#team dark headers

[coracat]

⌗ ₍ ˆ｡ꞈ｡̂₎ฅ 💬 :: 𝗵𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗈, 𝗍𝗁𝗲𝗿𝖾!! ✧ look some sonic (mostly knuckles) headers for you! © official art.

. : 🗯️ ⌗ favorite or reblog if you like it/use it, enjoy!! (⁠ʃ⁠ƪ⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠）

[wichuclub]

NCT WISH RIKU LAYOUTS

Like if you use/save [do not repost]

[transbee]

↖️ Okay I've been Picture Of A Cat for roughly 5 years. Does anyone remember when I was team skull grunt. or bumblebee transformers. or data star trek.

[mv1simp]

Slow Down♥️

Max Verstappen x Driver!Reader (SocialMedia!AU)

I’m so down if you’re ready, I’ll show you if you let me, girl (she said fuck me like I’m famous, I said okay)

You and Max Verstappen are very well known in the media, for having one of the most volatile rivalries in the sporting world. But Ferrari’s Princess and Redbull’s Mad Max send shockwaves through the paddock when your PR teams confirm you’re officially dating. The public have a hard time believing it…until your sex tape gets leaked on Twitter a month later. Social Media!AU

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, trying my hand at a SM! AU for the first time!!, dom! Max and switch! Reader, size kink, sexism, max being a feminist king

Everyone always said there was a thin line between love and hate. Frankly, you find it to be sexist bullshit, rolling your eyes everytime some interviewer or your friends or trainer would make some sly comment about so what’s going on between you and Max, with a suggestive wiggle of their eyebrows. Nothing, just him trying to run me off the track repeatedly and giving me 4 bruised ribs in Singapore when he clipped me illegally, you say with an annoyed tone. You know that if you were a man, and not the first female driver in decades in F1, you wouldn’t be getting randomly shippedwith all the drivers. And for gods sake, Verstappen off all people was the most laughable idea. The man was either being a violent menace on the track or an immature twelve year old off it, you think vehemently. You two had stayed well out of each others way in your Haas seat last year, with you leading the mid pack in the suboptimal car but Max remaining well out of reach at the front of the pack. But this year, you’d earned yourself a Ferrari seat and were ecstatic to finally be able to compete for a WDC.

That was, until you and Max Verstappen suddenly started to keep getting caught in each others crosshairs. What started as polite indifference between two coworkers blew up into a PR frenzy, with you and Max completing for the top step in the podium every race weekend. He thought you a reckless driver, getting lucky in a rocket ship this year and trying to sink her claws into something she can’t handle. You thought him over arrogant, a man who couldn’t handle losing to a girl, his fragile ego unable to handle losing a 4th WDC to a Ferrari driver who was only in her second F1 season.

And then, two months out from the end of the season, everything changed between you and Max. On a night out in Monaco with your friends, celebrating being home from triple headers, you’d had the unfortunate experience of being cornered by some drunk, sexist creep who thought he was entitled to touch you. He’d been stronger than you expected, pinning you in a dark alleyway and you just when you starting to freak out, Max of all people practically threw the guy off you. He’d angrily spat at the drunk to pick on someone his own size or he’d break his jaw next time, before leading you to his car with a gentle hand. Normally, you found Max’s far larger frame to be annoying, another way for him to intimidate you when he glared downwards. But that night you couldn’t help but be grateful for the muscular, tall man and his attentive blue eyes as you willingly follow him with wide, doe eyes.

The ride home had been silent, you nervously clutching the large sleeves of the hoodie Max had given you from his backseat. And when you’d thanked him for his help, saying you appreciate him looking out for you even though he hated you, he looked at you with genuine surprise. I don’t hate you, he’d said. Well, I suppose we have had our differences on the track. You snickered at this, muttering that’s one way of putting it. Max chuckled, making you peer at him curiously as you’d never heard him do that in your presence. He was actually very handsome, you noted, without an angry scowl on his face or that Redbull helmet covering him. Then you tell your tipsy brain to shut up because where the hell had that thought suddenly come from?!

But really, I think you’re a pretty amazing girl off the track, Max continued. It must be hard being the only female driver, but you always have something good to say to the dumb interview questions you get. And I’m not going to stand by and let any woman be felt up by some creep. Even if it’s the Princess of Ferrari, he adds with a smirk. You rolled your eyes at this, stepping out of his car as you reach your apartment. And when you offer him his hoodie back, he tells you to keep it. You can use it to stay warm at the next race - it’s Brazil, very rainy. Did I mention I’m called the rainmaster, incidentally? You burst out laughing at his lack of subtlety, and he smiles at having distracted you, making the scared look in your pretty doe eyes from earlier disappear. Fuck off, Verstappen, you giggle, and for once your words have no real bite.

By the time your second F1 season is over, and you’re receiving your trophy for the world championship at the Prizegiving Gala, the first female to do so, you and Max Verstappen have became good friends. Maybe something more, from all the time you’ve started spending together off the track gaming, playing padel, and going out drinking. You were far too afraid to ever say something to him, knowing the media response to the first female driver dating a fellow driver would be absolutely brutal. Besides, you had no idea if Max remotely felt the same way about you - his type seemed to be pretty models, not aggressive drivers who spent half her time plotting his downfall.

You’re surprised when he finds you at the after party, late into the night, where everyone is too plastered to note that the fallen Redbull champion is taking the winning Ferrari Princess to a private level on the yacht. If you think I’m going to apologise for breaking your winning streak, you can try again, you announce dramatically as you grin at him, 5 drinks in and pink lips loosened, letting him know you were jesting. Wouldn’t have it any other way, Princess, Max hums, coming to stand so close to you that your heart rate quickens when you feel warmth radiating from the taller, muscular driver. Besides, I’ll be taking the cup next year, anyways. Enjoy the high while you can, he says in his Dutch accent, all cocky.

You let out an outraged gasp at this, forgetting how close you two already are as you step towards him, accusing hand pressed against his firm chest. But before you can say anything, Max’s gorgeous blue eyes drop down to where your manicured nails are touching his pecs. And then he looks down further, to where your plush tits have pressed up against his abs, your cute red corset minidress pushing your cleavage up temptingly. There’s no mistaking the dark desire that swirls in his intense gaze as he looks back into your wide doe eyes. And then he’s leaning in, finally, you think, and then your brain wakes up and you remember who’s in front of you. We can’t, Max, you say breathlessly, dazed by how attractive he looks when turned on. Why not, the Dutchman demands, cocky as usual. You don’t want this, Princess? His large hand brushed your jaw, tilting your face upwards when you try to look away. Your breath hitched from the contact, and you’re sure he can feel how fast your carotid pulse is beating. It’s-it’s not that I don’t want to, you say with a blush, making a pleased smirk appear on Max’s lips. But I’m the only female driver on the grid, the public would tear me apart if they found out I hooked up with another driver on the grid-

Fuck what anyone else thinks, Max says passionately, the familiar spark of defiance in his eyes. I know the fallout from something like this would be much harder for you as a woman than me, and I waited till after the championship fight finished. No one can contest you didn’t win the cup with your own sheer skill. But now that it’s finished, I can’t hold back anymore. Your jaw drops from Max’s heated confession, never having guessed the handsome blonde would reciprocate your buried romantic feelings. And I don’t mean some one night stand or summer fling, he continued boldly. I want to be your boyfriend, I want you all to myself properly.

You must have had too many G&Ts, you hear yourself say distantly, cause you’re not even a little bit cute and shy like you normally are off the track, Verstappen. He smiles gently, knowing you were using humour to deflect from the swirling emotions within you. Maybe, he murmurs, bending down to rest his forehead against yours. Or maybe you look so fucking gorgeous in this red dress I knew I couldn’t hide how I feel anymore. When he feels your hand graze his chest, pulling him just a bit closer, he knows what you want. Pressing the gentlest of kisses to your glossed lips, he pulls back to make sure you still wanted more.

But he didn’t need to have any doubts, because you’re staring up at him sultrily, desire having darkened your own wide, doe eyes. This time you’re pulling him back onto your lips, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders so that there’s not even a millimetre of space between you too. He groans against you as the months of tension come to a head, the two of you languidly exploring each others’ mouths with your tongues.

Even if you’d woken up the next morning regretting your decision, there was no way you could turn down Max’s offer of a relationship. Because even if you had still hated him, the sex that night on the yacht has been so incredibly mind blowing, by far the best orgasm you had ever experienced, that you knew you’d never meet anyone who could fuck you so perfectly again. So you hesitantly said yes, let’s try this for real, Max over a late hungover brunch the next morning. The rest had been history - the two of you had spent the last 7 months in a secret relationship, not wanting the chaos of the media to ruin your relationship before it could even start properly. Max has proven time and time again you’d made the right decision saying yes, being the perfect boyfriend, dedicated to all your needs and wants, spoiling you endlessly and making you laugh whenever you had a bad day.

Sometimes things were hard, of course. Like when you two had tensions during a race, your private relationship doing nothing to dampen the competitive spirit you both shared. But you’d both make up after, whether it be with a long debrief and strategy talk on how to avoid an incident next time - or your personal favourite, some angry make up sex. Like you’d suspected, Max was an absolute sex god and you two enjoyed a very healthy sex life, exploring each others kinky preferences. So when you’d have to be away from each other for long periods, busy with planning and meetings at your separate team bases, your boyfriend came up with a solution once the nudes and phone sex didn’t quite hit the same.

Filming yourselves during sex seemed like a certain recipe for disaster, given how famous the two of you are and the consequences of anything got leaked. But the temptation was too great as weeks drag on without the touch of your boyfriend - so you agreed, just this once, to try it out.

Well, that had certainly been the plan. But the video had been so so nice to watch again and again anytime your pussy ached for Max that you can’t resist making more. And then last month when your teams had finally given the okay for an official announcement on your relationship, and the media response had overall been surprisingly positive, you two get too comfortable and Max accidentally sent the video over DM to you, instead of the encrypted chat you normally use.

And that was when shit hit the fan.

No, Max, go away, I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to see anyone ever again! The blonde Dutchman sighs he leans his head against the closed bathroom door with a worried expression on his face. You’ve locked yourself in his Monaco penthouse’s bathroom for the past 4 hours, not coming out despite how much he’s pleaded. Please, schatje, he tries again. I know it’s bad, but we’ll get through it together. Twitter had already banned any links of the video and both your PR teams are doing damage control and so many of the grid drivers and journalists were calling out the website that had leaked the tape. Please, I just want to see you, you can’t be locked in there forever and reading all the stuff online alone.

When you don’t reply, only sniffling through the door, he sighs again and slides down the door, making himself comfortable. A few minutes later he hears the door unlock and your red, crying face peeking through. Oh, schatje, he croons soothingly as you drop down into his arms and bury your face in his thick neck. He rubs soothing circles along your back as you sniffle that Everyone’s saying such horrible things, Maxie. How am I going to face going on the paddock ever again?

He reassures you firmly that you two would go hand in hand, united on the paddock with your heads held high, because you’ve done nothing wrong. He’d been doing the media game a lot longer than you and knew this scandal, like everything else, would get blown over with time. After your quiet sobs settle with his comforting words and tight hug, you pull back to look at him and apologise for shutting yourself away and not checking in on him. It’s your leaked tape too, you say anxiously. How are you feeling about it, baby?

He eases your concern again, telling you honestly that in the grand scheme of things, although it was a little mortifying he’s had worse in the media. Besides, it’s gonna be satisfying to crush whichever little fucker leaked the vid, he says vehemently. Any anyone who’s saying any bullshit sexist comments about you sleeping your way into F1 or anything is getting hit with a defamation lawsuit from legal, he declares, making your heart swell from his protectiveness. You still aren’t convinced, though. Are you sure, Max? I remember in that particular video, you can’t see much of my body but there’s definitely a lot of shots of your…

Dick? Your boyfriend finishes with a deadpan expression, That’s fine. Besides, I’ve nothing to be embarrassed about. You know the hashtag Verstappen’s third leg is trending on Twitter now? You giggle at his nonchalance, making Max smile at seeing you cheered up. You’ve finally having processed what happened enough to maybe see a bit of humour in it. True, I suppose it could have been worse, you muse. The Las Vegas video could have been the leaked one. Imagine how batshit the fans would have gotten if they saw the handcuffs were for you, not me. Max laughs genuinely, blue eyes looking fondly at your mischievous expression. The familiar Ferrari fire he adored was back in your own pretty doe eyes.

Or worse, the Barcelona one, you tease as you lead him to the kitchen to start making dinner. Scrolling through hundreds of posts and spiralling was calorie consuming work. I think Twitter would have shut down if they found out Max Verstappen likes being called daddy in the bedroom.

Your boyfriend’s face goes adorably pink as he stammers at your unexpected roast. Hey-hey now, schat, that was just one time okay? You’d just accidentally said it and it caught me off guard-

You grin playfully, giving him a kiss on the cheek because he looked too cute to resist. Sure, baby, so off guard you lasted 5 seconds after that. His face goes even pinker, reaching the tips of his ears now as he shyly looks away. For all his fierceness on the track, you loved how sweet the Dutch Lion was off it. Giggling, you put him out of his misery by handing him a knife and tell him to get to work chopping the tomatoes. You knew no matter what came your way, you would be fine with Max by your side.

—————————————————————————

A/N: okkk so what did u guys think at my first attempt at a social media AU ahaha. You know I love to yap I fear I included too many Twitter screenshots, I ALWAYS GET CARRIED AWAY. Anyway this was super fun pulled me right out of my writers block!!! Hope u enjoy xx

[theonottsbxtch]

MISS YOU BABY | MV1

an: i need a hug from max verstappen stat, based off this request! thank you for sending it :)

summary: max thought his girlfriend was missing his final race during his triple header, little did he know she'd planned to come and visit all along.

wc 3.6k

The hotel room she was in was quiet.

She sat cross-legged on the bed in a dark hotel room that mirrored his, only three floors below, making sure he couldn’t see her surroundings. Her phone was propped up against a pillow, and Max’s face filled the screen, his hair still damp from the shower, tousled and messy. He looked worn-out but managed a small, tired smile just for her.

"I’m sorry, Max. I really tried to get time off, but there was just… no way," she said, the fib slipping from her lips with surprising ease. "I wanted to be there with you. Especially now."

Max exhaled, leaning back against his headboard. “I know. It’s alright.” His voice softened. “I just miss you, is all. It’s been a rough couple of weeks.”

She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek, wishing she could reach through the screen and wrap her arms around him. "You’ll get through it, though. You always do."

"Doesn’t feel that way." He laughed, but it was brittle around the edges. “I feel like I’m letting everyone down. The team, the fans… you.” His eyes searched the screen, as if he might find a solution hidden somewhere in her gaze.

"Never me." She leaned closer, her face so near to the camera that she could see her reflection in his eyes. "I’m so proud of you, Max. Always. No matter what."

For a moment, he just looked at her, his expression softening, and the tension she’d seen in his face for days seemed to melt, just a little. "I wish you were here," he murmured. "I swear, you’re the only thing that keeps me sane sometimes."

She swallowed, feeling her heart pull toward him with a force that was hard to resist. "Soon, I’ll be back with you. Just… hold on a bit longer, okay?”

She gazed at his face on the screen, her heart swelling as she watched the way his eyes softened every time he looked at her. She knew he was tired and worn down, but in this moment, he looked at peace.

"I love you, Max," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

He closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him, and when he opened them again, there was a warmth there that seemed to cut through the miles between them. "I love you, too," he replied, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "More than you know."

She tucked her hair behind her ear, feeling her cheeks flush, and nodded. "Get some sleep, alright? Big day tomorrow."

He grinned. "Yeah, yeah. You, too. Dream about me, okay?"

She laughed, rolling her eyes, but her heart skipped all the same. "Always. Goodnight, Max."

"Goodnight, love."

With a final smile, she ended the call, letting the screen go dark as she leaned back into the pillows, her heart fluttering with anticipation. She’d hardly been able to sleep on the plane ride here, and she could already tell tonight would be the same.

Still, the thought of finally seeing him in person tomorrow kept her too giddy to care. She’d surprise him at the track, slipping through the garage just as he arrived, or maybe even at breakfast if she could manage it without spoiling the surprise. Her mind spun with ideas, each more elaborate than the last, but all she really wanted was to see his face light up when he realised she was there.

Pulling the covers up to her chin, she let her eyes drift closed, replaying the moment over and over in her mind, savouring the thought of his reaction. She loved him fiercely, and she knew that being here—no matter how much of a secret she’d had to make it—was exactly where she was supposed to be.

As she finally began to drift off, her last thought was simple but bright, shining like a promise: Tomorrow, he’ll know.

And while she was glad she held onto the secret.

The following morning she wished she’d told him earlier.

She woke to the faint glow of her phone on the nightstand, her morning alarm. Blinking herself awake, she squinted at the screen and saw Max’s name, followed by the time—5:02 a.m.

Heading to the track early today. Miss you already, wish you were here.

She smiled, feeling that familiar warmth spreading through her chest. But then her heart sank a little. She’d been hoping to catch him in the hotel this morning, maybe surprise him over breakfast. Now, with him already gone, she'd have to adjust her plans.

Throwing back the covers, she got up and went to the window. Rain streaked down the glass in thick, heavy drops, and the sky was a murky grey. The weather was only supposed to get worse throughout the day; she knew that’d make things complicated, especially for an outdoor track. She had no clue if her surprise would even be worth the stress of navigating the drenched, crowded paddock.

After a moment’s hesitation, she tapped her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she reached the name she wanted. She dialled, and after a few rings, Max’s assistant, Sophie, picked up.

“Hey!” Sophie greeted, sounding pleasantly surprised. “What’s up? Did you make it in?”

“Yes, I’m here!” she whispered, unable to contain her excitement. “I wanted to surprise him before he heads out on track, but with this rain… do you think I should even bother?”

Sophie sighed sympathetically. “Honestly, it’s a mess out here. They’re saying the rain’s going to be even heavier by the time qualifying starts. He’ll be in back-to-back meetings until then, and I’d hate for you to sit in the rain, just to get a few minutes with him.”

She nodded, glancing out the window at the sheets of rain. “So you think I should wait?”

“I’d say hold off until right before the race,” Sophie replied. “He’ll have a short break, and I think he’d love the surprise then. Plus, everyone’s less frantic between qualifying and race prep.”

“Good point,” she agreed, a little disappointed but knowing Sophie was right. The track on a rainy race day was chaos, and if she could avoid it until the right moment, she’d have a better chance of actually spending time with him. “Thanks, Sophie. Let me know if anything changes?”

“Will do! He’ll be so happy to see you,” Sophie said warmly. “Hang tight, okay?”

As she hung up, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement, knowing the surprise would be even more perfect with the wait. So she ordered herself a coffee, sat by the window, and watched the rain pour down, imagining the look on Max’s face when he’d finally see her just before the most important race of the weekend.

The rain hadn’t let up by the time she arrived at the track, the skies dark and moody, the air thick with humidity. She’d navigated her way through security and weaving lines of drenched fans, her heart racing as she got closer to Max’s garage. But by the time she finally made it, he was already in the car, helmet on, visor down, his focus entirely on the track ahead.

Her heart sank a little as she scanned the bustling garage, hoping for some last chance to catch his eye. But he was already strapped in, a crew member leaning in to give him a final check before he rolled out. She spotted Sophie in the corner, scribbling something down on a clipboard, and made her way over to her.

“Hey,” she whispered, feeling the dampness of the rain still clinging to her hair and clothes. “I… I just missed him, didn’t I?”

Sophie looked up and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, he was swamped the moment he got here. They barely had time to get him settled with all the delays.” She gestured to the grid display above them, where Max’s name glowed beside the stark “P17” position. “Rough start, but he’ll be glad to know you’re here.”

She nodded, feeling a pang as she glanced at his car just as it rumbled to life. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel, even from a distance she could see the tension there. She let out a breath, feeling a swell of pride and worry all at once. “Well, I’ll be here watching, then.”

Sophie handed her a headset, which she slipped on just in time to hear his engineer’s voice crackle through with the first instructions as they prepared for the start. The rain was relentless, turning the track into a slick, treacherous maze, and she felt her stomach twist as the cars peeled out onto the track for the formation lap. Max’s car trailed near the back, but she knew he’d fight, as he always did, with a ferocity she both admired and feared in moments like this.

The race began, a chaotic blur of spray and metal, the cars kicking up rooster tails of water, visibility nearly zero as they fought for position. She gripped the edge of her seat as the laps ticked by, heart pounding with every close call. It quickly became clear that the conditions were only worsening, drivers struggling to keep their cars on track, a few even skidding off into barriers with loud, bone-jarring crashes. Her hands tightened around the headset as Max navigate his way forward, battling his way to P10, then P6.

And then, just when the tension seemed to reach its peak, there was a deafening crash, followed by a sudden hush as the red flag went up, halting the race.

Her breath caught in her throat. The screen above replayed the incident—a skidding into the barrier that had caused an emergency stop. The seconds felt like hours as she waited, desperately searching for a glimpse of his car on the feed. Finally, there it was, intact, safe. Relief flooded her, and she felt her shoulders sag.

The race restarted after the delay, and she watched in awe as Max took advantage of the reshuffled positions and tire changes, surging forward with a newfound intensity. Lap by lap, he clawed his way through the field, passing car after car with a precision that made her heart race. It was as if he’d transformed, harnessing every ounce of his frustration from the last few races, channelling it into something extraordinary.

The garage erupted in cheers as he moved into P3, then P1. She stared at the screen, hardly daring to blink, her heart racing as he crossed the finish line in first place, drenched in rain and glory.

She could hardly believe it. From P17 to P1. He’d done it.

Forgetting herself, she laughed, a sound of pure joy, her heart swelling as she watched him slow down, the victory finally sinking in. She couldn't wait to see his face when he finally realised she was here, to be the first person he’d see when he stepped out of that car, soaked and grinning, finally at the top.

Ripping her headset off, she followed the crew as they ran out to parc fermé, her heart racing as fast as the roar of the crowd. The team, buzzing with excitement, parted slightly as she joined them, nudging her to the front so she’d be the first face he saw. She could barely breathe as she caught sight of Max’s car, now still, the rain glistening on its blue-and-red bodywork.

With all the force he had he climbed out, pulling off his helmet to reveal damp, messy hair and a face lit up with exhilaration and disbelief. For a moment, he simply stood there, taking in the shouts of the crowd and the blinding flashes of cameras. And then, his gaze landed on her.

His eyes widened, his exhaustion and surprise giving way to pure joy. Without hesitation, he broke into a run, crossing the slick tarmac with the kind of speed and determination that made her heart leap. She barely had a second to react before he wrapped her in his arms, his lips crashing against hers as he pulled her close, his hands pressed firmly against her back, as if he still couldn’t believe she was real.

“You came,” he murmured breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look at her, his face filled with awe and happiness.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she replied, her voice trembling with emotion, brushing a wet strand of hair from his face.

He smiled, a bright, unguarded smile that melted her heart. “God, I needed this. I needed you.”

And then he kissed her again, a kiss filled with all the missed moments and the words they hadn’t been able to say, the thrill of his victory mingling with the fierce love they shared. She felt the rain soak through her clothes, the crowd and the noise around them fading as they held each other, his arms wrapping around her as if he could protect her from the rest of the world.

“I still can’t believe it,” he whispered against her lips, his forehead resting against hers, his hand gently brushing her cheek. “P1. And you’re here.”

She laughed softly, her eyes shining. “You deserve it, Max. I knew you could do it.”

He held her close, a triumphant laugh bubbling from his chest as he buried his face in her neck, and they stood there in the pouring rain, lost in each other, savouring the victory and this long-awaited moment they both knew they’d never forget.

As the noise of the cheering crew and fans started to swell around them, Max pulled back slightly, brushing his thumb across her cheek, his gaze lingering on her face as if he was trying to commit every detail to memory.

“I have to go,” he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. “The interviews, cool-down room, podium… but wait for me? I’ll meet you in my driver’s room as soon as I can.”

She nodded, understanding but already missing the warmth of his arms. “I’ll be waiting. Go,” she whispered, giving him a small smile. “Enjoy every second—you deserve it.”

He pressed one last, lingering kiss to her forehead, then turned and jogged off to join the waiting crew, helmet in hand, while she stayed rooted to her spot, watching him disappear into the crowd. Her heart swelled with pride as she trailed after the team to watch his interviews, his beaming, breathless face glowing with pride and energy as he spoke about the gruelling conditions and the unbelievable climb from P17 to P1.

Then came the cool-down room, where she watched from the sidelines as he bantered with the other drivers, sharing exhausted smiles and congratulatory claps on the back, the weight of his achievement settling in as he finally let himself relax a little. She couldn’t help but smile, feeling as though she could burst with joy just watching him, his eyes sparking with energy even as he looked ready to collapse from exhaustion.

And finally, the podium. She felt the crowd’s excitement echo through her as she looked up to see him standing tall, drenched from head to toe, a bottle of champagne in hand. When he raised it in victory, the crowd erupted, and she joined them, cheering at the top of her lungs as he sprayed champagne with abandon, laughing as he celebrated with the other drivers. His eyes swept over the crowd, and when they found hers, he gave a subtle nod, a silent promise that he’d be back with her soon.

After the podium, she made her way to his driver’s room, her heart fluttering as she paced the small space, the thrill of the day lingering in every fibre of her being. And then, finally, the door swung open, and there he was.

He looked completely worn out, his hair still damp and messy, his fireproof undersuit clinging to his skin. But his smile was bright, and his eyes lit up the moment he saw her.

Without a word, he crossed the room, pulling her into his arms, his lips finding hers in a soft, exhausted kiss. She melted into him, her arms wrapping around his neck as he held her close, the adrenaline and joy from his victory radiating between them.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” he whispered against her ear, his voice low and hoarse. “Winning today… and having you here with me. It’s everything.”

She brushed a strand of damp hair from his face, smiling as she traced her fingers along his cheek. “You did it, Max. I’m so proud of you.”

He took her hand, pressing it to his heart, his eyes never leaving hers. “None of it would mean anything without you,” he said quietly, his voice steady.

She felt her eyes sting with tears, overwhelmed by the depth of his words. “I’m here,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ll always be here.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world slipping away. He stroked her hair, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, as if savouring each moment.

“Let’s get out of here,” he finally murmured, his voice warm and soft, “celebrate somewhere a little less chaotic.”

She laughed, nodding. “Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”

They headed back to his hotel, hand in hand, a peaceful quiet settling over them as they left the track behind. Once in the privacy of his suite, he gave her a lingering kiss, then smiled, nodding toward the bathroom. “Give me a few minutes to wash off all the champagne and… probably half the track dust,” he said with a laugh.

She grinned, watching as he disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the suite a moment later. While he showered, she took the opportunity to pack up her things from her own room, gathering her scattered belongings quickly. The thrill of being close, of finally sharing a space for the night, filled her with a warmth that had nothing to do with the tropical heat outside.

By the time she returned, he was out of the shower, towelling off his damp hair, his expression softening as he took in the sight of her standing there with her things. Without a word, he crossed the room and took her bags from her hands, setting them by the closet as he gave her a smile that made her heart skip.

Once they’d both changed into fresh clothes—she’d opted for a simple dress, and he in casual jeans and a loose shirt—they slipped out of the hotel through a side exit, making their way to a tiny, tucked-away Brazilian restaurant that had been recommended. The place was hidden, small enough to be missed by the crowds, with soft, low lighting that created an intimate, cosy atmosphere. A few locals lingered around tables, but they paid little attention to the couple as they took a corner table in the back.

They ordered caipirinhas and he reached across the table to hold her hand, his fingers tracing gentle circles on her skin as they laughed over silly little things, shared stories from the past few weeks, and spoke of things beyond racing, beyond work, just slipping back into the easy flow they always shared. The food was rich and delicious—small plates of feijoada, grilled meats, and pão de queijo—everything flavorful and homey.

He leaned across the table, his eyes warm and filled with that familiar spark, as he watched her speak, clearly savouring every moment. “You know,” he said softly, “I think this is the best victory celebration I’ve ever had.”

She squeezed his hand, smiling back at him. “Same here. I missed just… being with you like this.”

They stayed until the restaurant closed, lingering over the last bites of dessert, letting the night stretch out as long as possible. Eventually, they headed back to the hotel, the city streets now quiet and still beneath the soft hum of streetlights.

Once back in his room, Max changed into a pair of soft pyjama bottoms, leaving his chest bare, his skin still warm from the shower. She slipped into one of his t-shirts, the fabric soft and oversized, the scent of him comforting and familiar. When she stepped out the bathroom, he was already waiting for her by the bed, his gaze softening as he took her in, a gentle smile curving on his lips.

Without a word, he reached for her, lacing his fingers through hers as he pulled her close, guiding her to the bed. She sank into the mattress beside him, and he wrapped an arm around her, drawing her against his chest, his fingertips trailing absently over her shoulder. She nestled into him, feeling his warmth seep through her, a cosy silence wrapping around them.

They lay there, tangled together, her head tucked beneath his chin as he gently traced circles on her back, his breath even and steady. He tilted her chin up, his eyes searching hers for a quiet moment before he leaned down, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss, filled with a tenderness that said everything words couldn’t. She kissed him back just as gently, savouring the intimacy of being close like this, the world beyond these walls feeling miles away.

When the kiss ended, he pressed his forehead to hers, a soft sigh escaping as he held her close, one hand settling over hers, fingers intertwined. They stayed that way, her head resting against his heartbeat, lulled by the steady rhythm.

Finally, they drifted off, still tangled in each other’s arms, wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of just being together. As the night settled around them, Max couldn’t help but smile, holding her a little closer as he slipped into sleep, his heart full and light.

Max couldn’t have wished for a better weekend.

the end.

[5sospenguinqueen]

Take A Break | Toto Wolff x Wife! Reader

Summary: Toto has been pushing himself too hard trying to get the upgrades sorted. As his concerned wife, you plan a surprise visit.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff. Bad writing

Requested: Yes by Anon (Hope I did this justice)

2024 season. There's a little blurb halfway through as well.

F1 Masterlist

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mercedesamgf1 just posted

liked by ynwolff_official, lewishamilton and others

mercedesamgf1 boss man hard at work 

1,198 comments

ynwolff_official you better be looking after him

→ mercedesamgf1 yes, ma’am. we’re doing our best 

→ ynwolff_official tell him if he doesn’t stop working late, he’ll be in trouble when he comes home 

→ mercedesamgf1 stop making the admin team threaten me, schatz. they keep coming into my office shaking and you’ll get me into trouble with hr - toto 

user1 tell him to make an insta 

georgerussell63 he looks like a sith lord

→ ynwolff_official i think you mean, very handsome

→ georgerussell63 i’m not going to say that about my boss

→ alex_albon why not? you were telling me the other day that you think he looks much better in the white shirt than the black zip up 

user2 anyone else think he looks tired lately?

→ user2 he’s been working extra hard to get the upgrades ready, i’m guessing 

→ user3 plus wifey and jack haven’t been able to make a race in a while so he’s probably missing them after that triple header

user4 george won’t be getting those upgrades once yn tells toto that he wouldn’t admit he was handsome

→ mickschumacher i’ve already told 

→ georgerussell63 betrayal

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Strolling through the Hungaroring paddock, you kept a tight hold of your son’s hand. Bustling bodies brushed past, paying the the pair of you no heed, which worked well with your surprise.

Over the past few weeks, Toto had been working tirelessly to ensure the upgrades were ready and working in time for the Hungarian Grand Prix, albeit to the detriment of his own health. He’d been sleeping less, running himself ragged to ensure Mercedes didn’t remain fourth in the constructors. After winning at Red Bull Ring and Silverstone, he knew the potential was there. All he had to do was unlock it. But that had meant shorter calls with his wife and son, fewer responses to messages and a growing distance that he hated feeling during the season. And so, arranging a surprise visit during race weekend had been the most obvious solution.

Mercedes hat sat atop his dark hair, Jack babbled about everything he could see as the tall form of George Russell guided you towards the garage. 

“Hello, stranger.” Lewis’ voice met your ears when he caught sight of you. “Toto didn’t tell me you were coming. What’s up, little man?” 

George vanished into the back of the garage, searching for the Team Principal. Leaning over to the Brit, you pressed a kiss to the cheek of the 7x WDC. Lewis gave your shoulders a squeeze before pulling Jack up into his arms, whisking him over to where the W15 was being polished. 

“George, this better be important. I was in the middle of an analysis report-.” A disgruntled Austrian accent filled the garage, bringing a smile to your face. You could picture the deep frown twisting his handsome’s features without even turning to see it.

“Liebe?” 

The silver arrows watched the tension seep out of their Team Principal’s face as he took in the appearance of his wife. Striding across the garage floor, he pulled you in for a tight hug, and pressed a chaste kiss to the side of your head. Aware of the eyes on you both, he had to refrain from pressing his lips to yours. Denying you both the deep kiss you truly desired.

“Surprise,” you whispered, slipping your arm around his waist. Your hand automatically rubbing soothing circles against his hip. 

“I’m so happy you’re here,” he murmured into your hair, inhaling the familiar scent of home. 

“You sounded like you needed us.”

“I always need you.”

“Well, then, let’s go rescue your son from Lewis.”

Holed up in Toto’s office, the Wolff family basked in their first moment of family time since over a month. Toto had ordered everyone to leave them alone until qualifying was due to start or somebody was dying. Thankfully, the team listened and so he spent the past hour listening to his son tell him about school and watching Lewis win a race on telly.

Fussing over the amount of coffee cups in the waste bin, you turned to lecture your husband on his inability to get enough rest but paused, mouth open. Curled up on the deep couch pushed against the wall, Jack was snuggled into his father’s lap. His iPad had fallen to the side, and soft snores escaped from his mouth. Glasses askew, Toto’s chin rested on his son’s head, eyes closed tight. Father and son, exhausted from the excitement of their day.

Taking a quick picture on your phone, you smiled at the sight of your family. Reaching into Jack’s backpack, you pulled out his blanket, draping it over your favourite boys.

“Ich liebe dich,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads.

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mercedesamgf1 just posted

liked by georgerussell63, mickschumacher and others

mercedesamgf1 our favourite family 🐺

1,554 comments 

georgerussell63 admin, you used the same quote for a photo of toto with me, lew and mick the other week?

→ mercedesamgf1 we were paid to do that 

→ alex_albon great now he’s crying 

→ landonorris ha! at least our admin love us more than zak

→ mclaren don’t tell on us! 

mercedesamgf1 inside scoop; toto asked us to print out the photo of yn and jack to put in his office 

mickschumacher does this mean i can take the little wolff karting?

→ ynwolff_official only if you promise to come for dinner

→ georgerussell63 and me? 

→ user5 poor toto can’t escape his drivers even during his time off because his wife adopted them all 

lewishamilton nice to see you and jack in the paddock again, yn

→ ynwolff_official and you, lew. hopefully we can attend a few more now that the summer holidays are here 

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ynwolff_official just posted

liked by valterribottas, mercedesamgf1 and others

ynwolff_official my favourite part of summer break is the view 

1,003 comments 

mercedesamgf1 tell boss man to bring that smile back with him 

→ ynwolff_official don’t worry. i’ll be sending him back to work extra happy 

→ lewishamilton yn, love, this sounds less than family friendly 

→ ynwolff_official oops 

user6 oh she’s FEEDING us 

user7 has george joined you for a sleepover yet

→ ynwolff_official of course. he’s like the son i didn’t ask for 

→ georgerussell63 but you love anyway?

→ user8 silence speaks volumes 

user9 yn wolff thirst trapping her husband was not on my 2024 bingo 

→ user10 silly season is extra silly this year so yn obvi thought she would participate 

→ user11 and we love her for it

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Requests for F1 smau's are open. You can see who I write for on my masterlist :)

[yuujispinkhair]

I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME – Chapter 13

🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: 18+, smut, cigarettes, alcohol. Fuckbuddies to lovers. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 16 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear

MASTERLIST

When your boyfriend is an ice hockey player, finding time for a date can be tough. Sure, you and Sukuna always spend lunch breaks together, meet in the library, or tumble into bed together in between practice or assignments. But planning something that goes beyond those everyday things is quite the challenge.

Sukuna's days are filled with a busy schedule. Hockey training, team meetings, morning runs, daily gym sessions, and seemingly endless hours of watching and analyzing his opponents' games. Sukuna doesn't just give 100% but 200%. It's a trait you find incredibly hot, but it also makes it hard to find time for a date.

Sukuna says he would skip practice for you. But you don't want that. It would make you feel guilty. You know how important hockey is to him, and you love how invested he is. But you certainly can't say no when he stands in front of you with his sexy, boyish grin and tells you,

"If you don't want me to skip practice for a date, then join me at the gym or on my morning runs."

So yes, you blame Sukuna's charming personality and your own foolishness for getting yourself into this situation: jogging down the dark road long before the rest of the campus comes alive, panting loudly and coughing as you run as fast as you can, in your desperate attempt of trying to keep up with your super athletic boyfriend, who jogs several meters before you at a, for his standards, very leisurely pace.

You know he is holding back for you. It makes your own poor attempt even more pathetic. Sukuna doesn't even break a sweat. When he turns to smirk at you, he looks perfect, as always, winking at you and making flirty teasing comments as if he is chilling on the couch with you and not jogging across the campus at an ungodly hour in the morning.

Sukuna looks mouth-watering. As if he is grinning at you from the cover of a Men's Health magazine. Sleeveless black compression shirt and red shorts that give you the best view of Sukuna's firm ass and those tantalizing thigh tattoos that still make you lose your mind every time you see them. His buff muscles flex attractively with every move. His lopsided boyish grin only adds to his overall handsome features. Sukuna looks sexy as hell.

Something you don't think can be said about you at this moment. You were skeptical from the moment Sukuna suggested joining him on his morning runs so you could spend more time together. You are fully aware of how unathletic you are and how super athletic Sukuna is. But it touches you that he asked you to join him, obviously wanting to spend more time with you. And so you agreed.

But right now, you regret saying yes. It's six in the morning, you have had no breakfast yet, and you feel nauseous from all the physical activity. You are panting and sweating heavily, but no matter how fast you run, you can't keep up with your hockey boyfriend.

Sukuna looks over his broad shoulder as he slows down even more, a playful smirk on his face, as he calls out to you,

"Come on, princess, catch me!"

"I.. ah...ah, I can't..."

Sukuna just laughs and turns around fully, running backwards now so he can look at you. You feel embarrassment creeping over you, knowing full well that you must look like a mess. Sweating and out of breath. Completely at your limit.

"Don't look at me, Kuna!"

But your boyfriend just smirks even broader, his maroon eyes filled with amusement, as he teases you,

"Why? I thought you like to get my attention?"

But the teasing playfulness vanishes from his face a second later when you suddenly stumble over your own feet, overcome by a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea. You gasp loudly, but before you can fall, Sukuna is already in front of you. Catching you once again before you hit the ground.

"Careful, princess. Are you okay?"

His strong arms hold you up, his low voice that was so teasing a second ago now filled with genuine worry.

You hum weakly, seeing black spots dancing before your eyes as you practically slump into Sukuna's muscular arms, unable to stay upright by yourself.

"I... hate... running. Especially in the mornings. I don't think my blood circulation is made for this."

You turn your head, burying your face in Sukuna's broad chest, clinging tightly to him, hiding your face in his chest. You feel his strong arms tightening reassuringly around you, and you slump bonelessly against his tall, firm body.

Sukuna laughs softly, a low rumbling in his chest that you don't just hear but also feel against your cheek,

"Why didn't you tell me you don't like morning runs? I would have never asked you to join me if I knew."

"Because I thought it was really sweet of you to ask. And I wanted to spend more time with you."

Sukuna laughs again, hugging you even tighter to him as he rests his chin on your head.

"Yeah, well, I only want to take you on dates you actually can enjoy. Not ones that make you pass out."

You shake your head, laughing into Sukuna's chest,

"I guess this date failed. Sorry!"

"Don't be sorry, sweetheart. I will find a better idea. Hey, if I let go of you for a second, can you stand, or will you fall over?"

You lift your head, looking up at Sukuna's tattooed face, nodding slowly as you loosen your tight grip on his tanktop,

"Yeah... I can stand."

Sukuna watches you for a long moment as if he needs to make sure, but then he carefully takes a step back, slowly letting go of you. But only to turn around and bend down and point a long tattooed finger at his muscular back.

"Come on, princess, hop on. I'll carry you."

You don't even try to turn down his offer. You are too exhausted and too wobbly on your legs to even think about walking home by yourself. And, after all, Sukuna is strong.

You climb onto his broad back, grateful for his strong, large hands that wrap around your calves, helping you and giving you a feeling of safety as Sukuna straightens up to his proud 6'3" height.

You let out a relieved breath as he starts walking, carrying you piggyback seemingly without any problems. You slump against Sukuna's muscular back, hugging him tightly and wrapping your legs around him, feeling like some koala with the way you cling to him.

"Thank you, baby."

Sukuna snorts, followed by a low chuckle,

"You're welcome, princess. Just don't puke over my hair!"

You groan loudly, but it turns into a laugh when you reach out to ruffle Sukuna's pink hair playfully,

"Wouldn't that be a cute date?"

Sukuna carries you all the way back to his dorm and into his apartment, past his brother, who stands in the kitchen and grins at the two of you as he lifts a coffee mug in greeting.

"Interesting new morning workout, bro."

"Shut up, brat. The real workout will happen in the shower, so you better fuck off and give us some privacy."

Making you hide your face in Sukuna's broad back while the twins bicker with each other about their sex lives or lack of.

Sukuna really carries you into the bathroom and slams the door shut behind you, finally letting you carefully slide off his back. Only to corner you against the door with a flirty smirk on his handsome face and his large tattooed hands pulling your t-shirt up.

"I wasn't joking, you know. Be my workout partner in the shower."

His lips find yours, kissing you heatedly while you both tear at each other's workout clothes. And only a short moment later, you get swooped up again and carried into the shower, where Sukuna has you pushed up against the shower wall in no time at all, swallowing your moans with his lips while he fucks you with fast, deep thrusts.

Twenty minutes later, you stand next to Sukuna in front of the bathroom mirror, applying your skincare while stealing slightly flustered glances at your boyfriend, who just fucked your brains out even after carrying you across campus.

Sukuna doesn't look flustered at all but instead grins at you when he catches you staring in the mirror,

"I guess I made up for our failed morning-run-date, huh?"

You splutter helplessly, but Sukuna's grin just turns bigger. He grabs his cherry-scented hair gel, applying it meticulously, while he tells you in a much more serious voice,

"I promise you, I will take you on the best date, princess."

But before the two of you find time for a date, Saturday rolls around, which means ice hockey. The Tigers play at home, and so you and Nobara stroll to the arena to watch Sukuna's game. Of course, Nobara complains on the whole way, but you just grin to yourself, knowing that she would never let you down and will always drag her pretty ass off the couch to keep you company at your boyfriend's games.

She is in the middle of a rant about how stupid she finds hockey players when you receive a text message from one of said players. A smile spreads over your face as you read it. You jerk your chin towards Nobara and stop her monologue by telling her,

"Sukuna arranged for us to have special seats."

Nobara's eyes widen, and she lunges towards you, grabbing your hand to yank your phone towards her before you can stop her. Her eyebrows shoot to the sky as she reads Sukuna's message with the casual "Love you, baby" and your reply, which is equally lovey-dovey.

"The two of you are so disgustingly cute. It makes me want to puke!"

You huff, feeling your face get hot even as you start to argue with her, but Nobara shuts you down by laughing and linking her arm with yours, pulling you along into the already super crowded arena. She grins at you, yelling over the loud noises in the arena,

"At least your Kirby boy got us better seats! I hope we also get free drinks and snacks!"

"I don't think that's how it works, Nobara!"

But you can't stop smiling broadly as you make your way through the crowd. The new seats are really amazing. They are probably the best in the whole arena, with a perfect view of the rink and the snack stand only a few rows away.

The players enter the ice a few minutes later, and you feel the familiar adrenaline fill your veins. You have come to absolutely love the atmosphere in the hockey arena. The excitement, the loud cheers, the sound of the metal blades on the ice, and the hockey sticks meeting each other.

Sukuna enters the ice, and your eyes are instantly glued to him. His helmet is casually tugged under one arm as he lifts his head proudly. He looks so hot. Tall and broad with that sexy conviction written all over his tattooed face. Everyone can see how intent on winning he is. Ambitious and confident.

The whole arena chants his name, but his gaze immediately strays to you. A lazy, sexy smirk spreads over Sukuna's tattooed face as he lifts a large hand in greeting.

You draw in a sharp breath, Sukuna's intense, deep gaze hitting you so hard somehow, making everything even more real at that moment. This is Sukuna's first game, that you watch since the two of you became a couple. This sexy guy on the ice isn't just your fuckbuddy anymore, not just the hot hockey player who somehow decided you are his lucky charm. Sukuna is your boyfriend!

A stupid smile lifts your lips. You feel light-headed all of a sudden as Sukuna's smirk softens into a smile, too. He winks at you, making a kissy face in your direction, completely unashamed about this very public display of affection.

A happy giggle escapes your broadly smiling lips as you beam at Sukuna. You mouth the words "Good luck!" and Sukuna smiles broadly at you, mouthing something back while pointing at you, and you think it means, "I will score a goal for you, baby."

You blow him a kiss, hearing Nobara next to you make a retching noise.

But you don't care about the groaning coming from Nobara as you sit down on your seat again, getting ready to watch your boyfriend's ice hockey game.

Sukuna is marvelous as always, leaving you starstruck with his fast and brutal play style. He's skating across the rink at neck-break speed, skilled and confident, like the King that he is. Yuuji and Todo are on his left and right, body-checking their opponents to keep them away from Sukuna. And Sukuna takes on the rest of the players who dare get in his way, slamming them into the boards or onto the ice with his full body weight, not letting anyone or anything stop him on his way to the goal.

When Sukuna scores the first time, the puck hits the net so hard it almost seems to tear, and the whole arena is on their feet, screaming and cheering, celebrating their star player. Sukuna pushes one hand in the air in a victorious gesture, his brother jumping onto his back, yanking Sukuna's helmet off to ruffle his pink hair, making Sukuna laugh, looking so genuinely happy that it makes your heart thump wildly.

You are in the stands clapping and cheering, smiling from ear to ear, when Sukuna's maroon gaze finds you, and he grins proudly at you. He says something again, and this time, you can read it unmistakenly off his lips,

"For you."

It sends the butterflies in your stomach fluttering crazily, and you laugh and lift your hands in a big heart, laughing even louder when Nobara elbows you,

"Oh, stop it! You are so embarrassing! I swear he looks so fucking stupid like that! And now you also join in. I cannot do this! I will get a sugar shock from all the disgusting sweetness!"

But you keep laughing and feel your heart race when Sukuna grins and winks at you, making another kissy face in your direction. He doesn't mind that the whole hockey arena sees what he is doing. Everyone can know that you are his, and he is yours. And you know 100% that anyone who dares make a rude comment about Sukuna being so soft for his girl will receive a brutal body check that sends them facefirst onto the ice or into the boards.

It's a thought that makes you smile even more broadly. You are Sukuna's official girlfriend. His number-one fan. His lucky charm. His girl.

You get your cute date a week later. The perfect date.

Sukuna sends you a text message while you are in class on Monday morning, casually informing you about his plans.

Sukuna 🏒👑❤️: Make sure to be free this Friday at 8 pm, princess. I'm taking you on a date. And I promise it doesn't involve running this time ;)

You: Where are we going?

Sukuna 🏒👑❤️: It's a surprise. But wear your best dress.

When you ask Sukuna later on about the location, he just smirks smugly at you and ruffles your hair, making you squeal and pat this hand away while he says,

"Don't even bother, baby. My lips are sealed. You'll find out on Friday."

So, on Friday evening, you pace up and down the living area of your apartment impatiently, wearing your best dress after spending an hour on your makeup, which Nobara even helped you with.

Sukuna's taking you to a restaurant, you are pretty sure about that. But you are low-key worried that you will be overdressed with the pastel pink cocktail dress with the chiffon sleeves and the glittery flowers sewn on the waistline. It's a dress you bought a few years ago for a wedding party.

But then Sukuna knocks on your door, and you yank it open impatiently, only to gasp when you see him. You were definitely right to wear your most fancy dress. Because your boyfriend is also dressed to the nines. And he looks hellishly attractive!

Sukuna is wearing a black suit that sits snugly on his tall and muscular body, accentuating his athletic figure perfectly. Combined with a dark red dress shirt that brings out his maroon eyes, a black tie, and some really nice black shoes. In his hands is a huge bouquet of red, pastel pink, and white roses that he pushes into your arms as he leans down to kiss your cheek.

You automatically take the flowers but are too busy staring at Sukuna. He looks so handsome that you can't stop yourself from letting your gaze slowly travel over his body. When you finally reach his tattooed face, you are greeted by Sukuna's broad grin.

"Like what you see, princess?"

"Yeah, you look really good, baby."

He grins broadly at you, raising an eyebrow cockingly as he shrugs,

"I always do."

"Oh, Kuna!"

You roll your eyes, smacking his broad shoulders playfully, and groan dramatically, which turns into a happy chuckle when you feel Sukuna sneak his strong arms around your waist and pull you to him.

You wrap one hand around Sukuna's tie to lightly tug on it as you get on your tiptoes to kiss him. You can feel his lips lift in a smile when he kisses you back, slow and teasingly, licking into your mouth in a way that makes you a bit dizzy.

But Sukuna pulls away again after a moment, only his large hand stays on the small of your back, caressing you lightly. His low voice is a velvety murmur,

"You look absolutely beautiful, princess. Clearly stealing the spotlight from me, and that is not something I say lightly."

He winks at you, making you burst out laughing happily as you finally take time to look at the flowers in your hand, bringing them to your nose to inhale their scent.

"The flowers are so pretty. Thank you so much!"

And as smug as Sukuna usually acts, you see his face turn into an almost flustered expression. To your surprise, your bad boy makes a gesture that you only knew from his twin brother so far. He averts his gaze, lifts his large hand, and scratches his neck, staring at a space slightly left to your face while he informs you,

"I wasn't satisfied with the bouquets that woman at the flower shop showed me, so I had her make one exactly how I wanted it for you. Pink is you, and red is me... and the white is for my Tigers hoodie that I wore when you slammed into me at our first meeting."

You are sure your heart just melted into a puddle. A little squeaky noise escapes your lips as you lunge at Sukuna, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly. And he chuckles and asks,

"What?"

"Oh, nothing... I just think you are the best."

And you know he can feel your smile against his chest just like you can feel his smile when he leans down to breathe a kiss on your forehead.

"Did you win the lottery?"

You look incredulously at Sukuna as you stand in front of the fanciest restaurant in the whole region. Sukuna just grins at you, lifting one eyebrow playfully,

"Only the best is good enough for my girl."

"But..."

"Shhh. This is a special occasion, so let me spend a little money. I swear it's okay. I know someone who works here. He used to play hockey with me, and he gives me a discount."

You are sure that even with a discount, the meal is still too expensive for a college student, but you don't say it and instead just smile at Sukuna and thank him as you bump into his side.

The guy at the reception desk waves over a waiter, who leads you to your table for two. You feel your pulse race as you walk on Sukuna's arm, feeling as if you got teleported into a romance novel where the main character gets introduced to the fancy life at some Mafia prince's side or something.

The thought makes you laugh softly under your breath, and Sukuna only adds to that little fantasy, acting like a true gentleman. He pulls out your chair, helps you sit down, and then holds your hand atop the table, occasionally bringing it to his lips and kissing your fingers, giving you crazy butterflies with everything he does.

The food is incredible, and Sukuna is a charming conversation partner, who is funny and smart, just like you know him from your lunch breaks in the dining hall. But tonight feels different. Special. Almost magical. Both of you are dressed in your fanciest clothes, sitting in this exclusive restaurant, surrounded by an elegant and luxurious atmosphere, while your table is filled with the fanciest meal you have ever seen.

Sukuna really went all out. He truly meant it when he promised to take you on the best date.

The four-course meal he booked is delicious, and the wine that goes with it tastes amazing, even though you doubt you have the exquisite taste buds for actually being able to tell which wine is good and which isn't. You eat the delicious food, drink your wine, and toast to your newly updated relationship status, joking around and flirting playfully the whole time.

By the time your dessert arrives, you feel completely happy and satisfied, exhilarated by the luxurious meal and Sukuna's company. The waiter places a huge plate with various desserts in front of each of you, making you go, "Ooooh!" which brings a super pleased grin to Sukuna's face.

You both dig into your desserts, but you realize that Sukuna doesn't touch one of the variations at all. The one which you like the most. A knowing smile plays around his lips when he scoops some of it onto his spoon and offers it to you wordlessly.

You smile at Sukuna, whispering a thank you when he brings the spoon to your lips, and feeds you your favorite dessert. It's cute, loving, and even sexy, given how sensual the act of it is. Your heart beats even faster, making you feel so light-headed and happy that you can't stop smiling.

Sukuna looks happy, too, and it makes your heart flutter. He must have really wanted to excel at this whole date thing and make this evening special. Because you are special to him.

You watch him eat, soon finding out which dessert is his fave, and safe it up for him, too, which leads to both of you playfully reaching across the table to feed each other the other's favorite dessert, laughing and joking around until both of your plates are empty.

Sukuna's large hand wraps lightly around your wrist, holding it as he lets you feed him the last spoon of the cherry chocolate pudding he liked the most. A small grin plays around his lips as he takes the spoon carefully into his mouth, and his maroon eyes look deeply into yours.

It makes you flustered somehow, feeling like a teenager on her first date, and you giggle nervously as you feel your face get hot. But you don't look away, too transfixed by how good Sukuna looks and by the warmth in his eyes when he looks at you.

"This is the best date I've ever had, Kuna."

His smirk is smug as hell when he replies with a,

"That was my goal."

At the same moment as you add,

"But you really didn't have to spend so much money on me! I would have also been happy with eating your home-cooked dinner."

Sukuna laughs softly, that low rumble that makes the hairs on your arms stand up and makes that delicious tingling feeling flow through your veins. His maroon eyes gaze deeply into yours, so serious despite his cocky attitude,

"This is our first real date, princess. I want it to be one you will never forget. Not my everyday cooking in my kitchen, not a stupid hockey party or a mediocre restaurant that you can just visit every day. I want it to be special."

You are sure Sukuna can see the little hearts in your eyes because that's how you feel. Overflowing with affection and love. No one ever put that much effort into being with you.

Just when you are about to get too emotional, Sukuna adds with a little smirk,

"And I definitely had to find something better than a morning run that almost made you puke."

You look into his eyes for a long moment, trying to control yourself, but you can't hold back and snort loudly, bursting out with laughter. Too loud for this solemn atmosphere. You press a hand over your mouth, but you can't stop, tears welling up in your eyes from how hard you are laughing. And Sukuna joins in, laughing the kind of laugh that he only allows you and his twin to see.

It earns the two of you some scandalized stares. The tables around you seem to be so calm and collected, so professional and restrained even at a private dinner, and your loud laughter is so completely opposite to that and carries through the whole room, making everyone look at you. But it makes you laugh even more, unable to stop, while you still look at Sukuna.

The guy at the table next to yours clears his throat loudly, catching Sukuna's attention, who cocks his head at the man while raising an eyebrow slowly,

"What? Are you allergic to fun?"

The man and his wife both inhale sharply, eyes widening, both opening their mouths but then closing them again without saying anything after taking a good look at Sukuna's tattooed face. And you hide your face in your hands as more loud laughter bubbles out of your mouth.

You feel exhilarated when you walk to Sukuna's car, a bubbly feeling in your chest and a smile on your face even as the chilly nightair hits your naked shoulders and makes you shiver. But Sukuna is perceptive as always, immediately taking off his suit jacket to drape it over your shoulders before he wraps his arm around you and pulls you against his side to keep you warm.

You are sure anyone who walks past you can see how smitten you are. It's a wonderful feeling, the kind that makes you smile nonstop. Even more so when you reach Sukuna's car, and he holds open the door for you and closes it carefully behind you before he jogs casually around the car and gets into the driver seat with a dazzling smile on his tattooed face.

The drive back to campus takes about an hour. You spend most of it in comfortable silence and the occasional laugh when you remember the way the other guests reacted to your laughing fit. Sukuna lights a cigarette, smiling as he takes a deep drag and slowly exhales the smoke. He quickly turns up the heat, making sure you stay warm despite the open car window.

And you sigh happily as you snuggle into Sukuna's jacket and lean back in the comfy leather seat, reaching out to put one hand on Sukuna's muscular thigh, where it stays the whole drive home.

Sukuna parks in front of your dorm and walks you to your door, still the perfect gentleman. But before you can remark on it, he kisses you. A sweet, deep French kiss, where both of his tattooed hands cup your cheeks, and he tilts your head back to kiss you even deeper.

You feel weak in the knees, grateful for Sukuna's tall, strong body to lean against, sighing softly into the kiss, wishing it will never end.

When Sukuna pulls away, you reach out immediately and grab his tie, smiling at him as you let your gaze trail over him again. He really looks fine as hell. You tug on his tie, pulling him closer again, and tilt your head to grin up at him,

"Hey, where do you think you're going? Stay the night, baby. I want this date to last the whole rest of the day."

And Sukuna's eyes twinkle playfully as he grabs your chin and slowly leans down,

"I'm going nowhere. As long as you'll have me, I will always stay the night, princess."

SIGHHHHHHH 💗💗 That date with him would make me melt, too. I hope you enjoyed it!! The thought of Sukuna dressing super nice in a suit and tie is always very delicious to me.

Thank you so much for reading and for all the love! I hope you liked the new chapter. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

In Chapter 14, we will see our dear dormmate Nobara maybe becoming a bit softer for our hockey boyfie lol + Reader taking care of a pissed-off Sukuna, who lost a game ;) He needs us so bad 😘

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ your girl ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo held your hands carefully, his fingers scarcely brushing the raw, incensed marks from the rope burns. the reddened skin stood out against your pallid complexion, making the injuries look worse than you tried to let on. you flinched slightly when he turned your palms upward, his touch so delicate it made your chest ache. “it’s not so bad,” you murmured, your voice light, though the sting was anything but mild. you glanced up at him, hoping your slight smile would ease the worry etched into his exhausted, weary features.

˚ ༘♡ his brows furrowed together, your futile consolation doing little to calm him. his thumb drifted near the worst of the burns, as if he wanted to soothe the pain but didn’t dare. “i’m sorry,” he spoke, his voice desolate and tormented, as if it was meant for your ears alone, the others no concern of his. he shook his head, his jaw tightening. “if they’d given us water or even a cold drink, it might’ve helped. don’t put too much pressure on your hands, okay?”

˚ ༘♡ you gazed at him, surprised by the softness in his tone. “sang-woo, really, it’s nothing. we all got burns from the tug of war game,” you replied, your countenance softening as you glanced down at your scorched hands. “i’ll be fine.” the sincerity in his cloudedngaze made your heart burn with adoration, although the sting from your injuries grounded you.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond right away, his dark eyes lingering on your hands like he could will the pain away by staring at it long enough. for a split second, it seemed like he was about to say something, something you weren’t sure you were ready to hear, but instead, he let out a quiet sigh and bit into the corn cob the guards had distributed to the surviving players as meal rations. the stiffness in his shoulders stuck around, an indicative sign of his unease.

˚ ༘♡ “and you, babe!” mi-nyeo’s voice cut through the air, loud and exaggerated, she was player 212, who had been on their team for the last game. “three steps forward, huh? so cool.” her giggle was thick with flirtation as she strutted closer to sang-woo, clearly angling for his attention.

˚ ༘♡ but he didn’t so much as glance at her. not a single flicker of acknowledgment crossed his face. instead, his gaze flickered back to you for the briefest of moments, his lips pressing into a thin line when he saw your discomfort. you shifted uncomfortably beside him, your fingers curling slightly against your lap, but his knee brushed yours, whether intentional or not, it was enough to send a reassuring warmth through you. gi-hun, noticing the awkwardness brewing between everyone, laughed, his tone cheerful. “hey, sang-woo’s got a girlfriend already, so give it a rest.”

˚ ༘♡ mi-nyeo froze fora beat, her playful smirk disappearing. her eyes darted toward you, sitting stiffly next to sang-woo. she blinked in disbelief, her gaze flitting between the two of you before settling on you. “the foreign girl?” she scoffed, her voice rising. “seriously? come on, sang-woo, you can do so much better…”

˚ ༘♡ you opened your mouth to speak, but sang-woo beat you to it, his voice slicing through the tension. “why don’t we eat in silence?” his tone was cold, sharper than you’d ever heard it, and it left no room for argument. his dark eyes narrowed on mi-nyeo, making it clear he wouldn’t tolerate another word from her.

˚ ༘♡ a small tinge of satisfaction warmed your chest as mi-nyeo’s face fell, though you kept your expression neutral. she paused for a moment, clearly trying to think of a way to regain control of the conversation. eventually, she shrugged, her grin returning with a sly twist. “if that’s what you want,” she declared, drawing out her words before sauntering away with an exaggerated sway in her hips.

˚ ༘♡ the minute she was gone, you let out a slow breath, the tension in your chest easing slightly. sang-woo hadn’t moved, his posture rigid and his dark eyes fixed on the ground, though his tensed muscles revealed his lingering frustration. you glanced at him, hesitant but apprehensive. “you didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, your voice soft enough to be carried away by the air around you.

˚ ༘♡ his head turned toward you, his dark eyes meeting yours witha strength that brought you to stop speaking. “yes, i did,” he said, his words hushed and certain, as if it were the most evident notion in the world. “she doesn’t get to talk to you like that.” his manner of speech carried a modest intensity, the kind that didn’t need to be loud to make an impact.

˚ ༘♡ you blinked, surprised by the tenderness of his response. “it doesn’t bother me,” you said, though the strain in your voice betrayed the pitiful lie. you wanted to brush it off, to convince him, and maybe yourself, that it didn’t matter with how dire the circumstances were. yet he didn’t look away, and the way his eyes searched yours made it unthinkable to hold the facade.

˚ ༘♡ “it should,” he said quietly. his gaze went to your wounded hands again, fixated on the burns as his fingers twitched, as if he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he should. “you don’t deserve that insolent mockery and those rude insults.”

˚ ༘♡ the raw honesty in his voice made something inside you ache. you swallowed hard, your heart catching at the way he looked at you, in a way that betrayed that he cared more than he was willing to admit. “we all deal with it,” you said gently, the words feeling inadequate even as they left your lips.

˚ ༘♡ his expression didn’t change, but his voice softened just enough to make your chest tighten. “that doesn’t make it right,” he mumbled, almost to himself. he leaned slightly closer, his tone faint enough that it felt like the world around you had fallen away. “if i could make it easier for you, i would.”

˚ ༘♡ your breath caught in your throat, the unexpected affection of his words settling solemnly in the little distance between the two of you. for a brief period of time, neither of you spoke, the solitude stretching out in a way that felt strangely comforting. you could feel the unspoken significance of everything he wasn’t saying, everything he couldn’t put into words, and it was enough to make the misery of the desolate world seem distant, something nonexistent.

˚ ༘♡ “thank you,” you finally whispered, your voice barely able to be heard but carrying more meaning than the mere words could communicate.

˚ ༘♡ he gave the smallest nod, his lips pressing together as if to keep himself from saying more. the short-lived instance of genuine affection had ended, but the feeling it left behind stayed with you, lingering, quiet, and comfortable in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

a/n: a more lighthearted cho sang-woo fanfiction! let me know if you have anymore requests for him as well as your thoughts! 🤍

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader / Pietro Maxmioff x fem!reader

Summary: Nothing is as it seems.

Prompt: "You look familiar. Where do I know you from?"

Warnings: crossover au, death, pietro, reader, and james are all sixteen, ending is very much up to interpretation (open-ended lol), confusing on purpose 😉

~ @simp-for-fictional-people this is SO niche and so different then anything I usually write! i hope this is what you wanted, lovie!! ~

ps: while i personally fan-cast James as Aaron Taylor-Johnson in my head and use him for headers, i try and write his physical descriptions more ambiguously in my other james works because i know there are plenty of other amazing James fan-casts (including poc!james, which i really love)! however, for this story's purposes, he's supposed to look like pietro 😁 ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

PIETRO MAXIMOFF MASTERLIST

BLURB MASTERLIST

Dead.

The word rings in your ears but you don't register it. You slide through the rubble, knees scraping the pavement to reach him. Alive? You hope as you see a glimmer of those blue eyes you love so much behind the strands of silver. You whisper his name, the letters feeling wrong on your tongue as you kneel beside him. 

You see the blood seeping through his costume and your heart sinks. Dead. Dead. Dead. It's a taunting chant as you push him up to lean his head on your knees, pushing his hair away from his eyes. His eyes, which are staring at you but there's no life behind them anymore. 

"No," your voice is shaky as you clutch him, your skin vibrating as your vision blurs. "No. No. No. No," you chant to counter the voice in your head. You bend over and kiss his forehead. No response. You try his cheek as tears stream down your cheeks. "Pietro," you plead, "wake up."

Anger courses your veins as his blood stains your hands. Your head is pounding so loudly you can barely think. 

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

The team calls your name. You feel like the world around you is spinning as you feel your powers acting up as you hold him closer to you, crushing his face into your chest as you sob. You feel hot and misplaced as your head is throbbing. 

Your name is screamed again but this time, you can't even see them as a blinding green light surrounds you, catching the gimmer on your wrist—the small silver bracelet Pietro had given you for your sixteenth birthday—and you fall unconscious. Your head hits the pavement, making everything turn dark. 

His hand touches yours, the background blurry. He looks like a carefree kid again, those rosy cheeks so full of life and future. "Y/n/n, wake up," Pietro whispers, grinning as you stare into his blue eyes. "Wake up now."

You startle awake, sitting up as your chest heaves. You blink, dried tears still on your cheeks. You glance around the room, it looks ancient. You're dressed in clothes you don't immediately recognize as your head continues to throb.

From your bedside, a boy jumps up. He's wearing the same clothes, only his with red accents as opposed to your green ones. His dark hair is curled messily across his features and his glasses rest lopsided on his head. "Thank Merlin!" he exclaims, his British accent thick as he rushes up to you and leans over you, smiling. "Are you okay?"

You blink, looking at his features intensely. His smile, the way his nose curves, the swoop of his hair. His eyes. 

The same ones flash in your head. 

"You look familiar," you whisper, tilting your head with confusion, "Where do I know you from."

The boy laughs. "Y/n/n, it's me. It's James."

James? James? James? For some reason the name sticks on your tongue. You look at him as your memories rush back. James. Pietro? James. 

"Jamie, right," you shake your head, touching your scalp and frowning. "Shit, what happened?"

"You fell and hit your head pretty damn hard, love," James kisses your forehead tenderly. "Madam Pomfrey says you have a small concussion," he smiles and again you have a weird sense of déja-vu.

"I had the weirdest dream," you tell him and look down at your hands, almost expecting to see the green light from around them. Your frown deepens when you see the silver bracelet from your dream. You hold your wrist up. 

"James? Where did this come from?"

James looks at the bracelet and shrugs. "Why're you asking me? It's yours." 

You turn the bracelet around, frowning again as you see a hint of two small initials engraved onto the metal.

P.M

tags: @mischievousmoony, @sayitlikethecheese, @longlivedelusion, @fangirl-swagg, @tansgirlfriend, @brokeaesthetic , @lqrlei, @princesssunderworld

[alotofpockets]

Some scars aren't visible | Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Reader

5k celebration prompt: "Nightmares again?"

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.1k

-----

You had been having your best season for Barca yet, and already adding onto the growing list of stats with two assists this match.

While you loved assisting your teammates, you really wanted to score one yourself today. One more goal and you would be the league's all-time top scorer.

Both your girlfriends had mentioned before the match that they felt like this could be the one. With Ingrid quickly adding, “No pressure to, of course.” to which Mapi quickly agreed.

They were always so supportive of your achievements, and you couldn't wait until you would be able to celebrate this one with them.

Then in the thirtieth minute it was time for a Barcelona corner. One look from Mapi, while she walked over to take it, said enough for you to know exactly what she was planning to do.

Sure enough, Mapi crossed in the ball right in front of you. All you had to do was win the header from your opponent.

While jumping up, you managed to create enough space between you and the defender. You headed the ball towards the far corner, watching it fly past the keeper in slow motion, not registering that you'd scored until the stadium erupted in cheers.

You ran straight to Mapi and jumped into her arms, the rest of the team jumping in on the celebration. A new record to your name, assisted by your girlfriend, how could your season get any better?

When everyone stepped out of the celebratory huddle, Ingrid was waiting for her own hug. “I am so proud of you.” She whispered into your ear as she spun you around.

You were on a high, 3-0 ahead, two assists, and a goal that made you break the record for all-time top scorer. Nothing could stop the excitement from this game. With your heart still pounding from the goal, you felt unstoppable.

Ten minutes later, you were rushing forwards to the goal once more. Only this time you had defenders running at you from all sides. Your teammates were trying to find positions for you to pass the ball to them, but each time they tried, they were shut down again.

So, you had to try to go through them yourself. You managed to get past one of the defenders, and tried running the ball around them, but they effectively tackled you. Only for the other defender that was rushing in to step onto your ankle after not being able to stop her run in time.

You didn't know exactly what happened, one moment you were tackled and the next moment you were screaming out in pain.

Tears were streaming down your face. You had never felt such pain before, you wanted to move but everything hurt. 

The next thing you noticed was Alexia sitting by your side, her eyes filled with worry as she was trying her best to comfort you. 

Her lips were moving but you didn't hear what she was saying. She wiped the tears from your face with one hand and with her other hand she held yours.

Then finally there was noise again. “You're okay. Just breathe.” You blinked up at her confused. Why did Alexia have Mapi's voice?

It must be because you were totally out of it from the pain. Then the medical team showed up, “Shh, we've got you.” You looked confused again, why did he sound like Ingrid?

Then it hit you, this was a nightmare. 

You fought to open your eyes, desperately wanting to wake from this horrible nightmare that is making you experience your injury all over again.

When you finally manage to wake you, you sit right up. Your breathing heavy and the tears you were crying in your sleeping state rolling down your cheeks in the real world too. The room around you was dark, and it took you a moment to realise where you were, but then you saw Mapi and Ingrid and it all started to make sense. It was the two of them talking, trying to get you to wake up.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” Ingrid says as you lean into her side. Her arms instantly wrap around you. She nudged Mapi, who pressed a quick kiss to your head before getting up and leaving the room.

“It’s alright baby, let it all out.” She whispered as she held you tight, while rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back as you tried to steady your breathing. Your heart was still racing, the phantom pain of the injury lingering, but you were okay. You were in the safety of your home, in your bed, not on the pitch.

Ingrid’s quiet hums of comfort and your shaky breaths were the only sounds in the room until Mapi walked back in with a glass of water for you. “Here, amor.” She said handing you the glass before sitting down on the bed with you two again.

You take a few sips before you hand the glass back to Mapi, who places it on the nightstand. “Nightmares again?" She asks while placing her hand on your leg, wanting to offer you some extra comfort.

After taking a deep breath, you nodded. “Yeah, it was about my injury. I was reliving it again. It felt so real,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like I was back there. The pain, the fear… everything.”

Mapi looked down at your ankle, the light scar showing the surgery you underwent in order to heal your broken ankle. But she knew that some scars aren’t visible, and sometimes those are the hardest parts of an injury to heal. She looked back at your face, and her heart broke a little at how much the mental side of your injury was still taking a toll on you.

“I’m sorry the nightmares keep coming, amor.” She moved up the bed and laid down on her back with her arms open, “Come here.” Ingrid presses a kiss to your temple before gently unwrapping her arms from around you, giving you space to settle into Mapi’s embrace. Quickly following herself once you were comfortable, holding you from the other side.

Laying in their arms felt safe. Mapi’s fingers slowly tracing patterns on your arm, and Ingrid pressing soft kisses onto your back. In their arms you started to relax more, almost forgetting about the nightmare all together.

“We’ve got you.” Ingrid said between kisses, and you believed it. With them you felt comfortable and safe. It didn’t take long before you found sleep in their comforting hold. This time without the nightmares that had been haunting your dreams.

-----

💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! You can also support me by leaving a tip 💗

[moon-ttokki-x]

hiii i see you hav angst fics, do uu write character death? if u do then can i request a reader death one and how the members react to it? totally okay if you can’t lolz

ok so this is the angstiest thing i've ever written . . . proceed with caution bc it gets quite intense >< it was a nice release though, i haven't been feeling too over the moon lately, so it helped me a little <3 also blurry header for added angsty vibes . anyway here you go, love~

don't go, please - skz hyung!line x reader

pairing: ot8!skz hyung!line x reader

summary: skz hyung line reactions to when you d*e.

genre: so so heavy on the angst i cannot stress that enough, kind of dark, mentions of not eating, depression, anxiety, reader doesn't really exist in this fic, sad skz which hurt me to write, mentions of pushing people away, unhealthy obsessions, loss of passion and interests, just really heavy grief themes

a/n: you can't expect me to get a request like this and not write the angstiest, most gut-wrenching, heart-breaking shit anyone has ever read . . . anyway suffer . div by @carnage-cathedral

if this content makes you uncomfortable, please skip it . the last thing i want is to make people upset, so don't read this if it's triggering for you. proceed with caution and be safe, my loves <3

skz masterlist

Chan who goes silent when he hears the news. Doesn't talk, doesn't move, and then gets up and leaves, walking endlessly and aimlessly through the streets until the members have to physically stop him. Doesn't wail or cry, doesn't make a fuss. Becomes less affectionate with everyone around him because physical affection reminds him of you; your hugs and kisses and your hands playing with his. Loses his leader attitude, becomes quiet and introverted, and can't seem to find as much passion in being a leader for his team like he did before. Is wary around everyone he's ever known, pushes people away like he did when he was a trainee. Sits in his room most days; is hardly ever seen, and when he is, he's looking at a little polaroid photo of you, clutched between shaking fingers as he wishes for you to come back.

Minho who immediately shuts himself away, refusing to see or talk to anyone. Spends all day in his dorm room, just sitting and staring placidly at the wall. Relives every single moment you've ever shared and wishes endlessly that he could have spent more time with you. Doesn't feel like dancing much anymore, and any remnants of energy he might have had when you were still here is gone. Becomes bitter and angry, harsh towards his own members. Even loves his cats a little less; most of his memories with them are ones shared with you, and they're far too painful for him to relive. His emotions dry up like a dead, shriveled plant and disappear, his teasing personality evaporating with it.

Changbin who goes radio silent over the phone; hangs up immediately after and can be heard throwing up from distress in the staff bathroom. Is taken sick for a week due to the shock, and doesn't eat much throughout. Ends up throwing all of his still-to-be-given-to-you love letters in the trash, along with the diamond ring he was planning to give you the night of your anniversary. Quits producing music; his words don't flow as smoothly as before, even when he rarely feels like talking to anyone. Permanent eye bags take place under his eyes as he goes online, clicking out of his gym membership. Doesn't want to touch any of your belongings, it's too painful, and quits working out due to the lack of energy in his body.

Hyunjin who choked out a terrible, wailing scream and tore out his hair when he found out what happened; begged his members for it not to be true. Spends all day just staring out the window; is no longer afraid of anything, and finds nothing but icy numbness and a deep blue sadness taking root in his heart. Covers the walls of his room and art studio in pictures of you; splatters the walls in scarlet red and peachy pink, and then splatters himself in the same shades. Can't find it in himself to paint for much longer after that; doesn't cut his hair or paint his nails anymore, because that was always your job. Sets fire to his sketchbook and puts the ashes of it in a jar; then sets it on his top shelf and tucks the rest of his supplies away. Is no longer able to find any beauty in the world, not if you aren't there with him to see it.

a/n: i'm not writing a part 2 unless someone requests it

[woso-dreamzzz]

Loss

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You lose

You wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

You wanted to take all your gloves and throw them into the fire and just watch them burn.

What use is a keeper that can't stop goals anyway?

Three goals went passed you today. Four if you count the one that was ruled offside.

Three balls shot passed you in the semifinal of the FA Cup. Arsenal would not be going to the final.

Faith had been put on you to carry the team through but you had fallen at the first hurdle.

A shot fired at you from point blank range in the first five minutes.

It skimmed your gloves and buried itself into your net.

The second came from a corner. A header that went just past your outstretched fingertips.

The third was during the second half. A cross into your box and a shot that zoomed past your body.

The fourth goal, the one called offside, had been whipped in just in front of you after you came out of your goal to collect.

It was a shocking performance from you and you fell face forward onto your bed to scream into your pillow.

Your phone keeps ringing and you know who it is.

You ignore it, turning your head so you can stare at your bedside table.

You watch your phone ring over and over again. The screen lights up and then goes dark again. It repeats again and again but all you can do is stare.

You don't want to think about the match. You want to crawl under your sheets and just die.

You've got to go out to get groceries tomorrow. You don't know how you're going to show your face in public.

Your performance was so embarrassing.

Your coach shouldn't have thought that putting an eighteen year old as keeper was a good idea. His faith in your ability was unfounded and you wonder briefly if it's too late to go back to school for something other than football.

You didn't think you needed a backup option. Football was everything to you. Football was your whole life.

You don't know what you're going to do without football.

Your phone rings again and you flip it over so you can't see the screen anymore.

Rocky looks back at you from his spot on your bedside table.

"Don't," You say to him," Don't look at me like that."

His blank googly eyes stare back at you.

"Stop it."

He keeps staring.

Your hand closes around him and your arm rears back in anger.

Rocky collides with your bedroom wall, clattering to the floor.

You scream into your pillow, forcing yourself not to cry.

You know everyone is going to be talking about your bad performance today. You knew you single-handedly sunk Arsenal's dream of the FA Cup this year.

Your phone rings again and again and you wish you had turned off your sound.

You never realised how annoying your ringtone was. If you remember when you wake up tomorrow, you'll have to change it.

The stupid jingle runs through your ears like how those goals run through your mind.

"I don't want to talk," You say when you finally gain the courage to answer your phone after watching it ring for at least an hour.

"Princesse-"

"No," You cut her off firmly," I don't want to talk. Stop calling me."

"No," Momma says," I watched the match-"

"I don't want to talk!" You insist," Why can't you leave me alone?!"

"Princ-"

"Stop it!" You say, tears running down your cheeks," Just stop!"

"It's not the end of the world." That's Morsa now.

"You weren't there! You don't know!"

"You think I haven't lost matches?" Comes Morsa's dry voice," I know all about losing, princesse. It's one match out of countless others. You'll get them next year."

"I don't want to get them next year!" You spit back," I wanted to get them this year!

"And that didn't work out," Momma says to you gently," And that's okay."

A sob rips through your throat. "Momma, I played so badly."

"You're still young," Momma says," You're never going to have a perfect game all season. It was unfortunate that it was today but it is what it is. You'll spend the weekend sulking about it but you'll improve yourself. You'll get better next time."

You crouch on your bedroom floor, picking up Rocky and wiping off the dirt from him.

One of his googly eyes has fallen off so you stick it back on.

"It's not just your fault," Morsa says," You're in a team sport, princesse. The blame never falls on one person's shoulders. You're still young. You've proven yourself to your team. One bad match doesn't ruin everything. You'll improve."

You wipe away your tears, clenching your fist around Rocky. "Really?"

"Of course. You're going to be great one day but you need to stumble a bit first. Learn from your mistakes and you'll get them next time."

You sniffle. "Thanks."

"Good girl," Momma says," Now, I want you to order food tonight, alright? You had a hard day. Treat yourself."

"I will."

"We love you."

"Love you too."

You look down at the rock in your hand and wince. "Sorry I threw you, Rocky. It won't happen again."

[dat-town]

another social casualty

Characters: golden boy!Jaehyun & loner!female reader

Setting & genre: hurt/comfort, coming of age, high school au

Summary: One fears not being lovable, the other fears losing people. Two lonely souls find each other.

Warnings: mentions of academic, parental and peer pressure, loneliness, nosebleed, past friendship fallout, abandonment issues (MC’s father left), anxiety, medication, crying, the romance is very slow burn, it’s more like finding safe haven in each other?

Words: 8.8k

Author’s note: title from the 5SOS song, though i listened to a whole lot of Keshi and Conan Gray while writing this. heavily inspired by Jaehyun’s crazy academic background and how he said he was in a dark place before joining KOZ, i can’t find the entire list of his school activities but here and here are some. header pic of Jaehyun is from starry-eyed

@restlessmaknae you chose this as the one you would be most interested in from my list, so i hope it doesn’t disappoint!

i did not expect to finish this before 2024 ends but here it is. wishing all my readers a 2025 spent with joy, in health, happy new year! <3

→ BEFORE

Myung Jaehyun is a people pleaser.

You can tell because you used to be the same. Not anymore. Still, you can’t look away because it’s like watching a train wreck. Terrible because you can see the cracks in his personality but intriguing at the same time. Just how much a person can mold their own material to make them fit into pre-shaped places? How can they make themselves smaller if there’s not enough space for them? It’s rush hour metro effect: one can always bend and push and press enough to squeeze inside, to turn into something they are not. This is how you become part of the machine.

You have been there. Now you prefer to be an observer. Now you don’t fake laughs over things you don’t find funny just to not hurt somebody else’s feelings. Now you rather sit alone at the canteen during lunch hour instead of pretending to be somebody you’re not just to be welcomed at a popular table. Now you prefer to be invisible rather than seen and judged. Ghosts have it better off in high schools.

Myung Jaehyun doesn’t seem to know that yet.

The first time you really saw Jaehyun, the principal called him in front of the lined up classes during the school year starting ceremony and pinned a badge with the title ‘school president’ onto his uniform. You looked up from the creases of the back of your classmate’s white shirt in front of you to see a boy on the podium as rigid as the pole with the Korean flag. His dress jacket was perfectly ironed, necktie tucked in, no wrinkles in his entire attire. Not even a piece of hair was out of place. He stood there, in front of the entire school, tall and proud, as an example just like the principal called him while listing all his achievements. He was not only a straight A student, a member of the student council and the vice president of the Economics and Business Management club but he also proved his worth as part of the football team and representing the school in various regional writing competitions. The list went on and on, Principal Lee was really emphasizing just how much he wanted to have more students like him, dedicated and hard-working ones, at the school, but you tuned out everything after the first few sentences. Myung Jaehyun caught your attention not because of the way the silver badge shone on his chest or the way he kept his eyes strictly on one point ahead, mouth pressed in a firm line, but rather because of the way his fingers twitched by his sides. When you looked closer, you could tell he was picking at the skin around his nail, a nervous habit. Everything about him was proper and perfect except that.

Ever since then it hasn’t been hard to notice him. Although you don’t share a class, with all his clubs and one too many responsibilities he is kind of everywhere. He’s announcing details about the upcoming annual trip on the school radio, he’s on the top of the list that’s pinned in the school hall about the midterm results, he’s holding a trophy in a photograph for the vitrine in the hallways that lead up to the school gym.

It’s not like you’re watching him. There’s nothing weird or stalkerish in it. You’re not even like the girls who whisper scream his name when he walks by and wonder if they should ask him out. You just notice him and observe. You keep looking for flaws in his picture perfect demeanor. You look for signs that there’s a human beneath that machine he seems to be. You just watch him from a distance and you’re content with that.

Until he notices you too.

→ SEPTEMBER

It happens on a Friday evening, early in the new term, long after the last classes ended, so the school library is pretty empty. You don’t like crowds, so you prefer to visit when most students have already retreated. This way you can also avoid running into people you don’t want to meet. You greet the tired librarian by the door with a bow and with your bag hanging from your shoulder, you head straight towards the Literature section because of an essay you have to write. It isn’t due for a week more but you don’t like to leave things to the last minute purely because of the stress that rushing brings. You trace the spines of the books with your fingertip as you walk past them, searching for a specific author and when you find it, you grab it from the shelf. You press it to your chest and slip out on the other side of the aisle, ready to head back towards the librarian’s desk when you hear a sniffle. You look up, towards the source of the sound and see him.

Myung Jaehyun is sitting at one of the tables in the back, hunched over text books. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand and it comes back red. It’s vivid like a blaring warning sign and your gut twists as the school president scrambles to hold off his nosebleed before it would get everywhere. His movements seem frantic, almost panicked as he fumbles with the zipper of his backpack but he freezes in spot when he notices you watching. With two fingers pressing his nose, blood splotches on the sleeve of his immaculate white shirt, he stares at you wide eyed, just as frozen in place as you are.

You’re startled. The moment your eyes meet, you feel his gaze burn. You cast your eyes down and take a step backwards, ready to leave and pretend nothing happened. Because nothing did. But then you halt, thinking better off it. You swiftly reach into the front pocket of your bag and take out a small packet of tissues and a piece of chocolate you always keep with yourself in case your blood sugar dipped. You can feel Myung Jaehyun’s eyes on you the entire time you walk up to his desk. Realistically speaking it doesn’t take more than a few seconds, it is six steps at max but it feels longer with his scalding attention on you. You’re not used to being watched, you’re a wallflower after all.

You put the tissues and chocolate down on the table and turn around to leave. You don’t wait for the boy’s reaction. You don’t even look at him. You don’t stop when he calls after you. You leave as quickly as you came. Blend back into the shadows where you like to be.

Myung Jaehyun doesn’t let you though.

Next week when you leave your classroom on Tuesday, he’s out in the corridor in front of the door, waiting. For you. There’s not much guessing about it since you are the last one in the class, everybody else having somewhere to run off and here you are, taking your time. You only falter for a moment when you step over the threshold and take in the sight of the school president in all his glory. Then you look down onto the laminated floor and turn down the corridor.

Jaehyun pushes himself away from the window frame he has been leaning against so far and catches up to you fast.

“Wait,” he calls after you, his voice is an echo of the sound he made back in the library.

Thinking back on it twists your gut uncomfortably as you remember the blood and how the boy looked at you like he never received kindness from a stranger. Much to your dislike, you slow your steps and eventually come to a halt when you realize you can’t just brush off the boy’s presence, so you decide it’s better to get over with. You look up at him questioningly, nails digging into the straps of your backpack as you wait.

“Can we talk?” Jaehyun asks, polite like anytime you heard him talk and he looks relieved that he doesn’t have to chase you down. His tie is a little crooked today but other than that there’s nothing out of place about him. Although from this close you see the dark circles under his eyes and can’t help but wonder how much he slept last night and the night before that. He has always had the best score but it didn’t stop him from running himself thin last week if the nosebleed is anything to go by.

“If you’re worried about what happened in the library, don’t. I won’t tell anybody,” you shrug because why would you? He certainly isn’t the first senior who drives himself over his own breaking point. You had heard stories about hospital IV dip visits, students fainting after handing in their papers and ‘vitamins’ passed around before exam week. The stakes are high. The competition to get into a Seoul university, especially a SKY one is cutthroat and you know that the school president aims for that. Everybody expects him to do so. With his list of achievements and history of high scores, it sounds viable. But at what price?

“It’s not that,” Myung Jaehyun protests but despite his words his shoulders visibly go slack with relief. You can tell that he cares a lot about his reputation and it sure would have left a stain if people knew that the all so perfect school president was human too, bleeding from academic pressure right on his homework. You grimace at the thought.

“You don’t owe me anything either,” you clarify because you never expected anything in return for being a decent human being and you don’t know what else he could possibly want.

“But…”

“Really. Just forget it,” you sigh, tired of arguing already. The boy looks conflicted under his wavy fringe, almost like a puppy before schooling his expression and clearing his throat.

“Thanks anyway,” he says before stepping out of your way, so you can keep going and you do. You move on with your life, watching from the sidelines as he receives praise for his participation in a regional essay contest and when the football team returns with another hard earned win.

Days pass in a blur. Like they always did. Just another day to get through. Just another week. Just another term. Gosh, you can’t wait for high school to end. You have had enough of seeing these people.

On Monday you make eye contact with Mijoo when you come out of a stall in the girls’ bathroom and she’s in front of the mirror fixing her already perfect makeup. She used to not do that, care too much about her appearance, not before she befriended Kim Soyeon. Now you awkwardly hold eye contact for one, two, three seconds and then she looks away. You’re the one who walks away just like you did before but it doesn’t make it easier. There’s something hollow and painful in your chest, still missing something you once had.

Three days later your mother asks you about school while you help clean the tables at the café. She asks about the midterms and if you’re still friends with ‘that ponytail girl’. The reminder feels like a slap and your throat closes up.

On Friday you skip out on lunch hour and spend it lying on the bench in the yard, staring at the sky. You’re caught like that when it starts to rain. You watch it through spread fingers as the first raindrops fall then close your eyes and smile. You have always loved the rain and even though it’s impractical to get soaked in the middle of the school day, you can always change into your PE clothes, you reason.

But then the rain stops. You can’t feel the cold drops on you even though you hear the rhythmic sound of them hitting the ground and you pry your eyes open only to see Myung Jaehyun standing above you with an umbrella held over you. You shoot up into a sitting position quickly, then stand up and smooth down your uniform. Not necessarily because you’re embarrassed but because you hate being a burden to others and while you didn’t ask for his help, based on his persistence from last time you know he wouldn’t have just left no matter what you told him. Hell, he even moves to shrug off his jacket before you stop him.

“It’s okay. I have a change of clothes inside,” you explain but there’s no arguing with the school president about walking you inside. You can tell he wants to ask you something but you don’t give him a chance to. Once you are between four walls, you mutter out a polite thanks and then head to your classroom.

→ OCTOBER

On another Friday evening, Myung Jaehyun asks if he can sit at your table in the near empty library. You don’t understand what he’s getting at, so you just shrug, still focused on your homework. When you steal a glance at the boy on the other side of the table, you see him go over pages of ink writing, highlighting certain parts. There’s torn and nipped skin around his thumb nail. You turn back to your workbook before he could notice that you were looking.

“Are you coming to the school trip?” The boy asks when half an hour later you start packing your bag. The question surprises you because he shouldn’t care. He doesn’t even know you.

“No,” you answer curtly, not going into details. He doesn’t need to know that you’ve always been a homebody and you don’t enjoy social interactions, especially not school-related ones. But Jaehyun is stubborn and curious a bit too much.

“Why not?” He asks and you sigh.

“It’s not really my scene. I don’t want to spend more time around my classmates than I have to,” you shrug nonchalantly but there must be something in your voice that gives you away because the boy furrows his brows in worry.

“Did something happen?”

“No,” you lie or well, not really. Technically, nothing really happened regarding the trip. But if things were like they were a year ago, you would be excited about going with Mijoo. Things just change, people too. It’s not necessarily a bad thing.

“You’re always alone,” Jaehyun says in a quiet voice in the library’s dead still silence. He says it like it was something you should be sad about. A part of you wants to question whether he had been stalking you to notice that but that would have been rich coming from you who had been watching him from afar all along, so you decide against it.

“Yes. I prefer that way,” you tell him instead and it’s true. Better alone than with fake friends. Yet, the boy can’t even seem to fathom the idea.

“You can’t mean that,” he mutters with widened eyes and it leaves you with something bitter in your gut.

Can’t you? Just because a pretty boy runs himself thin to get everybody’s appreciation, can’t you want some peace of mind alone?

“Not everybody needs constant validation,” you snap at him and it comes out harsher than intended. You can see the hurt mirrored in Jaehyun’s eyes but you don’t let yourself linger on it as you hoist your bag up to your shoulder. “Don’t make me your charity case.”

“I don’t… I’m not…”

The always so eloquent Myung Jaehyun seems speechless now but you don’t wait for him to figure out what he wants to deny more, whether he can at all. You leave him there at the table. You’re good at that: leaving. Better be the one doing it than being the one left behind.

It’s been four years since you last saw your father. A part of you misses him, or at least the idea of a reliable father. At first you had been angry at your mother for giving him an ultimatum but then realized that at the end of the day, it wasn’t her fault. It was your father who chose his gambling addiction over you. So maybe you were better off without him.

It was around that time too when you realized that being left short on money limited your future opportunities. Not that you ever dreamed about going abroad or attending the best schools in the country. You didn’t even know what you wanted to do with your life and it sounded stupid, spending so much money on education just because everybody else was doing it around you. You started helping out your mom at the café then too, so she wouldn’t have to hire another part-timer and even though now, when things are better, your mother tries to convince you from time to time to go to after school studies instead of wiping tables and washing dishes, you don’t mind doing it. You can choose the melody coming from the old retro music box, help her come up with decoration ideas for holiday seasons and taste test new baked goods. You also take your role as her social media manager very seriously, posting aesthetic photos on Instagram periodically. It’s a simple life, a comfortable one and you’re content with it.

Your homeroom teacher not so much.

He called you into the teachers’ office to talk and you already knew why. It made it a bit easier to brace yourself for the impact of his words. Him asking about the reasons why you didn’t apply to any university. He doesn’t accept your answer and your satisfaction easily, he pushes relentlessly, telling you that you would regret it one day but you know it’s not about your future, it’s about the school’s yearly statistics. You tune out most of his speech, focusing on a loose thread of his worn knitted sweater, of the low hum of the coffee machine in the back and the printer coughing up papers. Then a familiar voice reaches your ear and you glance over the cubicle wall to see Myung Jaehyun with a punch of papers in his arm. His homeroom teacher pats him on the shoulder, proud, and for a moment you wonder how the boy feels about it.

“Y/N! Are you even listening?” Your own teacher chides and you avert your gaze back to the man but in your peripheral view, you can see the school president turn towards you just when Mr Hong clicks his tongue in annoyance. “It’s always the ones without fathers. They lack discipline.”

His words burn you deeper than expected. Him blaming something like this on your lack of father, on your mother’s loving care and hard work essentially. It makes you clench your hands in fists by your sides until you’re dismissed with a resigned promise to think about it.

When you finally leave the teachers’ office, Jaehyun waits outside. His eyes are gentle and a little sad but not pitying as he asks: 

“Are you okay?”

“I will be,” you nod because it’s not a big thing, you will get over it. Jaehyun doesn’t press and you’re grateful for that.

You don’t know when it happens and how. Letting down your guard around Myung Jaehyun of all people. It happens gradually like the trees changing their green leaves to more colourful attire. You’re very different: he cares too much about his grades and image and you care too little. He has all these big ambitions and you have none. He basks in glory in front of the school and you let out a sigh of relief when you can get over a day without anybody talking to you.

You have never stopped looking at Jaehyun though. You see him in the corridor, tall and proud and confident. You see him celebrated for his achievements on the school podium and even in the canteen surrounded by all his so-called friends and admirers. The difference is that lately he has been looking back. His gaze meets yours in the busy canteen when you sit at a table with strangers like you usually do if there’s no empty table. Your eyes meet in the hall when you arrive two minutes before the bell rings and he’s on gate duty. He never talks to you, never approaches you and it makes it easier to relax in his company, knowing that he wouldn’t bring unwanted attention to you.

He finds you in the almost empty library though, sits at your table in silence and minding his own business. He doesn’t bring up the trip again and you don’t call him out on his unusual behaviour either. You just exist in the same space, without judgement, without expectations. It’s actually quite nice.

It gives you the push to go up to him too when you see him alone at your usual table in the library on a Thursday late afternoon. As you get closer you see a brochure for Seoul National University open in front of him and that he’s reading a book about writing personal statements and study plans for college applications.

“So SNU?” You ask quietly enough not to startle him as you slip into the seat across from him.

Jaehyun looks up, his hair a bit messy, probably from running his hand through it more than usual but you like this look on him. Not being oh so perfect makes him seem more approachable.

“Yeah. What about you?” He inquires, trying to make a conversation probably because you didn’t hear the beginning of your conversation with your homeroom teacher back in the teachers’ office. You used to be nervous when people asked such loaded questions, afraid of disappointing them but once you accepted that their opinion didn’t matter more than yours, it all became easier.

“Oh, I won’t go to university.”

“What? Why?” The school president’s eyes widen in surprise as if he couldn’t even imagine that and maybe he can’t. With the competitive job market of Korea, people are made to feel like they worth nothing without a degree but you never dreamed of a white collared job, so you don’t care about that. There are many respectable ways to live without pursuing higher education.

“I don’t need a university degree to help out at my mom’s café,” you explain matter-of-factly and then out of curiosity you look up at Jaehyun, the boy who picks on his skin and works hard until he gets nosebleed, who is always number one and the teachers’ favourite yet never really smiles.  “Why? Is it really you who wants to go to SNU?”

“Of course it’s me! Who else would it be?” Jaehyun’s voice pitches higher than usual, his tone defensive. You quirk a brow, not deeming necessary to answer. It could be his parents, his teachers, the society. He must realize it too because he cast his eyes down and his fingers twitch nervously over the papers in front of him.

After a few minutes of silent shuffling around, his phone buzzes and he curses under his breath, hastily packing his bag.

“I have practice. Sorry,” he apologises, which must be a force of habit because it’s not like you agreed to hang out, nor it’s like he should be sorry for leaving early.

You just nod at him, thinking of the pressure he must have on him with all these responsibilities of which you barely see a fraction. And if you take a detour to pass by the football field on your way out of school, it’s only for you to know. You can’t help it, you get too curious for your own good sometimes and you wonder how the school president is when he plays. It’s easy to spot him when you stop to watch a bit. It’s just practice but you can see how hard he tries, how he pushes his own limits. Running and running until he can’t. He doesn’t seem to do anything half-heartedly. He’s like a flame, burning bright, but you wonder just how long could his passion last before he burns out.

“You know, for somebody who doesn't plan on going to university, you’re here a lot,” Jaehyun mentions one time after he opens his Ethics book. There’s a question hidden in his statement but you don’t mind it as much as you thought you would.

“My mom doesn’t let me help out on school days and I like it here better than in the empty house,” you admit because no matter how much you like being alone, an empty, cold house has a different feel. This way your mom also has the illusion that you have friends to hang out or study with after school and doesn’t worry about you that much. Half of the time you don’t even do homework, just grab a book and read.

Jaehyun hums and stays quiet for a while but you can tell he lingers, he hasn’t flipped a page in the book in front of him for ages. You wait patiently for him to speak up, for his gaze guiding to your features again, tentatively this time.

“Do you… really don’t mind being alone? Aren’t you like… afraid of not having anybody in your life? Of being lonely?” He questions and you aren’t sure what happened that prompted him to ask about that but you would be the last person to judge him after voicing out fears so human.

“I’m more afraid of losing myself while trying to make myself digestible for others and I don’t like the idea of people leaving. It’s easier to avoid that if you don’t get attached,” you answer the best you can without sharing too many details, too many scars of your past. It already feels a bit too much, a bit too personal. You aren’t exactly friends after all. He’s just a boy who sometimes sits at your table. It’s not like you would see each other after graduation, it’s safe.

“Digestible?” Jaehyun mumbles, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Everybody does it. They pretend to be somebody they aren’t, so others would like them,” you explain but the boy shakes his head, not exactly in disagreement though.

“You make it sound so bad. But what’s so wrong about only showing your better sides to other people?”

You don’t answer right away. Just look into Jaehyun’s eyes, letting your gaze linger over his dark circles and the bitten ends of his nails. You sigh, quietly.

“Isn’t it tiring? Being in somebody else’s skin just to be liked?”

Jaehyun could argue that it’s still his skin, that it’s just a better version of himself and you would let him. If he wanted to hide his flaws and imperfections, he has every right and you wouldn’t tell him not to do it because you know how scary it’s to bare yourself in front of somebody else and it’s not like you’re not hiding parts of yourself, it’s just easier to not have anybody around you close enough to see them.

→ NOVEMBER

CSAT exams are approaching fast: students get busier, teachers try to squeeze in just one more type of question in their classes and you can tell that everybody’s nerves are fizzled.  One would think that the school president with his consistently high scores is calm and prepared but you know Jaehyun better than to believe that facade. Still, you don’t expect to catch him on a call with his mother when you leave the football field’s bleachers. These days the school library is full of people day and night, too busy, too stressful, so you prefer killing time on the white painted benches as long as the weather’s not too cold. You don’t mean to eavesdrop, you just halt in your steps when you hear Jaehyun’s voice, unsure of what to do.

“Everything’s okay, mom. Yeah, you don’t have to worry, I’m doing fine.”

His voice is cheerful but you can tell that it’s fake. You can hear him let out a deep breath when he lowers the phone in his hand. He isn’t fine. He has been running himself paper thin. Barely eating, barely sleeping. His hands tremble as he takes the pills. Whether it’s supplements or medicine for stress you never asked. He says it’s only until the CSAT is over. He says it like it’s natural, like it’s a rite of passage everybody goes through.

When you step out of the wall’s cover and Jaehyun sees you, he momentarily tenses before relaxing. You have already seen him in moments of weakness, he knows he doesn’t have to pretend in front of you.

He walks you to the bus stop before going back to squeeze in one more hour of studying before his body would give up on him. You think about stopping him, about telling him not to overdo it but you know that he’s smart enough to know he’s burning the candle on both ends and it could end badly. It also feels unfair of you to tell him to stop when you could never understand his ambitions, so it’s easy for you to say so. So instead of arguing about principles, or trying to stop him knowing it’s useless, you push a bottle of C-vitamin rich juice drink into his hands next morning when you meet by the school gates. It’s you saying that he isn’t alone without saying it. Because the thing is, he never was alone, not physically. But one can be lonely even when dozens of people surround them.

The day of exams is a nerve wracking one, even for you, who doesn’t care about it much because your future doesn’t depend on these scores. You can’t even fathom the pressure and how it feels for those who base their dreams on this one day. Your head is hurting from being in the stuffy classroom solving Maths problems and answering questions about paragraphs from classics all day but instead of heading straight home, you watch as students file out of the school in batches and then one by one. When Jaehyun steps outside of the building, he seems deep in thought and his hands are full of exam papers he’s still reading through. He doesn’t even notice you at first, not until you pull on the sleeve of his jacket. When your eyes meet, you realize that he looks beyond tired and anxious. It breaks your heart a little.

“How do you feel?” You ask carefully, taking the exam papers from his hands and folding them neatly, ready to be packed away.

“I thought I would be relieved that it’s finally over but I keep going back re-thinking my answers, wondering what if I messed it up,” the school president sighs deeply, a shaky little sound and he looks so worried with furrowed forehead and nervously tapping fingers that you have this urge to wrap him in a warm blanket and make sure he can be without worries just a bit.

“There’s nothing you can do about it now though. Maybe you should focus on something else,” you suggest, gently as you hand him back the papers and the boy nods, his fingers brushing yours as he takes it back.

“Yeah, you’re right. The regional football championship is on the corner and I need to write an essay for the school paper. Then there’s…”

“No, I meant…” You cut his anxious rambling off a little frustratedly but when you have Jaehyun’s deep brown eyes on you, curious and confused, you suddenly feel awkwardness sweep into your bones at your silly little idea. Nevertheless, you push through it.  “If you’re free this weekend, would you come with me somewhere?”

“Sure. Where are we going?” The boy doesn’t even hesitate even though he does sound a bit doubtful for which you don’t blame him. It’s the first time you initiate any kind of planned program when it’s actually you who claims she just wants to be alone and doesn’t want to get close to anybody.

“You’ll see. I swear I’m not kidnapping you,” you clear your throat, a bit nervous now that Jaehyun’s full attention is on you so unabashedly. 

“Very reassuring,” he laughs but it’s a little forced sound, the weight of the day still pulling him down, exhaustion slowly wearing him down. So after agreeing on the details like the meeting location and exact time, you usher him to go home and get some sleep.

You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not even a friendly thing, it’s just a thing. A fun thing because you have never seen Jaehyun do anything just for fun. Almost like if it doesn’t count towards his final evaluation in life achievements, it wouldn’t make sense to do so. Or as if he wouldn’t deserve it, which is just sad. So you plan to take his mind off the CSAT results that should come out in a week or two and make sure that he relaxes a bit even if just for a few hours.

You meet up near the metro station and while you show the way, it’s admittedly a bit awkward at first, since neither of you is used to small talk between you. Luckily, the theatre where you bought tickets to a contemporary comedy isn’t far and Jaehyun’s reaction is positively taken aback when you lead him to the entrance.

“Do you like it?” You inquire tentatively, trying to assess his reaction but it’s not easy Jaehyun looks more dumbfounded than anything.

“Yeah, but… how did you know?” He blinks at you a little awed.

“You’re applying to SNU’s Literature and Theatre department. It wasn’t that big of a guess that you appreciate theatre plays,” you shrug, trying to play it off coolly as you line up for ticket inspection.

Since it’s a smaller, more local theatre you don’t look that out of place even though you’re definitely one of the youngests in the audience. Luckily, the play is as funny as the reviews claimed it to be, so you have a good time and from the looks of it, Jaehyun too. It’s the first time you see him smile, really smile without forcing it, and you wonder why he’s hiding it. It’s a beautiful thing.

When the play ends, the boy insists on treating you to dessert as a celebration for getting over with the exams in exchange for the theatre ticket and sitting in the warm, already winter-decorated place, munching on brownie, the remaining awkwardness melts away. For the first time you don’t talk about school-related or heavy matters but rather things like your favourite season, sweet cravings in the colder weather, books you read and your families. It’s new and unfamiliar, a little scary because you can tell you’re getting attached but it’s nice and you decide to focus on that. You let Jaehyun walk you home because it’s late and dark, he reasons and there’s no arguing with him.

“See you at school,” he bids his goodbye when you arrive at the building where you live just above your mother’s cozy little café.

“Yeah. Take care,” you smile shyly and you can see a slow grin make its way to Jaehyun’s lips too. It looks genuine, just how he looks at ease as if some weight was lifted from his shoulders. It’s a good look on him.

→ DECEMBER

Frost is already decorating your window in the mornings when the CSAT results are delivered. Students are buzzing with anticipation and nerves. Once the scores are out, everybody’s guessing whether it will be enough for their first pick or they should scramble for extra points somehow. Most people accept their results eventually and get ready for the holidays instead. You know that Jaehyun did well enough to be hopeful, though you know better than to congratulate too early because SKY universities have much more complex acceptable criteria than other public universities. Not to mention, you know that even with great CSAT scores and good GPA, the competition for scholarships starts even before universities would notify the students about acceptance.

When you see Mijoo cry her eyes out in the girls’ bathroom, her mascara running down her pretty cheeks, something heavy settles in your chest. You haven’t talked in a year and you avoided each other after you got into that argument about how you wanted to live your lives but it would have felt wrong to just walk out without a word. For the sake of your happy memories before the fallout, you could still try to comfort her if she needed it.

“Are you okay?” You ask quietly, fully ready to be sneered at and sent away but your former best friend looks up at you with red rimmed eyes and relief.

“I will survive,” she lets out a shuddering exhale, her voice breaking between syllables. “My points are not good enough for a scholarship at Hankuk, so even if I do get in, I can’t enroll. We don’t have that kind of money. Soyeon and the others dropped me the moment they found out.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper and you mean it because even though you never wanted to go to university, you know how important it’s for Mijoo. More important than your friendship. And even though you have already warned her about what kind of person Soyeon is with her rich family and nicely paved future when they first started hanging out after hagwon, you don’t remind Mijoo that you told her so.

“No. I’m sorry,” she mutters and forces a hopeful smile looking at you. Slowly, you reciprocate it as you help her up. There is clearly something broken between you and it certainly can’t be fixed from one day to another but maybe it’s worth trying.

When Jaehyun asked about your winter break plans, you didn’t think he would make a visit at your mom’s café where you are now working most days. Usually it’s not you who interacts with customers, your mother and the part-timer handle it, so you’re quite surprised when Donghyun pokes his head into the kitchen and tells you that somebody is looking for you.

You’re confused but wipe your soapy hands and go outside only to see Jaehyun at one of the tables shyly waving at you. He wears a cute beanie that has snowflakes melting over the knitwear and his cheeks are tinted pink from the cold. But most importantly, he looks well rested.

“Hey,” you greet him when you reach his table and you can practically feel your mother’s curious gaze on you. “Donghyun said you were looking for me?”

“Uh, hi, yes. Actually I just asked if you were here but he said you would get you, so…” Jaehyun trails off with a casual shrug. “I hope it’s not weird that I’m here. I don’t want to be a bother.”

You hastily shake your head no.

“No! It’s okay, really. I hope you like it here,” you say and brush a piece of hair behind your ear a bit self-consciously. You love your mother’s place with your whole heart, so sharing it with him even if unintentionally feels a bit like sharing a part of yourself. But you don’t mind, you realize, not if it’s him.

“I do. Your mom makes a killer hot choco,” Jaehyun smiles softly and his compliment sounds so sincere, you can’t help but smile too.

“She will be delighted to hear that,” you note as you sneak a look at the boy’s mug which definitely has more marshmallows than the standard. You turn to look at the woman behind the counter but she just waves you off, not so subtly telling you to keep your friend company, the dirty dishes can wait.

So you end up sitting down by Jaehyun’s table, talking about how he spent Christmas with his family, visiting relatives in the countryside and bickering with his older brother while you tell him about your cozy Disney movie nights and eating too much of your mother’s holiday butter cake. It’s when Jaehyun leaves and you glance at his empty spot that you realize you would miss him after graduation and joke’s on you, really, because you were the one to first approach him. You should have known better if you weren’t ready for the consequences.

→ JANUARY

The days leading up to graduation are a rollercoaster of emotion.

“So what’s with you and the school president?” Mijoo asks playfully on one of the last days of school when you’re eating together in the canteen and she catches sight of the boy with other football players as she follows your line of sight.

“Nothing,” you claim, bewildered, quickly averting your eyes back to your food, scrambling to find some excuse but Mijoo doesn’t even listen.

“Yeah, sure. I know your mother’s café is good but he’s practically a regular now,” she huffs and you start regretting that you told her that. “And don’t tell me it’s because he’s tutoring your part-timer during his shifts.”

You close your mouth without saying anything because you were just about to bring up how Jaehyun and Donghyun seem to get along, the school president helping out the junior student with his English.

“Not to mention, you went to his last football match and you don’t even like sports,” Mijoo continues and yeah, that’s on you. You even dragged her along (not that she needed much of a convincing) because you didn’t want to go alone, to be so out of your element and the girl was just happy to spend time with you again.

“I was just… curious,” you mumble, poking your tofu cubes with your chopsticks on your plate.

Seeing Jaehyun on the field was like seeing a different side of him. You know thanks to his stories that he liked football since he was a kid and he appreciates the teamwork aspect of the sport but watching him play during a match felt special. Sure, he still looked focused and determined, a bit uptight like he did when it came to his academics but after the winning goal point, being huddled by his teammates, he looked so proud. It’s a look he never allows himself when it comes to his individual success because he’s too hard on himself, as if he didn’t deserve it, as if he still should have done better. So you’re glad that you went, that you could see him genuinely be happy with his team over the win. Still, you slipped away without congratulating him, letting the school crowd surround him because he was supposed to be in the center of the attention and you wanted no part of that. You didn’t think Jaehyun noticed you, not until he shyly asked how you liked the game the next time you met.

“You know,” Mijoo speaks up thoughtfully, humming against her utensils before putting them down the metal tray and looking you in the eyes.  “It’s okay to let people close. Even if it doesn’t last forever, wouldn’t that be still better than wondering about the what ifs?”

For the longest time you thought that no, it wouldn’t but you glance at Jaehyun and how he shines brighter than the Sun but hides so many moonlit parts of himself that you’re privileged to know and you think that maybe, just maybe it’s okay to let yourself be vulnerable with some people.

The last day of school brings so much snow that the entire school yard is covered in cloud-like white and even the teachers give up preaching about life lessons after lunch hour. A bunch of eighteen year olds run to the field as if you were still kids and it’s that moment when it dawns on you that maybe it’s really the last time you can be freely child-like without adult responsibilities would weigh you down. Maybe that’s why you don’t protest that much when Jaehyun finds you and drags you outside to join the fierce snowball battle. For once, you don’t care about the looks you might get, you don’t care about potentially being put in the center of attention just by being with him, you don’t care about what it means to your future and you have never felt lighter.

You have snow in your hair, cold sweeping into your bones through your soaked shoes and your cheeks still hurt from laughing when later Jaehyun suggests going to your mom’s for hot chocolate to warm up. You agree easily and follow him inside to get your stuff. You shake snow off your coat, trying to warm up your cold-bitten hands by rubbing them together when you notice that Jaehyun abruptly stopped beside you.

Confused, you turn back to look at him just to see him stare down at his phone, his smile long lost from his face. You’re not sure whether it’s your place to even ask what happened, not when Jaehyun finally meets your eyes and he looks like he just saw a ghost. All pale and eyes glossy.

“They…” He starts but his voice breaks before he could get the sentence out. “They rejected me.”

“What?” You ask, dumbfounded. You watch as a drop of snow slides down Jaehyun’s face, leaving a tear-like trace behind on his flushed face and your heart aches before you can really process what’s going on.

“SNU. I just got the rejection email,” the boy mutters and lets out a way too forced laughter. He reaches to his messy locks with trembling fingers, scattering snow everywhere as he takes a shaky breath and starts walking up and down anxiously.

You just stand there, frozen, your heart sinking at the sight of him. There’s frustration and disbelief and bitterness as a scoff scratches his throat. You can see him fighting tears, not wanting to fall apart, not here, not in front of you, maybe not ever.

It was his dream, getting into SNU, and everybody told him he could do it, that for him it would be easy and while it’s flattering, people’s trust in his abilities, it still put him on pedestal, under such pressure that it almost broke him and now you can see him being crushed down from the same weight.

You don’t know what makes you do that, from where you take the courage but suddenly you stand in front of him, stopping him in his pacing, and take his shaking hand in yours.

“How… how will I tell my parents? What‒” Jaehyun gasps for air and you can feel him squeeze your hand for support as he struggles to fill his lungs with oxygen. “What do I… do now? I don’t… I didn’t…”

“Shh,” you slide a hand over his nape, massaging the tight muscles there in a weak attempt to calm him down before he could drive himself into hyperventilation. He’s so tense from the sheer effort to not break down, tear drops clinging to his eyelashes, blurring his vision. “Just let go. It’s okay.”

“No,” Jaehyun pushes back, stubborn but he’s clinging to your hand like a lifeline.

“It is. It’s just me,” you insist because you don’t judge, not for this, never for something like this. “I’m here.”

That’s all it takes for Jaehyun to give in and his tears start falling. You can feel when tension leaves his body and he all but crashes into you, his broader form slumping against you with his forehead on your shoulder, crying into your neck. You put a hand over his back, rubbing soothing patterns against his spine.

You don’t know how long you stay there. You wait until Jaehyun’s quiet sobs die down and his breathing slowly normalizes, until he pulls away enough to look into your own teary eyes. You know you couldn’t say anything to calm the mess in his head because you can’t quite understand how much this lost opportunity means for him, so you don’t tell him frivolous things like how it’s not the end of the world.

“You will be okay,” you whisper, quiet and sacred like a wish. “You don’t have to figure out how, not right now.”

A week later you graduate.

Myung Jaehyun stands on the podium in front of the lines of students and seated parents. He has a pledge of honors students on his suit and a bouquet of flowers in hands, an offer from another still prestigious university in his inbox and his parents, proud, in the crowd. His speech makes you feel nostalgic and when your eyes meet, a small smile appears on his lips, imperfect but happy, so pretty. You watch him and feel yourself smile too. Maybe it’s not actually that bad; being seen.

→ AFTER

Contrary to what you expected, Jaehyun stays as a permanent fixture in your days even after graduation. He hangs out at the café, sometimes stays even after closing, helping you put the chairs onto the tables and watching you learn how to make coffee and latte art. Sometimes you go to theatre plays or to the cinema, he invites you out to help him buy a present for his mother and then buys you hotteok as thanks.

Then university starts and he gets busier but you can tell that he doesn’t let school work bury him under like it did in high school. It’s good for him, starting fresh in a place where nobody knows him and his perfect student reputation. It’s less pressure on him and he can form genuine friendships without the fear that he’s approached only because of his influence as school president or his diligent note taking.

“I met this guy in Sociology class and he just asked if I wanted to be friends out of the blue. He invited me to hang out with him and his friends over the weekend. It was so random but it felt nice,” he says one day, leaning against the mop in his hands. You hum, letting him know that you’re listening even while cleaning the countertop. Apparently he and Sungho bonded over football, so they made plans to play one of these days.

“That’s good. You love football,” you note lightheartedly when you move to take the mop from him, checking if he missed any spots but of course he didn’t.

“Yeah,” Jaehyun hums, fixing his hair now that his hands are free and he turns after you when you walk farther to put the cleaning tools away. “I wanted to ask if maybe you wanna come along? To watch?”

You freeze, avoiding looking at the boy. You do want to watch him play but being with strangers isn’t really something you’re comfortable with, even if he’s there, even if he says they’re cool. Jaehyun knows you enough though and he can tell you hesitate, so he adds:

“You can bring Mijoo too if you want. And I’m thinking of inviting Donghyun too because Sungho also has younger friends.”

Okay, that doesn’t sound so bad. At least you would know people other than Jaehyun too. Maybe it would be fun.

“I will think about it,” you promise and Jaehyun beams almost as if you already said yes. He’s humming along to the music from the radio while you make sure everything is ready for closing. These days your mother lets you do so a few days a week just as she’s more comfortable with the idea of actually employing you.

Once the lights are switched off and the door is closed, Jaehyun walks you to the staircase leading to the upper floors where you live and for some reason he looks nervous standing in front of you. You lift your hand to wave him goodbye and tell him to take care on his way home like always but he beats you to it with a rushed out question.

“Do you wanna go to the movies this Friday after your shift?”

“Yeah, sure,” you reply easily, without hesitation because it’s him, just him, and you’re comfortable with him even if he sometimes makes your heart beat irregularly. Like right now when he blinks, all puppy-like and licks his dry lips to clarify.

“I mean… like a date?”

“Oh,” you mumble and feel air punched out of your chest as you process the information along with the unsure tilt of Jaehyun’s words. He really does look nervous. You make him nervous.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to make things weird between us but sometimes it already feels like we’re dating and I have to stop myself from holding your hand or… khm, so like I just wanted to put it out there,” he stops his own rambling, eyes darting everywhere before finally settling on you, his words filling you with warmth. “That I like you.”

“Okay,” you let out a long exhale, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your light cardigan, then clear your throat. “What… what are we watching?”

“Wait, is that a yes? To the date?” Jaehyun asks with widened eyes and a grin so wide you can’t help but chuckle fondly.

“Yeah,” you nod shyly, pink painting your cheeks under the yellow hue of the lights. “And you can hold my hand.”

You were fine alone but if it’s Jaehyun, you don’t mind taking risks.

Spin-off: hold my hand, my love

[eeriepromis]

The Meaning Behind Their Names

Alright cuties, let’s talk about something CRUCIAL - the Love Interests’ names and how they are lowkey (highkey) hiding their lore in plain sight. Like, did you know? Their Chinese names aren’t just cool and mysterious - they’re basically spoilers with extra steps. Some of these names hit deeper than my sleep deprivation, and some of them make me wanna go “oh wow, that’s a bit tragic - anyways.” So, I did what any normal (unhinged) person would do: I broke them all down so you don’t have to. Are their English names doing them justice? Did the localization teams try to match their vibe, or did they just throw a dart at a list of cool names? 👀 Which LI’s name surprised you the most? Also, if we get a sixth LI in the future, what kind of name would you want them to have?

(His name is all about stars, fate, and returning cycles - which makes sense, because he straight-up created a time loop by traveling to the past, left his wife in the future, and is now romancing her past self like that’s not an emotional minefield. Sir, please just process your emotions normally.)

(Name literally translates to "grand and brilliant," but let’s be real - it’s just fancy talk for “Will burn your house down, but make it artistic.”)

(His name is all about dawn vs. darkness, deep vs. intense - so basically, he's in a constant internal battle between being cold and broody or the world's softest baby daddy. Sir, please just process your emotions normally - part 2.)

(He’s literally named after an ancient dynasty, which tracks, because he walks into every room like he owns it and has the energy of a man who casually sits on thrones for fun. He woke up and chose authority.)

(His name literally means “summer daylight” and radiates warmth … which is hilarious considering EVER basically turned him into a trauma-ridden Windows reboot with a robot arm. ✨ Delete System32 ✨)

⸻

Note: Header Image generated with AI.

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒂 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒐 𝒋𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔

so, I saw something similar on tiktok and wanted to write it, credits to the person who came up with it.

summary - being a new member of the largest superhero team, you'd think that things would go well, but everything is revealed when christmas rolls around.

warning - angst.

the gif and header I use isn't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

It was rare for the two teams to merge, but every December around Christmas time they would, and with you being the newest member of the Avenger gang. This would be your first-time celebrating Christmas altogether. You watched curiously as they all hung large socks along the fireplace, happy chatter filling the air. “What are those?” You tilt your head.

“Stockings.” You look at Natasha as she replies, “It’s a Christmas tradition where you put small presents inside the stockings of those you care for.” You nod, and your eyes light up. 

“Oh cool!” For the rest of the day you intently listen and observe to pick out the perfect things for them, and over the course of the next few weeks. You slowly begin to fill their stockings, your eyes would fall to yours and notice how empty it looked. But you had hope, there were still a few more days till Christmas and maybe they just haven’t gotten around to it yet. Except Steve walks in and you notice his hands are full, and how he puts a gift for everyone but you. It was as if you were invisible because he didn’t even look at you. “Oh…” 

You continue to splurge and buy everyone things they like, in hopes that you were wrong about them. You skip out of your room on the big day, excited for your first Christmas. When you enter the room, you notice everyone going to their stockings before their presents and expressing happiness with the items they received and with your own excitement, you head over to your stocking and it feels as though the world has stopped. Your stocking was still empty, you finally realised you really meant nothing to the team. You didn’t blame the X-men for not putting anything in because you had only just met them, but your own team? It hurt, you could feel the tears beginning to brim. 

You quickly blink them away before sitting down next to Jean and give her a soft smile, making sure to keep your emotions away from your face and thoughts. “How are you liking it here?” You gnaw on your bottom lip, turning your gaze to your team handing out their presents. 

“I don’t mind it, how about you? I heard this is your first Christmas?” You could see the questions lingering in her eyes, because anyone would question how you could never have a Christmas, but she never completely asks. 

You nod, “Yes, yes. It’s my first and I don’t know… It’s not what I thought it would be.” You stare off, not receiving any presents alongside the stocking. “I’m uh… I’m just going to go for a walk, I don’t feel so good.” You force a smile and get up, heading outside before you could break down in front of everyone. Once you head outside, you break down. You felt like you’d rather be back where you came from. At least your enemies didn’t forget about you. 

“They are all jerks.” You jump as you hear a gruff voice from behide you, you turn, locking eyes with the one and only Wolverine, a cigar between his lips and his eyes harshly set on you. “Not much of heroes when they brag about it every two seconds.” He pushes off the wall and moves closer to you, something catching your eye as the moonlight shines on his hand. 

You look and tilt your head, wiping your cheeks roughly, “What’s that?” Your mouth falls open when he pulls up a cute stocking decorated with glitter, filled to the brim with a small wrapped present resting at the top. “It’s so cute! Whoever it’s for is very lucky.” You give a soft smile, knowing no one would ever get you anything.

Logan shakes his head. “It’s for you, sweets. Those guys are arseholes, they don’t deserve someone as sweet as you on their team.” You feel your breath hitch as he growls, “Open it, honey.” He hands you the stocking and present, leaning against the wall and puffing on the cigar as he watches you open everything.

You gasp, “Oh my god! This is so beautiful, thank you!” You look at him with tears in your eyes as you open the present on the top, a small adorable wolf necklace sits inside the box. You move closer, awkwardly wanting to hug him but not knowing if that will cross a line. Logan raises a brow, placing the cigar between his teeth as he opens his arms. You launch forward and wrap your arms around him, not knowing how to express the feelings that are bubbling up inside. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, darlin’, now why don’t you look inside the stocking. I had Jean and the other women help choose what we thought you’d like.” You look shocked, wondering why a team that wasn’t yours would care more for you than the one you are currently in. Logan reaches up and wipes a tear that falls down your cheek, “We take care of our own, Y/n.” 

Your bottom lip juts out as it wobbles, and you slowly reach inside, sobs escape you as you find everything you like and some new things you’ve wanted to try. “Oh my god…” You feel like you are loved and wanted, but then an overbearing sadness erupts throughout you as you realise that you are stuck with people who don’t want you. 

“That is not true, Miss L/n.” You turn and notice the whole X-men team are there, giving you soft smiles. “I have ordered for your things to be transferred. As Logan said, we take care of our own and you, Miss L/n are one of us.” 

All you could utter are the words thank you. Maybe your first Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[wedriftlikelonelyplanets]

so i can make you feel like new again

ship: lando norris/max fewtrell rating: idk teen? there's not really any smut it's just longing tags: referenced disordered eating patterns, referenced mental breakdown, putting that guy in a situation only the person in the situation is Lando Norris, and Max Fewtrell is the F1 driver.

OKAY felt like doing a little flip flop and needed to write something no pressure, so here's a THING, written directly into this fucking posting box. This is IDK roughly 2021 when covid was big and Max was living in Monaco with Lando (but now Lando's living in Monaco with Max)

Title from "Dizzy on the Comedown" by Turnover

Sometimes, Max wishes it was Lando, and not him. Sometimes it's sharp beneath his skin like the edge of a knife to know that Lando's waiting at home for him, watching his races while he's playing games on stream. Sometimes, Max wishes it had been easier for both of them. But there were right places, and right times, and right teams, and Lando got none of them, and Max got all of them.

He'd spiralled, and Max had watched, couldn't do much more than hold out a hand and try to save him while he was drowning. Couldn't do much more than be there for him, and it was the scariest thing he thinks he's ever done.

It's better now, mostly.

He went on to Formula 1, and Lando found a therapist, and somehow, *somehow* they find a way to make it work.

But Max can't shake the guilt when he's gone for triple-headers, and Lando's stuck in his flat.

Knows it had been worse, before everything, before Lando had lived with him. At least now, he knows that Lando's got a fully stocked fridge, a place to sleep, somewhere to call home. Like Max doesn't know that Lando thinks that he's home. Like Max hasn't already thought of Lando as home for years.

Even now, he misses the pitch of Lando's voice, the volume of his laugh, loud and bright. Even now, when he's staring up at the hotel ceiling in the dark, when he knows he's supposed to be sleeping, he can't stop himself. Tosses and turns, before he reaches over for his phone where it's charging on the nightstand.

It's an easy next step to ignore the messages on his phone, and swipe over to twitch, just to check if Lando's still live. He doesn't have the energy to do the time conversion, but if the dark circles under Lando's eyes are anything to go by, he hasn't slept well.

Max feels the guilt of it curdling in his guts. Knows Lando always sleeps better when he's there, when Lando can crawl into bed with him, press his cheek against Max's chest and fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

If you'd asked him even 5 years ago, he wouldn't have said they were codependent. But 5 years ago, he also wouldn't have been able to admit they'd been in love with each other the whole time. Hadn't been able to admit it until Lando had agreed to move in with him.

Until he'd known it wasn't all going to slip through his fingers because he signed to an F1 team, and all Lando had gotten was publicised mental breakdown.

Max still wishes it had gone differently, if he's being honest.

But now they're here, and he feels like he's a million miles away from the only place he wants to be.

The warmth of Lando's voice is enough to make him smile though, and he gets comfortable before he types in chat.

maxfewtrell: did you have dinner?

The message is met with a tiny, unintelligible noise from Lando's end, before Lando makes eye contact with the camera, narrows his eyes, and holds up the plate sitting beside him on the desk. It's empty, and it could've been from another day, knowing how much of a disaster Lando tends to be, but Max wants to think the best. "'Course I did, mate. Chat can verify, yeah?" and the messages come in full of support.

"I should be the one asking you what you're still doing awake. Drivers need their beauty rest," the grin that spreads across Lando's features is obviously teasing, but Max can feel the flush, hot in his cheeks.

maxfewtrell: can't sleep maxfewtrell: had to find something to do

Lando pulls a face that no one else in the chat probably recognizes, but Max does. It's a strange combination between guilt and pity, the face he makes before he's about to do something that's either devastatingly stupid, or stupidly endearing.

"Hey chat, I'll be back in a little bit, yeah?" and he's muting himself before Max has a second to type in the chat. Knows that even if he could, the message would get lost in a flood of comments. Doesn't have time to protest before his phone is ringing, and he has to swipe up to close the Twitch window, before he answers.

"Bob, go back to stream, I'm fine," he can't stop himself, the kneejerk response, the thought that he doesn't need to be taken care of, despite the fact that he's always looking after Lando.

"Y'sound absolutely wrecked, mate," and despite the fact that Lando looked exhausted on stream, his voice is surprisingly bright. Max is usually good at parsing through the tones of Lando's voice, and he can't pick out anything genuinely miserable. "Didn't realize you missed me that much,"

Max just sighs, shifts in bed so he's lying on his back, wishes for a moment that they were facetiming, but he knows they can't, really. Lando might be muted, but his stream's still live, and he doesn't know how many people he wants knowing that he and Lando facetime late into the night. Doesn't really know how many people he wants to have knowing how gone he is for Lando. "Just been a horrendous day, car looked like shit during free practise," and it's just easy for him to unload, just a little bit. The more stress he unloads, the better he feels, and Lando interjects with little observations.

He's exhausted, by the time he's done talking, yawns so wide that his jaw cracks, and Lando giggles on the other end, the sound bright. "Think you can sleep now?" and Max just snorts.

"Rather stay with you, I think," he says, filter gone, because he's exhausted, feels it in his bones. "Miss you a lot, Bob," knows it's sappy and they don't really do sappy. "Fly you out to the next one,"

Lando makes a small sound in the back of his throat, and Max is struck by how much Lando reminds him of a cat sometimes. Makes little sounds to voice his pleasure, his happiness at being thought of. "Think I'd like that, Maxy," Lando's voice is a small, pleased thing, and Max allows his eyes to flutter shut.

"Stay on with me?"

When his alarm goes off in the morning, the call's still live, his phone scorching hot, and he can hear the soft, snuffling sound of Lando's breathing before he hangs up, keys in a quick text so that Lando doesn't get cross with him.

Miss you, text me when you're up.