!" which sometimes bleeds from into their belief of real canon. Sexuality headcanon lists suddenly are seen with an air of truth to them, and a number of fanon queer ships are accompanied with evidence of their supposed endgame status.

I realize that this is kind of a... weird post to make. I'm not really making this to tell people to stop doing something, this is more of just a rattling off of some opinions I've had for awhile.

I do wanna start off with the obligatory: Do whatever the hell you want. I'm not here to stop you from doing something or tell you that you are wrong for thinking that a character is gay or for shipping something. You are allowed to ship whoever you want, think whatever you want about any character, any ship I don't like I have filtered. But I'm also allowed to not like these ships, or disagree with how others view certain characters. Just as others are allowed to have and express their opinion, I'm also allowed to have and state my opinions on the opinion website.

I think the important thing regarding Will being different is the fact that he is different. As my good friend @karenchildress once put it, if everyone were queer, it would cheapen the message the show is trying to give. Sure, the show displays a variety of ways of being different, but being gay is, among other things Will has been through re: being taken into the Upside Down, is Will's way of being different in Hawkins.

And of course Robin is gay as well, and while there is some crossover, the lived experiences of a gay man is different from that of a lesbian woman, which the show does touch on. Will's story is part of an extended AIDS metaphor, and Robin struggles to gain the attention of women in a world that seems to revolve around the attention of men.

It might be nice to have a moment between Will and Robin, although that alone won't solve Will's problem, i.e. his belief that being different makes him a mistake. Cause that's the thing: the resolution is that being different is a good thing.

If everyone character were queer, this would cheapen the message. Suddenly the resolution isn't that being different is a good thing, but that he isn't different after all.

So then, are queer stories meant to have only token characters?

I think it depends on the type of story, and what it's trying to say. Heartstopper has an eclectic queer cast, but it's also a show that embraces finding community and other people like you. Sex Education has a variety of different sexual identities, but it's also a show that aims to explore a lot of different perspectives.

And there are also queer stories where the queer character's disposition, and their struggle because of that, is a big part of the story. I believe this is what this show is trying to do— highlight Will's difference and how that pertains to his personal struggle and the resolution of that.

One argument that I hear against Will with powers is the idea that making him more different would be bad for his character, because he hates being different. But the thing is, Will is going to learn that his differences are a good thing, which may include any possible powers.

Of course Will isn't the only one with powers, and he also isn't the only gay one. El, Henry, and Kali all have powers, and Robin, Vickie, and Mike (and maybe Henry? I haven't seen TFS myself so I'm not commenting on that) are all gay. So while he's not alone, these things are still a rarity. It's not a case of a headcanon list with mostly everyone gay and some token straights.

"Characters are not straight by default."

This sentiment isn't unique to the st fandom and also didn't originate within this fandom, but it is something that I hear often. And it's... not really true, although it kind of depends on the piece of media we are talking about. It might be easy to say this about a show made in the 2020's, although this same sentiment is hard to state about, well, most shows made before the 2020s. And even then, it depends on what the show is going for.

People being not straight by default is a true statement in real life. You shouldn't assume a sexuality for anyone, gay, straight or what have you. But characters are made by people, and people have different biases on how these characters should be written. Calling the Duffers "two straight men" would go against what I just said, although I don't think that the show was written with everyone being gay in mind. Aside from the 4 (maybe 5) I listed, the other characters are not written to be queer. They just aren't.

All of the queer characters have arcs that feature their queerness. Will's queerness has been mentioned since season one. Robin's romance becomes part of her plot in season 4, and Vickie is introduced as her love interest. Romance has always been an important facet of Mike's story since season one, and his failure in a straight romance is highlighted in seasons three and four. Chekhov's painting of season 4 seems to solidify a gay Mike.

Elmax and Ronance as endgame options not only have no lead up but are also mean spirited towards Lucas and Vickie. Elmax gets together, breaking up Lumax, which has been built up since season two, and Lucas is supposed to be okay with this because????? Ronance get's together, effectively writing off a queer character that the show had introduced, and she can't even fulfill the reason she exists in the first place? Rockie is not the most well developed relationship out there, but it's the one that the show has decided to go for. Maybe Ronance could work, in an alternate universe where the show actually wrote that in.

For those that argue that both Max and Nancy are queer I simply... disagree. And you can disagree with me too, we'll both just agree to disagree. I'm not against headcanons, which are usually harmless, but also usually driven by the desires of the headcanon-er and less so the canon of the show. Which again, is fine, but it's also these headcanons which are being used to drive an argument for actual show canon. Usually the argument for any character being queer that wasn't already listed in canon rests solely on vibes, not any concrete evidence that may suggest actual attraction to the same sex.

More substantial evidence usually comes when someone applies a queer lens to a certain character, but an interpretation can be different from authorial intent. And sometimes, the viewer may be so focused on the metaphorical, that they fail to see the literal.

I do think that you could easily apply a queer lens to El's story. Her story is about, in her words, "not belonging," in society, having to remain in hiding, and deviating from feminine norms. I can easily see how you can derive a queer message from this, but all of the traits listed above are a result of her having powers and being raised in a lab, not being attracted to the same sex. Metaphor alone cannot prove that she likes girls.

Going back to Nancy, Nancy's romantic options are between Jonathan and Steve, although the show seems to make it clear that it's going with Jonathan in the end, what with Jancy holding hands at the end of season 4. Steve get's brought up in conversation between the two, alluding two some unresolved tension that's likely to be brought up in season 5, and Robin is... at the high school with Vickie. That is the end of the season establishing the arcs and romances for the final season.

"Gay people didn't exist in the 80's."

That's an argument on the opposite end of things that just isn't true, although I've also heard the counter for this argument, that gay people did in fact exist in the 80's, as evidence that everyone is gay. I'm not really here to argue whether or not gay people existed in the 80's (they did) I'm just here to argue what I think the canon of the show is presenting.

That being said, the show taking place in the 80's is still significant. It may not be a hyperrealistic depiction of the 80's, but the show does seem to understand the idea that at that time, it was very difficult for gay people come out and to start relationships. It's the reason that Robin can't just go up to Vickie and ask her out, and it's the reason that Will can't just say that the painting is from him. It's the reason why Mike hasn't quite yet left his relationship with El and accepted himself. It's the reason why Rockie has to discreetly flirt through peanut butter sandwiches. A character who hasn't had queerness built into their plot, or a relationship that has no buildup, isn't suddenly going to become canon in the last season.

I was talking about this once with a friend who used the show Only Murders in the Building as an example. In the shows second season, Selena Gomez's character is revealed to be bisexual and dates a character that Cara Delevingne plays for most of the season. The show doesn't build up to her character being bisexual, she doesn't come out as such, the other characters don't make a big deal out of it, she just is. So why can this show do something like that but Stranger Things can't?

Well, Only Murders is a show that takes place in present day, and is a light-hearted comedy (albeit with murder). A character suddenly being bisexual with no set up makes sense for the tone that the show has established and when it takes place. Stranger Things takes place in the 80's and establishes within it's first season and maintains it throughout that gay people get killed and are seen as social pariahs.

It's not that I don't understand where the desire to have more characters be queer comes from, especially characters that people already like and relate to. I don't think it's harmful to think that these characters are queer, I'm making an argument purely with regard to authorial intent and the actual outcome of the show. Again, feel free to disagree with me and continue to do whatever you want, these are just some thoughts that I have had on my mind for a while and wanted to put out.

[celtrist]

Random headcanon I probably like too much is the idea that Rosie never really swears, or at the least she swears even less than Alastor.

Like, she could if she wanted to, and she's not aghast when people do. She just doesn't. There's something about a cannibal lowkey drawing a line at profanity that gets me giggling.

Alastor makes sense he swears, he's from the south so he probably picked up on that sort of talk even with the transatlantic accent. Obviously he's learned to filter swearing and profanities out for radio, but like to imagine another reason he doesn't swear that much was Rosie rubbing off in him (the irony that his swearing decreased in Hell more than Louisiana is... accurate actually)

While not my favorite relationship, I really do love Rosie's and Alastor’s close-knit relationship and can't wait to see them interact more with season 2. They've also been described as having a relationship similar to Mary Poppins and Jack, so curious if they'll establish them as mentors and protege to a degree or at least just have Alastor always looking happy/in awe at Rosie.

[asclexe]

the house md fandom would be fixed by more femlash

[littencloud9]

//

[llycaons]

while I enjoy an AU where sect cultivators stood by wwx in his defiance against the cultivation world or supported the wen remnants with him, they can't hit like canon does bc they always feel a little...hm. like if the author is super invested and insists THIS is what should have/would have happened its like they're missing the point of all the characters and their arcs?

[peachypede]

Psst!

You like Hazbin Hotel, right? Who’s your favorite character?

I do like Hazbin Hotel in a way I have a love/hate relationship with it ahhhhh. Mostly I ADORE the music and character designs. I am DYING for this all broadway cast!!

On the other hand, I think the story is rushed because of the dumb way companies are forcing shows to only be like ten episodes or under with no filler and time for breathe. I also have gripes with how the final battle was done but I don’t wanna be too much of a downer agh. (If you want my take on that you’re free to ask.)

BUT

My fav character is probably Charlie. She hits my specific love for optimistic, overly planned, naive, kinda clumsy protagonist girl. I also like how she curses despite being a cinnamon roll. It helps that her voice actor Erika Henningson, who played Cady in the Mean Girls musical. What a perfect choice for her.

Second fav, Sir Pentious (idk if spelled right). What a man, what a legend.

[textualviolence]

oh so everyone is lying about the movie d.e.b.s. huh. Its not bad in a good way. its not camp. its just annoying.

[amplexadversary]

All of the above, and, to peer-review some tags from another thread:

additionally if you view womanhood as another person's obligation, you are a misogynist.

Assigning it like a chore or a brand is basically the same as saying women=bad.

Say it with me, because it seems some people (targeted) have forgotten this:

A gay man's lack of attraction to women is not misogyny.

A bisexual man's choice to date men is not misogyny.

A bisexual man's choice to date women is not misogyny.

A bisexual man's choice to date no one is not misogyny.

An asexual man's lack of attraction to women is not misogyny.

A trans man's response to trauma with womanhood is not misogyny.

A straight trans man's transition is not to escape misogyny, and it is not misogyny.

A bisexual trans man's choice to date men, women, neither, or both is not misogyny.

A gay trans man's lack of attraction to women and not wanting to be called a woman, is not misogyny.

Gay trans men distancing ourselves from womanhood, often as a response to being forced to be women for many years, is not misogynistic!

Queer men are not inherently more misogynistic than men who aren't queer. Queer men's queerness is not misogyny.

[navybrat817]

Sweet as a Berry

Pairing: Farmer!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: You go to the local market to buy berries and meet the man of your dreams.

Word Count: Over 3.5k

Warnings: Fluff, meet-cute, flirting, tension, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Welcome to my Bountiful Harvest AU ( or Farmer Fall as discussed with @thezombieprostitute and @witchywithwhiskey ) and our intro to farmer!Bucky. Thanks to @yenzys-lucky-charm and @targaryenvampireslayer for letting me babble about this man. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Your weekly trip to the farmers market was one you looked forward to. A place for merchants to come together to offer an abundance of products, there was always something to browse or discover. Today you only had one thing on your list: berries for your pies. Frozen fruit did the job, but you preferred to bake your pies with fresh fruit. Buying from the market was also a way to support local farmers. Maybe one day you'd even bag a handsome farmer for yourself. It was a silly fantasy, of course, but your mind liked to wander some days.

Not that there was anything wrong with city men, but they couldn't compare to a man working on a farm. There was just something about a guy who knew how to work with nature and provide, wasn't intimidated by hard work or afraid to get his hands dirty, and had a strong body and character due to his work ethic. You liked to think you’d make a good wife and take care of him the way he’d take care of you. You also liked to imagine a handsome man walking inside after a long day and stripping down and wanting dessert before a hearty meal. And by dessert, you meant you.

For now, you were only a farmer’s wife in your dreams and journal.

The gravel crunched under your tires as you turned down the road, the market coming into focus. You made good time and managed to snag a decent parking space. A little bit of walking wouldn’t hurt. Plus the day was nice enough that you wore one of your sundresses, the soft breeze pleasant against your skin once you got out of your car.

Lively chatter greeted you as you got closer to the stalls and booths and expertly weaved your way through the bustling crowd. The various produce and flowers created a kaleidoscope of colors, brightened more by the brilliant rays coming from the sun. The earthy fragrance that blended with the sweet and ripe aromas was one you only encountered here. There was nothing else quite like it.

Quick movement in front of you made you come to a stop, your heart jumping. Had you not been paying attention you would've collided with a little boy. “Mama, there's Dada! He’s getting honey!” He shouted as he ran past and threw his arms around a man’s legs.

“Walk, please, and watch where you're going!” His mother said after him, a both fond and exasperated look on her face as she gave you a tired smile. “I’m so sorry about that.”

“No apologies,” you smiled. He hadn't done anything wrong. “I wish I had that energy.”

“Same. I’d bottle and sell it,” she said over her shoulder.

Watching as the woman went to her son and husband, both of them looking at her like the sun rose today because of her, you felt a twinge of sadness. Your trips to the market were solo, always had been. You longed to have a partner to go with, someone to put his arm around you or hold your hand as you picked out items together. Even better if the two of you could make a family down the line.

With a wistful smile, you shook yourself from those thoughts. There was no reason to feel sorry for yourself. Just because you didn't have that in the present didn't mean it wouldn't happen in the future. You had to have faith that the right one would come along at the right time.

For now, you would find some berries and be on your way.

Walking a bit further, you spotted a booth you hadn't seen in your previous visits. The sign that read “Barnes’s Berries” complete with hand painted fruit pieces piqued your curiosity as you stopped in front of it. As the customers in front of you paid for their bundles and blocked the view of the person assisting them, you took a minute to admire the range of berries reflecting a spectrum from blues to reds. Your mouth watered from the sight. There were so many things you could do with these. Pies, jams, cakes-

A deep, husky voice asked, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

You made some sort of sound as you turned around, your heart pounding in your chest. The man in front of you was tall with thick thighs that deliciously filled out his jeans. The rolled up plaid shirt exposed part of his arms. The left was covered in tattoos and the ink couldn't hide the muscles or veins. If anything, it accentuated his strength. His chest and shoulders seemed to go on for miles, too. The chestnut hair that fell below his chin and stubble on his face gave the already handsome man a rugged look.

Sapphire eyes crinkled when you made eye contact and he smiled so softly that you couldn't help but smile in return. A man of his size and stature working a berry stand when he looked like he could easily chop wood or build his own home was otherworldly. He didn't just step out of your fantasy. He took your thoughts and made them better than you could've imagined.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” He asked again a bit hesitantly when you didn’t answer his question. “If you're still looking, please, take your time.”

“You’re real, right?” You asked, your face heating up as the words left your mouth. A giggle followed because you couldn’t believe you just said that. “What I meant to say is, yeah. Just looking for now,” you added to save face, smoothing out your dress for no reason.

Amusement filled his eyes, the soft smile still tugging at his lips. “I sure hope I’m real and not just a figment of your imagination.”

You wished you could reach out and touch him to “prove” he was real, but didn’t want to weird him out. “Not a figment of my imagination,” you said, but that wasn’t totally true. You very much imagined a man like him when you were alone at night. “But I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” It wasn't like you knew every single vendor, but you would've remembered him.

He sure as hell had a face worth remembering.

“I’m Bucky,” he introduced, offering you his hand. His grip was gentler than you expected, but there was no mistaking the roughness in his touch. The man worked with his hands and it showed. “This is actually my first week here.”

You said your name, proud that you remembered it with the way he was staring so intently at you. He stood a bit close, too. Close enough that you could smell his woodsy cologne. Subtle, yet enticing. “I hope everyone has been welcoming.”

“Most have been very friendly, which has made my job easy,” he said. You could imagine with his looks and friendly demeanor despite his size that he’d have a lot of repeat customers. “A couple of my friends recently started selling here, too, so it’s good to have some familiar faces close by.”

“That’s really nice. I’m sure they're glad you're close by, too,” you smiled. You wondered who his friends were. “Did you have to travel far to get here?”

“Yeah, they’re good guys,” he smiled back, your heart racing when he ran a hand through his hair. “Not too far since my farm is only a few miles away, which also makes things easier. Makes me wonder why I didn't do this sooner.”

You nearly swooned. Your dream man was becoming dreamier by the second. “You have a farm not too far from here?”

It would’ve been easy to assume he did since he had a stand here, but not everyone who worked the market had their own land. It was also easy to assume he wasn't married since you didn't see a ring on his left hand or any sort of tan line or indentation to indicate that he removed a ring. A man like that though probably had a partner. It wasn't worth getting your hopes up.

“Yeah. I have a few acres. Beautiful place. but if I’m being honest it gets a bit lonely since it’s just me out there with no one to share it with.” He scratched the back of his neck with a small chuckle and avoided your gaze. “I don't know why I said that. That’s kind of embarrassing.”

Your stomach did a funny flip. Not just because he pretty much let it slip that he wasn't with anyone when you assumed moments ago that he was, but from the urge to comfort him taking over. You wished you could wrap him in a hug.

“Well, I don't have a farm, but I understand feeling lonely some days,” you admitted. Being vulnerable with a complete stranger wasn't how you expected your day to go, but you wanted him to know he wasn't alone in that feeling. “And it’s not embarrassing,” you assured him. If anything, it was endearing.

He slowly met your gaze. “I appreciate that.” He rubbed the back of his neck again as your heart began to race. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but I find it hard to believe that someone as sweet and beautiful as you gets lonely.”

The compliment left you momentarily dazed before a shy smile graced your face. You could've said the same thing about him. Maybe the instant connection you felt wasn’t so one-sided. “Well, I do. Even coming here, I’m usually by my lonesome” you said, the words not at all bitter. Just honest. “And do you call all potential customers sweet and beautiful?”

“No, I don’t.” He continued to gaze at you before he cleared his throat. “But you said potential customer. If I made you uncomfortable…”

“You didn’t.” It was gentlemanly that he wanted to make sure that his comment didn’t put you off. “There’s a stand a little further down that I sometimes stop at, though your berries are extremely tempting.”

Bucky’s brows pinched before he snapped his fingers. “Jed, right? He’s actually not here this week. Had an accident recently. Broke his leg.”

You gasped. “Oh, my god. That’s awful.” Jed was a kind, older farmer who had been there for as long as you could remember. A hard worker who didn’t deserve any kind of pain. “I hope he heals quickly.”

Bucky nodded solemnly. “So, do I,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m no Jed, but is there anything I can do to get your business today?”

The hopeful look in his blue eyes had you smiling slightly. “Well, I-”

“Wait. Let me try to guess what you’re specifically looking for before you tell me.” He waited until you nodded. “Clearly berries, but not for anything like a fruit salad or an everyday snack,” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and you tried not to giggle when he grinned triumphantly. “Pies. You want berries to make pies. Blueberries, right? Maybe blackberries, too. And if I had to pick a third, raspberries.”

Your mouth fell open. Was he a mind reader? “Yeah, that’s exactly it. Blueberries, blackberries, and raspberries. I have this triple berry pie recipe that I love and I make the crust from scratch and…” You bit your lip to keep from rambling. He didn’t need to hear all that. “Sorry. I just like to bake.”

“No apologies.” His light touch to your arm surprised you as he met your gaze. “You sound very passionate about it and I like that.”

You found yourself nodding, unable to tear your gaze away. It took everything within you to not blurt out how gorgeous he was. And on top of that, he was kind? Maybe he wasn’t real. “I am passionate about it. And not just pies. Other treats, too,” you said, nodding to the strawberries. “Those would be perfect for mini shortcakes or scones.”

He studied you with an appreciative smirk. The sundress was a good choice. “I have no doubt your treats are delicious and you are making me very hungry,” he said, your heart thudding. The smirk disappeared as quickly as it appeared when he gestured to his stand. “And I think they’ll be tastier with my berries.”

You blinked, stuck on the fact that he called your treats delicious. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like he called you delicious and he hadn’t tasted anything of yours, though you’d find a way to bake something and deliver it to him personally if he asked. “You sound very confident, Bucky.”

He puffed his chest out. “I take a lot of pride in all my crops. Tell you what,” he said, stepping away from you to grab a sample cup. “Why don’t you try some and see how you like them? If they aren't the best berries you’ve ever tasted, I’ll shut my stand down and let you on your way.”

“You’ll really shut your stand down? That’s a big wager,” you smiled, his fingers touching yours as he handed the cup over. It heated you up all over again. “The look of them alone is amazing,” you said, the vibrant berries beckoning for you to have a bite.

“Taste amazing, too, but I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

Bucky shot you a dazzling smile as you tried the blueberry first since that was the berry you were most interested in purchasing today. You didn’t care if it was mortifying, you outright moaned at the flavor when you bit down on the small and plump piece of fruit. Not overly sweet or acidic as the juice coated your tongue. It was the perfect balance. So much that you licked your lips and craved another.

Your eyes honed in on the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest before your gaze flickered to his face. His eyes were darker and you realized after a moment that he was staring at your mouth. A look like that could’ve made you choke on your breath, but it somehow gave you a burst of confidence. Testing the waters, you tried the blackberry next and made a show of licking your lips again at the sweet and succulent taste. The groan he let out shot a burst of heat between your legs.

God, he looked like he was ready to eat you whole.

“Delicious,” you said in a sultry voice you didn't recognize.

“You, um…” He brought a hand up and brushed his thumb along the corner of your mouth. You quivered when he showed you the drop of juice that you missed. Without breaking eye contact, he licked the drop away. It was a look that melted your insides when he said in a gruff tone, “You're right. Delicious.”

“Excuse me?” A woman spoke, making you jump back a bit from Bucky and pulling you both out of the moment. She might as well have dumped a bucket of cold water over your head. “I’d like to buy these.”

Your heart continued to race when you saw disappointment flash in his eyes. “Go ahead,” you smiled. He was there to do a job after all, not chat and flirt with you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky turned his head toward the customer. “Of course, ma’am,” he smiled, still glancing back at you momentarily as if was afraid you’d walk away if he didn’t keep an eye on you.

Biting your lip, you held in a giggle as you tossed the sample cup into the small wastebasket. You swore you felt him gazing at you as you gathered up the bundles. Maybe you didn’t need to bend so far over to get the last bundle, but was it wrong that you wanted him to look? It wasn’t every day that you had a kind, handsome farmer flirting with you. It would have you walking on cloud nine for the rest of the day.

Turning toward the table to pay, you gasped when you nearly collided with Bucky. He managed to grab your arms to keep you from falling and you somehow didn’t drop a single bundle as he stared into your eyes. “You know, I think you’re even sweeter than my berries,” he spoke in a low voice, swiftly taking everything from your hands and lining them in a box before your brain could process what he said. “This everything then?”

“Yeah.” You blinked and got your money out to pay. “Thanks. And keep the change.”

He shook his head when he saw the amount you gave him. “Oh, I couldn’t do that.”

“Please. I insist,” you smiled. He took a lot of pride in his work and any extra change could go toward that.

“I’ll keep it on two conditions,” he said, nodding to the box. “One, you let me be a gentleman and help you carry that to your car, that way you’re not stuck carrying it around.”

You nodded, butterflies in your stomach. “Okay, if you insist on being a gentleman.” He was nice enough that he wanted to step away from his stand and carry something for you. He really kept getting better and better. “And the second condition?” You asked with a coy smile. Maybe if you were lucky enough he’d ask for your number.

He reached behind him and presented you with another sample cup. “One more for the road? Please?”

You stamped down your disappointment that he didn’t ask for your number, which was more than okay. “How can I say no to that?” You popped the berries into your mouth without hesitation. They tasted ever sweeter than the first sample you had and you watched his eyes go to your neck as you swallowed. “Thanks. You really do have a gift,” you added to distract you from his heated gaze.

He looked humbled by the compliment. “I really do appreciate that,” he said, glancing over your shoulder to nod at someone. “Steve! You mind watching the stand until I get back? I’m gonna help her carry these to her car.”

You turned just in time to see a gorgeous blonde just as large as Bucky jog over from the stand across the way. “That’s nice of you, jerk. Real gentlemanly,” he smiled, giving you a small nod. “Ma’am.”

“Punk,” Bucky mumbled, but the affection was evident.

Another giggle worked its way out. Where did these men suddenly come from? Was there something in the water you didn’t know about? “You don’t need to call me ma’am, but thank you. And you’re right.” Your eyes went back to Bucky. “He is a gentleman.”

“And this is my cue to get you away from my friend before he says otherwise,” Bucky teased, steering you away with one hand while he balanced your fruit in the other.

“I don’t think I’ve seen him here either.”

“That was one of the friends I was talking about earlier. Has a farm, too, but his real passion is art,” he explained, his arm brushing against yours as he walked close. “He actually helped make my sign since I’m hopeless with that stuff.”

“That’s really nice,” you said, falling into a comfortable silence with him as you both maneuvered your way through the crowd. Once you got to the parking area, you pointed out your vehicle. “I’m just over there.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered over to you as you got your keys out. “I’m really glad you stopped at my stand today.”

Your heart fluttered when you caught the sun shining along his hair. “I’m glad I did, too,” you said softly, unlocking the car so he could set everything inside. Thank God it was clean. That would’ve been embarrassing. “But I should let you get back to work.”

He shifted on his feet, like he wasn’t quite ready to go. “Yeah, I should go.” He stepped forward and took a breath. “But I don’t think I can go back before I ask you to go on a date with me.”

You blinked. This wasn’t a drill. Bucky was asking you out. His tone was so gentle, his gaze so compelling. He was mesmerizing. He could’ve asked you to do anything and you likely would’ve done so without question.

“You want to take me out on a date?” You questioned, your mind screaming that your response was the wrong answer. This wasn’t a fantasy. It was really happening.

With an unsure chuckle, Bucky brushed a hand through his hair. “Too forward?” He smiled a little. “I’m sorry. I just thought that we…”

Your heart reacted to his uncertainty. It took a lot for anyone to put themselves out there and you wanted him to know it was worth the risk. “Not too forward at all, Bucky,” you smiled and placed your hand on his left arm, happy when he smiled back. “I'd love to go out with you.”

He took your hand in his when you went to pull your hand back. “I’m really glad you said yes,” he whispered.

“Me, too,” you sighed at his warm touch. It was the beginning of something special. You could tell. “So, when would you like to go on that date?”

And that is our intro! Now here is where it gets interesting: This story will go down two paths, one light and one dark. Be on the lookout for the continuation and choose your path (or choose both 😏). Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[requiemforthepoets]

hey, are you still there? 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: you know yourself that it’s sad that you settled on being a backburner, but you didn’t mind crisping up on lando’s backburner as long as he still think of you.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, unrequited love(?), open ending, insecurities, reader being treated as a backburner, childhood best friends, christmas angst, luisa, typos, and few grammatical errors.

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i had always wanted to write this for so long, but i’m not sure how to pen it, but finally, here it is! so far, i’m satisfied. i don’t know much about luisa, but i’m sorry that luisa is kind of villainized in this 🥲 i’m sorry. this is like another christmas one shot, sooo haha i intentionally made it as an open ending bc i want to leave the ending to you, and let me apologize now bc this one shot won’t have a part 2. it just felt right for me to leave it as an open ending and leave the ending up to you. so i hope you’ll enjoy this one!

The glow of the snowy afternoon sun filtered through your apartment windows, casting long, golden shadows across the floor as you sat cross-legged amidst a pile of forgotten keepsakes.

Your plan was simple, really. To declutter, toss out what no longer sparked happiness, and finally reclaim some much-needed space in your small New York apartment. But simplicity soon faded the moment you stumbled upon a memory box that was buried beneath old blankets in the closet. You hadn’t thought about it in years, the worn out wooden edges now slightly faded, but just holding the box again made you feel something deep in your chest.

Sliding the lid of the box open, the faint scent of nostalgia greeted you. There was a mixture of paper and dust that carried you back to another time, another place. Polaroid photographs, ticket stubs, concert tickets, and tiny trinkets spilled out as you began to sift through the box’s contents, fingers brushing against fragments of a life you had once shared with someone who knew you better than anyone. Then you saw it—the camcorder.

It sat nestled at the bottom of the box, its black casing slightly scuffed but still intact, as though it had been waiting for you all these years. The sight of it made your breath catch, fingers hesitant as they wrapped around the familiar shape. A small laugh escaped you, soft and bittersweet, as a wave of memories washed over you.

The camcorder had been a gift from your parents, given to you when you were just a teen. At the time, you had rolled your eyes at the thought of having a camcorder. You were not exactly the type to obsess over gadgets or record everything, but your parents had insisted, saying something along the lines of making memories worth keeping.

You hadn’t even opened the box properly before you had told him about it. Lando had always had a thing for photography, an almost childlike fascination with capturing the world around him. Naturally, he had lit up at the mention of the camcorder. You remembered the way his face had brightened, how he had practically snatched it from your hands when he saw it, excitement radiating from him like it was Christmas morning.

“Trust me,” he said, voice brimming with certainty as he flipped the device open with ease. “This is going to be so much fun, you’ll see.”

And it was.

The camcorder had quickly become his, in everything but name. Lando had used it more than you ever had, his artistic streak shining through in the way he would capture the smallest, most mundane moments and make them feel extraordinary. But what stood out the most was his favorite subject. You.

Every time you hung out, or visited a new place, his focus would inevitably turn to you. At first, you had protested, laughing and batting the camcorder away, but over time, it became a rhythm of sorts. Lando, behind the lens, coaxing your laughter and teasing your smile, and you, rolling your eyes but secretly loving the way he saw you. Through the lens, even the quietest days seemed to feel alive.

You traced a finger along the camcorder’s edges, the faint outline of his fingerprints etched invisibly into its surface. Four years. It had been four years since you had left the UK—four years since you had left him. You told yourself that what you did was for the best, that you needed to grow, chase bigger dreams.

Part of it all was true, but the other part, the one which you didn’t say out loud, was the reason why your chest tightened even now. Was because Lando made you feel too much, and you were not sure you could bear it any longer.

You grabbed your laptop, briefly hesitated over the laptop’s keyboard before finally connecting the camcorder. The familiar chime of recognition echoed through the room as your laptop detected the device, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of nervous anticipation.

It had been years since you last thought about these videos, let alone watched them. As the files began to load, thumbnails filled the screen—tiny, burry windows into the past. You clicked on the first one, and the second is the screen lit up with a younger version of yourself, smiling awkwardly into the lens. Lando’s voice filled the room almost immediately.

“Come on, you can smile better than that!” he teased from behind the camera, chuckling.

Without even realizing it, a small smile tugged at your lips as you watched. The video playing one after another, each one showed a snapshot of your lives back then. There were clips of you on spontaneous trips—forests, city streets, karting, and endless car rides with Lando singing loudly and off-key while you laughed at him.

There were also quieter moments—rainy afternoon when you were sat by your bedroom window, lost in thought, while he filmed you from across the room, calling it aesthetic. Lando captured everything, from the highs to the lows.

The memories felt vivid, almost too vivid, as if you could reach through the screen and relieve those moments. It was the year he had started his Formula 1 career, and the first time you saw him truly chasing his dreams with everything he had, and were beyond proud of him. At the same time, it was also the year you were filling out endless applications to universities in America, unsure of where you wanted to go or what you wanted to do in life. It was like you were both standing on the edge of something new, something big, and it was both thrilling and terrifying.

It was also the year you finally admitted to yourself that what you felt for Lando was no longer just friendship. You had been so close for so long that the shift felt almost imperceptible at first—lingering glance here, flutter in your chest there. But you acknowledged it, there was no going back.

You found yourself looking at him differently, noticing the little things about him that had always been there but suddenly felt so significant. The way how his eyes crinkled when he laughed, his curly hair, aquamarine eyes, the quiet focus he had when working on something he cared about, and most of all, the way he always seemed to know exactly what to say to make you feel better.

But you kept it to yourself. You couldn’t tell Lando, not when he had told you so casually, like it was nothing that he liked someone.

“I don’t even know if she feels the same,” he had said, voice laced with uncertainty.

For a brief moment, a hope sparked in you. Maybe after all this time, Lando felt the same way about you. Maybe this was the moment that you had finally been waiting for.

But that hope shattered almost immediately when he pulled out his phone and showed you a photo. The girl’s name was Luisa, and she was stunning. She was everything that you were not—model, successful, gorgeous, has a radiant smile and a presence that seemed magnetic. Luisa was exactly Lando’s type, and you knew it.

The realization hit you harder than you had expected. You felt dumb and foolish, for even thinking one second that Lando could ever see you that way. You were not like Luisa, you were not the kind of girl who turned heads or made people stop in their tracks. You were just…you. Lando’s best friend. The person he could have a joke with, confide in, and lean on, but will never see you anything as more.

So you stayed quiet. Buried your feelings deep, gaslighting yourself that everything was better the way it is. The less you talk, the less you risked losing him. Maybe if you kept on pretending that everything was fine, you could learn to let him go.

A new clip began to play. You were seated on the edge of a bench, face scrunched in frustration as you ran a hand through your hair. The sound of Lando’s laughter crackled through the speakers, light and teasing, as he zoomed in on your expression from behind the camera.

“You’re such a drama queen,” he said, voice laced with amusement.

It was clear that from that clip that he was trying to cheer you up. It had been one of those moments when everything felt overwhelming. Your plans, future, and feelings. Yet, even in your frustration, Lando had managed to make you laugh. He always did. Watching it now, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly at how young and naïve you looked.

But the video carried more weight than just a frustration afternoon. That day, you had a front-row seat to another chapter in Lando’s pursuit of Luisa. It was the day he told you that he finally confessed his feeling to her, and you could still remember how his voice sounded. It was a mix of hope and vulnerability as he recounted every detail, but his excitement had quickly dimmed when Lando explained how his confession had met an uncertainty from Luisa, not really sure how she felt about Lando.

You remembered how that hurt him, even if he tried to hide it behind his usual bravado. It was one of the few times you had seen Lando genuinely shaken, his confidence chipped away by a single sentence. Still, it did not stop him, if anything, it only made him more determined to win her over.

This is exactly what Lando is—relentless, persistent, unwilling to let go of something he wanted.

Then there was you, caught in the orbit of it all. A pattern had started to form, one you did not want to acknowledge but couldn’t ignore. Whenever Luisa turned her back on him, when his texts went unanswered, or her attention drifted elsewhere, Lando would always find his way to you. His calls would come late at night, voice low and tinged with sadness as he stumbled through excuses to keep you on the line, and you, despite knowing better, would always answer.

Those were the moments you chastised yourself for loving. When Lando was hurt, when he felt small and alone, he always came to you. You were the person he confided in, one he leaned on. It almost felt like you mattered to him in the way you wanted to. Even if you knew, deep down, that it was not that. That it was temporary, a band-aid for his bruised ego—you couldn’t help but savor the attention.

But then, inevitably, Luisa would give him the smallest bit of her time, and you would become invisible to him again. The calls would stop, texts would taper off, and Lando would be lost in the glow of her half-hearted affection. You would feel the ache of being left behind, sting of knowing you were nothing more than a safety net, a placeholder, a convenient fallback plan.

It was a never ending cycle you despised, one that made you look at yourself with pity as you played into it. But whether it was out of hope or some cruel sense of inevitability, you stayed. You let it happen. Time and time again, picking up the pieces when Lando fell apart, only to watch him hand them back to her the moment she glanced his way.

It was always like this. It had always been like this, and somehow, despite everything, you definitely hadn’t learned your lesson.

The video continued to play, the faint static of old footage mixing with Lando’s voice can be heard, his laughter like a distant echo from another life. As you watched yourself on the screen—smiling, frowning, existing in a world where everything felt so much simpler—memories came rushing back, faster and heavier than you had expected. They were not just simple memories of moments, they were reminders of how deeply you felt, how much your life revolved around Lando without you even realizing it.

Your feelings for him had always been the silent undercurrent of your friendship, unspoken but ever-present. You had spent so much time trying to convince yourself that it was just a phase, that you would grow out of it, but you never did.

Instead, those feelings rooted themselves deeper, becoming a part of you. You wondered if the reason you hadn’t moved on was not because you could not, but because you hadn’t really tried at all. Maybe you were afraid, maybe life felt easier when you let it stay messy, undefined—when you clung to the hope that Lando might see you differently someday.

But the reality of it all was far less romantic. You had become his backburner, a place he turned to only when he had nowhere else to go, and the most pathetic part? You didn’t even mind. You let yourself burn quietly on his backburner, knowing full well you would never be the main thing in his life.

No matter how many times you say to yourself that it was okay, that you could handle it, deep down it ate you. There wasn’t anyone else you wanted, there hadn’t been for years. It was always him, it will always be Lando—his laugh, his voice, his stupid smile that made you forget the pain he caused by just being himself. You hated it, and yet you couldn’t even let it go.

Your memory reeled in to that one particular night, a night etched into your memory like a scar. Lando had called you on facetime, his face illuminated by the glow of his phone. His eyes were red, voice trembling with raw emotions as he told you what happened with Luisa.

She had hurt him again, made him feel small in a way that he couldn’t quite put into words. Lando looked so broken, so unlike himself, that it made your heart twist in ways that you did not want to admit.

And yet, you couldn’t help but tease him. You told him how he looked ugly when he cried, masking your own hurt with humor. But inside, there was a flicker of something else—something cruel and selfish. You felt happy that he thought of you in that moment, that you were the person he called when everything else in his life fell apart. It was sick and twisted, and you couldn’t have hated yourself more for it, but it was the truth.

At the same time, you felt conflicted, torn between two versions of yourself. Part of you wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much he had hurt you by treating you like an afterthought. But the other part of you, the part that still believed in him, in the friendship you had shared since you were kids—wanted to comfort him, to be there for him even if it meant breaking yourself in the process.

You always knew how it would go. In a week or so, Lando would be back on his feet, back in Luisa’s orbit, and you would fade into the background again. He would stop calling, texting, and you would be left alone again, waiting for the next time he needed you. You wished you could stop caring, that you could let him go and just move on, but you couldn’t. You cared too much, loved him too deeply, and it was destroying you.

You stayed. You stayed because even though it hurt, even though it made you feel small and invisible, there was still a part of you that believed in him. In the boy who had once held your camcorder, laughing as he filmed you spinning in circles in the park. In the friend who had always been there, even when it felt like the rest of the world wasn’t. You believed in him, even if it meant you couldn’t believe in yourself.

You checked the timestamp on the video and realized it was nearing the end. The final clips began to play, taking you back to a day you remembered so clearly—the beach trip. The screen filled with bright sunlight and sand, camera jerking slightly as Lando filmed you running along the shoreline, wearing one of his bucket hats and sunglasses, your laughter ringing out over the crashing waves.

You watched yourself as if through someone else’s eyes—carefree, alive, darting back and forth like a puppy with boundless energy. Lando’s voice came from behind the camera, teasing you for your antics, and you couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the memory.

It was one of those days you had hoped would change everything. Lando wasn’t thinking about Luisa then. He was with you, laughing, joking, making you feel like maybe you mattered more to him than you let yourself believe. You had clung to that slight flicker of hope every time he drifted back into your orbit, telling yourself that the moments he spent with you would eventually outweigh the hold Luisa had over him. But you know then, deep down, you knew better. You had always known better.

The last clip began to play. The two of you were in one of his cars, the camera shakily capturing the scene as he handed it to you. Lando had insisted you try driving it, grinning with the kind of reckless confidence that was so quintessentially him. You know that he hated someone driving him, especially that it was his car, but he didn’t even hesitated when it came to you.

The video was cut to him standing outside, filming you through the windshield as you tried to maneuver his car into a parking spot, and it was a disaster. He zoomed in on your face, flushed and irritated, as you waved frantically at him to get back inside of his car and help you. Your lips moved as you shouted something at him, your expression twisted in mock anger, but it only made him laugh.

That sound, the sound of his laughter—echoed through the room as you watched yourself scowling at him, completely oblivious to how the moment would look years later.

When the video finally faded to black, you sat there in silence, staring at the black screen of your laptop. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as a sad smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. The memories left a bittersweet feeling in their wake, filling your chest with an ache that never really went away.

You always knew the truth. You would always be in Lando’s corner, even when it felt like he had forgotten you existed. You would stay, waiting in the shadows, knowing full well you were his second choice, or maybe not even a choice at all. Yet, you couldn’t really bring yourself to care, you had settled on being Lando’s backburner long ago, content to exist where he had placed you, because even the smallest scraps of his attention felt like more than you deserved. You knew it would never be enough, but it was all you had.

When you left the UK, you had never properly said goodbye to Lando. You couldn’t face him—not after everything. It had been the hardest thing you had ever done, leaving the place where you grew up and leaving the person that mattered to you the most.

The day you were about to board the plane to America was supposed to be the start of something new for you. But it also turned out to be the same day Lando and Luisa had finally gotten together. It didn’t make sense at first, you had been too wrapped up in your own plans to notice anything strange.

You were so focused on your own future, dreams, and adventure that lay ahead. But the moment you realized what had really happened, the gut-wrenching truth hit you all at once. Despite everything, despite all the years of friendship, despite the deep feelings you had kept buried, Lando had never said a word to you.

The first sign came two weeks before your departure, when you noticed he had not contacted you. Not once. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had spoken, and then, one evening, it hit you. While youwere scrolling through instagram, lost in the sea of photos and videos, you saw it.

Lando and Luisa standing together in a sunlit paradise. They were everywhere—clinging to each other, smiling like they had always been this happy. Their arms wrapped around each other, looking like the couple everyone thought they were meant to be, living out the kind of romance you had always imagined for yourself—only, it was not with you.

It stung more that you could have imagined. It felt like a cruel grip and punch to the stomach—seeing them together, seeing him in a way you never thought you would. There they were, living life, having fun in Dubai, while you had been silently fading into the background, unable to say anything, unable to be anything more than just a shadow.

It suddenly made the decision easier for you. Maybe it was petty, or childish. But at that moment, it felt like it was the only way to protect yourself. You didn’t need to say goodbye, or talk to him again. You didn’t think that talking or saying goodbye to him would even change anything. You didn’t want to face the truth anymore—didn’t want to admit how much it hurts to be forgotten, be pushed aside while he moved on.

So, you did what you had to do. You packed up everything, every piece of your life that had been tangled with Lando’s, and left. You left without a word, without any explanation. The silence between you felt so final, so complete, as if you were never even meant to matter.

When you landed in America, you didn’t waste any second. You changed your number, blocked him on social media, deleted every trace of him from your phone, from your mind, from your life. It was easier that way, right? No more reminders of what you could never have. No more wondering if he still thought about you. It was better to start fresh, even if starting over meant leaving everything you knew behind. You never looked back, at least that’s what you told yourself.

You gently closed your laptop, the soft click of the screen snapping shut, and disconnected the camcorder. You wanted to throw it away, erase it from your life entirely, but something stopped you. Maybe it was the hope that one day, you could look at it without all the pain attached to it, or maybe it was the attachment to something that had once meant so much.

With a deep sigh, you placed it back in the memory box, careful not to let it settle to heavily among the other momentos you had packed away. You knew you wouldn’t be able to part with it—not yet at least. Instead, you pushed the box deeper into your storage room, where it would sit quietly for now, out of sight but never far from your mind.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the box as if it might somehow speak to you, but all it did was remain silent, like everything else in your life that you had tried to put behind you. The soft sound of snow falling outside caught your attention, and you moved toward the window, your gaze drawn to the soft flurry of while blanketing the streets below.

Christmas was approaching in just a week, and for a brief moment, you wished you could go home, back to your family, to the familiar comfort of the holiday season. But the thought quickly passed. Home felt too far now, and you had your own life to navigate, a life in New York that, for all its challenges, had become a place you had grown to love.

You turned away from the window and began to change, pulling on warm clothes fit for the snow outside. It wasn’t much, just a quick errand to stock up on groceries before it got too dark. You didn’t mind the task, it gave you a reason to get out, to take in the city and its wintry charm. The air was fresh and crisp as you made your way out of your apartment, locking the door behind you with a soft click.

The world around you was calm as you stepped out into the quiet of the snowy streets, snowflakes falling gently around you, almost like a veil between you and the hustle of city life. New York felt different in the winter, quieter somehow, even as the holiday decorations began to shine brighter. Streetlights casting long shadows across the snow, and you admired the festive cheer that the city wore like a second skin. You had seen the Christmas tree lighting at the New Haven Green just last week, a tradition that always brought a sense of warmth despite the chill in the air.

Walking through the snow, you felt a small sense of contentment, something you had been searching for but hadn’t fully realized was within reach. The lights, crisp air—all of it made you feel like you had carved out a space of your own here. You hoped that it would stay that way, that the peace you had found wouldn’t be disturbed, even as the holiday season and all its chaos loomed on the horizon.

The grocery store was just a few blocks away, but your thoughts drifted to other things—nothing too heavy, just the soft hum of city life. It had been a peaceful walk, but then, you froze.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of something, or rather someone, someone so familiar in the distance. Curly hair that you could picture in your sleep. At first, you thought it was a trick of the light, a resemblance that your mind conjured up after hours of rewatching old videos. You quickly dismissed the thought, trying to shake it off. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be here.

But then, as if the universe had conspired to pull the past back into your life. The person looked up, and everything in your world stopped. It was him.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. The air around you seemed to thicken, sounds of the city dimming in the background as you took in the sight of him. Lando. In New York. Of all places he can be in right now, why was he here?

It had taken a long time to convince yourself, year after year, that you were fine, that you had moved on, that everything was better this way. Yet here he was, standing only a few meters away from you, the same familiar figure that had been a part of your life for so long.

You both stood there, frozen in place, just staring at each other as people around passed you by. Neither of you moved, as if the moment held too much weight to let anything else happen. It was like time had bent around you, your mind racing, questions swirling, but none of them found their way to your lips. You couldn’t speak, you weren’t even sure you could breathe.

Lando stood there too, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that everything else feel irrelevant. You knew he hadn’t expected to see you. Not here, not like this. Yet, there he was—right in front of you, a ghost from your past made flesh, making the familiar ache in your chest resurface.

You had thought you were done with him, that you had moved on, but standing here, with him so close and yet so far, you realized that maybe you had not moved on as much as you thought.

The world around you seemed to hold its breath.

[tiza0925]

Hi!...umm could you pls do a NSFW tanjiro x reader where reader starts to get jealous of kanao bcos kanao has started to gain feeling for tanjiro and has been trying to get close with him but she doesn't know that reader and tanjiro are secretly dating so reader ends up distancing herself from everyone and when tanjiro confronts reader they end up in a mating press+overstimulation and a bit breeding kink 😳

(Pls don't get me wrong I luv Kanao but I haven't seen any fanfictions like this and I'm sorry if this request is too much)😅

Take care 😊

only you | 18+

Warnings/Tags: nsfw, explicit sexual content, jealous!reader, afab/female reader, unprotected sex, mating press, creampie, breeding kink, reassurance, Tanjiro loves you so much, multiple orgasms (implied), overstimulation, soft!dom Tanjiro, ALL CHARACTERS IN THIS ARE AGED UP AND OVER 18 YEARS-OLD

Pairing: Tanjiro Kamado x Female Reader

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You feel two thick fingers shove inside your mouth, the fingertips hooking onto your bottom teeth to pull your head forward to look into sinful red eyes. 

You blink blearily, tears blur your vision, and you choke with a sob as drool drips down the corners of your mouth. 

“Already crying?” You hear Tanjiro murmur, voice sweet and low, a huge contrast to the brutal thrusts he’s been giving you—fucking your sore cunt with the intent to make you pass out. “Too much for you now, hm?”

You suck in a sharp breath, moaning around his fingers, and your eyes roll back when Tanjiro leans in to have his head near your ear—causing his cock to sink in deeper that you swear you feel him in your throat. 

“I’m sorry, love, but you’ll have to hold on for a little longer,” His voice rumbles against you, rolling through your ear as his lips graze the shell of your ear. “I still need to cum inside you, okay?” 

If you weren’t currently getting fucked to the point where you can feel Tanjiro’s dick in your soul and your mind wasn’t a puddle of liquid pleasure—

You would probably laugh at yourself for being in the situation you’re in at the very moment. 

Because none of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for Kanao.

And now you’re torn between still wanting to be mad at Kanao and also wanting to give her a hug of gratitude for getting Tanjiro like this. 

Not because Kanao directly told Tanjiro to fuck you like he’s some madman. 

Instead, funnily enough, it was Kanao who was the one that wanted Tanjiro for herself. 

It was obvious with the way you’d watch her laugh at his jokes that weren’t even that funny sometimes. 

Or the way you’ve noticed Kanao would leave light touches on Tanjiro’s hand and arm—brief but still giving the message that she wants more from him—whenever you were all out on the field training. 

You’ve seen the way Kanao looked at Tanjiro. 

And honestly—you don’t blame her. 

Tanjiro is an attractive guy. 

Not only in his face but his demeanor, how polite he is. Smart, funny, and god—have you seen him without a shirt? 

So you get why Kanao acts that way—even more recently, now, as Tanjiro started to train more and grew a little taller. 

It’s why you’re dating him, in the first place. 

But nobody knows that. 

You two didn’t want to get in trouble—dating within the Corps wasn’t allowed. 

But you guys couldn’t help it. 

He liked you, and you didn’t want to lose out on the chance of having him to yourself. 

The only issue with keeping your relationship with Tanjiro a secret—

Is that people, like Kanao, will try to get with him instead. 

Because in their eyes—he’s single. 

In Kanao’s eyes—Tanjiro is available for her. 

And at first—you didn’t care. 

You both knew what would happen once you kept this relationship a secret. 

People will still flirt—it happened to you many times by other guys. 

But you were always polite to let them down—made up some lie about wanting to focus on becoming a better slayer and all. 

And Tanjiro said the same thing to Kanao once before—and she listened. 

Admired him from far away. 

And you were okay with that. 

Until—

Until Kanao started to get handsy. Gradually.  

Until her small crush developed into something more for Tanjiro—and she wasn’t so subtle about it anymore. 

You were okay with it until Kanao and Tanjiro got a little closer—and you had to sit back with your teeth pinching your tongue, watching and doing nothing about it. 

And over time—it got to you. 

It’s not that you don’t trust Tanjiro—because this man has done nothing but respect and show you immense trust and security in your relationship. 

And he never flirted with Kanao back. 

But that doesn’t mean you trust Kanao. 

Not when Tanjiro is, in general, a really nice guy. 

Nice to the point where Kanao can mistake it for flirting. 

And if you couldn’t say anything about it—because what can you say without blowing your guys’ secret? 

‘Hey, stop flirting with Tanjiro because—‘ 

Because what? You like him?

That he’s yours? 

It was futile and you hated it. 

…Hence, why you started to distance yourself. 

From a few others at first. 

But then it started to turn into you making an excuse to not talk to Tanjiro. 

That distancing turned into you avoiding him as much as you can. 

Because it hurt. 

You can’t flirt with Tanjiro in public as Kanao can 

And honestly—you genuinely thought you would get away with this whole ‘distancing thing'. 

It even got to the point where you thought that you and Tanjiro's relationship could possibly be over. 

And wouldn’t that be amazing for Kanao, huh? 

But then Tanjiro confronted you about it one night—and that…

That was something. 

The door to your dorm closes behind him as you both walk in, and it’s deadly silent. 

The tension is so thick that you can cut a knife through it, but you don’t say anything.

And for a moment—it remains silent. 

Just waiting for something to drop, to set off the bomb that’s been ticking for a while, now. 

And—

And then you hear Tanjiro let out a tired sigh, and you turn to see him rub a hand over his face as he looks at you, confused. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, now?” 

Your eyes widen, and surprise flashes through your pupils as you swallow hard, playing dumb as you avert your gaze. “There’s nothing wrong.” 

He lets out a derisive snort, sarcasm lacing his words “Really?” 

“Yes, really,” Your voice comes out flat, and you walk towards your bed while taking off your shirt. “You should go, I’m tired.” 

A lie. 

One that Tanjiro immediately detects as he shakes his head and follows you. “Not until we talk this out first.” 

That’s the thing that also made you fall for him—is how big he is on communication. 

It’s something you generally love about him—except for this very moment. 

Because talking about how stupidly jealous you are will get you emotional—you can already feel the damn lump beginning to form in your throat. 

You try to ignore him as you set up the bed, sniffling. “There’s nothing to talk about.” 

Tanjiro huffs out a breath, his voice soft and pleading. “Don’t lie to me.”

You purse your lips, your teeth clenching. “You should go rest.” 

You feel him closer behind you, his body heat near yours, and his voice is so confused. “Was it something I said?” 

The breath you let out is shaky, feeling guilty for making him think he’s at fault here. 

Because he’s not but emotions are a bitch and it’s starting to get to you. 

You swallow thickly. “No.” 

Another step closer to you. 

“Was it something someone else said?” 

Your voice is a little strained. “…No.” 

“Did someone do something? Did I do something—?”

And at this point—something kind of just…snaps. 

“I don’t know,” You don’t mean to have any bite in your words, but you’re just so frustrated and overwhelmed and feel so stupid for the way you’re acting that it all just hits you at once as you sniffle, your voice cracking. “Why don’t you go ask your little girlfriend, Kanao?”

And then—

Everything turns silent. 

You can hear the soft ringing in your ears right after you say that. 

You can feel your heart thumping rapidly with regret flushing your cheeks and your stomach drops. 

Fuck. 

You didn’t mean to say that out loud. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

You feel a rough hand wrap around your wrist, and the next thing you know—

You’re being spun around—and your vision is instantly met with big, red eyes. 

And your breath hitches in your throat soon after when you take in Tanjiro’s expression because—

He doesn’t look mad at you. 

He looks…worried. 

Almost regretful in a way. 

“That’s what this is all about?” 

He asks, sounding incredulous and confused, looking at you patiently for you to answer. 

God—you feel so irrational now—

“I…” You start, not sure what to say with the way he’s looking at you like that, and you gulp. “…It’s not—”

“Oh, love,” Tanjiro sighs. Low and heavy—full with understanding once he takes a good look at you—and his eyebrows crinkle with focus as he brings you closer to him—tucking your head under his chin as he wraps his arms, full of muscles and warmth, around you. “You have no reason to be jealous of her, you know.” 

Your lower lip wobbles. “I know—”

“But,” He stops you, and you let out a shaky breath, “I’m sorry for not realizing it sooner.” 

Fuck.

You close your eyes, feeling guilty for even making him have to say that because—

“It’s not your fault,” You mutter, but Tanjiro simply shakes his head, sounding firm. 

 “No, I should’ve made stricter boundaries with Kanao—which I will do when I see her.” 

“I don’t want to tell you what to do with your friends, though.” 

Tanjiro frowns and tips his chin down to give your forehead an achingly gentle kiss, mumbling against your head. “How you feel is more important to me.”

Well, that’s just not fair. 

You both stay like that for a bit—simply hugging and being in the other’s arms. 

It’s silent again but this time it’s comfortable. 

But then at some point—

“Hey,” Reluctantly, you lift your head to look at him, and Tanjiro’s eyes soften as he gives your lips a soft, gentle kiss. “You’re the only one I want, you know.” 

You whimper, feeling a small shiver crawl up your spine. 

He guides your mouth open with his, his warm tongue sliding against your lower lip. “You’re the only one I want to kiss.” 

His hands on you grow firmer, almost possessive, as he pulls you closer to him—and you let out a small moan. 

He kisses you so deeply that you feel it in your bones, and he starts to walk you towards the bed—the bend of your knees hitting the edge, causing your back to fall and land on the soft cushion beneath. 

And he follows, holding you close to him, his mouth traveling to your ear and giving it a small nip, his voice rough against you, “You’re the only one I want to be inside of, too.” 

God. 

You feel yourself throb and you throw your arms around his neck as your legs wrap around him—kissing him back just as deeply, moaning into his mouth because this is the Tanjiro that you want. 

This is what you need from him right now. 

…Which is how, moments later, you end up the way you are right now. 

Cheeks red and shiny from tears. 

Your head foggy and ready to explode. 

Body so exhausted and numb from the way he’s been fucking you—holding you down with your legs thrown over his shoulders, nearly bending you in half as he presses your legs against your chest—

And he’s fucking you through your third orgasm, all while you cry around his fingers, clinging onto whatever your hands can find as Tanjiro pushes down on you—groaning at just how pretty you look. 

“Only made for me, love,” Tanjiro breathes heavily, kissing one of your tears, before looking back at you with a small grin. “You take me so well.”

You whine, and he pulls his fingers out of your mouth—your saliva shiny on his fingers—and he uses the same hand to wrap around your neck, putting one of your most vulnerable parts into his hand. 

“And I’m gonna make sure I get you all full with my cum.” 

That’s another thing about him. 

It’s the way he is in bed. 

He can be gentle but—

But there’s just this edge to him that makes your head spin and turn into mush. 

It’s the way he talks with words that sound sweet with the tone he uses, even if they’re filthy—as if each word has been dipped in sin-filled chocolate. 

It’s the way he fucks you with so much love and yet still manages to make you feel boneless and fucked stupid like some slut. 

And that little, spiteful, part of you grins—knowing that no one else gets to experience this side of him except you. 

Not even Kanao. 

He fucks you deep and slow, your fluids gushing out and getting both of you so wet that you can hear the sweet squelch of your pussy getting abused by his cock. 

Your clit is overstimulated from his body rubbing against it with every thrust—that your muscles tense and heat is constantly sparking in your lower belly.

He goes until he starts talking about breeding you—filling your sweet cunt with his cum and keeping it there until your belly is full with his babies and—

“God, love—”

And then you hear him groan, and Tanjiro kisses you as soon as his orgasm pushes through him—and he’s pumping his cum inside your pulsing cunt, filling you to the brim. 

It’s messy. 

You’re both so goddamn messy and out of breath by the time he cools down. 

But you don’t care. 

Even if your pussy is sore and wet and you know you’ll need a shower right after this—

And even if his breathing is heavy—hell, he feels heavy on top of you—

You like it. 

It’s welcoming. 

He kisses you again, this time slow and indulgent, and you feel yourself go numb at his words that get murmured right against you, “I’m all yours, okay?” 

End. 

Masterpost

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Devil's Snare

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

𝑨𝒍𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍'𝒔 𝑺𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆, 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒔. 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒐𝒙𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒖𝒎 𝒐𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔.

Description: Y/N is apprehensive when she is assigned the post of Aemond Targaryen's handmaiden. She expects him to be cold and cruel, and is surprised when he is actually kindle and gentle to her. All the while Aemond finds himself falling for his shy and skittish handmaiden.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Disclaimer: this is incredibly self-indulgent. I love Aemond and wanted to focus in on the softer sides of his character. I've planned 3 parts to this series but who knows.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of canon typical misogyny, female reader (sorry! This just makes it easier for the plot), handmaiden reader, slow-burn, lengthy?, potentially ooc Aemond but Ewan Mitchell did say Aemond just needed someone to love him.

Y/N was filled with trepidation as she approached the royal quarters, her movements slow as she fruitlessly tried to delay the inevitable. She supposed she should be grateful for her new appointment as Prince Aemond's handmaiden. But she found she'd much rather have continued on in the lower chambers of the keep. Alas, the matron had chosen her for the position, recently opened when the prince's previous handmaiden was mysteriously dismissed. Prince Aemond was known by many denominations, whispered rumours spreading like wildfire throughout the Red Keep. The One-eyed Prince. The fierce dragon rider who'd claimed the largest dragon in existence. The cold second son with a particular proclivity for swordsmanship. None of these served to assuage Y/N's fears for her new role. She was grateful, at least, that it was not Prince Aegon. She'd heard terrible rumours of his behaviour towards female servants. She'd heard nothing of the like about his brother.

The matron had told Y/N not to worry, that Prince Aemond barely acknowledged servants at all. And surely she was the perfect choice, with her excellent skills in needlepoint and, more significantly, her quiet and timid disposition which enabled her to move like a shadow. Y/N tried to even out her breathing and calm her wildly beating heart as she reached the door of Prince Aemond's chambers. Upon knocking and hearing no reply she entered anyway to find the Prince was not within, to her great relief. If she was particularly fortunate she might complete all of her tasks before he returned and avoid an interaction altogether. Quickly setting to work, she began to tidy and clean. Though Prince Aemond's quarters were already unexpectedly neat. Y/N considered this was perhaps a reflection of the controlled demeanour he always seemed to carry whenever she had spotted him in the Keep.

Turning her attentions towards making the bed she noticed a thin strap of leather strewn across it. Picking it up, upon closer inspection she recognised it to be Prince Aemond's eyepatch. Y/N frowned as she realised the strap was broken. She knew Aemond always wore it to cover the gaping wound that still remained from when he'd lost his eye in a brawl with his nephew. Y/N had once passed a group of handmaidens whispering by a stairwell about how the Prince purposefully wore the eye patch so as not to upset the ladies of the court, and hearing them erupt into giggles. She had found herself frowning at their laughter, thinking to herself that it was thoughtful of the Prince, chivalrous even.

The smooth feel of the leather in her hand brought Y/N back to the present, she was prone to losing herself in thought, and she came to the decision that she would mend it for him. Y/N knew the importance the eye patch held for him, indeed she was surprised he had left his chambers without it. Pocketing it, she quickly rearranged the Prince's bed sheets and, thinking the room sufficiently tidy, she exited the Prince's chambers to find her sewing kit.

Y/N had dedicated more time to mending Prince Aemond's eyepatch than was truly necessary, determined to make the stitches as neat as possible. It would be worn by a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms after all. Returning to the Prince's chambers that evening to stoke the fire and light candles, she began to fear her actions had been rash and presumptuous. Perhaps Prince Aemond would be angry with her for taking something so important from his room without his permission. Perhaps he did not feel a need for it any longer and she would simply be cementing the idea that he did if she presented the eye patch to him. By the time she reached his chambers she was wracked with nerves from reviewing in her mind every possible reaction the Prince might have to her actions, and a sickening feeling of dread settled in the pit of her stomach. She was once again relieved to find the Prince was not in his chambers. Though her relief was short lived, for no sooner had she lit the candles and begun lighting a fire than the the very object of her thoughts strode into the room. He halted briefly upon seeing her, but quickly moved to sit in a nearby armchair, seemingly ignoring her presence. The matron may have been right then, Y/N had worried for nothing.

But her heart dropped as she realised he was, in fact, wearing an eye patch. She had been stupid to think he should only have the one and now cursed herself for being so foolish. Y/N gnawed on her bottom lip with worry. Perhaps the Prince would be angered with her taking his belongings from his room without his permission. Or maybe he had meant to throw it away and would think her silly for presuming otherwise. Nonetheless, she determined that she would return what belonged to him. Finishing stoking the fire she rose from her knees and dusted off her skirts, before slowly inching her way over to the Prince. It was only when she stood directly in front of him that he raised his one good eye to meet hers, an eyebrow quirked in curiosity. Y/N wrung her hands nervously, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. She hardly knew what to say, and could not help stuttering as she spoke. "My Prince, I must apologise to you." Aemond seemed momentarily surprised by this, before his features settled back into a mask of indifference, though he leant forward at her words, his elbows resting on his knees and his chin on his knuckles. "Must you now?"

Y/N swallowed down thickly, before nodding. "I couldn't help but notice the broken eye patch upon the bed as I attended my duties this morning, and I took it to mend it. I realise now this was presumptions of me, but I had only thought to be helpful as I know you always wear it." Y/N's eyes widened as she realised her words might suggest she believed he should cover his wound. Holding her hands palm up in a supplicatory manor, her words spilled out quicker and even less elegant than before. "Not that I believe you need to wear the patch. I just thought it must be important to you. Oh I am making a mess of my words. Here, My Prince." She bowed her head and tentatively held the mended eye patch out to him, not daring to look in his direction. After a moment a hand came into her line of vision as Prince Aemond slowly took the patch from her, his much larger hand closing over hers briefly.

Y/n could barely stand the Prince's silence. If the rumours were to be believed, his silent composure concealed its own danger. And, being too fearful to look up at his face, she had no idea of his reaction to her offering. "What is your name?" Y/N's eyes snapped up to meet Aemond's good eye. She had not expected his question, spoken in such a measured tone, having anticipated his ire instead. "Y/N my Prince." Prince Aemond only hummed in response before getting to his feet, prompting Y/N to take several small steps backwards in order to maintain a respectable distance. Y/N averted her eyes to the floor, but nevertheless still felt his gaze upon her, her cheeks heating with embarrassment. "I thank you for your thoughtful actions Y/N. That will be all." She didn't have to be told twice, quickly curtsying to him and rushing hurriedly from the room.

Aemond frowned as the handmaiden fled from him, as if he had struck her rather than offered her his thanks. But she did seem a rather skittish little thing. He had never seen this particular handmaiden before, his mother having dismissed the previous one for reasons he did not care to know. As he'd entered his chambers he'd startled for a moment, taking in her features which he found decidedly pretty. He quickly dispelled himself of that thought and opted to ignore her presence, having come to understand it made the servants less nervous in his presence and more efficient. Taking a seat close to the fire the girl was stoking, he could not help keeping his eye trained upon her in interest as he observed a range of emotions crossing her face. He had not expected her to approach him then, almost admiring her boldness before she quickly turned into a stuttering mess, and it was only with a concerted effort that he understood her at all. Yet he found himself moved as he disentangled the reason for her apology from her frantic speech.

Looking down at his now mended eyepatch he could not help but admire her handiwork, the stitches were so neat and close together that you could hardly tell it had ever required mending. Aemond had carelessly strewn the broken eye patch on his bed that morning, he had many others in case of such incidents and had not thought of it since. But at the sight of it in her proferred hand, Aemond became aware of a strange feeling in his chest. He had hardened himself following the events at Driftmark that had lost him his eye, an act of violence against him which had never been avenged. He still felt the slight keenly for his nephew had never been punished for it. Aemond had not since felt such genuine kindness directed towards him, such care for this most essential part of him, even by his own family, with the exception of his gentle sister Helaena. His lost eye had ever been a painful subject to avoid. It was only a small matter really, the mending of an eye patch, but it carried a far greater significance for Aemond, who found himself charmed by this particular handmaiden's thoughtfulness towards him.

Y/N burned with embarrassment as she fled from the Prince's chambers. His reaction was admittedly better than she could have hoped for, but she'd still managed to make a complete fool of herself in this, their first meeting. She felt she could not have given a worse impression of her capability as his handmaiden and overstepped boundaries. Over the next few days she endeavoured to move quickly as she completed her tasks in the hopes that she would avoid the Prince entirely. She successfully managed to do so for two consecutive days by following the same schedule, only entering his room at hours she knew he would be otherwise preoccupied.

On the third day Y/N entered Prince Aemond's chambers, she was startled to see the Prince himself sitting in his armchair. The morning sunlight pouring through the windows cast his face in a soft glow that accentuated his features, which were admittedly beautiful. He was lazily playing with a coin, weaving it between his fingers. When she realised she'd been staring at his hands for an extended period of time she briefly raised her eyes to his face to see his mouth upturned in a slight smirk, and she quickly shifted her focus to completing her tasks. She moved quietly and efficiently throughout the room, trying with great difficulty to avoid looking in the Prince's direction, to pretend he was not there at all.

It would not do for her to turn back into a jittery, stumbling mess and prove what he must already have thought, that she was completely incompetent and unsuited to her position. Removing a tray of used cups and goblets from a side table, Y/N turned to take them back to the kitchens. Walking past Prince Aemond, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that he was wearing the eye patch she had mended for him and halted her moments to confirm she was correct. The Prince was looking at her almost expectantly, as if he'd been waiting for her to notice. With a barely perceptible nod of her head, she hastily left the room.

Aemond had hoped that exclusively wearing the eye patch his handmaiden had mended would assure her he was not angry with her for her actions. And yet he did not see her for the two days following their meeting, and Aemond realised she must have taken account of his movements to avoid being in his chambers at the same time, the clever minx. So on the third day he resolved to put an end to this ridiculous game of cat and mouse. Though it was his habit to rise early and leave for the training yard, he settled himself in his favoured arm chair to await the maiden's arrival. A satisfied smirk ghosted onto his face as she entered, clearly startled to find him still within his chambers and Aemond noted how she'd stared at his hands for several moments before turning to attend to her duties.

His brows furrowed in frustration as he watched her mill about the room, steadfastly ignoring him and avoiding looking in his direction entirely. He did not wish for her to be afraid of him. It was only when she was exiting his chambers that she glanced at him again and, finally, seemed to notice the eye patch he was wearing as she stared at it, rooted to the spot. A light dusting of pink rose to her cheeks before she nodded and swiftly departed, and Aemond assumed she had now realised he was not displeased with her. The moment she disappeared from his view, Aemond found himself wanting to see her blush again.

Y/N was still wary in Aemond's presence, a consequence of her own shy disposition and acute sense of awareness in the difference in their stations. However, she was no longer afraid of him, so to speak, and stopped trying to avoid being in the same room with him, simply finding a rhythm of getting on with her tasks whether he was there or not. He did not address her often, but thanked her each time she completed her survey of his room and turned to leave. His voice was smooth and quiet and Y/N noted that he was much more soft-spoken than his loud and overbearing brother. Prince Aemond clearly did not feel the need to shout to make his presence felt. Y/N had passed two weeks in her new post before there was any shift in the dynamic the Prince and his handmaiden had developed.

Y/N had finished lighting all of the candles in the Prince's chamber and had started collecting empty cups strewn about the various surfaces in the room when she spotted the eight legged monstrosity, prompting her to let out a high pitched shriek and drop the tray she'd been holding, sending goblets crashing to the stone floor. She had always been terrified of spiders, begging the other handmaidens to deal with them when she had worked in the lower chambers of the Keep. But it was just her now, and her heart beat wildly as she realised she would have no choice but to remove it from the Prince's room. She kept her eyes on the creature with a sickening sense of dread as it crawled along the length of the side table she'd been cleaning. But she heard Prince Aemond speak behind her, his tone somewhat demanding "What is the matter?"

Y/N tried to keep her tone even as she answered, but even she could hear the slight hysteria tinging her voice and knew he would not be fooled. "Simply a spider, My Prince. I have never been fond of them. I apologise for disturbing you with my outburst and I will deal with the creature and the mess forthwith." Taking a deep breath to steel herself for what she was about to do, she took a tentative step towards where the spider was still crawling, before letting out a small squeek of surprise as warm hands enveloped her waist and gently moved her to the side. She had not heard the Prince's footsteps, he moved so quietly. Wordlessly he scooped the spider into a goblet she'd dropped and walked to his balcony, opening up the doors to set it loose. By the time he'd returned, shutting the doors to block out the crisp night air, Y/N had come to her senses and cleared up the mess she'd made, tray back in hand. She felt immensely grateful to the Prince for stepping in as he had, clearly having sensed her distress, but she could not help feeling somewhat ashamed of her silliness.

Looking up from the tray she'd been holding as his boots came into her line of sight, she attempted to channel her sincere gratitude into her voice "Thank you, My Prince. I am most grateful for your kindness in stepping in, and I assure you it will not happen again." She watched as a strange look passed over Prince Aemond's features, before he leant his head down towards hers, his long platinum hair brushing against her shoulder with their proximity. "Spiders only look frightening little one, they will not harm you." There was a glint in his eye that hinted at a hidden meaning to his words, though Y/N could not understand what it was. Straightening up, Aemond lightly waved a hand in dismissal. "That will be all for this evening Y/N." Still slightly dazed from their former proximity, where she'd been close enough to smell his scent of leather, musk and pine, Y/N simply nodded before turning from him and speeding back to the servant's quarters. She felt the Prince's stare on her back until the door concealed her from his view.

Aemond had reread the same page at least thrice. He kept having to pull his eyes from his handmaiden's form as he watched her move about his chambers. She'd sparked his interest from their first meeting and though they interacted little, he consistently found himself watching her movements, though he could not tell why. Resuming his focus on his book, a shrill shriek had his eyes snapping back up to his handmaiden. Concerned she had hurt herself, perhaps cut her hand on one of the cups that had tumbled to the floor, his voice came out sharper than he'd intended in his urgency. "What is the matter?" He felt relief wash over him to learn of the reason for her outburst, and a small degree of amusement at the cause being but a little spider. This quickly diminished when he observed her genuine fear as she cowered away from the creature. She looked as if she were headed for battle rather than contending with a spider.

Rising from his seated position he quietly moved over to her, taking hold of her waist to move her aside and remove the spider himself. Returning to her side, he'd not expected the earnestness in her gaze as she thanked him. You'd have thought he saved her from Vhagar instead of a mere spider. But it was her reference to his 'kindness' that had sent his mind spinning. Kind was not a word oft associated with Aemond Targaryen, he was well aware of his reputation within the Red Keep. He felt that same strange sensation in his chest he'd noticed once before, when she'd handed him his mended eye patch. As warmth spread throughout his chest he realised he was endeared to have someone feel so positively towards him, to look to him for protection, to think him kind when this seemed laughable in conjunction with his somewhat fearsome appearance.

With a somewhat cocky smile, Aemond moved closer to the handmaiden, leaning his face close to hers. "Spiders only look frightening little one, they will not harm you." He'd hoped to subtly convey to her that he too held no danger for her, that she had no need of being so skittish around him. But he could see from the look of confusion that crossed her dainty features she had not understood his meaning fully. He did not wish to increase her level of discomfort around him so quickly straightened and offered her his dismissal. He tried not to address the sting of hurt he felt as she once again rushed away from him.

After Prince Aemond had gallantly saved her from the spider, Y/N had begun to feel more and more comfortable with him. He had not mocked her or made her feel silly for her actions, indeed he had not mentioned the incident at all. She realised that he had done nothing but try to make her feel comfortable around him and she had responded by treating him almost as if he were a snake about to strike at any moment. So she resolved to make a greater effort not to appear so frightened in his presence, her shyness be damned. She started out small at first, actually greeting him as she entered his chambers, though he seemed surprised she had even addressed him at all. Eventually she even began to ask after his day as she stoked the fire in his chambers and bid him goodnight for the evening. The Prince seemed to welcome her small attempts at conversation and readily responded, sometimes with quite extensive accounts of the events of the day.

Several days followed where their schedules did not align and Prince Aemond was absent every time Y/N entered his chambers. She tried to suppress a bizarre spark of dissapointment at this, not knowing when she had started to actually look forward to their short interactions. Dusting his bookshelf, she ran her hands over the ornate spines of the books. Laying down her duster as she carefully pulled one out to gaze at it, grazing her hand softly over the cover. "You take an interest in the Targaryen histories?" She was startled out of her reveries by Prince Aemond's question, not having heard his voice in a few days. Quickly replacing the book where it belonged she curtsied to him "I apologise My Prince, I should not have..."

The Prince walked over to her, his hair lightly swaying in tandem with his shoulders, until he was close enough to brush his arm against hers when he took the book back down from the shelf. "You are welcome to borrow a few volumes should they interest you." It was such a generous offer that Y/N was saddened to have to reject it. "Thank you My Prince, but I cannot read." Aemond seemed surprised for a moment before he cleared his throat and pulled his hands behind his back, removing the book from her line of vision. The Prince's voice was soft when he next spoke "Is it something you would like to learn?" Y/N's eyes snapped up to meet Aemond's, though she had to crane her neck to do so with him standing so close. Excitement had shot through her at a possibility she'd often longed for, she'd never had the opportunity to learn before. It was not considered necessary for her line of work.

But doubt began to fill her mind. Did the Prince mean to teach her himself? They'd come a long way from their first meetings, but she was still shy around him and could not but think such a situation would inevitably lead to embarrassment. Besides, he was a Prince and that would be beneath him. Prince Aemond did not break his focus from her but spoke before she could voice any of her concerns. "I will have my sister Helaena see to it." With that he turned from her and left his chambers entirely, leaving Y/N to stare after him, mouth hanging open at the suddenness of his departure.

Aemond had been pleased to find Y/N in his chambers, a welcome sight after many days and he quietly took in her presence as she ran her hands across his books. He watched her take a particular interest in a book detailing the histories of his House and felt a spark of something, perhaps excitement, at her sharing this interest with him. He himself was a dedicated scholar and was well versed in the histories of the House of the Dragon, such was his prerogative as a Targaryen Prince. Hoping not to startle her too much, he had asked her if this was in fact the case.

Frowning as she hastily replaced the book from whence she'd taken it, he quickly strode towards the shelf to take it back out and offer it to her. He'd thought it could be an opening for a potential friendship between them. He had noticed she'd begun to interact more with him of her own volition, taking this as a sign of her feeling increasingly comfortable in his presence.

His hopes came crashing down at his handmaiden's next admission "I cannot read." Of course, he'd been foolish not to think of it and cursed himself for potentially fracturing what little progress they'd made by potentially causing her embarrassment now. Nevertheless, he could not help himself from offering her the chance to learn, having seen her gaze so longingly at the books just moments prior. Aemond had in fact intended to teach her himself, and the initial excitement that lit her eyes at his suggestion had him believing for a moment that she would be amenable to the idea. That was before he watched her face fall, and various emotions flit across her eyes.

Perhaps he had been too hasty in his belief that she was now comfortable with him and this was the cause of her conflict. It pained him somewhat to think the idea might be so displeasing to her but he tried not to let it cloud his judgement as he tried to think of a solution that would be more acceptable to Y/N. It came to him to ask Helaena of her assistance. She had a gentle and calming disposition, at least to him, and perhaps Y/N would feel more comfortable with his sister than him. He left Y/N without waiting for her response, not wishing her to see his barely repressed dissapointment, and went to seek out his sister.

Helaena had willingly agreed to teach Y/N how to read, and Aemond had gratefully kissed his beloved sister on the crown of her head before returning to his chambers, hoping that his handmaiden would be pleased.

Y/N began to spend much of her time when she was not working occupied in the Princess Helaena's chambers. The Princess was a patient teacher and a kind soul, though she often spoke words that seemed oddly prophetic and disturbed Y/N, who could not decipher their meaning. She was grateful to the Princess for her help, and more still to Prince Aemond for securing this chance for her. More surprising was his unexpected willingness to answer any questions she had of the material she read with Helaena. The Prince seemed pleased at her questioning, always gazing at her attentively as he answered. She could not help thinking they'd managed to form a strange sort of friendship, despite her shyness and the stark difference in their positions, and she increasingly looked forward to each interaction.

Aemond was not surprised to see Y/N in his sister's chambers when he had come to visit that day. She was often there now, either leaning over a new text as his sister pointed different things out to her, or playing with his little niece and nephew. He was sure her presence was a great comfort to Helaena as well, and was glad of having introduced them. He was surprised, however, to see the look of horror on his handmaiden's face as Helaena placed a furry spider upon her outstretched arm. Her eyes widened so far it might have been comical, if he had not already been aware of her deep seated fear of the creature. All the same, he felt his heart stutter slightly at the sight, in the knowledge that his handmaiden would allow such a thing in order to please his sweet sister who was giggling slightly and cooing at her pet.

And in that moment Aemond realised what he should have done weeks ago, when he had first noted that feeling of warmth spread throughout his chest at Y/N's actions. He was falling in love with his handmaiden, or indeed already had. He was certain his mother would not be best pleased. He was a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and was surely set for a match that would be politically beneficial to his House. In truth, he found it difficult to care. He had lost so much at such a young age, and though he now rode the largest dragon in existence, he still often felt like that scared, insecure little boy who'd been mocked by his brother and nephews. He had dedicated so much of himself to embodying the role of a true Targaryen Prince, and yet his own father essentially ignored him, favouring his bastard nephews over him.

Taking all of this into consideration, was it truly wrong for him to look for a love match with someone he truly cared for? He came to his decision there and then. Aemond wanted Y/N and he would have her whether it pleased his family or otherwise. The greater problem lay in Y/N's meek disposition and wariness around him now, which had admittedly diminished but was ever present. She could hardly stand to meet his gaze for more than a few moments at a time. The Prince resolved that he would find a way to warm her heart to him, and took a step forward to rescue the object of his affections from her current predicament.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

The Best Friend Showdown

Season four had many, many flaws. One of the big ones was the Rena Rouge vs Chat Noir conflict where Ladybug starts relying on Alya more and more, basically using her to replace Master Fu. We get a sense that Chat Noir feels inferior to Rena Rouge because of this change, but it’s never directly addressed. The most we get is this conversation from Hack-San:

Ladybug: I'm really sorry, Cat Noir. I should've told you. I mean, if I found out that you told someone about your secret identity, I'd... probably be upset, too. I'm really sorry I hurt your feelings. Cat Noir: You didn't hurt my feelings. You did everything right. 

Which is actually a really weird bit of dialogue because - as far as I can tell - nothing in the episode revealed that Scarabella knew Ladybug's identity. She hands out miraculous all the time and no one knows who she really is. Why would this time be different? Ladybug could just show up in costume, explain what's up, and then hand off the earrings while using yet another miraculous.

Anyway, the Rena Rouge vs Chat Noir conflict is “resolved” by Rena Rouge being outed again (and I guess that matters this time), leading her to give up her miraculous so that Gabriel can’t steal it away, which of course leads Gabriel to steal it away and fully disempower Ladybug’s larger team, leaving Chat Noir her only teammate.

How satisfying! This is such good, character-driven story telling!

It’s not. This is plot contrivances to the max with no meaningful character beats, but we’re not here to talk about that. We’re here to do one of my favorite things: gush about a relevant Kim Possible episode! Today’s topic is episode 12 of season one: Pain King vs. Cleopatra, the episode that introduces Kim’s female BFF, Monique!

This was a bit of a shocker for me because I didn’t realize that Kim and Monique weren’t pre-series friends. Turns out that, much like Alya, Monique is a new girl, which isn’t a bad call. This was a nice way to delay Monique’s introduction for a few episodes so that the writers could focus on establishing Kim’s relationship with other key members of the cast like her partner, Ron. Spacing out your intros is the way to go whenever you can pull it off as it’s a kindness to your audience that keeps them from feeling overwhelmed, making it more likely that they’ll remember your cast.

The other, more important similarity between Alya and Monique is that, when Kim’s hero partner and life-long friend finds out about Monique, he is less than thrilled:

Kim: I barely got to see them. Right after I hooked up with Monique, the museum was robbed by some glowing-headed animal guy. Ron: Oh, that's nice. Ron: Wait a minute, who's Monique? Kim New friend, really great. Anyway, the thief stole an enchanted ancient talisman. Ron: Whoa, whoa, back up! How can I not know about a new friend? Kim: I met her at Club Banana, then again at the museum before I chased the glowing robber. Ron: So what's she like? Kim: The robber? Ron: The friend, Kim, the "new friend".

Throughout the episode, Kim and Monique continue to bond without Ron, leaving Ron feeling left out:

Ron: Seein' a pattern here, Rufus: Kim does her thing, I do my thing, and pretty soon - we're doing different things.

Which leads him to get a little territorial:

Kim Ron! What are you doing here? Ron: Can I dine with my best friend and her new friend? Kim: Uuh, Ron, Monique, and vice versa. Ron: Bearclaw? Monique: No, thanks, I'm vegetarian. Ron: Uhm, I'm pretty sure it's imitation bear? Kim: She's joking, Ron. Ron: Good one, hahaha, ha, good one. So, did Kim tell you that I'm her sidekick? Cause that role is definitely taken by me. Monique: Riiiight. Well, in... you know I better get to class. Later, Kim. Um, n-nice meeting you, Ron. Ron: Likewise, I'm sure! Kim: What is your problem? You're acting really weird. Ron: Well, let's see. You went to the museum with Monique, not me. Monique was with you this morning, not me. Hmm, pattern? Kim: Yeah. You. Weird. Ron: No, we're drifting apart because you're excluding me. Kim: I am not excluding you. It's just that you and Monique are... different.

Noticing some similarities to Miraculous here?

So how does Kim Possible resolve this conflict?

Well, the plot of this episode resolves around Kim Possible’s version of professional wrestling, the GWA. There’s a competition going on that Kim has no interest in watching (mood), but when Kim mentions the GWA to Monique:

Monique: Why didn't you bring [Ron] along? Kim: Unless someone put a waiter in a headlock, this is definitely not Ron's scene. Besides, he had a date with "Steel Toe". Monique: He scored tickets to Mayhem in Middleton? The GWA rocks! Kim: What?

It turns out that Monique and Ron have a shared interest! Multiple shared interests, in fact! Interests that Kim does not share:

Monique: You know, I still can't believe you met Pain King and Steel Toe. Ron: I can't believe you're into wrestling. Kim: I can't believe I know either one of you.

By the end of the episode, the conflict is resolved not with Kim having to pick a BFF or with Monique somehow being demoted, but by showing that this didn’t need to be a conflict at all. Kim can have multiple close friends that she shares different interests with without any of those friends being lesser. Those friends can, in turn, have their own friendships that don’t always involve her.

It’s a genuinely lovely resolution that makes me love this little friend group because it now has added complexity. Monique and Ron are friends in their own right! Kim is not the center of the universe in spite of her main character status!

I also love that Kim isn’t vilified for having other friends or portrayed as constantly leaving Ron out of things that he'd want to do in favor of Monique. Ron genuinely would not enjoy most of the things that the girls love to do together. At the same time, Ron’s feeling aren’t treated as totally irrational either and Kim even admits to ditching him. It’s a genuine, complex conflict that is super common when someone enters a new relationship be it platonic or romantic.

Obviously Kim Possible’s version of this conflict feels far less complex than Miraculous’ because Kim Possible understood that Ron should be Kim’s one-and-only partner, so his position was really never threatened. Monique does not want to be an action hero and is never given the sort narrative weight that elevates her to Ron’s level or higher, but that doesn't matter. The basic lesson here is still relevant and super important for the intended audience of both of these shows.

There did not need to be a Rena Rouge vs Chat Noir conflict that never got properly resolved. Miraculous could have made these two friends and no, Scarabella doesn't count because Chat Noir has no idea that Scarabella is Rena Rouge/Furtive. Their relationship ended at the end of Hack-San. He didn't even know that Rena Furtive was a thing until she was in the process of being benched and that's the problem.

Kim Possible is not a team show, Miraculous is, and yet Kim Possible has better team dynamics than Miraculous. Monique could have joined Kim's team at the end of Pain King vs. Cleopatra and it would have felt natural because both Kim and Ron had welcomed Monique and formed a genuine bond with her. This is a true friend group that Miraculous can only dream of even though they've been adding new superheroes since season two.

We're going into a season with a full, massive team and yet that team has no established dynamics on the hero side. It's not a functional team! None of these characters have meaningful relationships with each other as heroes save for Alya and Nino since they know each other’s secret identities. The only relationships Miraculous cares about are the various romances and everyone's relationship to Marinette and everyone suffers for it.

The show would not have been harmed by Rena Rouge, Chat Noir, and Ladybug being a team. It was the thing I kept think after watching the Kim Possible episode. Since the team is the end game, why aren't we seeing them? It would have been so nice to have Hack-San end with Ladybug introducing Chat Noir to Rena Furtive instead of a nonsense discussion about an issue the episode didn't even address.

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 11 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: cursing, alcohol, minor character ghosting everyone, cheating?, explicit content: a spicy videocall, mutual masturbation?, fingering/jerking off, sex toy (vibrator)

☆word count: 8.4k

☆a/n: this one hurts, but I hope you'll still love it :') thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Tuesday, April 30th 

You’ve been lost in thought for hours - every hour feels like a whole day, and you can’t focus on what Ria is saying right now. She went off while speaking about Seokjin, but all you’re able to do is look out the vitrine of the café where you’re sitting along with Nabi. It’s raining - you think it’s fitting now that Jungkook is gone.

He’s texted you throughout the day, more than he usually does. It’s been reassuring, yet you feel like there is finality in the world today, in the way raindrops chase each other on the glass of the vitrine like you used to chase cars around Jungkook’s head. You haven’t replied to his last text message, haven’t even opened it yet.

You don’t dare to when you’re sitting with your friends.

“Are you even listening?” Ria’s annoyed voice cuts through your thoughts, and you startle, looking at her.

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

She groans loudly, and then says, “What do you think about Seokjin?”

You widen your gaze, holding in a smile. “Why do you want to know?”

“He’s annoying, right?” she says.

“Is that why you’ve been spending all of your free time with him?” Nabi interjects, earning a glare from Ria.

“I have not.”

“You certainly have,” Nabi insists. “Both you and Y/n have been MIA to study sesh during the finals because you were with your boyfriends.”

Your heart drops to your stomach, your throat drying. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Nabi and Ria both throw you a no-bullshit look, but Ria loses it first, saying, “And I’m not dating Seokjin.”

“Where were you yesterday?” Nabi asks.

The prolonged silence is revealing, and you burst out laughing at the same time as Nabi.

“It doesn’t mean anything!” Ria says.

You pick up your smoothie, taking a long sip from it as Nabi says, “Obviously not. That’s why you have a hickey on your neck.”

You choke on your sip as Ria blushes, yet in pure Ria fashion, she wiggles her eyebrows. “What about it? At least I’m not fucking my brother’s best friend and lying about it even though everyone in the world literally knows.”

You put down your drink, gaze widening. “That was low.”

“Deserved though,” Ria insists, folding her arms on her chest.

There’s no animosity to the way she is speaking. Just amusement, and a teasing undertone that strikes a nerve now that he’s in Paris and the future of your relationship is so uncertain.

“For what?” you let out, looking towards Nabi for help. She pretends she isn’t listening, looking down at her empty latté mug, but you see on her face how she’s waiting for you to say something. “Tae wouldn’t let it happen.”

“Tae was gone for the semester,” Ria points out. “And you spent a lot of time with Jungkook, and he always drove you home and shit. We know, babes, I don’t know why you try to pretend it wasn’t happening.”

“You’re just trying to get the conversation away from you and Seokjin!”

It’s a weak comeback, but it’s all you can do.

“For real, even though I might be sleeping with Jin,” Ria says, introducing a nickname you’ve never heard her say before, “I’m not into him for more than that. But you and Jungkook…”

You feel like throwing your smoothie at her, but you choose peace and remain silent.

“So you are fucking Seokjin,” Nabi chimes in, throwing you a lifeline you immediately grasp on.

Ria shrugs. “So what if I am?” she asks. “It’s just sex.”

You think about Seokjin, about the forlorn look in his eyes whenever you’re out in public, and she flirts with other people. You highly doubt it’s just sex for him, but he’s too respectful to tell Ria, isn’t he?

“Is it though?” you say.

Ria nods forcefully. “At least to me it is. If it’s not the case for him then that sounds like his problem, not mine.”

You wince in time with Nabi, and she says, “That’s mean, Ri.”

She throws her hands up in defence. “What do you want me to say? I don’t like him like that.”

That’s fair enough. You can’t force a heart to love, like you’d realized last November with Hoseok. 

No matter how much you’d tried to love him, you’d never even had butterflies with him. Maybe even then you knew that true love wasn’t to be found with Hoseok, but with Jungkook instead…

“He’s great though,” Nabi says. “He’s got a solid research grant.”

“I’m not a nerd like you guys. I don’t care about his research grant”

You snort. “You so are a nerd. You like anime.”

“Anime isn’t for nerds,” she insists. Which, you totally agree with the statement. You’ve watched a couple of them with Jungkook, and you found each and every one of them fun to watch.

But Ria doesn’t need to know that.

“Yeah yeah,” you say. “Keep telling that to yourself.”

She glares at you, but Nabi intervenes with, “Why wouldn’t you care about the grant? It’s really good for him.”

Ria shrugs, falling serious. “Because I don’t care about him like that. He’s just a good fuck.”

Ria’s always been like this. Ever since you’ve met her, she’s always been the type to sleep around, and you’ve always encouraged her for it, as it was helping her get over the fact that she was cheated on. Yet right now you feel bad for Seokjin - maybe because you know he’s into her, and you wish for her the happiness you’ve been experiencing with Jungkook.

Happiness that is now on hold, possibly never to resume.

“Fair enough,” you say, and you grab your smoothie to finish it, taking two long sips.

“What about you and Jungkook?” Ria then asks, and she smirks victoriously.

You put the empty smoothie glass away, sighing deeply. “Honestly right now there’s nothing to tell.”

“Did you fuck him?”

You purse your lips, shrugging. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because it’s so obvious!” Ria says. “Your hair sometimes smells like cologne, and you can’t tell me it’s someone other than him. You would have told us if you were seeing someone else.”

“Not that I want to stir shit but…” Nabi trails off. “She’s got a point.”

“Leave me alone,” you grumble, though you don’t see the point in hiding it anymore.

It’s not like they might say something in front of Jungkook’s friends, who would then tell Taehyung. You’re planning to tell Taehyung the second he lands and crosses the threshold of your shared apartment after all.

“You’re blushing,” Ria teases.

“Because you’re putting me on the spot!” you say, shaking your head. “Leave me alone.”

“Oh no.” Ria’s face falls, and her mouth hangs open for a few seconds as her eyes go round. “Oh no, babes.”

“What?” you let out, sounding grumpier than you feel.

No, you just feel apprehensive as her whole demeanour changes.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

It falls like a hydrogen bomb, leaving nothing but dust behind. And you can’t answer. All you have to offer is a blink, and the sound of your heart shattering in the distance.

“Oh no,” Nabi cuts in. “Y/n, you know his reputation…”

“We’ve been together since Valentine’s Day,” you quickly say, only so that they stop before making you feel bad. You’ve gone down that road before, and you’ve long come back from it. “Or as together as we can be considering Tae.”

“Bitch you what?” Ria shrieks. “That’s insane. You were letting me go on and on about him while you were with him?”

“Wait, you’re with him like boyfriend-girlfriend?” Nabi asks before you can reply to Ria.

“I knew he wouldn’t get with you,” you say to Ria, and then you glance at Nabi. “And no, we’ve never really talked about it, or referred to it as boyfriend-girlfriend.”

“So, it’s a situationship then?” Ria asks.

Though the words pain you grandly, they ring true. Far too true for it to be comfortable. “I guess so. But… I know the feelings are reciprocated.”

You sound delusional, even to your own ears. Maybe because he’s on an entire other continent - out of sight, out of mind. But you saw his soft gaze whenever he looks at you. You were there when he kissed you by the door before leaving yesterday. 

I promise I’ll come back to you and make it work, he’d whispered.

And fuck, all you want to do is believe him, believe that there’s a way you truly can make it work.  

“I hope you’re right,” Nabi says, though she sounds infinitely doubtful.

You don’t blame her. They don’t truly know Jungkook - not like you do.

“Wait…” Ria repeats, though this time she continues with, “That means you were together with him when you went to New York.”

The extravagance of the luxurious condo where he’d grown up flashes before your eyes as you nod once. “Yeah.”

“Bitch!” Ria lets out. “I knew it! I can’t believe you pretended you guys were just friends then.”

Unable to stay silent anymore, you retell your relationship to your friends. You tell them everything - how it started, how it entirely changed in New York, what he’d whispered right before he’d left. You tell them everything, not mentioning the fact that Jungkook is rich, feeling like that isn’t your story to tell. 

You feel lighter after. Like finally being able to tell people has taken a weight off your shoulders. You reckon, you might start flying when Taehyung knows. When you don’t have to hide it from anyone anymore - you’ll be weightless, like a cloud in the sky up above.

It’s with that in mind that you head home for dinner, Nabi having something planned with Namjoon and Ria having to head to work. You check your phone as you walk home, safely hidden underneath your red umbrella.

[4:14 pm] JK: any chance we can facetime tonight?

It’s almost an hour later, yet Jungkook’s text makes butterflies flutter in your stomach, and you smile down at your phone as you reply with,

[5:07 pm] You: i’ll be home in 10 min, you still up?

Jungkook’s answer comes almost half an hour later when you’re trying to cook some noodles the same way that he showed you - a lot spicier than what you can handle, but spicy makes you think of him, so spicy it is.

[5:33 pm] JK: i’ll call you in two

You assume he needs to find a place to hide so that your brother doesn’t hear, and you apprehensively - in a good way obviously - wait for him to call as you gauge the amount of gochujang to put in your noodles. He ends up calling five minutes later, and you immediately answer, a bright smile on your lips.

Jungkook is smiling just as brightly when he comes into view, his eyes sparkling at the sight of you. He looks a little dazed, like maybe he’s had something to drink, but he still looks just as beautiful as he always has.

Even a phone camera cannot dim Jeon Jungkook’s beauty. 

His eyebrow piercing glints in the soft light on his side of the line, where he’s sitting outside. He toys at his lip piercings, glancing away from his phone for a few seconds before setting his gaze back on you.

“Hey peach,” he greets you.

Your heart is warm, gentle, when you reply, “Hey Kook.”

He notices you’re in the kitchen as you stir the noodles, and his gaze widens just a little as he says, “Are you cooking?” You flip the camera to show him your creation, and he nods approvingly. “You’re getting good at this,” he praises, and a light blush covers your cheeks.

“Only because I had the best teacher,” you say as you flip the camera back towards you.

He chuckles. “The best indeed.” There’s a pause as he glances around again, seemingly making sure that no one can hear, and then he asks, “What were you up to today?”

“I went to a café with Ria and Nabi,” you admit. Your cheeks burn even more, and you avert your gaze.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks, immediately noticing your unease.

“I might have told them about us,” you reveal, and you worry at your bottom lip.

You think he’ll be mad, upset, but instead he laughs, a clear sound that makes your heart flutter in your chest. “You’re adorable. I can’t wait to tell my friends either.”

“As soon as you come back,” you promise. “We’ll tell Tae the second he walks into the apartment.”

Jungkook nods vehemently. “I’m not waiting a second longer,” he agrees. “And if he’s pissed, we can just run into the sunset together.”

That makes you laugh, and Jungkook watches you, his eyes sparkling with amusement and what you want to believe is love.

“He will be pissed,” you warn him. “But we’ll figure it out.”

“We will.”

You fall silent as voices are heard on the other side of the line. They’re speaking French, so you can’t really tell what they’re saying, and you wait as Jungkook watches them walking by before focusing his eyes on you again. 

“Where are you?” you ask him.

“Just in a park outside of the Airbnb,” he replies. “Thought it might be better to call you while outside.”

“Good call.” You move the pot in which you’re cooking your noodles away from the heat on the stove, turning it off. “What did you do today?”

Jungkook tells you about his day as you pour your noodles in a bowl, and then sit at the table to eat. It’s too hot for the first few minutes, so you just listen as Jungkook tells you about his overnight flight, and about the struggle to find the Airbnb. He admits he napped for three hours straight when they finally got there, and that they went out for dinner after, coming home around the time he texted you earlier to Facetime.

The first bite of your noodles reveals that you might have made them a little too spicy, but under Jungkook’s watchful gaze, you make sure to eat everything, dousing the spice with the Yakult you’ve bought because Jungkook likes to mix it with soju.

“You know,” Jungkook says as you finish eating, your cheeks red with the spice. “I wish you were here with us. Seeing Sera and Jimin, and Ariane and Tae…” he trails off, offering you a sad smile. “I really wish you were here, peach.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest, and you offer him a small smile. “I really wish I was with you, too.”

A beat of silence passes, while you get lost in his gaze and he gets lost in yours. He furrows his brows a moment later, and he says, “Tae texted me to come back.”

“Oops,” you let out, and he chuckles softly.

“I don’t want to hang up though,” he says, and he pouts in that cute way of his.

“Keep me in your pocket then,” you challenge. “I’ll be mute as a rock.”

He cocks an eyebrow as he laughs. “I’ll turn off my volume just to be sure. I’ll try to hide in the bathroom or something.”

You approve of his plan, and a second later your screen goes dark as Jungkook does indeed hide you in his pocket. You move to your bedroom as you wait, and you hear noises coming from his side, though most of it is muffled by the fabric.

It takes almost ten minutes, but Jungkook pulls you out in a blindingly bright bathroom, the fan loud enough to hide your speaking.

“I’m back,” he says.

You chuckle. “Obviously.”

He narrows his gaze, and then scans your features. “You’re so pretty.”

The compliment takes you by surprise, and your cheeks turn red as you let out, “Oh.” You gulp, and then add, “Thank you.”

“And you might think I’m insane but, fuck, am I crazy for wanting you right now?”

Your blush deepens as you watch his gaze go from sparkly to lustful as he pulls on his piercings.

“Right now?” you repeat, feeling a little breathless all of a sudden.

He nods. “Yeah. I already miss how you feel when I’m balls deep inside of you.”

You roll your eyes, the redness lingering on your cheeks. “We had sex yesterday morning,” you remind him.

“Yeah, and?”

He’s insufferable. He’s insufferable and adorable and, if everything goes well, this man might be yours in a week.

It sets your nerves alight with reciprocated desire, and you bite at your lower lip. “Nothing,” you innocently say. “I’d definitely suck your dick right now though.”

His gaze hardens almost imperceptibly. “Peach.”

You smirk. “What?”

“Anything else you’d do?” he asks, and he shifts where he’s sitting.

“Mmh.” You pause, let the suspense linger. “Maybe I’d tie you up. You’re always trying to control everything, maybe you deserve to be put back into your place.”

“Shit.” You know your bold words had their effect on him when he shifts again, sucking on his piercings harder. He runs a hand through his hair, and then he says, “I’ll fuck you so hard when I come back, peach. I want to hear you screaming my name.”

“So loud Tae hears?” you tease.

He has the decency to look slightly embarrassed, yet you know him enough to know it probably just turns him on more. 

“Definitely,” he says. He inhales sharply, leaning back against the wall. “I’ll fill you up until you’re dripping with my cum.”

You’ve never had sex without a condom, but you remember that first night when he’d fingered you with his cum…

You’ve always been insane for him, haven’t you? 

You clench your thighs together, seeking friction, as you notice Jungkook moving to touch himself too. 

“You will?” you say, breathless.

He nods, and then he curses under his breath. “Now I’m hard for you.”

“Yeah?” you let out. “Show me.”

His eyes darken even more, and he chuckles lowly. “I don’t do nudes, peach.”

It surprises you so much that you lose your arousal for a few seconds, up until Jungkook grunts.

“Well, you’ll do it for me, mmh?” you tease, a smirk adorning your lips.

“You’d like that, huh?”

You would. A lot more than you should - you’ve never been big on nudes either. But… phone sex isn’t exactly nudes, is it?

“I would,” you say after a few seconds of debating if you should or should not do it. “I want to see you, Kook.”

The nickname undoes him. Jungkook sucks on his piercings, and then he moves, his camera blurring. You know he’s taken his pants off when he comes back on screen, his eyes swirling with lust for you.

“Why don’t you show me yourself first?” he asks.

You don’t even hesitate. You’re in bed after all, and ridding yourself of your clothes only takes about thirty seconds, as Jungkook listens to the rustle of the fabric.

You grab your phone when you’re fully naked, making sure that he can’t see anything yet.

“What do you want to see?” you ask, and you only then realize that Jungkook is shirtless, and from the motion in his bicep, he’s clearly jerking off.

You turn molten, liquid lava, like you’re the magma under the tectonic plates. 

“All of you,” he purrs. “I want to see all of you, peach.”

You oblige, propping your phone against a pillow as you lie against another pillow. Jungkook immediately moves his camera so that you can see how he’s stroking himself, and you let out a breathy sound as your hand slides between your legs, pressing lazy circles on your clit. Jungkook watches you hungrily, cursing under his breath.

“Fuck, I wish I could touch you right now,” he says, voice low and husky.

“I wish you could,” you echo.

He picks up his pace on his dick, wrist twisting when he’s close to the top, grip tight like you know he likes it. It’s sinfully beautiful, arousing, and your circles grow faster, quicker, desperate as you seek the pleasure only he can provide.

“Don’t be shy,” he says after a few seconds. “Use your vibrator.”

You don’t need to be told twice, and the second the toy is vibrating and buried inside you, you let out a low-clipped moan.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Jungkook says. “With your tattoo and just… fuck.”

You just answer with a moan that sounds like his name, and he curses again.

“You make me such a mess,” he says. “A fucking mess for you, peach.”

“Yeah?” you breathlessly let out.

“Fuck yeah.”

Your pussy makes squelching sounds as you push the toy in and out of yourself, the buzz a background to the lustful actions you’re partaking in. Jungkook’s camera isn’t quite angled on his dick anymore, but you don’t even care.

Not when you’re aware he’s watching you, drinking every little sound you emit as pleasure rakes through your body. The thought is far too enticing, arousing, and your walls clench around the toy.

“Shit, I’ll come so quickly,” you admit, not even embarrassed about it.

“Do it, peach,” Jungkook says. “Fucking come for me.”

You don’t need more, the crude words pushing you over the edge. You still the motions of the toy inside of you as your walls pulse and pulse, yet you keep drawing circles - slow again - as you milk your orgasm out of you. Jungkook watches it all like he’s starved for you, and when you finally pull your toy out of yourself, he’s the one that groans, “Fuck peach, I think I’ll come too.”

You don’t even have to say anything. He immediately comes, white spurts of cum shooting from his dick. The white cum covers his hand, his tattoos, and you almost want to start again, the sight so devilish yet so beautiful to you.

“Fuck,” Jungkook says, grunting as he keeps milking his climax out of himself, his pace barely slowed down. 

Eventually, his dick stops twitching, and Jungkook stops, hand wrapped around the base. You eye the cum still dripping from his hand, rolling down the back of it.

It’s pornographic. Deadfully so, and you bite at your lower lip.

“That was hot,” you breathe.

“Yeah,” Jungkook breathes, and he puts his phone down, revealing the ceiling and the light fixture. “It really was.”

You assume he’s cleaning himself up, so you quickly do the same, heading to the bathroom. 

Jungkook comes back into view when you’re on your way back to your room, and you feel shy under his gaze. Not embarrassed, but what just happened makes your heart skip beats and your cheeks burn, in all the right ways.

“We should do this again,” Jungkook says when you’re lying in bed once more, your vibrator cleaned and put away in your night table.

You smirk mischievously. “Wouldn’t you like that?” you tease.

He laughs, and it makes you miss him so much your heart squeezes in your chest.

He’s only been gone for a day, and you’re already going insane. You’re lucky it’s just a week - in six days he’ll be back, and hopefully you’ll never have to be apart again.

“I would,” he says, and he offers you a lopsided grin that makes you want to hold onto him, forever.

You take a deep breath around the emotion as it swells up in your chest, in your soul. The smile you offer him is warm, filled with all the feelings that your heart hosts for him, and he immediately reciprocates.

“Can’t wait for you to be back,” you admit, voice small as if you’re afraid he’ll reject you.

You know he won’t - you’re creating that universe where it makes sense for you to be together after all.

“Soon, peach,” he promises. “And then I’ll annoy your ass until you don’t like me anymore.”’

As if that would be possible. 

“Good luck with that.” 

He chuckles softly, and it breaks into a yawn, reminding you that, even though he’s just on the other side of the screen, he’s in an entirely different timezone, and he’s likely still jet-lagged from his overnight flight.

“Tired?” you ask.

He nods. “I’ll go to bed as soon as we hang up,” he says. “We’re visiting the Louvres tomorrow.”

Your phone vibrates in your hand as a text comes in, but you can’t read the text at the top of your screen before it disappears. You switch to your messages app, brows furrowed.

“Where did you go?” Jungkook whines.

Your heart drops to your ass as you read the text once, twice, trying to make sense of it.

[6:07 pm] Yoongi: hobi left and blocked me

A second text comes in just a few seconds later.

[6:08 pm] Yoongi: he didn’t even say goodbye

You immediately switch to your conversation with Hoseok, and you ask him what’s up, but the text remains green despite the fact that the rest of the conversation is filled with blue bubbles. 

He’s blocked you too. And when you go to the group chat with all of your other friends, you notice he’s left it as well, and you’re blocked on social media too.

“Where are you?” Jungkook whines again, the pout in his voice evident.

You go back to Facetime. “I think I’ll have to go.”

He looks displeased, and he toys with his piercings, his tongue pushing into his cheek a second later. “Why?”

“Yoongi needs me,” you say. “And!” you quickly add before he can say anything. “It’s about Hobi.”

“What about Hobi?” Jungkook asks, and you hear the annoyance just as well as you see it etched on his features.

You usually find him adorable when he gets jealous, but right now you can’t even focus on that, your thoughts going to Yoongi, whose heart is likely shattering on and on at the moment.

“He left and blocked everyone,” you tell Jungkook. “So yeah, I think Yoongi’s going to need me tonight.”

Jungkook doesn’t like the explanation. It’s clear as spring water, yet he still says, “M’kay.”

“We can call again tomorrow?” you suggest, hoping that it’d reassure him.

Even though he doesn’t need reassurance - there’s no one else in your heart but him, and you hope he knows it.

“Sure,” he says.

It’s your turn to pout. “Please?”

At that he melts, his features softening. “Well if you ask so nicely…” 

That ends the conversation, and you quickly say goodbye, wishing him a good night. You take him in up until he hangs up the call, missing him the second that he’s gone. 

But you know Yoongi needs you, no matter how much you wish you could stay here with Jungkook. 

*****

Two hours later, you’re sitting on Yoongi’s bed, Namjoon on your left while Yoongi sits on the floor, his back against the bed. He’s drinking a beer, and you have an unopened one next to you. Condensation covers the bottle, yet you haven’t found it in you to drink yet.

Yoongi has been silent. You’d got there almost at the same time as Namjoon, and you’d been surprised to see him. Namjoon had just shrugged and said, “I’ve known him my whole life”, and that had been that.

It’s hard to cheer Yoongi up. Even harder after he told you that all Hoseok left behind was a letter of apologies. And you’ve read the letter - it broke your heart too, and you can’t even begin to imagine how Yoongi’s feeling.

In the letter, Hoseok explained why he decided to leave. You were right - he wanted to leave because of his relationship with Yoongi, seeking to flee from the reality of it, from the fact that Yoongi was his best friend, and that he felt like he’d lost that. It’s something you can understand - losing a friend is always hard, and sometimes the friendship is worth more than a relationship. At least it was to Hoseok. And though in the letter he claims that he’s enjoyed the last few months with Yoongi, his sudden absence, with no way to contact him, is proof enough that he didn’t really.

At least that’s what Yoongi’s been saying. 

Namjoon was shocked when Yoongi revealed his relationship with Hoseok. Even more so as he realized that you, out of everyone, were the only one who knew. Yet he’d taken it in stride, offering to have a beer with Yoongi.

“It’s fucking bullshit,” Yoongi says for what seems to be the hundredth time. 

You’d let him say it a thousand times more if that helped him feel better.

“You know what we should do?” Namjoon says from beside you.

You glance at him, before setting your gaze on the back of Yoongi’s head again.

“What?” Yoongi asks, looking over his shoulder.

“What about a rage room?”

Yoongi laughs an empty laugh. “No thank you. Though maybe it would help temporarily, I kind of just want to find a way to tell Hobi he’s a dick.”

You quickly found out that Hoseok has indeed blocked everyone from the friend group. As if cutting everyone out of his life was the only way he’d find solace in his new life. You think it’s a cowardly thing to do, and you’ve said so a couple of times already, to Yoongi’s delight.

“I don’t think that would bring you anywhere,” Namjoon carefully answers, the voice of reason itself.

You disagree, as you’ve always had more of an explosive personality, but you remain silent.

Yoongi glares at Namjoon. “It’d bring me a lot of satisfaction, thank you very much.”

Yoongi is funny. Behind all the cold exterior he has for people he doesn’t know, he’s got a funny persona you never thought was there. And you love it - he reminds you of you in some ways, and maybe that’s why you’ve gotten so close so easily.

“I personally think we should find out where he went and slash his tires,” you innocently say as you grab the beer bottle.

Namjoon narrows his gaze. “I doubt that’d be a good idea.”

“But fuck if it wouldn’t feel good,” Yoongi says, and he hands you the beer opener.

You open your beer, immediately bringing it to your lips as it foams and it threatens to spill. You drink as much of it as you can, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“It would,” you echo. “But maybe we can resort to more peaceful options. I feel like Namjoonie here will go insane if we keep suggesting stuff like that.”

“He’s boring, isn’t he?” Yoongi says.

“Yeah, why did you invite him?”

Namjoon snorts. “You guys are aware that I’m right here?”

“Did someone say something?”

Yoongi tilts his head to the side, pursing his lips. “I’m not sure. Maybe the apartment is haunted.”

“It has to be,” you agree, nodding forcefully.

“What the fuck is wrong with you guys?” Namjoon asks, and you burst out laughing in time with Yoongi.

You’re relieved to hear him laugh. You didn’t know what to expect when you’d suggested coming over, but it’s a relief that he isn’t that much of a mess.

But then again, you have a feeling Yoongi is the kind of person to put on a mask whenever he’s with people. And maybe that’s okay - maybe tonight you’re just a distraction to keep him from spiraling out of control. 

You don’t mind. 

“Nothing,” Yoongi says, sighing deeply. “Besides the fact that I’ve just been ghosted by my best friend.”

You wince at the harsh reality of his words, but Yoongi shrugs it off as Namjoon says, “It’ll get better.”

Another sigh moves through Yoongi, and he nods. “I know. It’s just going to suck for a while.”

You shift, sliding from his bed down to the floor so that you can sit next to him. “And that’s okay.”

He avoids your gaze as you look at his profile, and so you glance away, your eyes sliding to his record player. The record he put on when you arrived has done playing, and you’ve been sitting in silence for fifteen minutes, but it’s a comfortable silence.

Maybe because you speak when needed, and Yoongi and Namjoon have a calm aura to them that you find you appreciate far more than you’d expect. You’re used to Ria after all, and though you love her, she’s a tornado everywhere she goes.

“How are you and Nabi?” Yoongi asks all of a sudden.

Namjoon blushes, as the quick glance towards him tells you. “You sure you want to talk about that?”

Yoongi shrugs. “It’s not because I’m miserable that everyone has to be.”

“You’re not miserable,” you gently say.

Yoongi’s side eye makes you stifle a laugh. “Let me be miserable.” There’s a pause, and Yoongi eventually pushes up from his bed, sitting straighter so that he can turn and look at Namjoon. “So?”

“We’re good,” Namjoon finally replies. “I’m trying to take things slow because of…” he trails off as he looks at you. “But yeah, we’re good.”

“That’s great,” Yoongi says, and though it doesn’t sound sarcastic at all, he adds, “Genuinely. You deserve it man.”

You don’t know a lot about Namjoon’s previous relationship. Just the girl’s name - Julia - and you can’t help the curiosity that overtakes you. But you’re not a dick. Indeed, you hold your questions in, instead saying, “If you hurt her, you’re a dead man.”

He winces, laughing lightly. “Ria told me the exact same thing.”

“Because Nabi is too precious and she needs to be protected at all cost,” you vehemently say, half-joking. You follow up with, “But seriously, please do take things slowly, and always be honest to her. She’s had this massive crush on you, and I really don’t want her to get hurt.”

“I know,” Namjoon says, and he sighs, looking down the neck of his half-empty beer bottle. “I’ve had a crush on her too so…”

“You did?”

Yoongi laughs. “He so did. He kept mentioning her for months, saying that she was just a friend.”

“I mean, technically she was,” Namjoon says, trying to defend himself.

He’s blushing furiously now - it’s climbing up his neck and covering his whole face, and you think, that right here is what Nabi deserves.

“We always knew it wasn’t just that, though,” Yoongi says. “Clearly Julia knew too.”

Namjoon’s expression falls, and he sighs deeply. “Yeah. To be fair, she’s the one that decided to end things.”

You remain silent, taking a long sip of beer to refrain from saying something stupid, something that would silence Namjoon. You hate the taste of beer though, and you scrunch up your nose in disgust as you swallow. It goes unnoticed by both men, as Yoongi says, “Honestly, Julia was a bitch.”

“She had it rough growing up,” Namjoon replies, his voice drowning in what you think might be nostalgia, or regrets. “Hopefully she’ll get better from now on.”

“Having rough circumstances growing up doesn’t give someone an excuse to be a dick though,” Yoongi flatly says, not one to mince his words after all. “But yeah, hopefully she’ll get the help she clearly needs.”

Damn. You almost feel bad for the girl, but then again you don’t know her. Maybe Yoongi’s animosity towards her is deserved, and you don’t feel like questioning it.

No, you’d rather Namjoon forget about her and focus on Nabi instead.

“Whatever,” Namjoon lets out, shrugging his shoulders. “Even though everything with Nabi is recent, I feel a lot better with her than I ever felt with Julia.”

“Not hard to beat,” Yoongi grumbles underneath his breath, which earns him a slap behind the head from Namjoon.

“Hey, I get that you’re sad but don’t be a dick,” Namjoon sternly says.

Namjoon is a natural leader. You’ve seen it before, when he’d led your team from Frosh week to success. And you’ve seen it every time he’s TA’d a class, yet right now you realize he might be a leader in his friendships as well. Indeed, Yoongi folds, apologizing right away.

You end up spending the evening at Yoongi’s place. Your other friends join, and though the air around Seokjin and Ria is clearly tense, you end up having a blast. Even Yoongi seems to be enjoying himself, but when you notice him increasingly silent, you suggest heading home. He offers you a thankful gaze, and you guide everyone out of the apartment.

To your surprise, Yoongi hugs you goodbye, holding you close for a few seconds longer than you’d thought he’d be comfortable with. But then again, you reckon he might need it, so you hug him tight, letting him choose when to pull away.

“Thank you for tonight,” he whispers when he does, and his eyes glint with the silver on his waterline.

You offer him what you hope is a comforting smile. “Anytime, Yoongi. Just say the word and I’ll be here for you.”

“I’ll remember.”

You smile again, and then you wish him good night, walking out of the apartment last. Yoongi keeps the door open as you all walk down the stairs, and he shuts it when you’ve all disappeared from view. 

You send him a silent prayer to be gentle with himself, and you can only hope he hears it over the sound of his breaking heart.

Friday, May 3rd

You like your summer job. It’s chill, and you don’t have to start too early, so you always enjoy it. You’re an assistant at an optometry clinic, which means you do the pre-tests for the doctors, and since they don’t start before 10 am, you don’t either. 

What you don’t like is that one of the optometrists finishes at seven pm, which means you also do, and finishing at seven pm on a Friday evening should be a crime. It’s no wonder you’re slightly grumpy when you finally walk outside, waving goodbye to the optometrist.

At least she’s chill. She could be an asshole, but she got the team donuts today, and she even bought you lunch when you admitted you didn’t bring anything.

You walk to your car - the one you share with Taehyung - and you pull your phone out of your purse as you do so, eyes skimming over all the texts you’ve received.

You’re going out tonight, to a bar that Yoongi chose for its relatively chill ambiance, and you’re excited for it. Yoongi’s been MIA since you all hung out at his apartment, so you hope it’ll cheer him up, and you hope it’ll also help with pushing Jungkook out of your thoughts.

Not that you mind thinking about him - sometimes you believe him to be the president of the land of your mind. But he��s been texting you less and less every day, and you haven’t facetimed yesterday despite him saying he’d try.

You’ve been trying not to make a big deal out of it, but something about it feels off somehow. You reckon you’re probably just imagining things where none are, afraid as you are of the fragility of the relationship. 

But then again you’ve always trusted your gut feeling, and it’s never really failed you before.

You sigh, trying to ignore the foul taste in your mouth so that you can read the texts on your screen instead. Ria’s the one that texted you most recently, saying,

[6:46 pm] Ria: can we get ready at yours?  [6:47 pm] Ria: tho my mom’s happy I moved back in for the summer, she doesn’t want me to invite people over [7:06 pm] You: sure, heading home now

You reach your car, opening the door and throwing your purse on the passenger seat. A second later you’re sliding in, and you turn the keys in the engine. The car purrs to life, and soon enough, you’re on your way home, listening to the music on the radio.

Your mood brightens slightly when you reach home and see that there’s a spot on the street right in front of your apartment. You immediately grab it, even though you suck at parallel parking and it takes you three tries, and then you’re jumping out of the car, climbing the stairs to unlock the door.

You manage to take a shower before Ria shows up, a sour look on her features. You cock an eyebrow, letting her in. She breezes past you, not saying anything, and that more than anything else tells you that something’s wrong.

“What’s up?” you say as you carefully shut the door behind her.

She sighs loudly, extravagantly. “Jin isn’t coming tonight.”

You widen your gaze. “Oh?”

“He said he’s tired from work,” Ria says, and she folds her arms on his chest. “He sucks.”

You snort. “Why are you so worked up?”

“Because I know he’s lying!” She takes off her leather jacket, putting it away in the closet, and then she kicks off her shoes to strut into the kitchen. “Can I grab a glass of water?”

“Sure,” you say as you follow behind her. “Why do you think he’s lying?”

“He’s going on a date and doesn’t want to come to the bar after,” she admits, and the frown on her face tells you everything there is to know.

She is jealous, but she’ll never dare admit it. She’s way too proud for that, and though sometimes you know it protects her, you feel like it can be her demise all the same.

“Oof,” you only let out.

“Right?” She chugs the glass of water, putting it away in the sink. She leans back against the counter, folding her arms on her chest. “He’s just got out of a relationship, why would he get in another one?”

“I mean…” you trail off, shrugging. “Isn’t that what Namjoon did with Nabi?”

“That’s not the same,” Ria insists, shaking her head. 

It is, as a matter of fact, the same, but you refrain from saying so.

“He doesn’t even know the girl, she’s a blind date that his colleague is forcing him to go on,” Ria adds. “Why would he want to go?”

“Well…” you let out. “Maybe he just wants to throw himself out there again.”

Ria doesn’t like you saying that, and she offers you a scalding look that makes you snort again.

“You’re so mad,” you tease her.

“I’m not!”

“Do you like him?”

She makes a disgusted face, shaking her head. “No, of course not.”

“Then why does it matter if he’s going on a date?”

The answering silence is telling enough, and Ria clenches her jaw once, before pouring herself another glass of water. “I hate when you make sense.”

“Love you too,” you answer, and you walk to her as she’s got her back turned to you. You hug her from behind, saying, “We’ll have fun tonight, I promise.”

And you don’t know who you’re trying to convince. You or Ria. Because the dreadful feeling that sits in the pit of your stomach only intensifies as you get ready, putting your makeup on in the bathroom while Ria curls her hair with your curling iron.

You’re almost done, about to put your setting powder on when the music stops, and the unmistakable sound of the Facetime ringing fills the room. Your heart jumps to your throat, and you quickly put your brush down, grabbing your phone.

“Damn, who’s calling you?” Ria teases your reaction.

You frown as you see Taehyung’s picture from your contacts - you’d expected Jungkook. 

You pick up, and it takes a few seconds before it connects. Taehyung’s smiling face comes into view, and it takes you half a heartbeat to figure out he’s drunk.

Jimin is laughing in the background, and you hear Sera scolding him, though all you can see is Taehyung, and you think the shoulder beside him might belong to Ariane.

“Sis,” Taehyung greets you. “Not ignoring me anymore?”

“Hello!” Ariane says, and she comes into view, resting her head on Taehyung’s shoulder.

“Hi?” you answer, and Ria chimes in with a far more enthusiastic “Hello!”

“Y/n!” Jimin says in the background.

Taehyung turns his phone just enough for you to see Jimin, who’s waving like a madman.

They’re all drunk. That much is clear. What’s clearer is the absence of a certain Jeon Jungkook in the group, and you can’t help but wonder what he’s up to.

He hasn’t texted you since this morning after all.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“Just thought I’d check in with you,” Taehyung says, his speech slurred. “Anything fun planned tonight?”

“Going out with some friends,” you answer. “Nothing extravagant. What are you guys up to? Isn’t it crazy late in Paris?”

Taehyung frowns, focusing on something. “Just two am, not too bad.”

Right.

“What are you doing?” you ask, and you sit on the closed toilet, glancing once at Ria who seems fully focused on doing her hair.

“We’re just chilling while Jungkook finishes up with Gaby,” Taehyung says. “They fucking stole the bedroom.”

Ria’s head snaps towards you, as time slows and slows and slows, coming to a halt long enough for you to say, “What?”

“Yeah, you’ll never imagine,” Taehyung says. “Ari’s best friend here is JK’s ex from high school. She’s French but she grew up in New York.”

Chronology is interrupted - you think there might be a hiccup in the line of time. But then it starts again, far too quickly, and your blood fills with adrenaline, your heart picking up in your chest.

“Who?” you let out, sounding infinitely stupid.

But then again, maybe you’ve been a fool all along, since that very first kiss he’d claimed to be a fake Valentine’s Day kiss.

“Gaby,” Taehyung repeats. “Gabrielle. She’s pretty chill.”

Your heart aches in your chest. It burns like someone threw acid on it, and you feel it shrivel behind your ribs, slowly turning to dust.

“Oh.”

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung asks, and you wonder if you imagine the knowing look that passes on his face.

“Nothing,” you quickly reply, but you can’t breathe anymore.

It’s like there’s no more oxygen in the room, and you’re choking on the nitrogen, your mind spinning.

Taehyung gets up, and then everything is truly spinning. You think you hear Sera saying something that sounds like ‘Come on’, but then again you might be deaf.

All you hear is that sentence Taehyung said - We’re just chilling while Jungkook finishes up with Gaby.

When you were younger, you’d always believed your heart to be invincible. You’d felt invincible, like maybe you were meant to conquer all mountains. 

Tonight, you realize you’ve never been invincible - you just never cared enough about anything to thoroughly break, your heart shred beyond recognition.

Taehyung is walking somewhere. He laughs on the way, and Jimin is close behind, as you can see his head peeking over your brother’s shoulder.

“Don’t open the door,” Jimin says.

Taehyung snorts, and it’s like he forgot you’re right there. Or maybe he’s enjoying this.

Maybe he’s known about Jungkook all along, and this is his own twisted way to kill the relationship before it really starts. 

Your reckon, you deserve it. For all the lies, for the truth hidden, you deserve it. But then again, isn’t Jungkook the true responsible of the neverending breaking in your chest? Because it’s breaking - like a glass dropped, your heart is shattering. 

Perhaps chasing cars around Jungkook’s head was only ever leading to an inevitable crash.

“Jungkook,” Taehyung singsongs, and then you hear a door being opened, and the camera flips.

You don’t even know why you’re still looking. You know exactly what’s going to be under your eyes - what is under your eyes - but you can’t stop watching. Can’t really see it either, blurry as it is behind the tears pooling in your gaze.

I promise I’ll come back to you and make it work

He was never going to come back, wasn’t he? He was bound to be left in the past - you should have known when you’d kissed him by the door. Should have known to take the time to commit his features to memory.

Your vision clears, and the scene comes in focus. He’s dressed. He’s fully clothed, and so is she - you don’t even know if it’s a relief. Because they’re clearly kissing, and you think maybe he’s ripped your heart from your chest.

He was lying to you. He was lying to you through it all, wasn’t he? You should have listened to everyone, should have run while you still could.

You’re crying. You only realize you’re crying when Ria steals your phone from your hands, quickly hanging up the call. 

“Y/n,” she gently says, and she kneels in front of you, wiping the tears on your cheeks. “Y/n.”

“Holy shit,” is all you’re able to say before you break into sobs, shaking from the ferocity of the heartbreak. 

Your heart, now shards of glass, pricks your skin, pricks your soul. Everything hurts - you burn and drown, you freeze and blaze. You can’t breathe around the sobs, choking on them as they rock through you, yet you can’t stop them.

And as you break, you see him on Valentine’s Day. You see his sparkling eyes, his gentle gaze. See his lips right before he’d kissed you, so gentle like he’d been afraid to break you. You see him in New York, see him as he’d fucked you like you were in the clouds. You see him every day since then - you’d been so convinced of the reciprocity of the feelings that you’d forgotten who you were dealing with.

You think perhaps you’d truly just been the little sister, a fantasy he had to check on his bullet list of things to do in his life. And perhaps he’d been afraid of breaking you, of the inevitable consequences on him.

“He fucking lied to me,” is the first thing you manage to say through the breaking.

Ria pulls you in, and you fall on the floor, where she holds you as you cry. 

“He fucking lied.”

She strokes your hair. “I’m sorry.”

And it hits you then - Jungkook never really said he had feelings for you. It’d just been an act - the grandest act of his life, perhaps. And you’d been foolish enough to fall, to fall and fall and think he’d catch you. You’d thought you were diving in sweet waters, yet tonight you crash on concrete, the Earth’s gravity destroying you until you’re just a memory, meant to be carried away on a wind of heartbreak.

Ria stays with you until you fall asleep in your bed, your makeup ruined by your tears.

Your heart ruined by Jeon Jungkook.

Prev | Chapter 11.5 | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

.................. i am deeply sorry. please don't hate me for this one, and feel free to scream at me too :') (i promise everything will make sense one day)

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[viennakarma]

Everything I Wanted III.

LESTAPPEN x READER (PART 3/FINALE)

Summary: Your journey to become a Motorsport legend wasn't easy, especially when your path clashed with your greatest rivals, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

Word count: 10k

Tags: Driver reader, mentions of crash, angst, abusive parent, daddy issues, trust issues, character death (not reader), cursing, strong rivalry, misogyny in motorsport, invasive media, aggressive fans, reader suffers with cyberbullying and hate, smut, female reader, +18, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibtionism, edging, filthy, porn with plot, queer! everyone, polyamory lestappen, bit of dirty talking, pet names, open ending, HEA, not beta read

Relationships: Lestappen x Reader

Mentor!Kimi Raikkonen x Reader

Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton x Platonic!Reader

Notes: this is full of motorsport inaccuracies, just go with the vibes please. There are also a few inaccuracies regarding other drivers' lives, but they are just to fit the story. This chapter is a tiny bit angsty. Maybe I should've mentioned it before, but both Max and Charles are single in this story. I'm sorry if it feels rushed or if it has any mistakes, I just let my heart go with the flow!

Find me on Twitter!

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You spend a few days in some happy daze, just shamelessly bashing in your Championship. Everyone knew because you were positively giddy during the last race week in Abu Dhabi, you were seen smiling more during that one week than you had been seen smiling in your three years of Formula 1. 

Some of the drivers were even more amicable towards you and your closest friends were even teasing you all the time, calling you Champion so they could see you blush and giggle.

“Hey there, Champ,” Lewis would greet you.

“Buenos días, campeona,” Fernando would say and laugh at your reaction.

Lando even joked to some reporter that you were in love with the championship.

There was a dinner organized by the drivers to say farewell to Sebastian. Despite knowing most drivers confirmed their presence there, you planned to go and leave early because you always felt left out whenever most drivers got together.

That’s why you texted Lewis to ask what he was wearing that night, and you ended up wearing high waisted suede pants, and a white T-shirt, finishing with a classic black scarpin in your feet and a purse. 

Since you and Nando were in the same hotel, you decided to go together with his driver. Only when you got to the car, Charles was also inside the car, and you had to sit quietly by his side, his thigh brushing yours. Nando was in the passenger seat, and you started small talk with him to diffuse the tension he was unaware was happening in the backseat. You were engaged in conversation with Nando when you felt Charles fingers touching your knee. Jolting, you immediately slapped his hand away.

“You ok there?” Nando asked from the front of the car.

“Uh, yes! Just an- annoying mosquito!” You said, faking a smile.

Charles pouted, crossing his arms and pointedly looking to the window of his side.

As the three of you arrived there, half of the grid was already there, seated and chatting. Lewis welcomed you first, warning that he purposefully invited Sebastian to arrive thirty minutes later, so he was the last to arrive. As you sat beside Nando, you noticed how Charles sat beside you again, facing Pierre across the table, and you ended up facing Max. Your eyes met, but you looked away, deciding to focus on conversation with Nando and Lando, who was in front of him.

When Seb arrived, he was welcomed with a round of applause, which made his cheeks redden a little as he laughed. The dinner went well, and you shared red wine with a few of the others, some of them preferred other drinks. It was nice chatting with everyone, and it was the first time you really felt part of the group, everyone together laughing and eating.

“Y/N, who’s your idol from this table?” Carlos asked with a smirk.

“You wanna put me in trouble,” you eyed around. Everyone knew that the people you were closest with, Lewis, Seb and Nando were your racing idols.

“Come on, your favorite, Lewis, Seb or Fernando?” Lando joined in, and the others joined too, egging you on.

“Kimi is my favorite,” you muttered before taking a sip of your wine. Everyone started shouting and calling you a liar, “fine, fine, it doesn’t mean I’m not a big fan of the other two, but growing up, I’ve always wanted to race like Fernando.”

“And now you do,” Fernando said, raising his glass in a toast, which honestly made you blush. Everyone started making fun of you because you were shy and giggly.

You ended up staying until the end, when everyone had to leave to get a good night of sleep for the free practices the next day.

Race day there was a small ceremony to say goodbye to Sebastian, and it was the only part of the week that made you a little sad, even though part of you were really happy knowing he would get to spend time with his family and dedicate himself to his projects of sustainability. When the drivers made a little corridor to applaud him, Sebastian hugged you and you felt a little teary eyed.

The race was great, and you put some effort into winning that one, because you wanted to finish the season with a bang. And a bang it was, holding the P1 trophy again, kissing it and then raising it high as homage to mom.

After the season ended officially, you went straight to Woking to visit the factory and thank everyone personally for making you a car fast enough to make you the champion. Then you had a few media commitments, had to go over some marketing and legal meetings about brands deals and whatnot interested in your image.

Finally, by the beginning of December, you went back to Monaco and slept in for a few days, relaxing body and mind.

When Lando found out you were living in Monaco, he invited you to a padel match, and despite not knowing the game very well, you never said no to any form of competitive sport that could take your mind off things.

“I’ll let you know, I’m a fast learner, Landito.” You pointed when he gave you a padel racket.

“Come on, you have 20 minutes to learn the basics before our competition is here,” he said.

“Oh, we’ll be playing as duos?” You smiled, letting him lead you to the court.

Lando taught you the basics for a while, and you were getting the hang of it when you heard voices behind you. You stopped short as you noticed your competition were Charles and Max, and as they saw you, they too seemed surprised.

“Hello,” you greeted them with a nod.

Luckily Lando didn’t waste any time with pleasantries and went straight to the game. Which was great, since that was a language you could speak. You soon noticed Charles and Max had a bit more experience than you, so you had to up your game a bit, using strategy to outsmart them.

You and Lando won three games and Charles and Max won four.

As you finished, you went to the net and shook their hands. Max stared at you intensely, but you ignored him and went grab your bag.

“You’re leaving?” Lando asked, “we were going to grab a snack after.”

“Oh, um, yeah- I gotta go, I still have a lot to do around the apartment and I’m waiting for some furniture to arrive,” you gave an excuse.

“You’re living in Monaco?” Charles asked, visibly surprised at the info.

“Yeah. So, bye. Thanks for the game.” You started walking away, but Lando jogged to catch up to you.

“Hey, uh- text me when you’re free this weekend. I wanted to talk to you privately about… McLaren” he whispered your team’s name and you raised an eyebrow, you had no idea what he wanted to talk about, but you nodded.

Lando ended up coming over to your apartment Saturday afternoon, he helped you paint your living room walls a soft green, and after you finished, you were eating a few snacks when he finally said what he wanted to talk about.

“So, I know that legally we shouldn’t be talking about it, but- for how long is your new contract with McLaren?” He breached the subject. You paused.

“What? You know my contract ends by the end of next season.”

“Yeah but- the new one-”

He silenced himself abruptly, probably realizing you didn’t get a new one. You pressed your lips in a thin line. You had a contract similar to Lando’s, that would end by the end of next year. But now- now Lando had been offered a renovation, and you weren’t.

“They offered you an extension already?” You asked, shocked.

“No- I mean- It’s just-” Lando realized by your face that he had fucked up.

“Lando.”

“Yes, from 2024 on, with possible extensions,” He said, apologetically.

“Oh” you whispered.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sure they are just taking their time putting your contract together since you’re, you know, the world champion,” Lando startled rambling, until his phone started ringing, “I’m sorry, I gotta go, I’m streaming tonight and I need to set up. I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sure they’ll offer your renewal soon.”

You bid him goodbye, still processing his words. You tried to be reasonable and not be upset, but the prospect of not receiving a proposal being the world champion didn’t sit right with you. You meditated, thinking to not let that get to you, but a few days before the FIA Gala, you received a proposal from Mercedes, and another from Aston Martin. Both were great, great contracts. They offered a lot of money, security and great publicity.

The night of the Gala, you went all out. Amanda helped you hire a glam team, so you had make up, hair and stylists helping you dress. You wore a silver dress, long with a high slit on the leg, black heels, and your hair was short now, shoulder length and dyed black. You wanted a femme fatale look, and that’s what you got.

Unfortunately, Kimi and Minttu couldn’t go with you, and you didn’t bother to find a date, opting to go by yourself. When you arrived at the ceremony, all eyes were on you. You posed a little by the red carpet and answered a few questions about the championship.

During the ceremony you sat with Lewis, chatting up until the main awards were called. You watched as Charles went up the stage for the third place trophy, he was handsome wearing some designer suit and tie, and glasses that made him even more attractive. He said a couple of words, before making his way down. Then was Max, wearing a gorgeous tux, perfectly tailored to his shoulders and waist. While he was talking, you fixed the bust of your dress and waited for your name to be called alongside the words world champion.

When you got to the stairs, Max was down there, and he offered you a gentlemanly arm to help you up, you hesitated for a brief second but then accepted, letting him guide you up the steps.

Your eyes were on the beautiful trophy. The smile on your face was big, almost giddy, as you went on the stage. You kissed your trophy, leaving a red lipstick stain on the side of it, and you stopped by the mic. After a brief second to recollect your thoughts, you sighed.

“Wow! It’s such an honor to receive this as a token of my hard work and all my years facing pushback for this dream,” you smiled down at the trophy, “I’ll try and keep it brief. I know I have already said some of this, but I’d like to thank my team, not only for making this amazing car that became part of me during this season, but also for giving me a chance three years ago. Thanks to Jace and Amanda, who were such great help this year. I’d like to thank Kimi for seeing me when I was on the brink of giving up and when no scouts looked in my direction, and Minttu for taking me in as one of her own,” you put a hand on your chest, above your heart as your voice choked a little, heavy with emotion, “Thank you, Sebastian and Fernando for accepting my friendship when everyone else turned their backs on me,” you found them both around the crowd, Nando sending you a wink, and Sebastian smiling wildly, “and last but not least, I’d like to thank my mum for working hard to put a roof over my head and food on the table while I was out there hustling for my dream.”

Everyone clapped and you waited for the applause to die down. You could end your speech there, but you wouldn’t be the Lioness if you did.

“Oh, and for those who said I wasn’t gonna go far… You can suck my-” you interrupted yourself, showing your tongue cheekily, making almost everyone in the room laugh.

That night you drank, danced and sang like never before. You woke up hungover and a little blacked out, not remembering the whole night, only some glimpses of it.

You stayed the Holidays with Kimi and his family, and despite being invited by Lando to a big New Year’s Eve party, you opted for a chill celebration. You still found time to send Sebastian and his family some Christmas presents and you managed to go karting with Fernando on his track in Asturias. 

After meeting with Fernando, you went on a solo trip around Spain, visiting cities and learning a little bit about history while practicing your spanish. You also tried a few hobbies, out of curiosity. You tried playing tennis, skydiving and surfing.

Soon, you were back in Monaco to resume your training for next season and traveling to Woking to see your new car. You also sat with Amanda and your lawyer, and accepted a few brand deals, one for makeup and another for a big fashion brand. You were genuinely happy with both, you always wanted to get into fashion but never had the time or knack for it, but now with your deal, they would link you to a stylist and give you outfit options.

You entered the new season fresh, feeling good not only about your talent as a racing driver, but about your looks and new style, feeling that your championship could finally back you up.

Only if the media got the memo.

“Y/N do you believe when people attribute your championship win to Verstappen’s mistake?”

You felt fire in your throat, anger bubbling up.

“No, I believe I won the championship because I drove well the whole season. I attribute my championship to myself, my talent and my hard work,” your tone was harsh, and you didn’t even bother to sound pleasant, “I wonder if this was asked to every other Formula 1 champion of the world or just me?”

You huffed, putting your mic down, and you saw Fernando leaning towards you to whisper, “it’s good to have the Lioness back.”

It was different seeing Nando wearing green now and Sebastian’s absence was noticed from day one. He had sent you a text wishing good luck in the season.

There was also a weird shift that you noticed soon, right in the first few races. The rivalry between Max and Charles had been placated a little. They were still rivals on the track, but out of it, they were seen chatting and discussing, all in good spirits and friendly. Whatever rift had caused the tension all these years was apparently mended. So now, they were only your rivals, together against the greater evil. You.

Without a win in the first three races that season, you were sure something was wrong. Could it be your car, but it could also be you.

You came out of debriefing feeling a stress induced headache starting. You walked around the paddock aimlessly, just trying to clear your head and not face any photographer or reporter. That’s why you were around the moving boxes and trucks, trying to find a secluded spot to breathe and meditate.

Unfortunately, you ended up facing two people pressed against a wall. Frowning, you tried to understand what was going on, when you realized it was Max and Charles. Their sides were pressed on each other, but what caught your attention was that they were holding hands, whispering to each other.

You paused, trying to make sense of it. And then Max caressed Charles’ jaw. Then you decided, it was none of your business whatever they did.

Turning around, you were leaving when you stepped on something and it broke loudly. You just kept walking away, not looking back, you were almost leaving the lot when someone held your wrist, making you turn back around.

“Wait, Y/N, we- we can-” Charles’ voice failed him, visibly nervous.

“We can buy your silence,” Max added, suddenly. You frowned, shaking your head.

“I didn’t see anything,” you muttered trying to walk away, but now Max also held your other wrist.

“Say your price,” Max pressed further, making you angry.

“I don’t know what kind of psycho you take me for, but I didn’t see anything,” you say, suggestively, “I wouldn’t want someone to out me, and I wouldn’t do that to anyone else either. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Fuck,” Max whispered, letting go of your hand.

“You- you promise?” Charles asked, still not letting go of you.

“I swear on my mom’s grave.” You said softly just because you could understand their fear, you knew first hand how cruel the motorsport world could be. Whatever was going on between them was none of your business.

You left without another word, hoping they believed you. 

The season kept going, and your car wasn’t as good as the year before which was really upsetting you and forcing you to work even harder to match your quality the previous year.

But also both Max and Charles stopped publicly taunting you, making people wonder if your rivalry had ended. It was annoying because that dynamic was all that you’ve known from them, and the fact that they stopped shading you because they were scared to anger you and you eventually exposed them to the world was even more annoying. You wondered if you should talk to them, to let them know it was never coming out of your mouth.

You decided silence was the best course of action. You had enough problems with your car as it was.

Before the fifth race of the season, all the drivers were called for a meeting, to talk about a few safety measures that were being put in place for paddock safety. You sat through it quietly, only listening to the FIA representative. You knew that meeting was because of what had happened to you in Zandvoort the year before, you had taken your complaints to the FIA and miraculously, they had abided by it.

You left the meeting as soon as it was over, walking away. But then, you touched your wrist as a nervous tic.

No. No.

You noticed you didn’t have your watch with you the moment you left the building, patting your pockets to make sure it wasn’t there as you ran right back to the meeting room where the drivers debrief had been.

As soon as you entered, you saw both Max and Charles checking the watch, the monegasque was the one holding it.

“Hey, uh-” you paused, trying to not sound rude, “that’s mine, can I have it back?”

Charles looked at you with that smirk as Max moved away a few steps. Charles opened his hand in your direction, handing you the watch. But as you were to grab it, he pulled back and threw it. You froze, seeing the watching flying directly into Max’s awaiting hands behind you.

“Please, don't-” you gasped as Max pretended to throw it back to Charles. But he didn’t, he just extended his open hand to you, probably noticing the worry in your face.

Skittishly, you got closer to him and grabbed the watch from his hand. He didn’t pull away like Charles had done.

But as you pulled it back, your own hand slipped the watch, and you eyed it with horror as it hit the ground immediately breaking the crystal. You felt like your heart was breaking along with your mom’s watch.

“No, no,” you whispered, kneeling down to take it back.

“Hey, what is happ-” you heard Lewis’ voice entering the room but he stopped short as he saw you almost crying on the floor. He immediately helped you get up.

Both Max and Charles were shocked, still rooted to the spot as it was the first time they ever saw you show any kind of extreme emotion, and the pain in your eyes made both of them get filled with guilt.

You stood up still holding the watch in your hand as a fragile thing, pretty much like your heart.

“Hey, kiddo. Come on,” Lewis put an arm around your shoulders, pushing you away softly after giving the other two drivers a nasty glare.

You didn’t try to get it fixed, and you still wore it even with the crystal shattered. You knew it was a relic, vintage and probably handmade since it was generations in your family. But also you were too emotionally attached to it to get rid of the watch.

After the race, once you got a P2, finally, you went to the hotel, skipping the celebration the team wanted to throw for you but still picking the bill for their night out. 

It was late at night when you were rewatching the race, trying to see whatever mistake caused you to miss that P1 that was just within reach but you didn’t manage to take it. You were taking notes, typing in your laptop, when a knock on your door interrupted. You had already ordered room service, but sometimes Amanda did it for you if she thought you weren’t eating enough.

You opened the door to be faced with Max and Charles.

“Can we come in?” Charles asked, and confused, you opened the door wider to let them in.

“We came to apologize about the watch, we’re sorry.” Max started, looking at Charles for his cue.

“That was really immature of us, sorry,” Charles added.

“It’s alright,” you sighed, a little tired, “it’s not your fault, really. I dropped it, not you.”

“But it wouldn’t have happened if we just didn’t mess around with you.”

You sighed again, despite being sad about the watch, you didn’t really blame them for it. Charles took your hand suddenly, making you stare up at them, both of them looking at the broken watch you were still wearing. Max opened the bag and handed you a small box. It was a Rolex.

“We’re really sorry, Y/N,” he handed you the watch. You stared at the box, taking it as a sign of good faith from them.

“Thanks,” you whispered, “I was just eating, you wanna join me?”

They nodded, uncertain. They followed you to the en-suite, the most recent race paused on the TV. You closed your laptop.

“I appreciate the gesture, but-” you unclasped the watch in your wrist, handing it to Charles who was sitting closer to you, “it has emotional value, it was mum’s.”

You waited as they read the inscription, Charles gasping when he realized it had way more value to you than the stupidly expensive Rolex they managed to buy you. Running his thumb on the inscription, Max looked at you.

“I know a guy back home, he- he can fix the crystal,” Max told you, “would you trust me to take it to get fixed? It’s the least I could do.”

“You don’t have to,” you shook your head, “I don’t blame you for breaking it.”

“Please?” Max asked, and something inside you spread warmth in your chest.

“Fine,” you sighed, seeing Max pocket your watch in his bag, “please, help yourselves.”

They went to the table of room service and grabbed a bit of food. They sat around.

“You were rewatching the race?”

“Yeah, I like taking notes, seeing what I can improve…”

You closed your laptop and the TV, not wanting them to check your confidential information.

“How are you feeling this year?” Max asked, awkwardly trying to start a conversation.

“I’m alright, I guess. I mean, the car could be better,” you shrugged.

“And about your mom?” Charles looked at you intently.

“It’s grief, right?” You blinked slowly, “it comes and goes in waves. Sometimes they’re tiny waves breaking on your ankles, and sometimes it feels like you’re going to drown in them.”

There’s a brief silence, but when you meet his eyes, Charles’ eyes shine in understanding.

“I know.”

Max managed to change topics, talking about the track, the race and his impressions. Was a safe topic, lighter. You didn’t notice how, but you three ended up sitting in a small circle on the floor. Max was passionately talking about track adherence, and he was so focused on his explanation that it was actually funny. You eyed Charles, and you two bursted out laughing, which made Max stop, looking at you confused.

When you stopped laughing, sitting straight, Charles was suddenly very close. Way closer than before. His face was just a few centimeters away from yours, and it made you dizzy.

You snapped your head to Max, who was looking at you with just as much desire as Charles. He nodded to you, giving you permission.

Charles held your face and kissed you, softly and tentatively. You broke the kiss, looking from Charles’ beautiful eyes to Max’s. You watched as Max shifted closer to you, holding your jaw as he kissed you too.

You couldn’t wrap your head around what was happening, but you were very shocked and equally turned on.

Max’s hand slid from your jaw, down to your neck, and you were still wide eyed, your breathing progressively more shallow. You felt Charles behind you, his hand on your waist, pressing softly. You closed your eyes as Max slowly closed the distance between you again, and you felt his lips pressing against yours. With shaky fingers, your hands trailed beneath his shirt, up his back, nails grazing his skin. While you opened your mouth to deepen the kiss, you moaned, feeling Charles leaving open mouthed kisses to  your neck and shoulder, goosebumps rising in your skin. It was overwhelming, because they were everywhere, hands, lips and bodies stealing your breath. Everything was so hot, you felt like removing your clothes and the pulsing in your shamelessly wet panties.

“Take it off,” Max breathed after breaking the kiss, he helped the monegasque, who quickly tore your clothes leaving you only in panties. Max pushed you until your back was on the floor, and he and Charles were kneeling on each side of your body. “Charlie, come kiss her.”

Charles laid down, kissing you gently first, then deepening the kiss until you were pawing his waist and torso under his shirt. Seeing your struggle, he removed the shirt himself, while Max watched, running both hands up and down your thighs. Max suddenly pulled Charles closer, kissing him, their kiss was just as hard and messy as the kisses they had given you. Seeing the way their lips explored each other made you even wetter, and you couldn’t help but run your finger above your slit, your pussy still clothed. They removed each other’s clothes very fast.

They stopped, and Max soon removed your panties, laying between your legs. You moaned as his tongue lapped at your pussy, tentatively and Charles leaned down to kiss you again. Your heart was running insane, so fast you thought it would stop. Charles went lower and mouthed at your nipples, and you reached for his cock.

“Spit,” you ordered Charles, offering the palm of your hand. A little hesitantly, he did, a glob of spit on the palm of your hand and you grabbed his cock again, and he moaned out loud feeling the glide of your hand.

You felt one of Max’s fingers inside you, twisting so good that you had to hold his head, grinding your hips into him. The pleasure of Max working your cunt was so blinding that you lost focus on the handjob, but it didn’t deter Charles, who just decided to fuck into your hand.

You looked down, just to see Max looking straight at you through his lashes. He sucked at your clit, watching you writhe and come undone, grinding your hips on his face, wetting half of his face as he devoured you.

“Charlie will fuck you now, yeah?” Max asked as you recovered, and he carried you to the couch, positioned you on his lap, facing Charles, who just knelt between your legs.

Charles filled you up in one swift movement, and you moaned at the tight fit, melting into Max just behind you, holding you firmly, one hand on your neck, the other across your abdomen. The dutch kissed your neck, biting and sucking your skin, but his eyes trained on the way Charles’ hips started moving into you, you pulled Max’s hand that was on your neck and put it over your mouth, to muffle your moans, he pushed two fingers in your mouth and you sucked. The pressure was deliriously good, and Charles kept blabbering about how good you felt, and how warm was your cunt, and you were making him feel so good, mixed with lots of french expletives. Charles pressed further, his chest against yours as he found Max over your shoulder and kissed him. You felt Max’s hand that was between your bodies, find its way to your clit, rubbing in circles and pushing you even faster to your second orgasm, drooling over the fingers he still had in your mouth, you hips shaking so much you were rubbing Max’s cock with your ass, at the same time that Charles came crashing down, filling you up as he moaned out loud.

“My turn now, yes?” Max said, repositioning you like a ragdoll, while Charles laid down, pulling you on all fours on top of him, as Max took his turn behind you.

Charles pulled your face closer, kissing you all sloppy and open mouthed as Max filled you up to the hilt, making your knees shake. As if he knew, and he probably did, Charles held your hips up when Max started pistoning into you, fucking you so good you could only hold onto Charles and bite into his shoulders to keep yourself from being too loud.

You did not sleep that night. Max and Charles’ stamina wa otherworldly, and you three kept fucking until morning came. Sometimes you just watched them, sometimes you took one while the other rested, sometimes you took them at the same time. With them, you tried more adventurous positions than you had tried your entire life. They had a different way of finding out the workings of your body, of discovering the rhythm you liked and the sound of your moaning echoing on the walls.

The second time they slipped into your room was almost three weeks later, under the guise that they wanted to give your watch back now fixed. 

After a little chit chat Max pulled you into his lap and Charles pressed his chest to your back and in minutes you three were naked, touching and kissing and moaning into each other's mouth.

It became some sort of routine, every few weeks, they would sneak into your room, and you’d bang them any way you wanted.

Then they would stay more, bring dinner or put on a movie. They would snuggle with you in bed while the movie played, Max holding your thigh softly and you playing with Charles’ hair. It was good to unwind and forget about Formula 1.

Every day, after they left, you’d whisper to yourself.

“Don’t get too attached, Y/N. They’re your rivals.”

You didn’t want to poison all the sexy moments and all the tranquility they made you feel, but at the same time, you didn’t want to get too caught up in this. It should be fun, but it couldn’t be more than that.

Racing was never a topic of conversation between you, not only because those few hours together were sacred but also because all three of you were rivals and were in different teams, which could get very messy, very quickly.

Eventually, after Barcelona, McLaren brought a new upgrade. Which for you, it was a godsend. Finally, you could get back on your feet again. The car felt lighter and you had much more control. And in Montreal, you finally got the first win of the season. A huge weight was lifted from your shoulders and you even cried a couple of tears finishing the race first for the first time that year. And it was also the first 1-2 you and Lando had ever, which was even more reason for celebration.

You and Lando ended up closing a club for your celebration, inviting the whole team.

Max and Charles were there too, and they spent most of the night in a booth, chatting among other drivers. You knew they were watching you even pretending not to, and it was a matter of time until they had drunk enough to approach you. So you decided to not stay late and just leave.

You bid Lando goodbye quickly, telling him you were tired even if it was relatively early for a clubbing night. As you made your way to the most discreet exit, you felt a hand on your forearm, pulling you to a corner, and you were faced with both Charles and Max.

“Leaving so soon, chéri?” Charles asked, eyes glossy and probably a little tipsy.

“We came here to celebrate you,” Max said, one hand going around your waist. Wide eyed, you immediately pushed his hand away, taking a step back. They were confused.

“Not here. Too public, someone might see us, or even take pictures.”

“Don’t be like that, there is no one around now,” Charles pointed around, and granted, it was really empty on that side of the club, but anyone could walk in any moment.

“I can’t,” you shook your head, “not in public.”

“You’re ashamed of us?” Max squinted, looking into your eyes.

“I never said that. I can’t risk anything happening to my image just because I wanted to screw someone.”

“So that’s how you see us? A good fuck and nothing else?” Max pressed you further.

“Again,” you repeated slowly, your patience running thin, “that’s not what I said,” there was a tense pause and you pinched the bridge of your nose, “look, we all had more than enough to drink, and this is not the moment or the place for this conversation.”

“No, no,” Charles shook his head, “I believe you made yourself clear enough.”

With that, they walked away clearly pissed with you. Going back to the hotel, you knew there was nothing you could do at that moment to change their minds. They wouldn’t understand your point of view that easily, not only because they were drunk, but also because they weren’t a woman in Formula 1. Everyone fed off your failures like vultures, and if it leaked that you were going out not only with one, but with two other drivers, you knew you could kiss your career goodbye.

The media was never the kindest to you, and the majority of the fans weren’t either, so you knew how it would look if anyone found out about you three. They already call you slut without any knowledge of your romantic history, they would ruin your life if they were to know. And most certainly question not only your seat in Formula 1 but also your World Championship.

You just hoped you could explain that to Charles and Max when they were with clear heads.

Only you didn’t.

They never came back to your room, nor did they answer your texts.

Two entire weeks passed with only anguish gnawing at your insides, trying to reach them privately, but failing miserably. They were not only ignoring you, but also avoiding you. You couldn’t take it anymore, so in Austria, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You’d corner the first one you saw.

And that was Charles right before the drivers parade. You were the first ones to get there, which gave you some sense of privacy, well, as much as you could.

“You need to listen to me, this is a misunderstanding, Charles.”

But he straight up ignored you, not even bothering to look in your direction. With a heavy heart, you nodded, moving away from him. Making peace with the fact that maybe this was the end of your little affair. They had not understood you, and had ignored all your efforts to explain, closing the door of whatever was going on.

Resolute, you decided that maybe it was for the best. If they couldn’t understand where you were coming from, then better say farewell already. But you couldn’t help that anguishing feeling in your stomach.

It showed to be true during the race, when you were P4 fighting to get into the podium at least. Max was P3, and he fought tooth and nail to not allow you to pass, even if you had the pace to overtake him. You tried a risky move, one you had learned from Fernando Alonso. Pretend you’re going to overtake on one side, let him defend that side, then push your car to the other side and dive for the position.

You almost did the full move, but when you were going for the position, Max just pushed his car into your side, which caused you to lose control and you spun to the gravel. You just decelerated as much as you could. You left the car and went back to the pits with the help of marshals. You didn’t bother to even look into Max’s direction, feeling your eyes getting teary. You weighted with your helmet on, and only took it off inside the garage, because you didn’t want people to see you cry.

It was relatively normal to DFN because of a crash, and given the history of rivalry between you and Max, it was also very common to collide with him. What made you upset wasn’t him protecting his position, but him purposefully taking you out, like he was just getting back at you because he was angry. You had left enough space for him. Despite the overtaking maneuver being a little risky, you never once got close enough to him that you could cause an accident. He had not slipped and lost control. He had not tried to avoid you. He just ran straight into your sidepod.

“What happened today?” A reporter asked you when you went to the post race interviews.

“What is there to say? I think the images speak for themselves.” You shrugged, feeling tired but not wanting to give the media too much as to not cause a PR nightmare to Amanda.

“Seems like the FIA will investigate Max Verstappen because of today’s incident.” Someone else mentioned, and you couldn’t help but scoff.

“I’m sure they will,” you muttered, voice laced with sarcasm.

The debriefing was just as bad with your Team Principal calling you out in front of the whole team not only for damaging your car but also for putting yourself at risk like that.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, I did what any other driver would do in my position!” You sighed trying to calm down, “don’t make me quote Ayrton Senna to you. If you no longer go for a gap that exists, then you’re no longer a racing driver. You and everyone saw that Verstappen didn’t have the pace to match me, so he just plunged into me to take me out!”

God, you needed an ice bath. And maybe a new punchbag.

You were getting ready to leave when Max came up to you. You didn’t say anything to him, you honestly didn’t even want to talk to him anymore. You just wanted to go home and cry under the shower.

He was red in the face and looked distressed. You couldn’t help but feel defensive, holding your bag to your chest.

“I really don’t want to talk to you right now,” you said, trying to walk away but he blocked your path.

“Listen,” he started and the moment he raised his hand to remove his cap, it triggered you, and you flinched as if he was gonna hit you.

He stopped immediately, because he knew that was a trauma response. He knew that him being angry must have reminded you of your father growing up. He knew all that because he too, sometimes, had this kind of knee jerk reaction.

But you felt sick to your stomach. It wasn’t intentional, but it made you look like you believed he would’ve hit you, and rationally you knew he wouldn’t do that. But your stupid body did.

You avoided Max and walked away as fast as you could.

Back in the hotel you just packed your bags and left, going straight to the airport to fly back to Monaco. You were exhausted by the time you made it home, but you still took a shower and cried a couple of tears under the streaming water.

In bed, you tried to convince yourself this ending for your fling with them was for the best. It was too complicated anyway.

And you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t miss the feel of Max’s lips against your neck, or the feel of your hands pulling Charles’ hair softly. Or the way Charles used to mumble French mindlessly whenever he was concentrating on something. Or how often Max would do his maxplaining with his vast knowledge of the most random topics.

Your body was so tired but your mind just did not shut off.

You were a couple of hours into staring at the ceiling when the doorbell rang. Carefully, you went there, it was the middle of the night, so you checked the door camera to see both Max and Charles by the door.

Slowly, you opened to them. You swallowed, waiting for them to say something. You felt so vulnerable, this knot in your stomach had been tormenting you since the day they walked away.

“I’m- we’re really sorry,” Max started.

“For ignoring you and mistreating you and never once giving you the chance to explain your side,” Charles took a small step inside.

It was like a dam broke, and you ran into their embrace, sobbing. All three of you hugged, Charles with a comforting hand on your back and Max kissing the side of your head. They patiently waited for you to calm down, and then closed the door and walked you to the sofa.

“I missed you,” you murmured, holding Max’s jaw to peck his lips, doing the same to Charles, “I’m so sorry about everything.”

“Can we talk?” Charles asked, “you said it was a misunderstanding.”

You nodded, taking your phone from your room. You sat on the coffee table as you gave them your phone with your instagram profile opened.

“Check the comments on my last post,” you pointed and they sat side by side scrolling through it, the horror on their faces getting worse every second they kept going.

You knew the kind of comments you had on your profile. Hateful, hurtful comments. It had been that way since you made it into Formula 1.

“What a slut” “I bet there’s a reason why Charles hates her” “She never deserved that championship! #Retire” “Ugly bitch” “Whose dick she had to blow to get a seat?” “Overrated dumb whore” “I bet she tried to fuck her way through the grid, that’s why most of them hate her” “Max should’ve crashed into her harder”

It was nothing new to you, Kimi and your PR team had prepared you for years for this type of treatment. And you honestly had grown used to it, learning to ignore.

“This is disgusting, Y/N!” Charles exclaimed, trying to put the phone away, but Max snatched it back, still reading the comments.

“That’s just a regular Monday for me,” you shrugged, “I’m not trying to victimize myself or anything, but-”

“You are a victim, this is not okay!” Charles said.

“What I wanted to say is, I can’t risk us going public. This is what I face just for doing my job, and it would get so much worse if people ever found out. They already believe I fucked my way to the top, to them, we would just confirm their suspicions,” you felt Charles holding your hand for comfort, “it is very different for a woman. And I adore what we have, but I can't put you above my career and my dreams.”

Max extended his hand to you, and you grasped it, letting him pull you to sit between them. Charles kissed your cheek.

“We would never ask you to do such a thing,” Max said.

“I’m sorry we didn’t see what you are going through with the media and our fans.” Charles muttered, pulling your hair back with a hand, and holding your waist with the other.

“We missed you,” Max whispered against the other side of your neck.

In a couple of minutes they had you spread open on the sofa, Charles’ head between your legs and Max’s lips latched on to your nipples. They made sure to apologize orgasm after orgasm, cooing your moaning mess and kissing you stupid.

Routine went back to normal after that. You still didn’t name your affair and decided that for now, it was better this way.

With the upgraded car, you actually managed to pick up the pace and find yourself rising up the standings.

Silverstone was promising, being one of your favorite tracks, and one you knew you could win again this year. You did great both of the free practices, trying to keep your focus now more than ever, to get a chance at the championship again. There were specific races that you’d amp up your security team for safety, but Silverstone wasn’t one of them.

Qualifying day, you went to the track early morning, to meet with your team, talk about the results of free practices and your input. As you walked to your garage quietly chatting on the phone, you felt a hand on your arm, pulling you aside. You yelped, jerking around and you ended up facing the person. A man, and it took you a couple of seconds to recognize all the gray hair, but the evil eyes were still very much the same.

It had been more than a decade since you saw your father for the last time. Gasping, you took a step back to walk away, but he gripped your forearm, forcing you back.

Funny how fear worked, you hadn’t seen him for years, and you always imagined that now that you were all grown up, you’d be fearless, a big girl, brave and face your father head on. But it wasn’t how things happened. Immediately your fight or fight kicked in. Your eyes darted around, trying to catch someone you knew or someone from security.

“Let. Go.” You said, with gritted teeth.

“Is that how you greet your father?” He said, and you pulled your hand from his grasp.

“I don’t have one,” you spat, anger rising in your chest, hand in hand with fear. You wanted to bolt, to ban him from your life forever, to cry and shout all at once.

“I made you. I spent thousands investing in your career so you could be here, a little gratitude would be good,” he said with a fake smile, and it disgusted you.

“I’ll never attribute my success to you, you disgusting piece of-”

He held your face with a hand, pressing your jaw with such force that it made you stumble a step back. You gripped his wrist, trying to pull away but he pressed your face harder, pressing your head against the wall.

“Very careful how you speak to me!” He rasped, gritted teeth and all, “you little shit, you think you are better than me? I turned you into who you are! The least you own me-”

“I owe you shit!” You said, and spat on his face.

“I gave money and a house to that whore you called a mother-”

You snapped, getting a hold of the fear, and you punched him in the face, hard enough for him to get away and you get space to run. You took one single step when you stumbled into someone, and your eyes found Max.

It was a brief second between looking at you, looking behind you and recognising your father. Recovering from your punch, your father tried to get to you again, but Max stood between the two of you, pushing your father’s chest so he stumbled back. Charles arrived soon after with security, as Max explained that this man was to be escorted out and never allowed to come back.

“Chéri, are you ok?” Charles asked, seeing you taking a step back and leaning against the wall.

You nodded, trying to talk but your voice caught on your throat, trying to make sense of what was happening. Your legs gave in and you slid down until you were sitting on the floor.

“Amour, talk to me, hey-” Charles was worried, you were pale and shaking. Max also knelt down beside you, holding your face to try and see if your father had hurt you.

“Get him out,” you said, and Max nodded, going to talk with security.

“Amour-”

“Guys, there’s cameras around the corner!” Lewis showed up out of nowhere.

“I’m fine,” you managed to blurt, holding on the wall to stand up.

“Hey, hey-” Charles tried to hold your arm but you took a step back.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, walking away back into the garage.

Your mind was spinning, all over the place, and through text you told Charles and Max that you were fine and wanted to be alone. The qualifying was a shitshow. Your mind was completely all over the place, and even making it to Q2, you couldn’t go farther than P14, it felt like the car wasn’t responding to your commands.

You came out of qualy completely pissed. At your father, for showing up and ruining your good streak of races. At yourself, for letting him get to your head, for still giving him so much power over you. You walked away without a second thought, went to your room and kicked your boots off.

Press talk was another shit. You couldn’t pay attention to most questions, gave monosyllabic answers, and couldn’t explain why your qualifying performance was so bad compared to the rest of the year.

You just apologized to your team during debriefing, and silently acquiesced to whatever the strategy for the race was. Kimi had texted you asking about what happened, you didn’t want to talk to him just yet.

You were getting ready to leave for the day, when Fernando came into your room.

“I don’t want to talk, Nando,” you held your bag, not even bothering to look at him.

“Good, because I do the talking then. Go, sit down.” He pretty much ordered, his face stony and serious in a way you hadn't seen before. “What happened today?”

“I’ve got a lot going on,” it was all you said.

“Your father showed up, messed with your head and with your confidence,” Fernando said, with the certainty of someone who knew you really well. You wondered if the whole grid knew about your father’s presence today. You gulped. “Look, this is something you will master with time, but I’m going to tell you now. When you put your helmet on and get in the car, you’re a racer, nothing more. Your problems, your worries, they stay back and they never cross your mind for the entirety of the race. Out on the track, you’re one with the car, doing your best is the only thing that matters.” Fernando pressed his index finger softly to your forehead, as if he was quite literally putting it in your head, “Clear. Your. Mind.”

You sniffled, wiping the one tear that came down. Fernando’s face softened, but you knew he wanted only the best for you. And he was right. You kept giving your father this power. You handed him the power. You couldn’t keep letting him get away with it. This was the one thing you knew you were good at, your calling, your destiny and all your hard work. And you’d be damned if your father would keep a hold over your life.

“Clear my mind,” you inhaled, nodding.

You did your best to study your strategy for the day, to focus on what you could do to achieve the best result. 

Early the next morning, you went to the FIA, to request access to the camera footage to find images of the altercation between you and your father the day before. The representative you talked to was initially reluctant but once you told him what had happened, he was quick to help you. You explained that it was for the better that none of that came to light, and hopefully you could get your father to be completely banned from Formula One. The representative prepared a report and assured you that your complaint would be taken seriously and they’d work on the matter as fast and as discreetly as possible.

You went to meet your team and go over and over plan A, B and C. When you got in the car, ready to race, you still hadn’t talked with Max or Charles, and you were hopeful to catch them after. Attaching the helmet, you breathed in, slowly, remembering Fernando’s words.

Clear your mind.

You raced like there was no tomorrow, only thinking of the next turn and the next car you had to overtake, you didn’t think of who it was or when, you just did it. In the future, that race was going down in history as a masterclass in overtaking and taking every little opportunity thrown your way. The time passed really fast, and when you came to be, you heard Jace screaming in your ears that you had made it. You had made it to P1 and taken the checkered flag.

Your voice was shaky as you thanked the team and Jace on the radio.

When you left, running towards your team, they congratulated you and despite the great desire to run towards Max and Charles, who were on the podium with you, you somehow managed to find Fernando. You ran towards him, jumping in his arms, not even minding the way your helmets hit with a loud thud. He hugged you, removing your feet from the ground.

“Thank you! Gracias, muchas gracias, Fernando!” You shouted hoping he could hear you with both visors up.

He patted your shoulder as you had to run back to get weighted and to post-race interview. 

“Wow, I’m at a loss for words right now! You were a true Lioness during this race! Can you tell us what happened after the difficult Qualy yesterday?” Jenson Button was the one to ask.

“I was in a difficult place yesterday, and I’m very thankful for a pep talk Fernando Alonso gave me, that helped me get back into my jam!” You said, breathless, wiping sweat from your forehead, “I’m also grateful to my team for making the car that matched my energy and focus today!”

“And what did Fernando tell you?” Jenson asked, probably out of curiosity.

“Well, I can’t go out telling my secrets, can I? My rivals are all around!” You winked, and left a laughing Jenson behind.

In the cooldown room, where Max and Charles were already watching a montage with all your overtakes on a screen, you walked up to Charles, taking his hand. He looked a little concerned as you had agreed to keep your relationship private. Max joined, patting a hand on your back, and the three of you made a little triangle.

You looked at them with so much adoration, that it hit Max right in the chest and he wanted nothing more than to hold your face and kiss you silly. Charles held his breath for a brief second, being in the moment with the two of you.

“You were brilliant, today,” Charles muttered, low and hoping no mic would catch the sound.

“Unbelievable, Lioness.” Max also said with a discreet wink, then taking a step back and interrupting the moment.

That wasn’t your first podium, nor your first win, but something was different when you kissed the trophy and raised it to the sky. You felt like you’d taken back control of your life and your career. There was nothing that could actually stop you if you put your mind to it, and you knew now. You shitty father couldn’t squander your dreams when you were fourteen, and he couldn’t do it now either. You were so much bigger than him, greater than that pathetic man could ever be.

And you didn’t need him.

You had a mother that, despite not being there anymore, but she’d always be in your heart, a constant source of strength and faith. You had Kimi, who believed you when no one else did, who put his own hand over fire for you. You had Fernando, Seb and Lewis, your idols in this sport, and such good friends. You had Charles and Max, your lovers, and hopefully your future.

That night, as you were laying down in your suite, sandwiched between the two men that stole your heart, came the email with your renewal contract proposition. A five year offer, possible extensions, to make you the face of your McLaren.

You made love with Charles and Max with renewed energy, enjoying yourself and the feel of their love for you. It was just the assurance you needed to say the words.

“I love you. I love you two very much,” you whispered, running your hand through both their hairs, “I can’t promise much right at this moment, like a normal, public, relationship yet, but I do love you.”

“We know. We love you too.” Max whispered and Charles took your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“We love you too much to risk you facing awful dangerous things just so we could call you ours publicly,” Charles agreed.

That year, you didn’t get a second championship as you had dreamed, but you proudly stood with your P2 trophy during the FIA’s Prize Giving Ceremony, your chest swelling with pride as you watched Charles’ beaming face with the P1 trophy.

There was some renewed sense of purpose in yourself as you held the trophy, and in your heart, this one meant just as much as the champion trophy you had gotten the year before. This year you had overcome all the demons that had controlled you for a long time, this year you had not only learned to live with the undying love for your mom, but you had also learned about new forms of love. You had somehow rekindled that love for racing, for believing you were the best and could prove it amidst adversity.

And of course, many adversities were still to come, but now you were sure you had in yourself the power to face them.

When the next season started, you had your eyes on the prize.

Even spending a great amount of winter break with your boyfriends, they were still your rivals on track.

You were fixing your suit on the pitlane when they walked up to you.

“I hope you know this championship is mine,” Max said with a smirk. You caught his playful tone fairly quickly.

“Well, I am the current champion of the world, so we’ll see about that,” Charles crossed his arms.

“Boys, no crying when I leave the both of you eating dust, yeah?” You added, biting back a giggle.

“Baby, go easy on us,” Max joked, and you shook your head.

“Never going easy on my rivals,” You added with a whisper, “not even when they’re my handsome boyfriends.”

“See you after the finish line,” Charles winked, and they both walked away.

“Hope you enjoy the view of my rear!” You said, and they left, laughing.

Always rivals, but much more than that.

NOTE: If you want to know why I chose to end the story this way, or have any questions about the characters future, or any random headcanons, drop by my inbox and I'll try to answer most! Thank you so much for the support in this little adventure! Thank you to everyone who dropped a little ask/message asking for more, I'll try and answer you if I haven't yet! (also, sorry if i missed any tag)

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[ozzgin]

Hii I was wondering if u could do a yandere Kazuya x yn x yandere Daitou I’m not sure if u do character x yn x character tho

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader Spinoff

Two yakuza men who have fallen in love with their new foreign tenant. A what-if spinoff to the original story for that love triangle spice. Happy Valentine's Day!

Content: female reader, NSFW, organized crime, obsessive behavior, violence, BDSM themes (choking), threats

Credits: My boyfriend for giving me the Daitou smut idea

[Main Story] | [General Headcanons]

Kazuya is sitting on the sidewalk, checking his watch occasionally and tapping his foot. The cigarette seems to have been forgotten, hanging lowly from his lips.

"Sorry I'm late." Daitou speedily makes his way towards his friend, smiling awkwardly.

"Where the fuck were you, man? We don't know how much time we have before the cops arrive."

"Uh uh, leave it to me." The cheeky grin doesn't leave his face as he pulls out his gun and carefully but swiftly inspects the barrel and safety one final time. "(Y/N) needed some help with the mailbox. I couldn't just say no, ya know?"

The blonde man's eyebrows raise for a second, but he quickly recollects himself.

"I see. That's good."

"She asked me to show her the area tomorrow, so I'll be working extra hard tonight. Hehe."

"That's good."

Daitou glances at Kazuya, somewhat wary.

"You okay?"

Stupid question. What's he supposed to answer? Yeah, he loves waiting like a dumbass while his friend flirts with the new tenant, who conveniently happens to be a cute foreigner, who's been unexpectedly nice and relaxed around them despite them explicitly stating they're part of the Japanese mafia. Fucking hell. It doesn't help that this idiot is as obvious as a blaring, blinding cluster of ads smack in the middle of Kabukicho. He can tell from miles away that Daitou's completely fallen for her. Just like that, in an instant.

They've been partners and best friends for years now, so the natural reaction would be happiness, right? Daitou has always been one scary motherfucker. Even the seniors scramble when he's in the room, let alone women. For him to find someone that isn't bothered the slightest by his appearance or background should be a celebratory occasion. Kazuya should be rooting for him. Except, well, he fell for you just as hard. Tough luck.

The Bushido moral code, often used as guidance within their own lifestyle, covers matters such as loyalty and honesty quite extensively. A true warrior remains fiercely faithful to his master or companions. And yet, love interests are more of a grey area, especially if they happen to overlap. Who dictates the proper etiquette for this dilemma? To whom is loyalty directed towards? Truth be told, Kazuya couldn’t care less. He’s always been a man of vice, impulsive and greedy. If he wants something, he takes it.

The trouble starts when the other person is of the same mindset. Two ferocious predators eyeing the same victim.

***

You fiddle next to the tall, dark-haired man. Similarly, Daitou is avoiding eye contact, looking around in hopes of finding something to focus on. It’s the first time he’s come over since the incident. After his little mission with Kazuya, he was tasked to “interrogate” some of the remaining members to get even more names for the hitlist. He’d completely forgotten about his promise to show you the neighborhood. Hands sticky with blood, he was in the middle of his signature act of benevolence, putting the lad out of his misery.

It was around that time you decided to be the one picking him up instead, for your grand tour. Your knocks on the door remained unheard, however, so you decided to politely make your way in.

“Sorry, I hope I’m not-”

You froze in place. A man (you assumed at least based on the few visible traits left), tied up on the chair, canvas bag roped around his head. Daitou’s hands were secured around his throat. In the few seconds of silence, you could hear a muffled wheezing, as the stranger’s chest heaved in short convulsions.

“-intruding.” You mumbled, regaining your speech.

He messed up, didn’t he? Daitou sighs and slicks his hair back. He can’t blame you if you’re now terrified of him. He had to come over for some tenant checkups and you’ve been maintaining a safe distance from him during his entire visit. What can he possibly tell you? “Hey, I know I threatened to chop you up and you’ve now witnessed firsthand I’m a legit murderer, but, uh…I have a crush on you? Dinner at seven?”

You’re terrified alright, but not of his deeds. Rather, your newly discovered perversion as a consequence of the gory scene. It’s not that you relished in the torment of another. It’s the other details that left you reminiscing. Daitou’s imposing frame, the unbuttoned shirt revealing his traditional tattoos glistening in beads of sweat, his flexed, brawny arms, and large hands. You’re scared of your shamelessness. It can’t be normal. Yet you can’t stop thinking about it. Just a glimpse into this memory and your cheeks become burning red.

“I’ll be on my way then”, the yakuza announces politely.

Though he immediately stops in his tracks, and you realize you’ve unconsciously grabbed onto his sleeve. Uh oh. What now? You mumble an apology without releasing your hold. Being this close to him makes your heart drum inside your chest.

To hell with it.

“I might say something terribly inappropriate right now, but…”

“Sorry?” He stares at you, dumbfounded.

“Do you have anything planned after this?” You ask quietly.

“N-no?”

“Would you mind staying over?”

“Huh? Sure…w-what for?” His mouth is dry, and he searches your eyes in confusion.

“You know…” Choke me until I pass out and such, you think to yourself sarcastically.

He turns to face you, lips pursed awkwardly.

“You’ll have to be clear with me, Miss (Y/N). I’m not good with all this tiptoeing around and I might get the wrong idea.”

Your ears perk up hearing his final words, a deep blush now spreading over your flustered features.

“What wrong idea?”

Daitou fidgets with his glass prosthetic nervously.

“Well, uh, a man can only dream, ya know? Especially around a cute girl like you.” He reveals with a stutter.

“Suppose I’d be willing to go along with anything on your mind. What then?” You twirl your hair, gazing shyly at the floor. Not even you can believe the audacity leaving your lips.

The tall man steps before you, towering above with a certain gleam in his eye. It’s yearning. Your knees weaken.

“Don’t tease me, please. I can hardly control myself around you as it is.”

You release his sleeve and instead cling onto his shirt with both hands, looking up through your lashes.

“I’m dead serious.”

He ponders his next move with a click of the tongue, then cups your cheeks between his hands and lowers himself until his hot breath tickles your nose.

“Are you? There’s no going back after this. Can you handle it?” His voice is suddenly deeper, raspier.

Before you can respond, you feel yourself lifted and you yelp, surprised, instinctively wrapping your limbs around the yakuza. In between the greedy kisses that leave your lips bruised and swollen, you don’t notice the movement back towards the seating area.

As you pull away to gasp for air, he throws you onto the couch, flipping you over in the process so that you’re kneeling away from him. Your nails dig into the soft fabric of the sofa. You hear Daitou unbuckle his belt and you squeeze your legs together, heavily aroused. He presses his palm gently into your back, arching it. You sense his fingers grazing over your core and you whimper.

“G-go on, please.” You beg, swaying your hips tentatively. “I really can’t wait anymore.”

“As you wish, Miss.” He reassures you with a grin.

He adjusts himself and carefully makes his way in. You don’t have time to enjoy the feeling; following almost instantly is his belt looped around your neck, tightening under his grip as he pulls the ends towards him. Your head is forced back, and you groan. You can hear the leather stretch and creak over your assaulted skin, the constriction briefly cutting your oxygen intake. Hot drool trickles down your chin and your eyes almost roll back in pleasure.

“Look at my little Miss (Y/N), taking it like a champion.” He bends over and bites your earlobe playfully. “Does that mean I can be as rough as I want?”

You nod erratically.

The grip around your throat intensifies and your vision becomes blurry.

“Hey, don’t pass out now.” He inserts two fingers in your mouth, pulling you by the cheek and tilting your head to look him in the eye. “Not before you show me that you understand your situation. You’re mine. Is that clear?”

He drags his fingers downwards, aiding your response as you struggle to contract your muscles.

“Attagirl.” He concludes, satisfied.

In the morning you wake up with a dreadful soreness, and you can quickly see why. Your body is peppered in bruises. Daitou is smoking by the window and promptly flicks his cigarette out once he realizes you’re no longer asleep.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” He begins, remorseful, and squats in front of the bed. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

“I will need a day or two to recover before the next time, but otherwise I’m fine.”

He beams with delight upon registering your words: next time. You can’t help but snicker at his childish enthusiasm. It’s a mystery how Daitou can switch between ruthless killer and cute partner with such ease.

Although it’s no secret, really. It’s you.

***

“Thanks for driving me home, Kazuya.”

You smile and unbuckle your seatbelt, reaching for the door handle. Daitou has been busy with work for the past days, so Kazuya took his place in looking after your needs.

“Huh?” You rattle the grab handle one more time to make sure. “It’s still locked.”

The blonde raps the wheel impatiently with his fingers. Is he to silently accept his loss? Does it even count as a loss when he hasn’t even had the chance to present his piece? Daitou has been quiet about it, but he can read that bastard like an open book. Something definitely happened between the two of you and the mere thought drives him insane.

Ah, this is so unlike him. There are few things he cares about. His pride, his Family’s honor, his freedom. Women aren’t exactly on that list, yet somehow, you’ve snuck your way to the very top of priorities and he’s realizing it just now. It’s becoming harder to ignore his maddening urge to have you. Out of all the things…He’d give Daitou the world. But not you. He can’t. He can’t.

“Kazuya? Are you listening? You forgot to unlock the door.”

“Say, (Y/N) …ever fucked in a car before?”

“What?” You ask, baffled.

“Come here for a moment.” He swiftly slides his seat all the way back and pats his thigh.

“Are you out of your mind?”

He answers your inquiry by pulling out his handgun and lazily pointing it towards you.

“I’m only going to ask once.”

You clumsily climb over the center console, straddling the yakuza with a slight pout.

“Someone’s in a sour mood, that’s for sure”, you complain. “It’s not even loaded.”

“Even I’m not crazy enough to risk shooting my Princess.” He smiles apologetically, throwing the gun on the backseat. “I thought it’d be more threatening that way.”

He removes a strand of hair from your face, gazing at you intently. His hand lingers for a second, before sliding its way down, tracing the side of your body. You shiver.

“Can you truly blame me when there’s such a pretty girl right before my eyes?” The blonde exhales and focuses on your shirt instead. “Won’t you let me prove myself?”

From this distance, despite the dim lights, you can discern his features in agonizing detail. His long lashes, his fleshy lips, currently parted, the luscious locks of hair casually thrown back. Kazuya has always been effortlessly handsome. It’s not just his good looks, but his overflowing charisma. He always knows exactly what to say and do. A devilish power to have over people, and you’re presently his victim.

His slender fingers play with your first button and cheekily undo it. You can only observe it, entranced. Your legs are weak, and your arms are stuck in place, resting limply over his broad shoulders.

“May I?” He glances up at you with a pleading expression. “I won’t be able to hold back afterwards.”

You bite your lower lip, distracted. Whether or not this is a wise choice, you can’t currently tell. You squirm in his lap and suddenly feel the pressure coming from below.

“Go ahead.” You finally confess.

He doesn’t hesitate and slithers his hand underneath your shirt, popping the rest of the buttons open. Like a hungry animal that has stumbled upon a feast, he sinks his teeth into your neck, leaving mean, wet kisses on his way down.

One hand is greedily kneading your curves, encouraged by your soft whimpers, while the other strokes your thigh in anticipation. With a bit of readjustment, he finds the right spot between your trembling legs. You jolt at the sensation of his cold fingers.

“My, you’re already dripping. How lewd.” He whispers between breaths. “Do you want it now?”

He nonchalantly slips out and undoes his own pants. You lift yourself expectantly and let a moan escape your lips upon feeling the erection throbbing right below.

“Well then, can’t forget our manners, can we?” He announces, visibly excited. “What should I do?”

You glare at him, feverish.

“Stop teasing me.”

“Come on, be a good girl. Tell me what to do and I will do it, Love.”

Why, this…You lower yourself to his ear and answer in a lulled whine.

“Isn’t it obvious? I want you to fuck me.”

Words enough to send the blonde man over the edge. He abruptly clutches your thighs for support, easing himself in before continuing with increasingly aggressive thrusts. Husky whimpers roll out of his mouth, desperate and starved.

“Oh, I’ve waited so long for this. My darling, perfect little (Y/N).” He presses his forehead into your chest, indulging in the moment. “Now say that you’re mine. Please. Please say it.”

“I’m…ah…I’m all yours, Kazuya.” You manage to blurt out, growing dizzy.

“That’s my girl. Such a good girl.”

Once the deed is finished, you flop your head over his chest, trying to catch your breath. Kazuya smoothens your clothes meticulously, holding you with one arm for support. Can’t leave a lady all disheveled, after all.

“Won’t Daitou be upset?” You point out, somewhat anxiously.

His muscles are tense for a second and he furrows his brows.

“That’s one strange way to thank me for making you come at least twice. Mentioning another man’s name.”

“I’m just…” your words trail off.

“What? Worried? You think I can’t handle it or something?”

Far from the truth. Both Kazuya and Daitou are violent, dangerous men. Given their stubbornness, you’re rather certain they’d end up killing each other. Not your favorite outcome.

“I don’t want either of you to get hurt.”

He sighs loudly.

“I’ll tell you what. Under normal circumstances, I’d probably dismember whoever had the guts to even entertain the idea of meddling with you. But…just because it’s Daitou, I might be willing to share. Nothing more than that.”

Kazuya ruffles your hair and chuckles.

“Aren’t you glad I’m such a diplomat, Love?”

“More like batshit crazy, both of you.” You retort, stretching.