#what she said came to me in waves | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vunblr · 2 months ago

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Crumbs of Connection

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ just in case. Fluff.

Summary: When Bucky wanders into a quirky late-night bakery, he doesn’t expect the warmhearted owner to challenge his defenses.

Word Count: About 11.8k.

Bucky dragged his feet along the cracked sidewalk with slumped shoulders, as the chill of the night seeped through his tattered jacket. He was almost at the building he’d moved into a few days ago, but each step felt heavier than the last. The mission that was supposed to be a walk in the park had left him with a pounding headache, a sour mood, and a stomach that wouldn’t stop growling.

That’s when he noticed.

The little bakery on the corner was still open, its warm light spilling onto the dark street. He frowned. What kind of place stayed open this late? Before he could question it further, the smell of fresh bread, herbs and butter hit his senses. His feet carried him inside before his brain caught up.

The bell above the door chimed softly, and he stepped into the warmth. His eyes scanned the counter, landing on a tray of focaccia behind the glass display. Golden, perfectly crisped, dotted with rosemary and sea salt. His stomach twisted with hunger as he stared, almost entranced.

“Um,” a voice broke through his daze, soft but tinged with caution, “if you wait a little, I can fix something for you.”

Bucky blinked and turned toward the counter. The woman standing there wasn’t what he expected at this ungodly hour. She looked alert, not a trace of exhaustion in her bright eyes or the easy way she held herself. Before he could respond, she disappeared through a door behind the counter.

He frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose as the light above the counter made his headache throb harder. A few moments later, she returned, holding a small paper bag.

“Here,” she said, offering it with a small smile. “It must be hard in this cold.”

Bucky stared at her, the bag, then back at her.

“What?” he rasped, his voice rougher than he intended.

“Don’t be proud now,” she said, firm but not unkind. “Just take it.”

His mouth twitched, halfway to a sarcastic retort, but he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind a basket of bread. Mud-streaked face, greasy and plastered hair. His beard was a week past needing a trim, and his split lip and tattered clothes didn’t help either.

He swallowed hard, suddenly unsure whether to laugh or groan. She thought he was homeless. His mouth opened and closed, and then he muttered, “I’m not a beggar.”

Her expression didn’t change. She just stared at him for a beat, then muttered, “Okay?” like she wasn’t entirely convinced.

Bucky squinted at her, then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ve had a bad night,” he said finally, the admission tasting bitter in his mouth.

She quirked a brow, with obvious skepticism.

“Can I just get a focaccia?” he asked, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He kept his movements slow, hiding his bruised knuckles from her as much as possible. He grimaced as he came up with a crumpled bill and a few coins. He counted them twice, deepening his frown. He must have lost his wallet somewhere during the mission, or maybe it was back at the apartment. Either way, what he had wasn’t enough.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. He glanced at her, unsure of how to explain, but she was already watching him.

Her expression didn’t falter. If anything, her gaze softened, though he noticed the faintest flicker of wariness still in her eyes. “It’s fine,” she said after a moment, with a gentle voice. “Just take it.”

Bucky stiffened. “No, I-”

“You’ll pay me back when you get some money,” she interrupted firmly, waving a hand like it was no big deal. “It’s late, cold, and you’re hungry. It’s not going to hurt me to let one focaccia go.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but the look she gave him shut him up faster than he liked to admit. There was no pity there, just unwavering practicality like she’d already decided and wasn’t about to budge.

“I don’t need charity,” he muttered, the words falling flat even to his own ears.

“Good thing this isn’t charity then,” she shot back, arching a brow. “It’s credit. You can pay it back tomorrow, or the day after, whenever.”

Bucky’s lips pressed into a tight line, his pride warring with the hunger clawing in his stomach. Finally, he exhaled through his nose and reached for the bag.

“Fine,” he said, with a clipped voice. “But I will pay you back.”

“Sure. Okay.” she replied, handing it over with an ease that only frustrated him more.

He didn’t thank her. Not out loud, at least. He just nodded stiffly and made his way to the door, the warm paper bag cradled in his hands like it was the first good thing to happen to him all day.

As the door closed behind him, she sighed softly, shaking her head. The man looked like life had chewed him up and spit him out. Maybe he’d just fallen through the cracks recently, it was always hardest in the beginning, learning to ask for help. She glanced at the counter, absently smoothing her hands over her apron.

If she saw him again, maybe she could mention her friend at the community center. They were always looking to help people find stable footing before things got worse. And for someone like him, someone who clearly still had some pride, maybe it wasn’t too late to get him back on his feet.

The sound of the bell snapped her out of her thoughts.

Two cops strolled in, familiar faces, and she greeted them with a small smile. “The usual?” she asked, already moving to grab a pair of pastries from the display.

As she handled their order with practiced ease, her thoughts kept drifting back to the handsome stranger with the haunted eyes.

------

Bucky shoved open the door to his apartment. The space was dark, empty, and cold, but he barely noticed. He kicked off his boots, shrugging out of his jacket and letting it fall somewhere on the floor. His pants followed, the trail of his discarded clothing leading to the kitchen sink.

He turned on the tap, scrubbing his hands under the warm water and letting out a tired sigh as the grime and blood washed away.

Finally, he opened the bag and pulled out the focaccia, its edges still faintly warm. He bit into it without ceremony, his teeth tearing through the crisp crust and sinking into the soft, herby center.

The groan that escaped him was involuntary.

“Jesus,” he muttered, leaning against the counter. He wasn’t sure if the bread was actually this good or if it was just because he was starving, but it didn’t matter. He tore off another bite, then another, letting the flavors fill the hollow ache in his stomach.

His mind drifted back to the clerk. She had been… unexpected, in a way. Not just because she was there at that hour, but how she’d looked at him, unafraid, and then her gesture, offering him the bread without hesitation, it threw him off. He wasn’t used to kindness without strings attached.

Bucky frowned at the thought, swallowing another bite. He knew he’d acted like an ass, stiff and gruff, but he hadn’t known what else to do. His gaze drifted to the paper bag on the counter, now empty except for a few crumbs. Tomorrow, he’d pay her back. He’d make sure of it.

And maybe while he was there, he could look around properly. He’d been too tired to take it all in, but in the brief glance he’d caught, he’d seen shelves lined with pastries, bread, and other things that looked more tempting than they had any right to be.

It wasn’t just about the food, though. It would be a way to repay her. To even the scales.

Dragging a hand through his hair, Bucky sighed and pushed away from the counter. As he collapsed onto the messy nest of sheets in his living room, his last thought was of the clerk: her calm voice and the smile she’d given him as she handed over the bag.

---

The next morning, Bucky stood under the hot shower spray, letting the water beat against his sore muscles. He scrubbed the grime of the previous day away, trying to clear his head. Afterward, he brewed a cup of coffee, jolting his brain into something resembling alertness.

Setting the empty mug in the sink, he began hunting for his wallet. He turned over the few possessions he had in his apartment, muttering curses under his breath, but it was nowhere to be found.

“Great,” he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair.

Reluctantly, he went to the stash of cash he kept hidden under a loose floorboard. Pulling out a few bills, he tucked them into his pocket and took a quick look in the mirror. His split lip was still healing, but his beard was trimmed now, and the dark circles under his eyes were a little less pronounced. Also, his clothes didn’t look like they were dragged against a concrete road. Good enough.

The walk to the bakery was brisk, the chill of the morning sharp but not unpleasant. He felt more like himself than he had the night before, ready to repay the debt and maybe even buy something else.

But as he approached the corner, his steps faltered.

The bakery was closed.

He frowned, sweeping his gaze over the dark windows and drawn curtains. The sign on the door mocked him with its clear Closed lettering.

What kind of bakery was closed at 10 a.m.?

His mind immediately jumped to worst-case scenarios. Maybe something had happened. Maybe the clerk stayed too late and ran into trouble on her way home. His jaw tightened as he peeked through the curtains, searching for any sign of movement inside.

But then his eyes landed on the sign taped to the door:

Open: 4 p.m. - 12 a.m.

Bucky blinked.

“What the fuck?” he muttered, straightening.

What kind of bakery worked on a schedule like that? Who baked bread for the night shift? He rubbed his jaw, baffled, and glanced at the darkened windows again.

With a shake of his head, he turned back the way he came, the mystery of the night-shift bakery simmering in his thoughts.

---

The day passed in the kind of monotony Bucky had learned to tolerate. Cleaning his gear, half-watching a soccer game, biting back the urge to snap at Dr. Raynor during their session, and ignoring Sam’s persistent calls. By the time evening rolled around, he was restless enough to head out again.

Around 9 p.m., he set off to the bakery, the mystery of its late hours still nagging at him. Who needed baked goods at this time of night? Well, besides himself. Sleep was always a gamble, if he was lucky, he’d be out by 2 a.m., though that was probably wishful thinking.

As he rounded the corner, he spotted movement by the shop. Three bikers, with leather jackets patched with gang insignias, stepped out of the door, each carrying large paper bags stuffed with… something. Bucky couldn’t make out what was inside, but they seemed satisfied, securing the bags to their saddlebags before waving toward the bakery window. His brow furrowed as he slowed his pace. The clerk waved back before she turned and disappeared behind the counter.

The bikers mounted their bikes and roared off into the night, leaving Bucky to stare after them for a moment. He quirked a brow. Well, it seemed the place had its regulars.

Pushing open the door, the soft chime of the bell announced his arrival. The warmth hit him immediately, carrying with it the now-familiar scent of herbs and fresh bread.

She was at the counter again, arranging some pastries on a tray. The sound of the bell made her look up, and her movements stilled when she saw him. It wasn’t much, just a flicker of hesitation, but he caught it. Then, like flipping a switch, she composed herself, her face smoothing into a polite smile.

“Hi,” she greeted him, he thought he caught a hint of surprise beneath it.

“Hey,” Bucky replied, almost gruffly. He stepped forward, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

For a brief moment, silence hung between them as their eyes met. Neither spoke, just staring at each other, the air charged with an odd sense of recognition. Then she blinked, snapping herself out of the trance, mentally slapping herself.

“Hi,” she said again, her voice a little higher this time, followed by a flustered, “What can I do for you?”

Bucky shifted slightly, pulling one hand from his pocket and holding out a few bills. “I came to pay you for the focaccia,” he said simply. “And… I wanted to buy some other things too.”

Her brows lifted, and she laughed softly, taking the money from him. “That was fast. I wasn’t going to charge you interest, you know,” she chuckled.

“Appreciate it,” he muttered, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“So,” she said, her professional demeanor slipping back into place, “what can I get you?”

As he scanned the shelves and pointed to a few items, she efficiently began sorting them into paper bags. But he noticed her hands slowing now and then, her lips pressed together like she was working through something. Finally, she turned toward him, bag in hand, and blurted, “I’m sorry.”

Bucky frowned, tilting his head slightly. “For what?”

“For assuming…” She gestured vaguely toward him, her expression tinged with embarrassment.

He blinked, then let out a low chuckle. “Well, I looked like shit,” he said bluntly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smirk. “Can’t blame you.”

Her shoulders eased at his reaction, and she gave him a small, relieved smile. “Thank you for… you know,” he added, signaling vaguely toward the counter where the focaccias where exhibited.

“Don’t mention it,” she replied and then extended a hand, “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

“Bucky,” he said, his vibranium hand staying tucked in his pocket as he shook her hand briefly with the other one.

As she returned to filling the bags, he couldn’t stop himself. He leaned slightly against the counter, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

“So,” he said, breaking the quiet, “what’s up with the hours here? Four to twelve?”

Her head popped up, a faint look of surprise crossing her face before she laughed softly. “Oh, that.” She handed him the filled bags, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” he replied in a casual tone, though his gaze made clear that he actually wanted to know.

“This bakery… my grandparents opened it in the ’60s,” she began. “When my gramps passed in the early 2000s, my granny made some changes. One of them was the schedule.”

Bucky tilted his head, his curiosity sharpening. “The late hours?”

She nodded, leaning lightly against the counter. “Yeah. There’s a lot of nightlife in this neighborhood and a surprising number of residents work night or late shifts. She figured people needed somewhere to grab a decent meal at odd hours. It was risky, but eventually, it worked out.”

He let the idea sink in, flicking , his gaze briefly to the trays of baked goods. It made sense, in a way.

“When she passed the shop to me,” she continued, with a voice tinged with fondness, “I decided to keep things just the way they were. It feels right, you know? Like I’m keeping her legacy alive.”

She shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “Besides, I don’t get sleepy at night, anyway. I’ve always been more of a night owl. I end up sleeping all morning, so the schedule works for me.”

Bucky studied her for a moment, taking in the mix of pride and nostalgia in her expression. She seemed connected to the place in a way that made the odd schedule seem less strange and more… fitting.

“That’s… different,” he said finally, his voice softer than usual.

“Different good or different bad?” she asked, quirking a brow as she crossed her arms.

He smirked, shaking his head. “Just different.”

But he couldn’t leave it there. The question burned in his mind, and he found himself asking, “Don’t you think it’s dangerous being open this late? Alone?”

She tilted her head, not missing a beat. “I’m not alone. Liam, the main baker, is in the kitchen.”

Bucky gave her a pointed look, one brow lifting in a way that clearly said, Seriously?

“And if someone armed gets in here, he’d chase them off with a spatula?”

She laughed softly, but there was a flicker of something thoughtful in her eyes. “We’ve had our share of… episodes,” she admitted, “but it’s been a long time since the last one.” She gestured toward a small table near the counter with a nod of her head. “The cops come by all the time to grab something or even sit and eat.”

“That’s not exactly foolproof,” Bucky muttered, unconvinced.

Her lips curved into a wry smile, and she leaned in a little, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret. “Let’s just say having the local bikers as regulars doesn’t hurt either.”

He blinked, frowning. “The guys I saw earlier? So they… behave?”

“They’re good guys,” she retorted, then paused and corrected herself with a grin. “They’re nice guys. Most of the time.”

Bucky raised a skeptical brow, and she continued, “Sometimes they even help out. Like last week, when the mixer broke. They swung by after their ride and got it working again. One of them’s pretty handy with tools.”

Bucky’s frown deepened, though this time it wasn’t out of suspicion. He wasn’t sure whether to find the whole setup amusing or… concerning.

“Guess that’s one way to stay safe,” he muttered, glancing around the shop like it might reveal more secrets.

“It works,” she said shrugging. “Besides, most people aren’t looking for trouble when they’re hungry.”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head. Then he picked up the bags and nodded at her, and she offered him a small smile, “Come again.”

He paused at the door, glancing back at her. “I will.”

With that, he was gone, the door chime softly announcing his exit. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, leaning against the counter for a moment. Her gaze lingered on the door, her mind replaying the way his broad frame looked in those casual clothes. Effortless, like he didn’t have to try at all to look that good.

The thought was interrupted by the sound of the door chime again. She straightened quickly, spotting two guys in uniforms marked with the local electricity company’s logo.

“Hey,” one of them called, grinning. “Got any donuts left?”

---

Time passed, and Bucky started showing up regularly, his visits becoming a constant in her evenings. Three days a week, like clockwork, the bell would chime, and there he’d be, gloved hands tucked into his jacket pockets and that quiet, brooding air about him.

What surprised her most wasn’t the frequency of his visits but how much he bought each time. He’d point out loaves, pastries, and cookies, practically cleaning out half the display case on some nights. At first, she thought it was just politeness, a way to make up for that first night. But as the weeks went on, it became clear that this was just his thing.

One evening, as she packed his usual haul into bags, curiosity finally got the better of her and she glanced up at him with a smile. “Wow, your family must really enjoy our goods,” she said playfully.

The comment made him pause. His smile faltered, just for a second, and his eyes flicked away like he was retreating inward.

She noticed the shift immediately and quickly tried to smooth things over. “Oh,” she said with a laugh, waving a hand, “great appetite then. I won’t complain about that.”

His gaze returned to her, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Something like that,” he murmured.

She handed him the bags, softening her smile. Whatever that moment had been, she wasn’t going to push. “Well, you’re keeping me in business, so thank you.”

He nodded, a quiet “thanks” leaving his lips before he turned to leave.

---

As Bucky walked the short distance back to his apartment, the bags swinging lightly in his grip, his mind churned with thoughts he couldn’t quite shake. Her comment replayed in his head: Your family must really enjoy our goods.

Family.

His jaw clenched slightly. He didn’t have one, not anymore. The people he cared about… well, they were scattered or gone, and the thought of sitting at a table surrounded by warmth and laughter felt more like a faded memory than a reality.

He adjusted his grip on the bags, slowing his steps as he reached his building. It wasn’t her fault, of course. She hadn’t meant anything by it, just an innocent assumption. And she’d recovered quickly, giving him an out he appreciated more than he could express.

Still, the weight of the moment stuck with him. The way her words had scratched at something raw and unhealed, something he thought he’d buried deep enough that it couldn’t sting anymore.

In the quiet of his apartment, he set the bags on the counter and shrugged off his jacket. He pulled out one of the pastries she’d packed for him, a warm smell of cinnamon and sugar wafting up as he took a bite. The sweetness melted on his tongue, giving him a fleeting comfort.

She was kind. That much was clear. Her warmth wasn’t forced or rehearsed; it was just… there. Bucky leaned against the counter, staring at the pastry in his hand like it might hold some answers. He hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable, but his reaction had been automatic, a wall thrown up before he could even think about it.

He couldn’t deny that he liked going to the bakery, liked seeing her. He finished the pastry and sighed, glancing at the bags of baked goods. He’d go back, of course. It was becoming part of his routine, and he found himself looking forward to the short conversations, the moments of normalcy she unknowingly offered him.

He just needed to keep things simple. Keep the walls up.

----

Keep things simple, Bucky had told himself more times than he could count, the mantra almost automatic by now. But as he stood at the counter that Wednesday night, watching her nervously wring her hands, he felt a crack in his resolve.

“Can I ask you a question?” she began, a little hesitant. “It’s alright if you don’t want to answer, but…”

He tensed. His gloved hand rested on the counter, fingers curling slightly. “Go ahead.”

“This weekend, I went to the Smithsonian with a friend…”

And there it was. This is it.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he interrupted, with a sharper tone than he intended. He wanted to rip the band-aid off, and get it over with. He braced himself for the shift, the awkward laugh, the strained smile, the clipped words. The gradual squirming in his presence like he carried a weight they couldn’t bear to be near.

But instead, she grinned.

“Well, that explains your appearance the day I met you,” she said lightly, a teasing lilt in her voice. “And your appetite.” She winked.

Bucky blinked. That wasn’t the reaction he’d prepared for.

Before he could respond, she continued. “It’s not my place to say, but… you’ve had it hard, Bucky. I saw the look on your face when I brought this up, so let me be clear: this changes nothing.” She leaned forward slightly, meeting his eyes. “I know it could be hard sometimes, with the people… but not in here.”

Bucky stared at her, the usual quick retorts or excuses dying on his tongue. He didn’t know what to say. The sincerity in her voice and the calmness in the way she addressed the subject without making him feel exposed, caught him off guard.

“Thanks,” he finally said, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

She nodded, curving her lips into a small smile, but instead of leaving it at that, she hesitated. “That being said…” Her voice softened. “According to the commemorative plate, your birthday was last week.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed. He hadn’t even remembered.

“So,” she said, bending down behind the counter, “here.” When she straightened up, she held a small plum tart, dusted with powdered sugar. “I couldn’t put all the candles on it for obvious reasons.” She chuckled softly as she gave him the little tray.

Bucky froze. The gesture hit him square in the chest, a pang so sharp and unexpected it made his breath hitch. He stared at the tart, feeling an ache rise in his throat. His lips trembled traitorously as he fought back the overwhelming surge of emotion.

She noticed his hesitation and tilted her head slightly. “It’s just a tart,” she said gently as if trying to assure him it was no big deal.

But to him, it was.

He reached out, taking the tart from her as if it were made of glass. His gloved fingers brushed the edge of the plate and he swallowed hard. His voice, barely above a whisper, cracked as he said, “Thank you.”

Bucky didn’t trust himself to look at her. He stared down at the pastry, his grip tightening around the edges of the plate as he worked to steady his breathing. It had been so long since anyone had done something this thoughtful for him, that he didn’t know how to react.

Watching his reaction, she faltered. Her earlier confidence dimmed as doubt crept into her expression. She fidgeted with her apron, glancing away briefly before blurting out, “I, um… sorry for bothering you. If I overstepped-”

“No.” The word came out sharper than he meant, and she froze. He took a breath, forcing his voice to steady. “You didn’t,” he said again, gentler this time. “You just surprised me here, doll, that’s all.”

Her gaze softened, searching his face, and he didn’t look away this time. His walls weren’t fully down -when were they ever?- but the rawness in his eyes couldn’t be hidden, the unshed tears glimmering with the lights.

Her lips parted, then closed again, like she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if it was her place. She shifted her weight, her fingers lightly tapping the counter. “It’s not much,” she said after a beat, her tone quiet but sincere. “Just a little thing I thought might make you smile.”

“It’s more than you know,” Bucky murmured then he cleared his throat and adjusted the bags in his hand, needing something to focus on besides the growing ache in his chest. “I, uh… I appreciate it,” he said, a little awkwardly.

Her smile grew, and she reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Good,” she said simply. “You deserve something nice.”

That threw him off even more. He stared at her, stunned by the ease with which she said it, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

His throat tightened, and he looked away, unable to meet her gaze any longer. “Thanks,” he muttered, his voice gravelly as he turned toward the door.

“Bucky?”

He stopped, glancing back over his shoulder.

“I just remembered that I didn’t tell you, Happy birthday,”

He nodded once, gripping the bags a little tighter as he pushed the door open and stepped into the cool night air, which did little to clear the fog in his head.

You deserve something nice. He almost scoffed aloud. Nice? Someone like him? Someone who couldn’t go a single day without being haunted by the weight of his past?

The world had a funny way of reminding him where he stood. Steve was gone. The man who believed in him more than anyone else had handed over the shield, and with it, Bucky felt like the last tether to the person he used to be had been severed. Now, it was just him. And no matter how hard he tried to fix things, make amends, or find a shred of normalcy, the past always had its claws in him.

But tonight, she had looked at him and seen something other than the broken pieces. She hadn’t flinched when she figured out who he was. She hadn’t spat accusations or looked at him with the fear or pity he was used to. Instead, she smiled and handed him a damn tart for his birthday, a day he hadn’t even remembered until she brought it up.

Maybe… He shook his head as he walked, his boots crunching hard against the pavement. Don’t get attached.

Still, he glanced down at the tart again, its delicate powdered sugar glinting under the streetlights and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, almost involuntarily.

----

One rainy night, Bucky was already imagining the taste of a prune cupcake when he reached the bakery and found the door closed.

His brows furrowed as he noted the light spilling from the kitchen and the neatly arranged merchandise still on display. That was odd. He stepped closer, intending to knock on the glass, but hesitated. If she had closed up, there must’ve been a reason. Why would she open just for him?

He turned to leave, but the sound of a long, creative string of curses froze him mid-step. His frown deepened. Maybe she was arguing with Liam or a boyfriend, or... why was he still standing there?

Then came a sharp scream of pain.

Before his mind could process, his body moved on its own. He pushed the wooden door open with a single fluid motion of his vibranium hand and rushed toward the kitchen, ready to confront whoever was causing her harm.

He wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him.

She was alone. Entirely alone.

Barefoot, her jeans rolled at the cuffs, and wearing nothing but a lacy black bra on top. She was gripping one foot and hopping in place, her other hand clutching the edge of the counter for balance. Her face was scrunched in pain, a bead of sweat trickling down her temple.

She froze as he appeared in the doorway, locking her wide eyes onto his.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

“Bucky?!” she finally exclaimed, her voice was a mix of mortification and disbelief. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“I heard you scream,” he said, still on high alert. “I thought- I mean, I thought someone was-”

Well, someone isn’t!” she snapped, waving her arms for emphasis before wincing and clutching her foot again. “What are you… how did you even…”

“The door wasn’t locked,” he said simply, lifting his vibranium hand as if that explained everything.

She stared at him. “You broke my door, didn’t you?”

“Technically, I opened it.”

Her shoulders slumped as she let out a groan.

“What happened?” he asked, softening his tone as he noted the red welt forming on her foot.

She gestured toward a hulking machine in the corner, a sour expression on her face. “The kneading machine broke,” she grumbled. “It’s Liam’s day off, so I have to knead all the dough by hand. I got frustrated and kicked the stupid thing.” She pointed to the offending piece of equipment as though it were an enemy in battle.

Bucky’s lips twitched, but he quickly schooled his expression. “And it fought back?”

Her glare could’ve melted steel, but then her expression shifted, and she seemed to remember her current state of undress. Quickly, she crossed her arms over her chest, though the movement only served to push her curves together.

Bucky’s jaw tightened as he fought to keep his gaze locked firmly on her face. He swallowed hard, feeling the distinct burn of self-restraint in every muscle.

“Can you throw me that shirt?” she asked, jerking her chin toward a crumpled white button-up draped over a stool.

“Sure,” he muttered, grabbing it and tossing it her way.

“Turn around?” she added pointedly, feeling her cheeks going warm.

He obeyed instantly, facing the wall and rubbing the back of his neck. “Why, uh… why were you like that anyway?” he asked, his voice low and awkward.

“It’s hot,” she replied, a little grumpy. “The kitchen’s like an oven with all the equipment running, and kneading all that dough by hand isn’t exactly cooling me off. Plus, I was alone. Or so I thought.”

“Right,” Bucky murmured, feeling a little ridiculous for barging in like that. He’d been ready to throw down with some imaginary attacker, and instead, he’d walked in on… well, on a very memorable scene.

The mental image of her, half naked and glistening, burned behind his eyelids, and he clenched his fists at his sides. He didn’t need his mind going there, not now, not ever.

The sound of her shifting behind him broke his thoughts. “Okay, decent,” she said.

He turned back around, carefully keeping his expression neutral. She was now buttoning up the shirt, but her hair was still mussed. He cleared his throat.

“Want me to help kneading?” he blurted out, the words escaping before he could think them through.

She froze mid-button, blinking at him. “You want to… knead dough?”

“Let’s just say I can put that piece of junk to shame,” he said, nodding toward the broken machine. “Only… you have to teach me how. Then I’ll do it. It’s not a big deal.”

Her lips parted as if to protest, but she hesitated, seemingly caught off guard. After a moment, she shook her head. “That’s sweet, but I can’t ask you to do that. It’ll take a lot of time.”

“I have time,” Bucky replied evenly. He didn’t add that the alternative was staring at the ceiling of his living room, trying to fend off the ghosts in his head and praying for a few nightmare-free hours.

She looked at him, clearly debating, catching her bottom lip between her teeth in a way that momentarily distracted him.

“Plus,” he added with a faint shrug, “I won’t raise your electric bill, and I won’t get tired.”

A soft laugh escaped her before she could stop it. Finally, she exhaled and nodded. “Alright, if you’re sure. But don’t say I didn’t warn you, this is serious manual labor.”

“I’ve handled worse,” he said with a small smirk, rolling up his sleeves.

“Okay, tough guy,” she replied, her tone half-teasing as she gestured toward the counter. “Let’s see if you can handle my kitchen.”

He stepped up beside her, and as she began to explain the technique, Bucky couldn’t help but notice how the frustration in her features softened, replaced by something almost playful. It wasn’t often he felt useful outside of a mission or a fight, but in this warm, flour-dusted bakery, it felt like he could do something… normal.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice her watching him. When he did, he realized she was waiting for a response.

“Uh…” he mumbled. It seemed she had been talking and he didn’t listen to a word.

“It’s okay if you don’t get it at first, here, give me your hand.” Before he could protest, she grabbed his hand, shoved a dough ball into his palm, and flipped it downward. Then her smaller hand slid over his, her heel pressing into the back of his hand to guide the motion.

“Like this,” she murmured, leaning just a little closer to ensure he could see. Her hand pressed forward in firm, rhythmic motions and the dough yielded under the combined force of their hands. Then she rotated the dough and repeated the motion, with deliberate pushes.

Bucky froze as the rhythmic pressure of her hand over his sent his mind somewhere it absolutely shouldn’t go. The heat in the kitchen suddenly felt suffocating, and he swallowed hard, trying to focus on the dough and not on the fact that her motions were… suggestive.

She was entirely unaware of his inner turmoil, focused on the task at hand. “See? You push like this and turn it. Then repeat.”

Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact, but Bucky’s traitorous mind kept replaying the way her body had looked earlier in that lacy bra, barefooted and glistening with sweat, and now her hand was on his, guiding movements that mirrored-

“Got it,” he blurted, pulling his hand away like the dough had burned him.

She blinked at him, surprised. “You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got it,” he said quickly, flexing his fingers. “Why don’t you, uh… go open the store or something? You can sell the ready stuff, and I’ll finish here.”

Her brow furrowed, then she smirked. “Show me you can handle it first. Then I’ll go.”

Bucky nodded stiffly and got to work, kneading the dough with an intensity that had less to do with the task and more with willing his body and thoughts to calm down. He focused on each push, each turn, determined not to let his mind wander again.

After a moment, she hummed in approval. “Not bad. Alright, you’ve got this.” Tossing him an apron, she added with a grin, “Kitchen’s all yours.”

As she walked out, Bucky let out a long breath and grabbed a ridiculous amount of mid-mixed dough from the machine, barely registering its weight in his hands. He tied the apron around his waist, muttering something about how he’d never live this down if Sam found out, then plunged his hands into the dough with more force than necessary. The soft, yielding texture offered little resistance, and the repetitive motion gave him something to focus on, something to redirect the tension simmering under his skin.

Meanwhile, out front, she was practically buzzing. Well, besides the door incident -she’d have to figure out how to fix that later- and the fact he’d seen her in little more than her bra, the night hadn’t gone completely off the rails. She paused, glancing toward the kitchen and biting her lip.

The idea that Bucky Barnes was in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing as he worked dough like it was his mortal enemy, was surreal. Even in her wildest fantasies -and she’d had plenty- she’d never imagined this scenario.

She distracted herself by greeting a couple of late-night customers, all while sneaking glances toward the kitchen door. But the thought of having him there with flour dusting his strong hands, focused and serious, made her heart flip every time she let her mind wander free.

Back in the kitchen, Bucky gritted his teeth, determined to keep his focus on the task. He flattened the dough with swift, decisive movements, his vibranium arm doing the flips as his flesh one did the work. But even as he forced himself to concentrate, he couldn’t shake the memory of her soft hand on his, guiding him with firm pressure.

Fuck.

---

When he finally finished kneading the massive ball of dough, he stood there, staring at the smooth mound, realizing he had no idea what to do next. With a resigned sigh, he called out for her. “It’s ready,” he said, motioning to the dough. “Now what?”

“That’s for common bread. We let it rise for about half an hour, then shape it, let it rise again, and bake it.”

“Oh,” he said flatly. “So... you just wait?”

She nodded. “Yep.”

“Great,” he replied, crossing his arms. “Guess I’ll hang around. Liam’s not here, so you’d be stuck doing all this yourself. That can’t be easy, it’s a lot of dough.”

She tilted her head, clearly debating. “I’m used to it when it’s necessary.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you kicking me out?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “N-no!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he teased, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

She rolled her eyes, exhaling through her nose. “Want a coffee while we wait?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

They moved to the front of the shop, mugs in hand, settling into a more relaxed atmosphere. The conversation was light, drifting from coffee preferences to the quirks of late-night customers. The rain drummed against the windows, adding a cozy backdrop to the talk.

Then the bell above the door chimed, and two bikers strolled in.

Bucky’s eyes immediately snapped to them, stiffening his posture as he took them in. They were soaked, leather jackets gleaming under the fluorescent light. What caught him off guard wasn’t their appearance, it was their manners. The pair paused at the entrance, brushing their wet boots on the doormat before entering the shop.

“Evening, Y/n,” one of them said casually, nodding in her direction as they made their way to the counter.

Bucky stared, measuring them with a sharp gaze, his body language was calm but alert. He didn’t miss how their eyes briefly flicked to him, assessing, before focusing on her.

“Hey, Daniel, Jack,” she greeted them with an easy familiarity. “Usual?”

“Yeah, and maybe throw in one of those custard tarts,” one of them added, grinning.

As she moved behind the counter to prepare their order, Bucky leaned back slightly, still watching them. He wasn’t sure what he expected from the so-called “local bikers,” but brushing their boots off before entering wasn’t on the list.

One of them glanced his way again, tipping his chin in acknowledgment. “Friend of yours?”

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Helper for the night.”

Bucky just gave a faint nod. He wasn’t entirely sure why their casual familiarity rubbed him the wrong way, but something about how they interacted with her -relaxed, like they belonged- made him tense.

“So, Cookie,” the taller of the two bikers said, his deep voice carrying an easy familiarity. He had a Viking-style haircut, the sides of his head shaved while the top was long and braided, matching the beard he wore. “We swung by earlier, but you were closed. Anything amiss?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly at the nickname. Cookie?

“Oh, just old Edna broke, again,” she replied with a sigh, gesturing toward the kitchen. “I was trying to figure out what to do.”

The biker’s face broke into a knowing grin. “Y’should’ve called me. You know I’d have ‘er running again in a snap.”

She gave him a sheepish look. “It’s awful outside Jack, and Bucky here helped me out a lot. I was going to call you tomorrow, maybe take the day off.”

The biker’s gaze shifted to Bucky with a curious expression, if not slightly probing. “Did he, now?”

Bucky didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, just stared back at him.

She stepped in quickly, a cheerful note in her voice. “Well, here you go, guys,” she said, setting their bags of pastries and the requested custard tart on the counter.

But before she could finish ringing them up, Daniel added something to the order, sending her back to grab another treat.

With her out of earshot, the viking-wannabe fixed his gaze on Bucky again. “There somethin’ on ma face?” he asked, casual but a little edgy.

Bucky shrugged, relaxed, but his steel-blue eyes locked onto the man without wavering. “Nope.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, the tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, “You know, Cookie, I was thinking of stopping by tomorrow to fix the kneader myself.” His gaze never left the biker’s. “Don’t think your customers must stray from their duties.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word out, the biker let out a low chuckle, his smile more challenging than amused.

“Well, it won’t be a bother,” he drawled, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Since I always take care of Edna.”

Bucky’s lips quirked up in a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you do.”

Somehow, she felt left out of the conversation. The way they stared each other down, the sharpness in their tones, it didn’t seem like they were talking about Edna anymore. It was like…

“C’mon, Jack,” the second biker interjected, breaking the thick silence, though his tone carried a subtle edge of warning. “The guys are waitin’. Cookie here will tell ya if she needs anythin’, won’t ya?”

She nodded quickly, eager to shift the mood, and handed over their order. “Yeah, of course. Thanks for always helping out.” Her smile was warm but a little strained as she accepted their payment.

Jack lingered for a bit, gaze still locked on Bucky’s. The other biker sighed and patted him on the arm. “At least help with somethin’, huh?” he added, shoving a large paper bag into his chest.

The man finally broke eye contact, muttering something under his breath as he grabbed the bag and turned toward the door. But before he turned to leave, he glanced back over his shoulder, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Don’t forget, Cookie, you know who to call if you need real help.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked, the faintest sign of irritation flashing in his eyes. He leaned back against the counter, one hand casually resting on the edge, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away. “Sure thing,” he drawled, “If it comes to that, I’ll make sure she doesn’t have to wait.”

The implication in his words wasn’t lost on Jack, whose smirk faltered for just a second before he turned and strode out, the other biker following with an exasperated shake of his head.

As the door swung shut, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Well,” she said, attempting to sound lighthearted, “that was… something.”

Bucky’s gaze softened as he turned back to her, though the tension in his posture remained. “They always this ‘friendly’?”

She laughed awkwardly, brushing her hands on her apron. “Oh, they are, actually. They just get a little protective sometimes, you know? Like I’m their sister or something. Maybe they were just surprised to see you back here.”

He tilted his head, twitching his lips in what might’ve been a smile, but his eyes didn’t match the expression. “A sister, huh?”

She nodded, oblivious to the undercurrent in his tone, and started busying herself by tidying up the counter. To her, it was just Jack and his usual overbearing charm. But to Bucky, it was something else entirely.

Even as he tried to relax, his mind kept replaying the interaction. The way that guy had stood too close, his words heavy with meaning, the subtle posturing was anything but brotherly. Bucky had seen it all before, in darker and rougher places than this warm, flour-dusted bakery.

Except this time, it wasn’t just about dominance or some unspoken challenge. It was about her. And for reasons he wasn’t ready to name, that thought didn’t sit well with him at all.

“So," she started, cutting through the silence and his spiraling thoughts, "you were serious when you said you could fix the machine?"

"Yeah," he replied, keeping his face carefully neutral. "It’ll be a piece of cake."

Piece of cake, he repeated in his mind, trying to suppress the small pang of regret creeping up his spine. Sure, he had a working knowledge of mechanics, he’d helped Sam fix his boat, after all. But that had been different. Boats were his element, like motorcycles or cars. A fifty-year-old kneading machine? Well, he’ll find out tomorrow.

His impulsive desire to impress her -and maybe stake some kind of invisible claim- had won out. Now, all he could do was hope the thing wasn’t an unreadable mess.

She glanced at the clock and brushed her hands together. “Alright, time to give shape to the bread. It’s risen enough.”

Without missing a beat, she led the way back into the kitchen. The warm, yeasty air mingled with her faint perfume, wrapping around him like a comforting blanket.

She grabbed a portion of the dough and began to demonstrate. “Okay, so these are the basics,” she said, her fingers moving deftly. “For buns, you just roll the dough into smooth balls. Like this.” She cupped her hands around the dough, rolling it against the counter in a quick, practiced motion until it was perfectly round. “Braids and baguettes are a little trickier. The braids are just three strands, like hair. And baguettes, well, you stretch and roll them into shape. But you can stick with the buns for now, they’re easier.”

Bucky nodded, reaching for a piece of dough. He hesitated for a moment, as the memory of her hand guiding his earlier flashed in his mind. His throat tightened, and he focused on the dough, rolling it between his hands.

“Like this?” he asked, holding up a slightly lopsided bun.

She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Almost. Use the heel of your hand a little more to smooth it out. Here.” She stepped closer, brushing her fingers lightly over his. This time, she didn’t guide him directly, but the proximity was enough to make his heart thud against his ribs.

He adjusted his grip and tried again, and she gave an approving nod. “There you go. See? You’re a natural.”

As they worked side by side, she kept talking. “Most of this will have to go on sale tomorrow, probably at half price. But having you here is a real help. If I’d had to do all this alone, I might’ve had to throw some of the dough out.”

Her words struck a chord, and a pang of happiness settled in his chest. It wasn’t much, just a small acknowledgment of his effort, but it filled a hollow part of him he didn’t even realize was there.

He stole a glance at her as she focused on a braid, her hands working the dough with practiced ease. A strand of hair had fallen loose, brushing against her cheek. She pushed it back with her wrist, leaving a faint streak of flour across her temple. It made her look effortlessly endearing, and he quickly averted his eyes, focusing back on the dough in his hands.

Unbeknownst to him, she was doing the same. She caught glimpses of him as he worked, his broad shoulders hunched slightly, his calloused flesh hand and the vibranium one surprisingly gentle as he shaped the dough. Something was captivating about how he moved, so deliberate yet careful, like he was afraid of breaking something.

“Looks like you’re getting the hang of it,” she said, glancing over at his growing pile of buns.

“Yeah, well,” he replied, rolling another piece of dough under his palms. “Not exactly rocket science.”

She chuckled, “I don’t know. You’ve got a good touch. It took me a week to get my buns to look that smooth while doing it swiftly.”

Every time their gazes met -accidentally, fleetingly- it was like a spark flared in the air between them. Then, one of them would quickly look away, snapping their attention back to the dough. It was a quiet rhythm of stolen glances and fleeting touches, building a connection that felt as tangible as the dough in their hands.

-----

The bread was neatly shaped and lined up on trays, ready to rise once more before its final trip to the oven. She covered the trays with damp cloths, brushing her hands on her apron as she glanced at the clock. “Alright, now we wait again. Should be ready for the oven in about half an hour.”

Bucky nodded, stepping back to let her take the lead. “You need me to do anything else?”

“Not right now,” she replied with a small smile. “I’ll take care of the customers while we wait. You can… I don’t know, hang out if you want?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Sure.”

She disappeared into the front of the shop, the bell over the door jingling faintly as a pair of officers entered. Bucky leaned against the doorframe, watching her from the kitchen as she greeted them warmly.

“Evening, boys. The usual?”

“Yup. Two coffees and a box of donuts,” one of the cops said, glancing over at Bucky briefly. His partner followed the look, squinting slightly before his eyes widened.

“Sergeant Barnes,” the officer said, his voice respectful but tinged with curiosity.

Bucky stiffened slightly at being at being recognized, but he nodded. “Good evening.”

The officer hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Uh, sorry if this is out of line, but… would it be okay if I got a picture with you?”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, glancing at her for a brief second. She offered him an encouraging smile, and he finally nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

The officer grinned and handed his phone to his partner. They stood together for the picture, Bucky keeping his usual neutral expression, though the officer looked thrilled.

As the partner handed the phone back, he chuckled, glancing between Bucky and her. “Didn’t know you were friends with Cookie here. Lucky you, she’s got the best donuts in the neighborhood.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but she laughed and rolled her eyes before he could say anything. “Alright, enough buttering me up. Your coffee’s getting cold.”

The cops thanked her again, waved at Bucky, and headed out, leaving the shop quiet once more.

He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he looked at her. “So… they call you Cookie too, huh?”

She chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “It’s just a nickname my grandma gave me when I was little. She used to call me her little cookie because I’d sneak cookie dough every time she baked. I guess it stuck, and eventually, the regulars picked it up, too.”

“Little cookie,” he repeated, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Does it bother you?”

“Not really,” she said, shrugging. “It’s kind of sweet, actually”

Bucky hummed in response, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. “Fits you.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the compliment, but before she could respond, he straightened up. “Guess I’ll head out now. I’ll be back tomorrow to take a look at that machine. Ah… actually... I owe you one more thing.”

Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“The door,” he admitted, glancing toward it sheepishly. “Remember I kind of... broke it thinking you were in trouble?”

Her mouth opened slightly in realization, and for a fleeting moment, the two of them were transported back to that chaotic instant, him storming into the kitchen, with his eyes wild with concern, only to find her jumping in her bra, startled but unharmed.

A faint heat rose to her cheeks, and she quickly looked down, busying her hands with the edge of her apron. “Right. The door,” she said, a touch higher than usual.

“I’ll run up to my place and grab a chain and a lock,” he offered, clearly trying to sound casual, though the tips of his ears were suspiciously red. “It’s not much, but it’ll hold until you can get it fixed.”

“That’s... really thoughtful of you,” she said softly, sneaking a glance at him. “Thanks.”

He nodded once, tightening his jaw slightly as if bracing himself, before turning toward the door. “Wait here. I’ll be quick.”

-------

When he returned, he carried a chain and lock in hand, the metal clinking softly as he stepped through the door. Without a word, he moved to the broken door and began securing the temporary fix, his movements sure and steady. She stayed nearby, her arms crossed lightly over her apron, watching him work.

“Will you manage to close up on your own?” he asked, testing the chain one last time to ensure it held.

She nodded, her lips curving into a faint smile. “I’ll be fine.”

He lingered momentarily at the doorway, meeting her gaze as though debating whether to press further. Instead, he simply stepped back, giving her a small, almost shy smirk. “Alright, then.”

He turned toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Cookie.”

The nickname rolled off his tongue with ease, leaving her a little stunned as the bell over the door jingled behind him.

-----

That night, she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling as the evening replayed itself in vivid detail. Every stolen glance, every fleeting touch, every word exchanged lingered in her mind, refusing to let her settle into sleep. She rolled over, grabbing a pillow and hugging it tightly, only to let out a muffled squeal, burying her face in the fabric.

It all felt like something out of a novel, the kind her grandmother used to read, with their slow-burn tension and moments of unexpected closeness. Him standing there in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up, kneading dough with those ridiculously strong hands. The warmth of his smirk when he called her "Cookie" before leaving.

She sighed, turning onto her back again, staring at the dim glow of the streetlight filtering through her curtains. Don’t get carried away, she reminded herself. He was… Bucky Barnes, for crying out loud. The man probably had a private life he kept well-guarded. Dating, maybe even a girlfriend waiting for him somewhere. Someone who could offer him more than just late-night baking disasters and a small-town charm bubble in the big city.

“Oh, whatever,” she mumbled, throwing an arm over her face. It was free to fantasize, right? Just a harmless indulgence in the possibilities, no matter how far-fetched.

----

Bucky lay on the couch in his apartment, replaying the events of the night on a loop in his mind. Her hand, firm yet soft, guiding his against the dough in that rhythmic motion. He could still feel her touch and her warmth seeping into his skin. He groaned softly, shifting as he became acutely aware of the pang of need stirring under his sweatpants.

“Damn it,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. Was he really that touch-starved? The answer was obvious.

But then another thought struck him, one that pulled his focus away from his frustration. Her touch hadn’t made him uncomfortable. Not in the way he’d grown used to: tensing, the inevitable flinch, or the tightening of his chest. No, being near her, having her hands on his, had done the opposite in a way he hadn’t felt in years -decades-.

His mind shifted to the kneading machine. He had all but volunteered to fix the thing, despite only a vague knowledge of how it worked. He cursed under his breath, drowning in anxiety as he realized he could very well embarrass himself tomorrow. She’d been so grateful, trusted him so easily. The last thing he wanted was to let her down.

Then there was the other thing, the background he could never escape. Even though she’d been cool about it. He was damaged goods, and he knew that, but still... a part of him wanted her to notice him.

To see him, Bucky, the guy who helped her in the kitchen, who wanted to make her smile, who was ready to spend hours fixing her stupid kneading machine just for the excuse to see her again.

Fuck. This was going to be one of those nights.

----

By the time morning gave way to the agreed-upon hour, Bucky found himself standing outside the bakery, a hand tucked into his jacket pocket as he knocked on the glass of the front door. He might -or might not- have put some effort into dressing for the occasion, trading his usual hoodie for a henley that clung just enough to hint at his physique under his jacket. Still, the dark circles under his eyes betrayed his sleepless night.

She appeared from the back, wiping her hands on a flour-dusted towel, and her face lit up as she spotted him.

“Cookie,” he greeted with a faint smirk as she unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“Sergeant,” she replied, the corner of her mouth quirking up in amusement.

The exchange felt oddly natural, like a line out of an old movie. She opened the door with a soft laugh, stepping aside to let him in. He strolled toward the back, the scent of freshly baked bread of the previous night lingering in the air as she followed.

“Let’s see the beast,” he said, nodding toward the old kneader, circling once like a predator sizing up its prey.

“All yours” she answered, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter. “Think you can handle it?”

He shot her a mock-serious glance. “We’ll see.”

As he studied the machine, his eyes flicked to the sturdy work table beside it.

“You got a cloth or something to cover this?”

She frowned slightly, her brows knitting together in confusion. “A cloth?”

“Something that can get dirty,” he clarified.

“Uh… sure.” She rummaged through a drawer and pulled out an old, slightly worn tablecloth, tossing it to him.

“Thanks,” he said, unfolding it and laying it across the table.

Her confusion deepened as he positioned himself beside the kneader. “What are you-”

She didn’t get to finish the question before Bucky gripped the sides of the heavy machine, lifting it like it weighed no more than a loaf of bread. He turned and placed it carefully on the table, adjusting it until it sat at an angle he deemed perfect for inspection.

She blinked, stunned for a moment before her lips parted in an incredulous laugh.

It wasn’t necessary, he could’ve worked on it just fine where it sat. But something in him wanted to do it anyway, to leave her watching, even if just for a moment.

She raised a brow, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter. There was a teasing glint in her eyes when she said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to impress me.”

Bucky froze for a second, then, slowly, he turned his head to look at her with an unreadable expression at first. But then the corner of his mouth quirked up, softening his otherwise stoic features. “Did it work?” he asked, carrying just a hint of challenge.

She felt a flutter in her chest she wasn’t ready to name. Biting her lip to suppress a smile, she fought to keep her voice steady. “Fix Edna,” she quipped, tilting her chin toward the kneader as if to deflect the heat in the air, “and maybe I’ll tell you.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes, an almost boyish mischief that made her pulse quicken. “Challenge accepted,” he said, turning back to the machine.

As he bent over the kneader, his metal hand steadying it while his flesh one worked the bolts loose, she let herself watch him for a moment. Something was mesmerizing about the way he moved: deliberate, confident, his sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms that looked sculpted to dismantle things like this.

Luckily for Bucky, Edna really was a piece of cake. As he worked through the simple mechanics of the old machine, a wave of relief settled over him. He didn’t know why he’d been so preoccupied with the possibility of failure. Maybe it was because the stakes weren’t just about fixing a kneader, it was about proving himself in some quiet, unspoken way.

“Do you have a cable extension to test it?” he asked after reassembling the final part, glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Yeah, hang on,” she said, disappearing for a moment before returning with a long orange cord. She plugged it in, watching as he connected it to the machine.

When the kneader whirred to life, steady and smooth, she clapped her hands together once, the sound bright and cheerful in the warm kitchen. Her smile, wide and genuine, was aimed directly at him. “You did it!” she exclaimed, with a contagious enthusiasm.

Bucky felt a jolt in his chest, like a sudden surge of energy. That smile, so pure and full of warmth, made him feel capable of almost anything. For a brief moment, it silenced the nagging voices in his head that constantly questioned his worth.

He turned off the machine and lifted it again, carefully placing it back in its original spot. He adjusted it slightly, turning it until it sat exactly as it had before, deliberately and unhurriedly.

“Show-off,” she teased lightly, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Still riding the wave of her praise, he smirked, grabbing a rag to wipe his hands. “So?” he asked, with a tone just bordering on playful. “You have to tell me now if it worked.”

She blinked, momentarily knitting her brows in confusion. “What…oh,” she murmured. He wasn’t talking about the machine. Her mind flicked back to their earlier exchange, and warmth crept up her neck as she bit her lip, suddenly feeling all too shy under his gaze.

“How could I not be impressed?” she said softly, meeting his eyes with a hint of nervousness.

Bucky’s smirk lingered since her words boosted his confidence. “Good to know,” he replied in a low, almost intimate tone.

Her laughter came nervously, breaking the silence. “Alright, Mr. Fix-It, let’s not-”

She didn’t finish her sentence since Bucky, still high on boldness, took a step closer. “You know,” he started in a steady voice, despite the rapid thrum of his heart, “I’m starting to think impressing you might be my new favorite hobby.”

Her lips parted in surprise, “Bucky…”

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” he murmured, his flesh hand lifting just slightly, hovering near her arm as if waiting for permission.

She didn’t pull away. Instead, her nervous laugh melted into a smile, and her eyes locked onto his. “You’re not.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. Closing the gap between them, he leaned in, in a mix of deliberate but hesitant movements, like he feared the moment might shatter.

When their lips met, it was soft at first, a gentle, tentative connection that quickly deepened. Her hands instinctively rested against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palms.

For Bucky, the world seemed to narrow to just this: the warmth of her lips, the faint scent of flour and sugar on her skin, and the way she melted into him as if she belonged there.

When they let go, her eyes fluttered open, wide and searching, and her lips parted as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“Wow,” she breathed finally, the word barely audible but carrying all the wonder she couldn’t express.

Bucky’s gaze flicked between her eyes and her slightly swollen lips. His own breath was uneven, and his voice rough as he muttered, “Yeah. Wow.”

She let out a nervous laugh, her cheeks warm as she glanced down, only for him to tilt her chin up with a gentle finger. His expression had softened, the earlier mischief replaced by something more vulnerable.

Without waiting for her to pull away -or maybe daring her to- he leaned in again. This time, there was no hesitation, no careful testing. The second kiss was deeper, and more purposeful, stealing her breath away.

She responded instinctively, slipping her arms around his shoulders as she pressed closer. His metal hand found her waist, firm and steady, while his flesh one cradled her jaw, brushing his thumb along her cheek in a tender contrast to the intensity of the kiss.

The world outside the bakery seemed to fade, and when they finally broke apart, breathing heavily, her voice was soft, almost shy, as she finally managed to say, “If that’s how you fix things, maybe Edna should break more often.”

Bucky chuckled lowly, trailing his fingers down her arm as he leaned back just enough to see her face. “Careful, there,” he replied with boyish grin. “I might start breaking things on purpose.”

She laughed, shaking her head as her hands lingered against his chest. “Just… don’t let it be my heart, okay?”

The teasing glint in his eyes softened at her words, replaced by something deeper that made her heart race again.

“Never,” he promised leaning in slightly, nearly touching her forehead with his. Slowly, deliberately, his body shifted closer, bracketing his hands on her sides, palms resting lightly on the edge of the workbench, gently caging her in.

“If you have me, doll…” His voice softened, laced with a husky tremor, as though each word was pulled from the deepest parts of him. He paused, pressing his lips together briefly, while his gaze flickered uncertainly. She could see the struggle in his eyes, the weight of unspoken fears and hopes battling within him. “I’ll treasure you the way you deserve.”

There he was, exposed and raw, offering her the most vulnerable parts of himself. And she saw it all, the battered pieces, the scars both seen and unseen, and the wonder in his expression that someone like her could even consider him worth it.

All the previous cockiness evaporated as he waited for her response, his breath caught in his chest. He didn’t move, didn’t dare.

She blinked up at him, parting her lips slightly as her hands lifted from where they rested against the workbench. For a heartbeat, she hesitated, before reaching out, tracing the curve of his jaw.

“You already do,” she whispered. Her thumb brushed the faint stubble on his cheek, and she smiled softly, a mixture of disbelief and certainty shining in her eyes. She rose onto her toes and brought her lips to his. The kiss was more deliberate this time, an answer in every sense, with a confidence that left no room for doubt. When she pulled back slightly, she looked into his hooded eyes. “I’ll take care of you too, Bucky. I promise, " she said tenderly.

His lips curved into a rare, radiant smile, one that softened every hard edge of his tired face. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at her with such unguarded joy it made her heart flutter all over again. Then, without warning, his strong hands found her waist, and he lifted her effortlessly off the ground.

She gasped, a delighted laugh spilling from her lips as he spun her around, the room blurring for a moment as the motion carried them both. His own low chuckle mingled with hers, a sound so rich and full like a victory, a triumph for once, over the weight he’d been carrying for so long.

When he set her down gently, he kept his hands on her waist, and she leaned into him, their laughter fading into a warm, contented silence as she rested her hands against his chest. His heart raced beneath her palms, matching her erratic pulse.

They didn’t need to say anything more. At this moment, their shared warmth in the dusty floured kitchen was enough. The world and the rhythm of the weekday could wait a little longer.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader

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thedensworld · 4 months ago

Text

Marry A Rich Man | J. Ww

Genre: suggestive, angst, fwb au!, smut

Summary: every parent wanted their daughter to marry a rich man, Jeon Wonwoo. However, you are a rich man.

gif from @meowonhao (he's so fine i just physically and mentally can't (/□＼*))

No warn, just read and find it by yourself:)

You rolled your eyes at the mention of Jeon Wonwoo from Jeon Enterprise. His reputation as a notorious womanizer and all-around arrogant businessman was well known, and the thought of meeting him didn’t exactly excite you. So when your mother brought up the idea, you could hardly hide your disinterest.

“But it’s time for you to start thinking about marriage, Y/N. Don’t you know your younger sister has already been proposed to by her boyfriend?” she pressed, her tone a mix of encouragement and frustration.

“Good for her,” you mumbled with a shrug, not even bothering to meet her eyes.

“At least pretend you're interested. Wonwoo is quite the catch these days among the socialites,” your mother added with a resigned sigh, as if she was pleading more for her own sake than yours.

You stood up from the dinner table, glancing at your watch with a practiced smile. "I’m sorry, but I’ve got to run. There’s a business gathering I need to attend," you said, eager to make your exit.

Your father, who had been mostlydj silent, raised an eyebrow. “A business gathering? Will your friend Wonwoo be there? Say hello to him for me.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. "Father, you too?" you asked, feeling cornered.

He shrugged, a faint smile on his lips. “Just say hi. That’s all I’m asking. For me.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle lightly, shaking your head. “Fine. I’ll say hi.” The words came out reluctantly, but a small part of you wondered just what kind of person this infamous Jeon Wonwoo really was.

And here you were, sitting on a plush couch at a party teeming with young businessmen, most of whom had inherited their wealth rather than earned it. You sat alone at a table near where Jeon Wonwoo and his circle of friends lounged, their laughter loud and effortless. You had been invited by Kim Mingyu, the heir to Kim’s Group and the host of tonight’s extravagant affair. Mingyu and Wonwoo had been best friends since high school, along with familiar names like Seokmin and Junhui, who were part of their elite clique.

Jihoon, the doctor and heir to Seoul University Hospital, sat on a couch nearby with a can of Coke in hand, looking out of place among the champagne glasses and whiskey tumblers. “Too many people. My head hurts,” he muttered to you, rubbing his temple.

You chuckled softly. “That’s Mingyu for you. His social connections are endless. I wasn’t even surprised when I saw popular idols mingling here tonight.”

Jihoon nodded in agreement. “He’s a social butterfly. Sometimes I regret being friends with him,” he said with a wry smile, earning a genuine laugh from you. Jihoon had been your classmate in senior high school, and his deadpan humor was something you’d always appreciated.

Just then, Jihoon raised his hand, waving at someone behind you. You turned, and there he was—Jeon Wonwoo, making his way over, leaving Mingyu and the others behind at their table. He looked just as you had expected—sharp and composed, with an air of casual confidence.

“Can’t handle Mingyu?” Jihoon asked with a teasing grin as Wonwoo grabbed a glass of whiskey before settling into the couch across from you.

“Too much energy,” Wonwoo sighed, shaking his head, but his eyes quickly found yours.

“Nice to see you at a casual event for a change,” he said, his tone smooth, as if he were commenting on something extraordinary. You cursed internally, wishing Mingyu wasn’t your cousin and the reason you had to be here.

Jihoon chuckled. “Right? Y/N must be the hardest-working woman in this room. Always too busy building empires.” He leaned back, glancing at you with a teasing glint. “I saw your new building in Singapore last week, by the way. It looked incredible.”

You raised an eyebrow at both of them. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” you asked, feigning offense, though their words had hit a nerve. Sure, you loved your work, but being painted as some workaholic who never had fun wasn’t exactly flattering.

Wonwoo smirked, swirling his whiskey. “It is. Not many people can pull off what you do. I’d say that’s impressive.”

Jihoon nodded, “Agreed. But don’t work too hard, Y/N. Some of us still need you to show up to these parties once in a while.”

You let out a soft laugh, but deep down, their remarks lingered. You were here, weren’t you? Yet somehow, you still felt worlds apart from them.

Jihoon glanced at his phone before letting out a soft sigh. "I should go. My shift starts in half an hour. It was nice seeing both of you here," he said, standing up and stretching slightly. Before leaving, he made a beeline for Mingyu to bid him goodbye.

As Jihoon walked away, Wonwoo turned to you, noticing your subtle discomfort. "Not a fan of parties?" he asked, his voice casual but his eyes sharp, clearly aware of your unease.

You cocked your head slightly, meeting his gaze. "Are you?"

Wonwoo shrugged with a mischievous grin. "I wouldn’t say I am, but Mingyu taught me a lot about how to survive them." He chuckled, the sound deep and warm, leaning a little closer as if sharing a secret.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed but amused by his charm. "I see. The student surpasses the master, perhaps?"

He smirked, eyes glinting with playful interest. "Only in certain things," he said, the subtle flirtation unmistakable in his tone. He let the moment linger, his gaze never leaving yours.

You held his stare, calm and unfazed. "Lucky you, then."

Wonwoo chuckled again, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. "Why don’t we step outside for a bit?" he suggested, leaning in just enough to make it feel intimate. "I know a nice spot nearby. Somewhere quieter."

Intrigued, you glanced at the bustling party around you and nodded. "Lead the way."

He stood up and offered you his arm, which you took with a composed smile. Wonwoo led you out of the party and into the crisp night air. After walking a few blocks through the city’s lively streets, he guided you to an old, tucked-away bookstore. The warm glow from inside spilled onto the sidewalk, and an elderly man at the counter looked up as you entered, his face lighting up in recognition.

"Wonwoo!" the old man greeted with a smile. "Back again?"

Wonwoo nodded, grinning. "Couldn’t stay away for too long, Mr. Han."

The old man gave you a kind look, then returned to his book, leaving you and Wonwoo to browse. "Didn’t think you'd be the type to bring someone here," Mr. Han commented lightly.

Wonwoo chuckled, glancing at you. "Sometimes you just meet the right person."

You let out a soft laugh, strolling through the rows of worn books. "A bookstore at this hour? Unexpected," you remarked, impressed but keeping your composure.

Wonwoo shrugged, his voice low and smooth. "I thought you'd appreciate something different."

He wasn’t wrong. As you wandered through the cozy aisles, the noise of the outside world faded away, and the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional shared glance.

As the clock struck midnight, Mr. Han locked up the bookstore and waved his goodbyes, leaving you and Wonwoo sitting on the bench just outside. The city had quieted down, and the soft glow of streetlights cast a warm, intimate ambiance around you. You had been talking for hours, the conversation flowing effortlessly as Wonwoo, intrigued by the way you thought, kept throwing different topics your way. Each one seemed to reveal a different layer of you, and he couldn't help but be fascinated.

At one point, the topic turned to wealth and power. You leaned back on the bench, crossing your arms. "When you give a rich man a little power, he thinks he rules the world," you stated, your tone casual but sharp. You had just finished explaining how much you despised the typical behavior of wealthy men—playboys who worked hard only to shower their side chicks with luxury.

Wonwoo paused for a moment, considering your words. Then, with a slight smirk, he responded, "I do feel like I rule the world." His voice was smooth, confident. "But I don’t act the way you think."

You chuckled, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "Liar. You’re quite famous for your playboy reputation, Mr. Jeon. You’ve got a habit of having everything—including any woman you want."

Wonwoo was momentarily caught off guard by the nickname, but he quickly composed himself, flashing a teasing smile. "Playboy agenda? That’s news to me."

"But you can’t deny you have everything," you pointed out, tilting your head slightly as you studied him.

He didn’t even hesitate. "You’re right. I do have everything." His tone was laced with confidence, almost as if he was testing you, waiting to see how you would respond.

You narrowed your eyes, your lips curving into a small, knowing smile. "See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Rich men like you think they own the world, when in reality, they don’t."

Wonwoo let out a genuine laugh, leaning in slightly as if to further draw you into the moment. "Alright then, tell me. What don’t I own?" His voice had dropped lower, almost daring you to challenge him.

You shrugged nonchalantly, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Me. You don’t own me."

The air between you shifted, the playful banter charged with a subtle tension. Wonwoo's eyes lingered on yours, his smirk softening as he took in your words. "Yet," he said, his voice teasing but with an edge of something deeper, something bolder.

"You didn’t say my hello to Wonwoo," your father remarked casually as you entered his office the next morning.

You paused mid-step, organizing the files in your hands before glancing over at him. "How do you know?"

Your father sat on the main sofa, picking up one of the files you brought for him to review. "I ran into him yesterday. I asked about you, and he mentioned you didn't pass along my greeting." He looked at you with a knowing smile.

You rolled your eyes lightly, pushing the file toward him, trying to keep your expression neutral. "And what else did he say?"

Your father raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your sudden curiosity. "Why? Did something happen between you two?"

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, but you quickly masked it, waving your hand dismissively. "No, I was just worried he might’ve said something bad. You know me—I’m not exactly known for being polite."

Your father chuckled, seemingly buying your excuse. "True. You’ve always been a bit like a debt collector in business—firm and straightforward. But it works for you. That said, Wonwoo did mention he’d like to see you again."

You nodded slowly, muttering under your breath, "I bet."

"What was that?" your father asked, but you waved it off, diverting the conversation back to the files. You weren’t going to entertain this topic any further, not now.

Later that day, as you continued working, your phone buzzed with a message from Mingyu.

Mingyu: Wonwoo asked for your personal contact. What did I miss?

You stared at the message for a moment, shaking your head in disbelief. The last thing you wanted was to discuss Wonwoo, especially after everything that had happened the night before.

Still, you went about your day as if nothing had changed. You ignored your father’s comments, brushed off Mingyu’s text, and mentally dodged every thought of Jeon Wonwoo. But then, as you drove home, your mother called. Of course, the conversation somehow found its way back to him. Jeon Wonwoo—this man you’d only met at Mingyu’s birthday, yet who seemed to be lingering in everyone’s thoughts.

You sighed as you politely listened to your mother, her voice bubbling with excitement as if Wonwoo were the best thing that had ever happened. Little did she know you had spent the night with him, and now you were trying to figure out what it all meant.

The next morning, you arrived at your office, only to be greeted by an overwhelming sight—buckets of flowers surrounding your desk. You stood there, arms crossed, brows furrowed. The overwhelming scent filled the room, making the normally neat and orderly space feel chaotic.

"Someone’s been sending these non-stop since early this morning," your assistant said, standing beside you. "I don’t think they’ll stop unless you tell them to."

You picked up one of the cards attached to a bouquet, reading the note: I don’t appreciate the way we parted. Let’s meet again and clear up any misunderstandings.

Your eyes narrowed, already knowing who the sender was. You walked briskly to your computer and began typing an email to the flower sender—Jeon Wonwoo himself. You kept the tone professional, telling him to stop flooding your office with flowers and that, perhaps, you could meet again to "clear things up."

You hit send, sitting back in your chair with a sigh. Part of you wondered if you’d regret agreeing to meet him again, but another part—the curious part—was already anticipating it.

Wonwoo waited in the hotel room, his thoughts racing as he paced around. The same room. The same place where everything had begun on Mingyu's birthday night, when you had opened up to him—at least he thought you had. But the next morning, you were gone, leaving behind only a note and a sting to his pride.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He didn't recognize himself lately. Since meeting you, he'd felt... off. Needy, even. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to wanting someone so much that it clouded his mind.

He remembered the note you left: It was nice. You’re experienced in this area. Along with it, you’d left some cash, as if he were some service you had paid for. That stung his ego more than he cared to admit. He should’ve been furious, but instead, all he could think about was craving you again—your skin against his, your presence.

The sound of the door opening snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned, watching as you casually entered the room. You kicked off your heels without care, tossed your expensive bag onto the couch, and sat down across from him with an air of confidence that was unmistakable.

"You’re late. Thirty minutes," Wonwoo said, his eyes following your every move.

You didn’t even bother with pleasantries. Instead, you massaged your leg, looking at him with a tired yet unfazed expression. "As if you had anything better to do after this," you replied, hitting on the fact that he had canceled all his plans for the evening the moment he received your email this morning.

He didn’t deny it. He had dropped everything, cleared his schedule, just to see you. Maybe to talk, maybe more. He wasn’t hoping for anything to happen tonight, but if it did... well, he wouldn't be complaining.

"So," you said, leaning back into the couch, confidence radiating from you. "What exactly do you want to clear up between us?"

Wonwoo mirrored your posture, uncrossing his legs as he leaned forward. "I don't appreciate you framing me as some playboy," he said, his voice calm but firm. He wasn’t used to being talked about like that, especially not by someone who clearly affected him more than he’d like to admit.

You raised an eyebrow, unbothered by his accusation. "You’re not?" you asked, your tone teasing, as if daring him to deny it.

"I’m a very noble person," he replied, almost defensively. "I don’t mess around with lots of women, if that’s what you were implying."

You chuckled, the sound light and dismissive. "And that bothers you?"

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, it silenced Wonwoo. Did it bother him? It shouldn’t. But coming from you, it did. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because, deep down, he didn’t want you to see him that way.

"It shouldn’t," he admitted after a beat, his gaze locking onto yours. "But with you, it does."

Your expression softened, just for a second, before you smirked. "Interesting." You leaned forward slightly, meeting his gaze head-on. "So, what are you going to do about it, Mr. Jeon?"

Wonwoo felt his pulse quicken, but he kept his composure. He didn’t know how this conversation would end, but he knew one thing: you had him wrapped around your finger, and you probably knew it too.

Wonwoo didn’t respond right away. It did bother him, more than it should. And he wasn’t sure why. Normally, he wouldn’t care what someone thought of him—especially not someone who seemed so determined to keep their distance. But with you, it was different. He didn’t like the way you saw him, the way you assumed he was just another rich man playing games.

But it wasn’t just that. You challenged him in a way that no one else had. You made him feel things he wasn’t used to feeling, and as much as he hated it, he couldn’t ignore it.

Wonwoo leaned forward, his gaze intense as he closed the distance between you. "I think you like pretending you’re the one in control," he said, his voice low and suggestive. "But I don’t think you mind letting me show you otherwise."

He watched you closely, waiting for a reaction. There was a flicker of something in your eyes—curiosity, maybe even desire—but you masked it quickly, crossing your legs slowly, as if to test his patience.

"Bold assumption, Mr. Jeon," you said, your tone light but your eyes never leaving his. "But I don’t hand over control easily."

Wonwoo’s lips curved into a smile, dark and full of intent. "Who said anything about easy?" He let his hand drift to your knee, his touch deliberate and slow, testing the waters. "I’m just suggesting we explore this... dynamic a little further. See where it takes us."

He moved closer, his voice dropping to a whisper as his breath brushed your ear. "Unless, of course, you’re afraid you might like what you find."

The tension between you thickened, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Wonwoo could feel his pulse quicken, the anticipation coiling inside him like a spring ready to snap. You were playing it cool, but he could tell you were thinking it over. There was something between you that neither of you could deny.

Finally, you leaned back into the couch, crossing your arms with that same infuriating confidence. "You seem so sure of yourself," you mused, your voice teasing. "But I don’t think you know what you’re getting into."

Wonwoo let out a soft chuckle, his hand sliding a little higher up your thigh, the touch now more intimate, more daring. "Then show me," he whispered, his voice thick with desire.

The tension between you was electric now, the pull irresistible. He had no intention of walking away from this without exploring whatever it was that had ignited between you since that first night.

And from the way your gaze darkened as you leaned in slightly, he knew you felt the same.

Wonwoo’s arms tightened gently around your waist, his breath warm against the back of your neck as he whispered, "Stay..." You hesitated for a moment, your mind already on the exit, but the pull of his touch made you pause. There was something about his embrace that felt too inviting, too comfortable to resist.

The familiar warmth of his body pressed against yours, and without thinking, you leaned back into him. His fingers traced lazy circles on your skin, a slow and deliberate motion that sent a subtle shiver down your spine. You weren’t sure what it was that kept bringing you back here—to this very same room, to him—but the connection between the two of you was undeniable. It was never about love, but the chemistry was hard to ignore.

As his lips brushed your shoulder, you could feel the tension in the air, an unspoken invitation in the way his hand lingered on your waist. "I like this," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, as if sharing a secret meant only for the two of you.

As you lay there, the memories of Seungcheol creeped back into your thoughts, despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. Your relationship with him had been all-consuming, something that once filled every corner of your heart and mind. It was hard to think about him without remembering how much he had demanded of you—emotionally, mentally, and even physically.

With Seungcheol, things had started out like a whirlwind. He was intense, driven, and passionate, and for a while, you were swept up in it. You thought that kind of intensity meant love, that his need for you, his constant presence, was a sign of something real and lasting. But slowly, the weight of it all became too much to bear. His passion turned into control, his love into expectations you couldn’t meet, and his presence became suffocating.

There were good times too, of course—moments where he made you feel like you were the only person in the world that mattered to him. But those moments were always fleeting, overshadowed by his demands. He wanted more than you could give, and in the end, you had nothing left to offer him.

The break-up had been brutal. Seungcheol didn’t understand why you were pulling away, and you couldn’t find the words to explain how drained you felt. He had taken so much from you, and by the time you walked away, you weren’t sure if you even knew how to love anymore.

Now, with Wonwoo, he didn’t demand anything from you. He didn’t ask for your heart, your promises, or your future. There was no pressure to be more than you were capable of being. It was a relief, but at the same time, it left you feeling hollow in a way you hadn’t expected.

You glanced over at Wonwoo as he lay beside you, his breathing slow and steady. He was so different from Seungcheol—calm, relaxed, and never overbearing. Yet, there was something about the way you kept coming back to him, something that felt just a little too easy, as though you were using him to fill a space that Seungcheol had left behind.

Maybe you were both just trying to avoid the emptiness, finding comfort in each other because it was simple. But deep down, you wondered if you were really healing or just hiding from the scars Seungcheol had left on you. The thought lingered as you closed your eyes, choosing once again to stay in the moment, avoiding the pain that lay beneath the surface.

"Are you leaving already?" Wonwoo’s voice interrupted your thoughts, his hand resting gently on your arm.

You looked over at him, meeting his eyes. There was a question there, but it wasn’t the kind that demanded an answer. He understood that whatever you had together wasn’t complicated.

You shook your head slightly. "No, I’ll stay a bit longer."

You met Seungcheol again for the first time in five years. He now owned his own advertising label, just like the dream he'd talked about so many years ago. Today, he had come to your father’s company, probably without expecting that he'd be working with you. After all, Seungcheol had never fully believed in your competence back then, so he certainly wouldn’t have expected to see you sitting across from him as one of the company’s directors.

You steeled yourself with every ounce of professionalism you could muster, trying to suppress the erratic pulse that betrayed how unsettled you truly were. During the meeting, when your eyes met briefly across the table, memories flooded back. You were reminded of why you loved him so deeply when you were together. He was charismatic, driven, and had a presence that was still undeniably captivating.

But the love that once shone in his eyes was gone. He had moved on, you'd heard. And it was best for him—best for both of you, perhaps. You forced yourself to focus, nodding to your secretary, silently willing the meeting to end as quickly as possible.

The moment it was over, you gathered your things and hurried out of the meeting room, heading toward your office. Your footsteps quickened with each step, eager to put distance between you and the past. But just as you turned the corner, a familiar hand reached out and caught your arm. It was Seungcheol.

"Hi... How are you? I didn’t expect to see you here," he said, his voice softer than you remembered.

You bit your lip, fighting to keep your composure. "Great..." you replied, pulling your arm away from his gentle grip, the contact sending a wave of emotions you'd tried to bury long ago.

Seungcheol seemed to realize what he'd done and quickly took a step back, giving you space. "I’m sorry," he said, his expression unreadable. "You must be busy. It was... nice to see you again, Y/n."

His words were polite, but there was a weight to them, a shared history that couldn’t be erased. You nodded, offering a brief smile before turning away, your heart racing from the brief encounter. The man who had once held all your love was now just another face from your past—a past that felt closer than it should.

Once the climax hit both you and Wonwoo, you collapsed onto his chest, gasping for air as your body trembled above him. His hands remained firmly on your hips, steadying you while the waves of pleasure slowly subsided. For a moment, neither of you moved, the intensity of the moment still lingering in the air. Wonwoo’s chest rose and fell beneath you as he caught his breath, his fingers gently tracing patterns along your skin.

"It was the best yet," he finally murmured, a small smirk tugging at his lips, his voice low and satisfied. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your cheek as you lay against him, both of you basking in the aftermath of your shared experience.

You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of his words and the undeniable chemistry that always seemed to pull you back to him.

"You should ride me more next time," Wonwoo jested with a playful smirk, but his breath hitched slightly as you pulled away from him, the lingering sensation still sparking through him. He watched as you climbed out of bed without a word, fetching the bathrobe and slipping it over your bare skin.

As you walked to the couch and sat down, your eyes seemed distant, wandering as if lost in thought. There was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before. Wonwoo propped himself up on his elbows, watching you intently. This wasn’t like you—the usual confident, carefree attitude that had defined your time together seemed to falter for the first time.

"Something on your mind?" he asked, a hint of curiosity mixed with concern in his tone. He couldn’t help but notice the shift, the way you suddenly seemed disconnected. It was the first time he'd seen you like this—guarded, almost as if you were somewhere else entirely.

Wonwoo stood up, slipping into his pants before making his way toward you. He sat beside you, gently cupping your cheeks as his thumb brushed against your skin. He could sense something was weighing on you, something that perhaps had fueled the raw emotion in the way you'd been with him earlier.

"You look so beautiful like this," he whispered, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your lips. His eyes searched yours after the kiss, waiting for you to speak, to tell him what was really going on.

After a pause, you finally mumbled, "I realize... I'm changing so much." Your voice was soft, almost unsure.

Wonwoo didn’t say anything, letting the silence stretch as he waited for you to continue. He knew there was more you needed to say.

"I'm so different from who I used to be," you confessed, your words almost a whisper. "I used to be so... pure. So used to being taken care of. I was needy, clingy. I didn’t understand things. And now... I don't like how I’ve become, like I’ve had to figure everything out on my own."

Wonwoo let out a sigh, his eyes never leaving yours. "Is it about us? Is that what's bothering you?"

You hesitated before answering, "One of them."

His grip on your face softened, his touch reassuring as he waited for you to unravel more of what was inside you. The rawness in your voice, the vulnerability, was something new between the two of you, and he wanted to understand.

"I've never done this with anyone..." you confessed quietly, your eyes dropping for a moment. "It’s amazing to be with you, Wonwoo. But I feel so hollow afterward. I feel... really bad. That’s why I always leave."

Wonwoo took your hand gently, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. "Because you don’t want to show me this side of you?" he asked softly, his voice calm but full of understanding. You took a deep breath, nodding in response.

"Are you going to let me go, Wonwoo? Like everyone else?" you asked, your voice filled with uncertainty.

Wonwoo shook his head firmly, his gaze steady on yours. "I’m not going anywhere, even if you ask me to. I’m stubborn like that, Y/n."

Relief washed over you as you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "Thanks," you whispered, feeling a weight lift off your chest.

Wonwoo tossed his keys onto the counter, his thoughts still swirling. He leaned against the kitchen island, trying to shake the feeling that had settled in his chest since you’d opened up to him. The more he thought about it, the more it nagged at him.

He had always been good at keeping things casual, knowing the boundaries of a no-strings relationship. But something about the way you looked at him tonight—the way you confessed how hollow you felt—stirred something deeper inside him. He didn't like seeing you in pain. He didn't like that you were dealing with it alone.

But what could he do? He wasn’t supposed to care this much. You two were just... enjoying each other, right? No commitments, no expectations.

Yet, for the first time, he felt something beyond that, a pull he hadn’t anticipated. He wanted to be more than just your distraction, more than just someone to pass the time with. But at the same time, he knew crossing that line could complicate everything.

“Damn it,” Wonwoo muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He couldn’t deny the truth anymore: he wanted to be there for you, to be the person you leaned on. But would you let him? And more importantly, was he even ready to be that person?

Just as his mind raced, his phone buzzed with an incoming call. His mother's name flashed across the screen, and he answered on the second ring, grateful for the distraction.

Their conversation flowed easily, as it always did, catching up on life, work, and updates on the family. But when she shifted to more personal matters, his stomach tightened.

"Every mother wants their daughter to meet you, Wonwoo. I had no idea my son was that popular." Her voice was filled with pride and a hint of amusement.

Wonwoo chuckled, deflecting with a light jest. “You raised an amazing man, mother.”

Her laugh came through the phone, warm and familiar. “Maybe it's time you meet one of them. A dinner wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

He paused, the suggestion hanging in the air. It was simple enough, really—meet someone new, go through the motions. And yet, it felt like a heavier decision than it should have been.

Maybe she was right. Maybe meeting someone else, taking a step back from you, would give him the clarity he needed. Maybe that was what he should do—slowly distance himself from this complicated entanglement.

But as he sat there, phone still pressed to his ear, something inside him hesitated.

Your presence was impossible for Wonwoo to ignore. You sat just a few tables away, speaking comfortably with a man whose face he vaguely recognized but couldn’t place. In front of him sat Sung Yubin, a girl his mother had been eager for him to meet.

“Is the food to your liking?” Yubin asked, her voice cutting through his thoughts. Wonwoo quickly shifted his gaze from your table back to her, realizing only then that he had stopped chewing his steak, distracted by your presence.

“It’s great. Please, help yourself,” he responded politely, though his attention wandered back to you again. He tensed when he caught you looking back at him, though you quickly resumed your conversation with the man sitting across from you.

“I’m glad we could have dinner,” Yubin continued, unaware of his distraction. “The school lunch today was weird, so I ended up skipping it.” She was a senior nursing student, and while her conversation topics should have interested him, Wonwoo found himself nodding absently to her remarks. She wasn’t exactly his type—always rolling her eyes at the waitstaff and focusing more on trivial complaints.

After the meal, Wonwoo excused himself, claiming he had another engagement when Yubin hinted at wanting him to drive her home. Though a flicker of disappointment crossed her face, she seemed satisfied when he hailed a cab for her. As she left, Wonwoo felt a wave of relief wash over him.

Then, just as he was about to leave, he spotted you stepping out of the restaurant with the man from earlier. A third person, a woman, approached, and after a brief handshake, the man walked away with her, leaving you standing alone.

A small smile tugged at Wonwoo’s lips as your eyes met his again.

“I thought you were on a date,” Wonwoo teased, stepping closer to you.

“Because yours was?” you shot back with a smirk, fully aware that you were right.

He chuckled, “Wanna grab a beer?”

You hesitated only for a second before nodding, a quiet acknowledgment that whatever was between you two wasn’t over just yet.

“Who was that girl?” you asked as soon as you were seated at the bar, curiosity lacing your voice.

“Someone my mother wanted me to meet,” Wonwoo replied casually, his eyes scanning the menu. He raised his hand to order an expensive bottle of liquor for the both of you.

“I thought we were just going to grab a beer?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at his choice.

Wonwoo shook his head with a small grin. “Gotta treat you to something good.”

“Oh, trying to show off that you’re rich?” you joked, and he nodded proudly.

“That’s my favorite thing to do around you,” he bantered back, making you chuckle.

When the drinks arrived, you both clinked glasses in an unspoken toast. Wonwoo took a sip of his drink, his gaze fixed on your reaction. He watched as you took a sip, your face lighting up with satisfaction, and a sense of relief washed over him. He’d made the right choice.

“So, that guy you were with earlier... do I know him?” Wonwoo asked, steering the conversation back.

“He’s Choi Seungcheol,” you said, a name that clicked in Wonwoo’s mind.

“From Ads Coups, right?” Wonwoo asked, recalling the name from some big industry moves. You nodded.

“Business dinner? Or a friend?” he pressed further.

You hesitated, and for a moment, it seemed like you were debating whether to tell him the truth. But then you took a breath and said it.

“Both.”

Wonwoo’s expression didn’t change. He sat quietly for a moment, absorbing what you said, before you finally added the last piece.

“An ex.”

“I see…” Wonwoo nodded, acknowledging your words with a calmness that surprised even him. He didn’t press further, but the air between you suddenly felt a little heavier, a little more complicated than it had just moments before.

“Almost married him,” you confessed, a hint of irony in your voice. “But here I am… still being pampered by my mom to find someone.”

Wonwoo chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat. “Don’t worry, you’re not alone in that.”

“At least you’re a good son,” you pointed out. “You actually meet the people your mom suggests. Meanwhile, I reject every single offer mine throws at me.”

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Tell me one name. Just one, that your mom wanted you to meet.”

Without missing a beat, you looked at him and said, “You.”

Wonwoo blinked, caught off guard. “Me?” he asked, incredulous.

You nodded, a smirk playing on your lips. “My mom, my dad. They’re big fans of yours.”

He grinned, clearly amused. “Well, I feel honored,” he said with mock pride.

“So, why’d you reject me?” he teased, leaning in slightly. “I mean, why reject the offer?”

You shrugged casually. “Same reason I reject all of them. I don’t see the point in meeting people just because my mom wants me to. Even if they’re rich. I’m rich too.”

Wonwoo smiled and raised his glass toward you. “Here’s to rich men,” he said, with a playful glint in his eyes, including both of you in the toast.

You laughed, clinking your glass against his. “To rich men,” you echoed with a grin, the shared joke lightening the mood as you both enjoyed the comfortable banter.

Wonwoo looked at you in surprise. You want him to stay?

Just like the other day, the two of you had returned to the same hotel room, indulging in each other’s company. Wonwoo was about to fetch his pants, thinking you’d want to leave as usual. But this time, you surprised him.

“Hm... stay,” you mumbled, eyes closed. Wonwoo didn’t hesitate; he slipped back into bed, pulling your bare body close to him.

As you relaxed into his warmth, you murmured, “Wanna go on a trip with me?”

Wonwoo glanced down at you, curious. “When?”

“Earliest flight today. I want to go to Tokyo.” Your voice was soft, almost sleepy, but the spontaneity in your words caught him off guard. You sounded ridiculous, but he couldn’t help but smile. Without a second thought, he grabbed his phone and texted his secretary to book the earliest flight to Tokyo for two.

“Let’s sleep. We still have a few hours,” he whispered, gently lulling you into rest.

The next morning, after landing in Tokyo, Wonwoo asked as you both walked out of the airport, “You’re okay with taking a sudden day off like this?”

“Using my my-dad-owns-the-company card for the first time won’t hurt anybody,” you replied with a casual shrug.

Wonwoo chuckled, amused by your carefree attitude. “So, where do you want to go after this?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned into his chest, your arms wrapping around his waist as the cab drove you to the hotel.

“Let’s see,” you finally murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo smiled to himself, feeling your comfortable presence against him. He liked this—being with you like this, without overthinking or complicating things. Just living in the moment.

"Yeah," he thought to himself, "I really like this."

Wonwoo watched you, eyebrows furrowed, as you spoke to your mother on the phone. He found the interaction between the two of you amusing, and a small smile tugged at his lips.

"At my office?" you said, trying to keep your tone calm as your mother inquired about your whereabouts.

"Don't lie to me. I'm at your office," your mother shot back, and Wonwoo stifled a laugh as you closed your eyes in frustration.

"I'm in Tokyo for business," you finally admitted with a sigh.

"And you didn’t bring Chan with you?" your mother asked, referring to your secretary still at the office.

"I like being by myself," you replied, your tone measured. "Besides, Chan has things to handle for me back home."

"That’s why you need to start meeting men. How about Jeon Wonwoo? I mentioned him before," your mother insisted.

Wonwoo’s ears perked up at the sound of his name, and he raised an eyebrow, curious.

"I’ll think about it," you said, trying to end the conversation without drawing it out.

As soon as you hung up, Wonwoo, still intrigued, asked, "What was that all about?"

You casually took a sip of your coffee. "Just my mom trying to set me up with you."

A smirk spread across Wonwoo’s face. "I wish she knew what we’ve already done in bed—"

"Shut up!" You quickly covered his mouth before he could finish, your eyes wide with embarrassment.

Wonwoo leaned closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Why? Embarrassed to let anyone know how wild you were in the bedroom?"

Without missing a beat, you grabbed a spoonful of cheesecake and shoved it into his mouth to silence him, and he chuckled as he chewed, eyes twinkling with mischief.

You had spent the entire day together, enjoying the sights and sounds of Tokyo before deciding to fly back to Seoul the next morning. Wonwoo had taken you to all the places you’d been wanting to visit—arcades, restaurants, cafes, and even a clothing shop you had your eye on. By the time you both returned to the hotel, you collapsed on the bed, exhausted but satisfied.

When Wonwoo stepped out of the bathroom, towel around his neck, he chuckled at the sight of you still sprawled out in the same position he left you.

"Go take a shower, you stink," he teased, playfully slapping your leg, making you groan as you slowly got up.

"I'm so happy but so tired. Tired but happy," you said, smiling through the exhaustion as you made your way into the bathroom.

After you’d showered and freshened up, you stepped out to find Wonwoo waiting for you at the table, a spread of food laid out.

"I ordered something," he said, motioning toward the dishes with a proud smile. "Figured you’d need some fuel after today."

Your stomach growled in response, and you sat down with a grateful sigh. "You always know exactly what I need."

Wonwoo chuckled, "Of course. Gotta keep you happy, even when you're tired."

You shared a quiet meal together, the comfortable silence between you speaking volumes as you savored both the food and the company.

"Jeon Wonwoo," you called his name softly, pulling his attention away from his phone.

He shifted his gaze to you, curious. "What’s on your mind?"

"Don’t you feel like I’m using you?" you asked, your tone surprisingly serious.

Wonwoo furrowed his brows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

You shrugged, trying to downplay the growing unease in your chest. "Because I only call you when I need you."

Wonwoo's expression softened, and he shook his head. "No, you're not using me. We’re both busy, me with my work, you with yours. That’s just how life is."

You looked down at your plate, not entirely convinced. "But don’t you feel like... like I'm taking advantage of you? Your ego—doesn’t it bother you?"

He paused, setting his utensil down carefully as he studied you. "Where's this coming from?" he asked gently.

You sighed. "I’ve just been thinking. Men are always talking about pride and ego. Doesn't it hurt yours?"

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he considered your words. "Is that why you've built up your own walls? To feel equal to men?" he asked thoughtfully.

"In business? Absolutely," you admitted. "It’s a constant power struggle, and I have to keep up."

He nodded, understanding. Then he smiled softly. "You know, my ego did take a hit when you left me cash that day. But today? Nah, I don’t feel anything but happy being with you. I’m not keeping score, Y/N."

You looked up at him, surprised. "Happy?"

"Yeah," he continued, leaning forward a little. "Being with you—it doesn’t feel like a game of who has more power. I’m just enjoying your company. So, no, I don’t feel used."

You smiled, finally letting yourself relax. "Thanks, Wonwoo."

He chuckled and raised his glass. "You overthink too much, you know that?"

As you clinked glasses with him, a thought crossed your mind. "What if... I told you I wasn’t looking for anything serious right now?"

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow but remained calm. "I’d say that’s fine. We don’t have to define anything right now. We can just be, you know?"

You nodded, comforted by his nonchalance. "That sounds... nice."

After a brief silence, Wonwoo leaned in again with a playful smirk. "But if you ever decide to make it serious, just know—I’ll still beat you in Mario Kart."

You laughed, the heaviness of the conversation finally lifting. "You wish."

For the rest of the night, the conversation stayed light, the tension between you fading away as easily as it had come.

Seungcheol had been everything to you when you first started. As an intern, you admired his dedication, his leadership, and the way he always seemed to know exactly what to do. He wasn’t just your manager; he became your mentor, teaching you the ropes in a way no one else had. You were eager to learn, even though you weren’t perfect—stumbling over presentations, sometimes missing the mark—but Seungcheol never made you feel small. Not at first.

He didn’t know who you really were. To him, you were just another intern, eager to climb the corporate ladder. It felt refreshing, in a way, to be seen for your efforts and not your last name. You soaked up everything he taught you, from strategic planning to how to carry yourself in high-stakes meetings. You admired him not just for his professional skills, but for the way he treated you—gently, yet firm when it came to work.

When he asked you out, it felt like everything was falling into place. You were growing in your career, and you had someone who believed in you by your side. Seungcheol was passionate about his own dreams too, talking endlessly about wanting to start his own advertisement company one day. You supported him, proud to see the ambition that had first drawn you to him. But then, things shifted.

After he resigned to pursue his dreams, something changed. He wanted you to leave the company and join him, to take a risk and build something together. But your responsibilities weighed on you, the expectations from your family were unavoidable. When you declined, Seungcheol didn’t take it well. He started subtly belittling your choice, acting as though staying in the company made you less bold, less ambitious.

The truth about your identity eventually came out, and that’s when the real cracks appeared. When Seungcheol found out you were the company heir, his pride took a hit. Your paychecks started outpacing his, your name held weight he could never match, and that, more than anything, stung him. He stopped seeing you as his equal, and instead, he saw you as a threat. He began making snide comments about your success, about how it wasn’t "earned" the way his was, how you had everything handed to you.

Your relationship with Seungcheol had changed you in ways you didn’t fully understand until much later. As the dynamic shifted, as his resentment grew, it left scars that ran deeper than you’d realized. You had loved him, truly, and for a while, you believed he loved you too. But the more success you found, the more he became a different person, someone who couldn't bear to see you surpass him.

It was like watching a man fall apart, piece by piece, under the weight of his own pride. He’d lash out, not always with words, but with the smallest gestures—a disapproving look, a dismissive comment. He stopped celebrating your wins, and instead, they seemed to remind him of his own perceived failures. The man you admired for his passion became someone who resented you for the very things that once made him proud. He had wanted you to be successful, but only as long as it didn’t eclipse him.

And you learned a painful truth from that relationship: that love, or at least the kind you’d experienced, was fragile. Men, as strong as they appeared when they were on top, could crumble when they felt they were losing control. It wasn’t just Seungcheol—it was the way he embodied this belief that men were only themselves when they were successful. When they stumbled, when they struggled, their pride and ego became brittle, breaking at the slightest challenge.

That relationship didn’t just end—it left you with a sense of distrust, of wariness. You’d given your heart to someone who couldn’t handle it when you started to grow beyond the version of yourself he was comfortable with. And that made you build walls, whether you intended to or not. You found yourself questioning every man’s intentions, wondering if they would also resent you when things didn’t go their way.

Seungcheol had stolen your capability to love freely. He’d left you with the belief that love was conditional, that it came with terms and conditions tied to power and success. Men, in your experience, wanted to be the center, to be the ones in control. And when they weren’t, they withered. They became smaller versions of themselves, unable to accept that you could be strong, capable, and successful without it taking anything away from them.

You stopped letting people in the way you once had. Sure, you dated, but it was different. Detached. You kept your guard up, unwilling to allow anyone the power to diminish you again. Every time you met someone, there was that lingering thought—what happens when they see the full extent of who I am? Will they shrink? Will they pull away like Seungcheol did?

Seungcheol hadn’t just hurt you—he’d left you with an image of men that was hard to shake. The ones who thrived when things were easy, but couldn’t handle the weight of your success. Men who were all pride and ego, fragile when the world stopped revolving around them. You didn’t want to think like that, but it was all you knew now.

"Your meeting with Jeon Wonwoo will be on Saturday. Make sure you actually come. And also, get dressed properly this time!" Your mother’s voice rang out as she adjusted her pearl necklace, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You stared at her, incredulous. "I haven't even said yes yet," you shot back, folding your arms defensively.

But your mother merely smiled, clearly pleased with herself. "I met his mother at a gathering yesterday. We talked for quite a while, and she mentioned the last girl he met wasn't his type. I showed her your picture, and she said you might be exactly what he’s looking for."

"But Wonwoo and Y/n are friends," your father interjected, his voice calm but firm from the other end of the dining room.

"I know," your mother replied smoothly, waving her hand as if the detail was inconsequential. "But that doesn’t matter. The impression we make on his mother is what's important."

Your brow furrowed, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. "What’s wrong with me exactly? I’m fine. I’m a great woman," you retorted, trying to keep your cool.

Your mother sighed dramatically, setting down her tea cup with a delicate clink. "I just wish I had raised you to be a more polite and less...brash woman." She shrugged, as though the issue was that simple.

"Polite?" You raised an eyebrow, sarcasm creeping into your voice. "I say please and thank you. What more do you want?"

Your father chuckled softly from behind his newspaper, causing your mother to give him a quick, disapproving glance. He always found humor in your back-and-forths.

Your mother’s words hung in the air, sharp yet laced with a familiar disappointment. You could sense her frustration, but it only made you roll your eyes in response.

“Y/N, dear, you are a great woman. But sometimes I wonder if you care about your future at all.” She sighed again, leaning back in her chair. “I’m not asking for much—just meet him. Wonwoo’s a good man, and you two already know each other. It wouldn’t hurt to see if there’s something more there.”

You crossed your arms, still feeling the weight of her expectations pressing down on you. “Wonwoo and I are friends. I don’t need you playing matchmaker with someone I already know.”

Your mother gave you a pointed look, as if she had already rehearsed her response to every argument you could throw her way. “Wonwoo’s mother agrees that it’s worth a shot. Besides, friendships can turn into something more. You’ll never know unless you try.”

Your father cleared his throat. “Maybe we should let Y/N make her own decisions about this. She’s capable of knowing what’s best for her.”

Your mother didn’t relent. “I just want the best for you. Wonwoo is successful, respectful, and comes from a good family. That’s a strong foundation, isn’t it?”

“Fine, I’ll go,” you finally said, more out of a desire to end the conversation than genuine interest. “But I’m not promising anything.”

Your mother beamed, already envisioning some grand future for you and Wonwoo. “That’s all I ask.”

As you excused yourself from the table, you couldn’t help but think about Wonwoo and how bizarre it would be to approach him under these new terms. Would he know about the setup? Or would this just be another awkward encounter orchestrated by your families? Either way, it was bound to be interesting.

Your walls clenched tightly around Wonwoo as he thrust into you with raw passion, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge. Your nails dug into his back, leaving streaks of red as he found just the right spot over and over again. Moans spilled from your lips, growing louder with each movement as his pace quickened.

"What do you think our moms would say if they knew what we're doing right now instead of having that proper dinner?" Wonwoo's voice was a breathless whisper against your ear, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips as his rhythm deepened.

You could hardly think, let alone speak, but somehow you managed to find the breath to reply, "They'd be thrilled... their kids are trying to give them grandkids." You shot back, your voice hitching with every thrust.

Your words clearly hit him harder than you anticipated. Wonwoo's cock twitched inside you, the mere thought of you carrying his child driving him wild in ways he hadn’t expected. His eyes darkened with lust, and his pace became even more relentless, the idea of you pregnant with his baby stirring something primal within him.

"Do you want that?" Wonwoo growled, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his hips snapped against yours, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. "Tell me. Do you want it?"

The feeling of his cock hitting that sweet spot over and over again had your mind spinning, your body trembling as the orgasm started to build in your core. You could barely hold yourself together, your breath coming in shallow gasps. "Fuck, Wonwoo... Don’t you dare... I'm so close... I'm cumming!" you managed to cry out, your body tightening around him.

Wonwoo’s grip on your hips tightened as he groaned against your neck. "I got you, baby," he whispered, and with a few more deep, powerful thrusts, you both tumbled over the edge together, the pleasure washing over you in waves that left you breathless and shaking.

He stayed inside you for a moment longer, riding out the high, his forehead pressed against yours as you both panted heavily. The air between you was thick with the afterglow, the heat of your bodies mingling together in the quiet aftermath.

"My mother said she wants to see me with a woman like you," Wonwoo said softly during aftercare, his gentle hands carefully wiping your body clean with a warm towel.

You leaned against his shoulder, too tired to sit up straight, and replied, "Everyone wants their son to be with a woman like me." Your voice was teasing, lightening the mood in the quiet aftermath.

Wonwoo chuckled, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Sure, you're an amazing woman—with amazing tits," he added with a playful grin.

You laughed at his words, playfully slapping his arm in mock indignation. He scooped you up effortlessly and carried you from the bathroom to the bed, tucking you under the soft duvet with a tender smile. After quickly cleaning himself, he joined you, sinking into the warmth beside you.

"Have you ever imagined the two of us together? Like officially together?" You asked, your eyes fluttering open to meet his, curiosity shining in your gaze. Your hand instinctively found its way to his arm, linking with him as if seeking reassurance.

"Every time happiness comes to me while I'm with you," Wonwoo replied, his voice low and sincere, "I always think about how wonderful it would be to share that happiness with you forever."

You turned to face him, your surprise evident in your wide eyes. "Okay, that was deeper than I expected."

He pulled you closer, his lips brushing softly against your forehead in a sweet gesture. "I told you I'm a romantic man."

"You are," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as warmth blossomed in your chest.

As you nestled against him, a thought crossed your mind, and you mumbled, “What if we made this official? You know, like really official?”

Wonwoo’s eyes widened in surprise, and a grin broke across his face, lighting up his features. “Are you serious?” he asked, his excitement palpable. “You’re not just saying that?”

You felt a rush of warmth at his reaction and nodded, your heart racing. “Yeah, I mean… why not? We get along so well, and I like being with you. I think we could make a real go of it.”

His smile grew even wider, and he pulled you closer, almost lifting you off the bed with enthusiasm. “This is amazing! I’ve been hoping you’d say something like that. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

You chuckled softly, caught up in his excitement. “Really? I thought you had a whole parade of girls wanting to date you.”

“Maybe, but none of them are you,” he said, his voice serious now, making your heart flutter. “You’re special, Y/N. You make me happier than I ever expected.”

You smiled, feeling a mix of shyness and elation. “So, are we officially together then?”

“Absolutely!” Wonwoo exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with joy. “I can’t believe this is happening. You have no idea how happy this makes me.” He leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, tender kiss, sealing the promise of your new relationship.

As he pulled back, he looked deep into your eyes. “I’m going to make you so happy, I swear. No more casual—it’s all in from here on out.” His excitement was contagious, and you felt a thrill of anticipation for what the future might hold for the two of you.

You walked with confidence in a beautiful dress that hugged your figure perfectly. Wonwoo’s hand rested comfortably around your waist as he strolled beside you, flashing charming smiles to everyone you both passed. You couldn’t help but feel proud of each other, relishing the chance to show off your blossoming relationship.

“Look at this power couple!” your mother exclaimed, her voice brimming with delight. You rolled your eyes playfully at her statement, knowing how thrilled she was about your relationship with Wonwoo after the so-called first meeting she had arranged a year ago. Now, you were here with him as his girlfriend at the company’s anniversary party.

“Good evening, Mrs. Ji. You look beautiful as always,” Wonwoo greeted your mother, bowing politely to both of your parents.

“Wonwoo, how are you? I hope Y/N isn’t being a pain in the ass, is she?” your father asked with a teasing tone, treating him differently now that he was your boyfriend.

“In no way could an amazing woman like me be a pain in the ass,” you mumbled loud enough for them to hear, a smirk on your face. Wonwoo chuckled at the light banter you shared with your parents before excusing himself to meet his friend, Kim Mingyu, who also happened to be your cousin.

“So, how’s the plan for tonight?” Mingyu asked Wonwoo, raising an eyebrow knowingly as he referred to his friend’s intentions to propose.

“I’m so nervous I could die,” Wonwoo confessed, running a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of excitement and anxiety.

Mingyu laughed, clearly amused by the new layer of vulnerability that Wonwoo was showing. “Don’t worry, she’ll appreciate everything you do,” he reassured, clapping Wonwoo on the back.

“I hope so,” Wonwoo replied, glancing over at you with a soft smile. The anticipation was palpable, and you could feel the excitement in the air. With each passing moment, you were both drawing closer to an unforgettable evening that could change everything.

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harrysfolklore · 9 months ago

Text

oscar piastri being obsessed with his girlfriend: a compilation

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON | oscar smau

Oscar Piastri was known as the introvert and reserved driver on the grid.

While other drivers basked in the spotlight and didn't shy away from sharing details about their personal life, Oscar often preferred to keep his privacy.

However, when it came to his girlfriend, it was a different story altogether.

Oscar was what people called "a total simp" when it came to his girlfriend, always bringing her up in interviews, promo videos and casual conversations, and fans couldn't miss the opportunity to make several compilation videos and tiktoks about it.

The most popular one was called "Oscar Piastri being obsessed with his girlfriend: a compilation" and the 15-minute long video was filled with moments that made fans both awe and laugh.

It started with the clip of the first time he publicly talked about her during a podcast interview, rumors about him not being single were spreading around but nothing was confirmed.

"I do have a girlfriend, yeah," Oscar said, a small smile playing on his face.

"You're not very public, aren't you?" the interviewer asked.

“We keep it to ourselves and try to be out of the spotlight and just live normal lives,” he replied, “We have been dating for over four years now, she has been there for me since the start of my career and I couldn't imagine my life without her. She's my biggest supporter and keeps me grounded.”

The next video showed Oscar and Lando sitting next to each other wearing their McLaren shirts, filming a game called "Green flag or Red flag."

"Picky eaters," the interviewer asked and Lando immediately waved the green flag.

"He's a very picky eater that's why," Oscar said, making Lando laugh, "But, what if they eat fish, cause you hate fish."

Lando dramatically raised the red flag, making everybody laugh again.

"You wouldn't date a pescatarian then," the interviewer said.

"No," Lando shook his head, "They shouldn't be here."

"My girlfriend's a pescatarian, actually," Oscar said, looking at his teammate with a raised eyebrow, "I'll pass that on to her.”

"Noooo mate!" Lando immediately shook his head, waving his hands in mock horror, "Don't tell her I said that, I don't want to be in trouble with your missus! She's a lovely girl."

"She is indeed, but I don't think she'll like you very much after this."

The next segment was from his "Day in the Life" video with Quad Lock, where Oscar gave fans a glimpse into his daily routine. In one particular clip, he was in the kitchen making breakfast.

"So, this is where the magic happens," Oscar said with a cheeky grin as he poured pancake batter onto a hot griddle, "My girlfriend loves pancakes, so I make them every Sunday. It's become sort of a tradition for us."

The camera then panned to a candid shot of his girlfriend, who was sitting at the kitchen island, sipping coffee and smiling fondly at Oscar. She blew him a kiss, which Oscar caught with a playful wink.

"There she is, sitting pretty while I play housewife."

The next clip in the compilation was from a press conference, where a journalist asked him how he manages to stay focused with such a demanding schedule.

"Having a supportive partner really helps," Oscar said earnestly, "She understands the pressures and the demands of the job. She’s my rock and makes everything a lot easier."

"Does it get hard for her when your schedule is too busy for your relationship?"

"My schedule is never too busy for my girlfriend, I always make sure to make time for her. That's why we've been going strong for four years now."

Another McLaren game with Lando was included, this time they were playing Finish the Lyric with Taylor Swift songs.

"Do you feel confident about this game, Oscar?" Lando asked his teammate.

"I do, actually," Oscar nodded confidently, "My girlfriend is a huge Taylor Swift fan so I know a lot of her songs."

"We should get your girl to come and play then," Lando teased.

"She'd probably beat us both, hands down. But I'm not giving up just yet." Oscar chuckled, shaking his head.

The compilation video then transitioned to a moment in the McLaren garage before the first quali of the Hungary Grand Prix. Oscar was off to the side, chatting with his girlfriend, who had joined him for the event.

They seemed to be in their own little bubble, Oscar's attention completely focused on her and his smile wide as he listened to her talk. The camera captured a sweet moment where he gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about their relationship and fans absolutely melted at the interaction.

The next clip showed Oscar at a fan event in Australia, hundreds of fans gathered to meet the drivers and see them up close, Oscar was answering questions from the interviewers when he suddenly addressed one of the fans in the front row.

"I've got a girlfriend, thank you," he said into the microphone, making everyone laugh but look confused at the same time, "For everyone wondering, she just asked what my number was," the crowd laughed again even louder, "But I'm a happily taken man. You're nice but I'm not interested."

In that same event, he got asked what did he miss the most from the UK when he was back in Australia.

"My girlfriend," he immediately said, "Other than that the food is better here, the weather is better here. So my girlfriend, that's it."

The following video was also a fan interaction, this time it was a fan recorded video while he was signing stuff for those waiting for him as he arrived to the paddock for the Austin Grand Prix.

Oscar was signing autographs and taking pictures, when a fan handed him a photo of him and his girlfriend from a race weekend.

"Oh, this is a great picture," Oscar said, grinning as he looked at the photo. "This was taken at Silverstone, right? It was her first time at a race with me. She loved it."

"What's her favorite part about the races?" The fan smiled and asked.

"Probably the adrenaline and seeing me in action," Oscar chuckled, "But she also loves hanging out in the paddock. She gets along really well with everyone here."

The next clip showcased Oscar during a Twitch stream, where he was playing a racing simulator. His girlfriend walked into the room, and the chat exploded with excitement.

"Hey, love," Oscar greeted her, pausing the game.

"Am I interrupting you?" she softly asked.

"Nope, come here," he encouraged to come closer, "Everyone, this is my girlfriend," she waved at the camera, and Oscar wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into the frame. "She's the reason I'm still sane," he joked, earning a kiss on the cheek from her.

The video included one of everyone's favorite interactions between the couple, captured by McLaren's instagram team.

Oscar had just finished a quiali, earning a P2 position, the camera caught as he reunited with his girlfriend who threw her arms around his neck as soon as she saw him.

"Hiii," he shyly said, a hint of a blush on his cheeks.

"You did such a great job, baby," she said, still wrapped around his arms, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"I couldn’t have done it without you cheering me on," he replied, his voice soft and genuine.

The final clip was from the FIA Prize Giving ceremony, Oscar stood on the stage, dressed in a sharp suit, the Rookie of the Year trophy shining in his hands.

"First of all, I want to thank my team, McLaren, for believing in me and giving me the opportunity," Oscar began, his voice steady but emotional, "But most importantly, I want to thank my girlfriend. She's been my rock through it all, supporting me every step of the way. This award is as much hers as it is mine."

The camera panned to his girlfriend, sitting in the audience with tears in her eyes, smiling proudly. The fans watching the livestream couldn't help but gush over the touching moment.

As the compilation ended, the screen faded to black with the text, "Oscar Piastri: The Ultimate Simp, and Proud of It."

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sloaneispunk · 1 month ago

Text

“teacher’s pet”pt.2 (mdni 18+)

teacher!in-ho x you

getting involved with his student was risky, but how far was he willing to take it until he would be confronted?

༯ ──── ❤︎ ──── ༯

“you know, something’s up with you and mr in-ho… you’re like way friendlier than most students and teachers are.” you friend commented as you were walking out the school gate.

“what? no!” you glared at her, looking away.

to be fair, it was pretty obvious. you just didn’t want it to end, it felt good having a handsome man like mr in-house wrapped around your finger. but you didn’t know who you were trying to protect more, him or you.

the next day when you stepped into class, you gave him yet another wave, causing him to do the same.

if mr in-ho wasn’t so good-looking, you would say his lessons were mundane. but luckily for you, your interest had peaked miraculously ever since you started attending his class.

when the bell rang, you packed your bags, ready to leave. but just as you brushed past his table, you felt his hand grab onto yours.

“stay back.” he whispered, making you look back at your friends that had left.

“why? did i do something wrong?” you asked as he slowly but hesitantly released your hand.

“no, not at all… i just thought we could spend some time together.” he shrugged, seemingly with pure intentions.

but you saw right through.

bullshit.

“it is your lunch now right?” he asked.

he swiftly half sat on his desk, signalling for you to take his teacher’s seat instead.

“yea, it is. did you stalk my timetable?” you teased causing him to let out a chuckle.

“just happened to see it.”

“okay then. so, how are you liking this school?”

“oh, i’ve taught in this school before. i just haven’t been back into the teaching scheme in awhile.”

“oh, i didn’t know that.” you replied, hands rested on your hands as you stared at him, intrigued. “so i’m guessing you liked teaching him, or you would’ve found another school.”

“of course. there’s something in the air of this school, makes me keep wanting coming back.”

“maybe it’s the student… maybe a student.” you wiggled your eyebrows as you joked, testing waters.

“possibly.” he shook his head in disbelief.

“i’m assuming you don’t have a wife?” you questioned.

“well… i did, but she isn’t with us anymore.” he said, his tone changing, sounding much softer, much more vulnerable.

“oh…i’m sorry, i don’t mean to pry. i’m sure she must have been very beautiful… inside and out.” you offered him a smile as you placed your hand over him comfortingly.

in-house looked down to where your hands were meeting, breath suddenly caught in his throat.

“thank you.” he cleared his throat before gently pulling away. “so, are you doing anythung after school?”

“no, not really. alot of assignments are piling up, i should go home straight away.” you told him as he nodded sympathetically.

“so you’re a hard-working girl, huh?”

“of course, have you not seen me in your class?” you laughed.

“i have… alot.” the last word said almost in a whiser, barely able to hear if you weren’t fully paying attention to him.

you could feel a string of tension in the air, you breath quickened as he started to move away.

“i should go, should probably eat before my next class.” you made up an excuse, grabbing your stuff and dashing for the door.

before in-house could stop you, you were gone.

shit, did he take it too far?

for the rest of the periods, you couldn’t focus. it was so wrong. so, so wrong.

this was the moment you realised how bad you had it too. in-ho, the man you knew for barely a month had already had you in a chokehold.

when classes ended, you were going to head home. but then came a slight misfortune, it was pouring.

you stood at the gate with a huff as the rain grew heavier by the second. all your friends had took off, heading to a nearby diner together, leaving you behind.

fuck it, you thought. you walked in the pouring rain, feet dragging as you let out curses under your breath.

just then, there was a honk.

as you shielded your eyes from the rain you saw who it was, mr in-ho.

“what are you doing?!” he asked as he pulled up beside you, “get in before you get sick!”

with no other choice, you pulled open the car door, hopping into the passenger seat as you felt his eyes tearing into you.

“thank you.” you breathed out as you looked at yourself, you were soaked. “i’m sorry about the car seat, this looks like a really expensive car.”

“don’t worry about it… are you okay? is it still cold? i can turn off the air conditioning.” he replied, his eyes full of worry.

“no, i’m okay. thank you.”

“do you have an address where i can drop you off?”

in-ho gave you his phone, letting you put your address into his gps before he drove off.

at first, the car ride was silent. it wasn’t an awkward silence, it was a comfortable one. one where you could hear the humming of the engine and the water splashing onto the windshield.

“why did you take off just now?” in-ho suddenly asked, turning to you for a split second.

“i-i just… you- i don’t-”

“it’s okay, you don’t have to answer.”

“no. it’s just that i don’t want to misinterpret anything and end up regretting it for the rest of my life.” you vomitted out.

he stayed silent.

“and what would that be?” he asked after a bried moment of silence.

“that you were into me…” you said softly, “…like how i am to you.”

he only hummed in agreement.

shit, was this it? did you mess up?

before you could somehow salvage the situation, the car came to a stop.

“we’re here.”

“i’m sorry, i knew i shouldn’t have said that. i-i was just misinterpreting the whole thing a-an-”

but you were cut off with in-ho’s soft hands cupping your face, barely giving you any time before his lips met with yours.

you let out a muffled gasp before you melted into him.

at that moment, he was all you knew.

in-ho, in-ho, in-ho.

when he pulled away, you involuntarily let out a whine, causing him to smile.

“it’s our secret.” he said as you nodded frantically. “you know what? since you’re my favourite student, i’ll give you my number…”

he then took out a piece of paper, scribbling his number on it and placed it in the palm of your hand.

“don’t lose it.” he instructed as you were still caught up in what exactly just happened.

with that, you exited his car, giving him a small wave as per usual. he made sure that you got into your apartment before he took off, a stupid smile never leaving his face.

that night, you were on your bed, tossing in turning. you couldn’t sleep.

‘maybe this was the time to put his number to good use.’ you thought.

you crawled over to your nightstand, taking you phone as you typed in his number.

‘hey! i hope this is the right number.’ you texted.

within a minute, your phone had buzzed.

‘Y/n?’

‘yea. sorry i don’t mean to bother you.’

‘It’s alright, i was just grading papers. It’s late, why aren’t you asleep?’

‘couldn’t. but if you’re busy we can talk when you’re free. :) ’

‘Nonsense. Papers can wait. Did you catch a cold?’

‘no, i’m okay. thanks for the ride though!’

‘Anytime, Y/n. You have my number, call me if you ever need a ride home. :)’

you were kicking your feet like a pre-tesn texting their first crush.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow in class okay? Get some sleep, need you to be awake for my class.’

you giggled.

‘okay. goodnight mr in-ho!’

‘Goodnight, Sweetheart. Sweet dreams.’

yup. you were fucked.

༯ ──── ❤︎ ──── ༯

( bungee jumping of their own - 2001 )

#frontman #frontman x reader #frontman x you #hwang inho #inho x reader #inho x you #squid game #squidgame season 2 #lee byung hun #lee byung hun x you #lee byung hun x reader

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loves0phelia · 3 months ago

Note

hello! hope you’re okay after the ending, honestly I don’t think any of us are.

I wanted to request a rafe x pogue reader where it’s that boat storm scene and instead of Sarah falling it’s reader and she’s just drowning and Rafe jumps in after her. He doesn’t know why he did it but he just has a soft spot for her and it’s just really angsty but also cute.

thanks! I love your account btw!

In The Sea

Summery: the anon

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: grammar mistakes

A\N: thank you to everyone who has been requesting it makes me very happy xxx

You stand at the edge of the deck, clutching the railing as the boat rocks, waves rolling against the hull. The salty breeze whips your hair around your face, and the peaceful ocean sounds made you think about the current situation.

You didn't expect Rafe to save you and your friends from being arrested, much less expect him to find a boat big and resistant enough to drive you all to Morocco Africa to find the blue crown. It was truly a surprise considering you and Rafe's history.

“So what? Are we just on our way to Africa now?” Kiara asked the group as if she couldn't believe that Rafe Cameron was willingly helping them.

“Quick little weekend trip?” She added to her previous sentence.

“What about Rafe? We know what he did to the cross and now we want to go after the crown with him?” You and the rest of the pogue's lips go into a thin line at the memory.

“Sarah, you're his family, how do deal with him” John B said, finding no other options.

“I don't- I don't know, I think maybe y/n might have a chance of convincing him to behave but..” she shrugged and you felt the stares of your friends burn holes through you. Your past relationship with him was a secret to nobody.

“We- we just have to talk to him, or at least try” You proposed earning a frown from JJ.

“Talk to Rafe? When has he ever just communicated with us?”

“Talking to him is the only option we have, but you're definitely not talking with him,” John B said and as expected everyone nodded and hummed, agreeing. JJ was in no place to talk with Rafe.

“Why not? What did I do?” He asked, getting almost frustrated.

“We all know you and him are far from being civil, the last thing we need is you triggering him and causing trouble” His girlfriend, Kiara, tried to explain the easiest way but he still got defensive. After a couple of bickering from JJ and John b You finally decide to go speak with him, who was driving the boat not too far away from the deck.

“Hey,” You knock on the metal and rusted door before entering and walking up to him. His eyes catch yours and there's a tension between the two of you. But Rafe only tilts his head to acknowledge you.

You swallow, feeling the weight of his stare. "We just want to talk," you say, steadying your voice as the rest of your friends beside JJ follow behind you.

“All right let's talk” Rafe chuckles, and it’s low, almost a whisper.

Your mind goes almost blank as you take him in, you haven't been this close since you were forced in the same room by Sighs men last year. You had almost forgotten how much you missed him.

“You guys be cool I'll be cool” His voice snapped you out of your daydream, realizing you had missed a bit of the conversation.

“So now you want peace?” Pope leaned back and scoffed, not believing a word that came out of his mouth.

“I just saved all your asses, how about a thank you?” He glanced at all of you one by one, but he only earned silence,

“Listen I don't want any part of your little fairytale treasure hunt bullshit, I'm just looking for Groff” He’s breathing heavily, holding himself back from adding more snark,

“Hey, Rafe!” Before anyone can react, JJ’s fist flies through the air, cracking against Rafe’s jaw with a force that echoes.

Rafe’s head snaps back, his expression stunned for a split second before he crumples, hitting the hard metal floor. For a moment, everyone is frantic, staring at the lifeless form sprawled across the floor, his eyes closed, completely knocked out.

“holy shit”

“Jesus JJ what's your problem”

“Whoo that felt good” Tired of JJ's crazy actions the girls walk away shaking their heads in disbelief until you are the only one staying behind.

JJ stands over him, breathing heavily, the adrenaline still pulsing through him as he looks down at Rafe. His fist is red, already bruising, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“What is wrong with you?” You look at him, feeling a rush of shock mixed with panic. You fall to your knees next to Rafe and quickly look over his injuries, softly rubbing your thumb on his jaw. “If he didn't do it I was going to do it” Pope added only worsening the situation. You shook your head and furrowed your eyebrows at his sentence.

After the pogues agreed it was probably not a good idea to let Rafe free in case he woke up and decided to shoot you all with his “peacemaker” you tied him up in a small cabin. His head hung low, his wrists were bound to a stainless steel pole and his legs were uncomfortably folded beneath him. Your heart clenched at the sight of him but still decided to leave him there until he woke up.

You open the door to the cabin slowly with a tray of warmed-up canned spaghetti in hand, it wasn't the best but it was all the boat had.

“I brought you food..” You whispered before bending down to place the tray in front of him.

“great” he sighed.

“I found aspirin in the medicine cabinet, I figured you'd have a headache, maybe even a concussion”

“Right… are you gonna throw it in my mouth like a seal or something” He scoffed again clearly angered,

“They don't trust you Rafe… but if you do the right thing maybe they will open up a little bit”

“I am doing the right thing! I helped you” He tried pulling against the restraints but failed.

“I know okay? I know but unfortunately, I don't have a choice but to let you in here until we get there, I'm sorry” you whispered and pushed the tray closer to him. “Please eat,” You said and left closing the large door behind you.

For a moment you stayed behind the door listening closely. “Y/N come back!” he grunts and kicks his feet on the ground. “Fucking untie me please!!” he screamed and you jumped when you heard the tray you had just put down on the floor fly into the wall.

Pope leaning over the side, is the first to spot the flicker of movement beneath the water. "Guys! I see one!" exclaims, his voice a mixture of excitement and focus. He scrambles for the fishing rod, almost knocking over the tackle box in his rush.

John B is right beside him, laughing. “We've got our dinner!" he laughs.

“Guys, this one’s huge!” Kie giggles with the boys knowing we were all set for dinner time tonight.

You all spent the rest of the day cooking the fish you caught and preparing side dishes with some good music in the background.

Until it was time for Rafa's second meal.

You open the door carefully and his eyes catch yours, this time you don't speak, simply set the tray of seasoned salmon down in front of him.

Has you were about to close the door you hear him.

“Wait, y/n. Can you please- can you give me the fork” his tone is much softer than before so you can't deny him.

You get down and pick up the utensil his bound hands couldn’t reach.

“Thank you” He murmured, and you barely heard him as you closed the door behind you once again.

The sky darkens ominously as thunder rumbles in the distance, low and threatening. Waves crash harder against the hull of the boat, tossing it with a force that leaves you gripping onto anything within reach. The storm monitor flashes red to show the storm coming ahead of you.

“That's not good,” John B says.

“We're gonna have to try to blast through it,” Pope says, not finding any better options.

“Why can't we go south?” Kie asks genuinely.

“The current is gonna be against us we don't have a choice” John B agreed even after trying to find safer options, the boat's roar has Pope push the lever controlling the engine to the max.

The waves make the boat shift side to side making it difficult to stay up and steady.

Another massive wave crashes over the side, drenching them all, and you lose your footing, sliding across the deck until Kie grabs your arm, pulling you back.

“Hold on to something” Kie yells at you pope and Sarah and you all grip onto the nearest thing.

“Hey!” a distant voice echoes through the walls.

“Cut me loose! Y/N! Somebody!” Rafe screamed and banged his fists on the wall.

“Get me out of here!” Everyone listens but doesn't move a finger.

“We have to let him out” You scramble to your feet but jerk back when Cleo grabs your wrist.

“No!” she says trying to stop you but you pulled back.

“He's gonna drown” You pull open rapidly the drawers trying to find something sharp, able to cut the thick ropes wrapped around Rafe's hands.

The storm is relentless, its fury tossing you around like a rag doll as you try to reach him.

You cling to the railing, struggling to stay upright as the boat lurches violently, nearly sending you sprawling across the floor. Your legs buckle under you. You come crashing through the door and walk onto the water-soaked floor knife in hand.

“Cut me loose” he begs.

Crouching in front of him you began frantically cutting the rope. Your muscles burn with how much pressure you're using.

“Shit,” You say when a sudden jerk of the boat makes your face come inches apart from his, lips almost touching. You don't have time to think as you regain your balance and continue cutting the bounds.

“There! Come on” you yelled and quickly grasped his hands to pull him up from the floor.

You both run to shelter but the boat jerks side to side even more violently,

“Something is wrong I have to go see!”

“No!” Rafe tried holding on to you but you were already rushing away onto the deck where waves came crashing, a massive wave rose out of the dark, towering over the boat like a shadow.

You barely had time to think before it crashed down, an icy, unforgiving wall of water that slammed into you with the force of a sledgehammer. The impact was too strong and you were thrown backward, landing hard on the deck. Pain explodes through your shoulder, the wind knocks from your lungs. Dazed and gasping, you try to get up, but the boat tips again, and before you can stand, another wave strikes.

This one is worse, merciless, catching you just as you struggle to rise. Your fingers graze the edge of the railing, but the slick metal slips through your grasp. In an instant, the world spins as you are thrown away from the boat, the cold, raging ocean swallowing you whole.

The water is a shock, freezing and chaotic, disorienting you as you plunge beneath the surface. You thrash, fighting to reach the surface, lungs burning, but the waves toss you back and forth, each effort to rise met with another rush of icy water.

Back on the boat, Rafe catches a glimpse of you disappearing over the side, and his heart stops. “Y/N!” he screams, panic cutting through the storm. Without a second thought, he scrambles to the railing, nearly slipping himself as he peers out into the dark, searching for any sign of you.

“Where is she!” Sarah came rushing to her brother

“She fell overboard” he yells already reaching for a rope with the floating boyee. He’s soaked, exhausted, and barely steady, but there’s no hesitation as he jumps in after you.

“Rafe no!” She screams after her brother.

A wave slams into Rafe. “Y/N!!” he yells in the water as he sees you trying to stay above the water far away.

With the last of your strength, You swim faster and harder towards Rafe and reach out when you're near, fingers brushing his arm, grasping it tight. Rafe holds you with everything he has.

“I got you” But you don't hear him in the storm.

You both hold on to each other your arms around his neck and his around your waist as the boat floats away and the night turns into a void.

“Hey, open your eyes, look at me” You feel gentle hands grasping on your face as you finally sit up coughing out the water that filled your lungs.

“That's it” The hands rub your back in a comforting way.

The sand is hot beneath you, warming up your skin, and with exhaustion, you fall onto Rafe's chest.

“Hey you okay?” panicked, he grabs onto your shoulder and pushes you a little bit to take a good look at your face.

“You jumped after me,” you whispered.

“Of course I did” You look up at him, heart pounding, feeling a rush of gratitude, fear, and something deeper—something that’s been smouldering beneath the surface, unspoken, for far too long. Your eyes shine with tears, not sad and not happy either but grateful.

His hand reaches up, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin. His touch is warm, and grounding, and you feel your heart racing even faster under his gaze, intense and unreadable, like he’s seeing you for the first time.

Without another thought, you lean in, closing the space between the two of you as you press your lips to his, a spark igniting into a wildfire the moment you connect. Rafe’s surprise melts away instantly, and he kisses back, fierce and unrestrained, his hands finding your waist.

The kiss is charged, fueled by adrenaline, and a longing that neither of you can deny any longer. Your hands find his shoulders, clinging to him, grounding you in his warmth, his strength, the feel of his heartbeat thundering beneath your touch.

Rafe’s fingers trail up your back, sending shivers along your spine, and his lips move against yours with an urgency that speaks of everything left unspoken.

When you finally pull apart, breathless, Rafe’s forehead rests against yours, his eyes searching yours as he lets out a shaky laugh, almost in disbelief.

“You saved my life” you smile, brushing a thumb over his cheek, still feeling the warmth of his kiss lingering on your lips. “I love you, I've always loved you” you whisper, and before you know it, you're kissing again, the ocean waves crashing nearby, the world forgotten as you lose yourselves in each other.

“I never stopped loving you,” he whispered.

Send request xxx

#rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe outer banks #outer banks #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron #rafe obx

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lowkeyren · 2 months ago

Text

—reject me not!

in which : when your sudden confession catches blade off guard, his response comes across as a rejection. though he realises his mistake, and tries his best to make things right. (...it gives the whole hq a headache)

slight humor, idiots in love, mutual pining, misunderstanding, you tease him w/o realizing (n he gets back at u hehe), reader is a stellaron hunter, stellaron hunters wingwomen!!!, art by @/kkuekkue on x. reblogs are appreciated! please enjoy <3

wc: 4.2k // hm secret santa? HOHOHO @mikashisus, rayray!! u might pull ur hair out at some parts idk :joy: happy reading n merry christmas my little elf xx

"i think i like you."

the words leave your mouth quicker than your brain can second-guess them.

blade freezes mid-step, his back visibly stiffening. when he turns to face you, his sharp, cold eyes betray a fleeting glimmer of surprise, perhaps, or confusion —but it disappears as quickly as it came.

he stares at you, his eyes widening just slightly, the faintest crack in his carefully maintained composure.

but then, his lips part, and all he gives you is a single, flat response.

"i see."

two short, dismissive words. not a smile, not a frown —just two clipped words. you tilt your head, expecting some form of elaboration, but instead he just turns on his heel, his coat swishing behind him as he starts to walk away.

(what you don’t see is the way his hands curl into fists as he walks off, how his steps falter just around the corner, or the way he presses a hand against his chest to steady the sudden, overwhelming ache blooming there.)

…must this guy really be so blunt?!?!!

you sigh, a little laugh escaping despite your current situation. of all the possible responses you could’ve imagined, ‘i see’ definitely wasn’t one of them. you shake your head, a part of you wonders if elio is watching, silently laughing at your predicament right now.

it’s fine. really. you should’ve known better than to think he’d say anything different.

though the big problem now is, blade knows about your silly crush on him, so facing him in the future is going to be a total nightmare that you’re not ready to accept. you can already feel the embarrassment creeping up like it’s going to suffocate you.

“where's [name]?”

blade steps into the base. silver wolf, tucked in the corner, engrossed in her console, raises a hand in greeting without looking up. blade nods in acknowledgment, before replying to kafka, "i went ahead of them," his voice sounds a little more strained than usual, before quickly turning to make a beeline for his room.

but kafka, ever perceptive, senses something’s off. she tilts her head with a smirk, "bladie, did something happen?"

he denies it with a quick shake of his head before slipping past her. having no other option, she resorts to… unconventional methods.

with a flick of her wrist and a soft, almost melodic whisper, she purrs, "listen to me.”

the moment those familiar words hit his ears, a wave of calm washes over him, and against his will, he halts mid-step. "now tell me what happened, will you?"

he sighs and he rubs the back of his neck. “take your time, bladie.” after a long pause he speaks again, "[name] said they... they liked me."

kafka watches him closely, a grin slowly spreading across her face. "and then what happened, hmm?" she teases.

out of the corner of his eyes, he sees silver wolf perk up at his words, but he pays her no mind as his thoughts are too tangled in what he’s about to say next, the words barely scraping past his throat.

...

the next hour consists of him being ‘lectured’ by his fellow coworkers.

he tries to tune out the barrage of teasing, but something about “bladie, that's not how you reciprocate,” to “ain’t no way bro fumbled that badly,” managed to stick with him, unfortunately. (he looks over to firefly standing to the side, but she only giggles and shakes her head at him.)

but really, how was he supposed to tell them that he panicked? that he was so stunned by your confession, so overwhelmed, that he could barely form a coherent sentence? that his awkward, dismissive reply wasn’t rejection, but a pathetic attempt to mask his own vulnerability?

the thought of you avoiding him, of thinking he doesn’t care, makes his chest ache with a pain he hadn't experienced for the past few centuries.

blade makes a mental note to find you as soon as possible. he doesn’t know how to explain himself, not entirely; words have never been his strong suit, but somehow, some way, he’ll make it up to you.

later, you return to the base, your steps hesitant as you walk in. the moment you enter, the group falls silent, all eyes snapping to you. there’s an awkward stillness in the air, like they were caught in the middle of something. your gaze sweeps over the room, and it lands on blade. when you lock eyes with him, a flush creeps up your neck, and you quickly avert your gaze.

"excuse me!" you blurt out and almost sprint to your room.

...do they all know?! this has to be the most embarrassing day of your life.

you agreed to meet kafka at a bar near your current mission to discuss your next task. the magenta haired woman had mentioned it casually when you’d asked, cryptic as usual, only revealing that the task was important but leaving out certain key details —such as conveniently leaving out the part about blade being there too, of course.

(“bladie,” kafka’s voice took on a singsong lilt, her playful smile unmistakable as she glanced at him. “you’re going to use this chance to make it up to them, ‘kay?”

blade only kept his eyes trained on the entrance, silently waiting for you to arrive.)

running late, your prior mission having dragged on longer than expected, you found yourself hurrying to the bar, weaving through the sparse but lingering foot traffic of the evening.

after what feels like hours, you finally make it to the bar. stepping in, your eyes scan the room for kafka, when suddenly, a man steps right into your path.

the man smiles warmly, though you could tell he’s had a few to drink tonight. his tone is friendly, with just a hint of flirtation as he strikes up a conversation, casually asking if you’d be interested in grabbing a drink sometime.

he’s polite, respectful even, and there’s nothing about him that feels overly forward or aggressive —just a man who’s trying his luck, that’s all. still, you can't help but feel a slight annoyance at the timing.

as you try to figure out a way to decline his invitation, you remain oblivious to blade’s gaze —specifically, how it's fixed on you, or rather, more pointedly on the back of the man’s neck.

“you’re going to snap his neck if you keep looking at him like that.” kafka’s voice cuts through the tension, her tone teasing as she watches the exchange from the side.

“i don’t like what he’s doing,” blade mutters, his voice low and filled with an edge that suggests far more than just mild annoyance.

kafka chuckles softly to herself, already knowing where this is headed. it’s not an outright confession of jealousy, of course —he would never admit to something as petty as that, and she knows better than to push him on this one.

nevertheless, she still catches it, her lips curling into a knowing smile. even if blade would never call it jealousy, it’s enough to push him into doing something completely out of character —something he’ll never, ever do (until now).

kafka notices immediately. her eyes widen just a fraction before she sets down her wine glass with a graceful motion, amusement dancing in her eyes. and perhaps to make sure he doesn’t look too foolish, she decides to play along and help him act the part.

a sharp clang of glass hitting the table catches your attention. your brows knit in confusion; you glance over instinctively, your eyes meeting kafka's for a brief moment. her expression is unreadable, but the faint curve of her lips makes you wonder what’s really going on.

curiosity pulls your gaze lower, to the drunk figure slumped over at her table, seemingly drunk, his head resting heavily on his arm. the spilled drink pools on the floor beside him, glinting under the dim light.

at first, you only catch a glimpse of dark, tousled hair, streaked faintly with deep crimson at the ends —so strikingly familiar it makes you pause. then, as your eyes trace over the sharp line of his jaw and the stiff set of his shoulders, realisation dawns on you.

wait a second.

your jaw nearly drops as you piece it together. the man lying there, seemingly drunk out of his mind, is none other than the last person you would want to see right now.

blade.

your gaze darts between him and the polite man still standing awkwardly in front of you. blade, on the other hand, never lets his guard down, so this... state of his? unprecedented.

apologetically, you offer a small smile to the man before rushing to blade’s side, urgency in every step as you push past the tables, heart hammering in your chest.

blade’s eyes subtly flicker over to you as you approach, and you can almost sense the slightest shift in his demeanor, the thought of you giving your time to someone else, especially someone so... ineffectual —grates at him.

he swallows the ugly feeling down his throat. perhaps he’s let this irked him more than it should. but it’s too late to back out now that you’re standing right beside him, the weight of your presence making the tension in his chest only more pronounced.

as if on cue, kafka’s voice breaks the silence, “as you can see, [name], our dear bladie here has gotten himself a bit... roughed up,” she says, casually catching the wine glass that had been teetering on the edge of the table.

her lips curl into a playful smile as she glances at blade, whose jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “drinking doesn’t seem to suit him, wouldn’t you agree?” kafka continues, her tone light but unmistakably amused. her eyes flicker between the two of you, as if she’s thoroughly enjoying the situation unraveling before her far more than she should.

you blink, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected scene. your worry only deepens as you shift your attention back to blade, who remains uncharacteristically silent, his head now resting on his arm as though he really had overindulged.

“blade,” you say softly, your voice carrying just the slightest edge of concern. “what happened?”

before he can answer —or before he’s forced to lie —kafka chuckles, waving a hand as if to dismiss your worry.

“oh, nothing serious. he just got a little too carried away with his drink.” she leans back in her chair, a sly glint in her eye that you’re too preoccupied to notice. your gaze falls back to blade, his hair slightly tousled.

without thinking, you reach out, gently brushing a strand strand from his forehead. his eyes flutter open at the contact —those striking, sharp eyes you’ve always found yourself drawn to, dark yet you can’t bring yourself to look away from.

you notice the faint redness creeping across his cheeks and the line of his jaw, down to his neck. his skin hot to the touch under your fingers. “you’re warm,” you murmur softly, assuming the alcohol is to blame.

if only you knew the warmth searing through him has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with you.

“ah,” kafka hums, pulling you out of your thoughts. “it seems something urgent has come up that needs my attention.” there’s an unmistakable glint of mischief in her eyes. “i’ll leave you two to it.”

you glance at her, startled. “wait, what about—?”

“don’t worry about it,” she interjects, already getting up from her seat. “the bill is already on my tab.”

well, that wasn’t what you were about to ask anyway!

a sly smile curls her lips, and she tilts her head ever so slightly. “hmm, it’s rare to see him like this. [name], you’ll take good care of him, won’t you?” her tone is light, but the underlying implication is clear, leaving you flustered as she turns on her heel, striding off, leaving the two of you alone.

blade leans heavily against you, his tall frame making it an awkward challenge to keep him upright as you guide him out of the bar. one arm is slung over your shoulder, while his other hangs haphazardly against his side.

his head is tilted forward, strands of his dark, crimson-tipped hair brushing against your cheek, and you can feel the warmth radiating from him —whether from his predicament or his proximity, you’re not sure.

you shift your grip, looping an arm around his waist for better support, and his body tenses slightly under your touch. for someone playing the part of drunk so convincingly, he’s strangely aware of your every movement, his hand tightening just faintly on your shoulder when you stumble over a crack in the pavement.

“blade,” you murmur under your breath, trying to shift his weight more evenly as you inch forward. “you’re not making this very easy, you know.”

casting a glance his way, you’re met with a low, almost lazy hum in response. his expression is nothing short of a hazy indifference, though you swear you catch a flicker of clarity in his eyes —a brief, focused intensity that seems out of place, before he looks away.

you can feel the heat of his breath against your temple as he wavers with every step. the night air is cool, but the warmth radiating from his body is undeniable, pressing against your side in a way that sends an unexpected shiver down your spine. the closeness between you feels almost intimate in a way that will surely have you screaming into your pillow later that night.

as you continue down the empty street, blade’s mind races; this is his chance. he knows it. he should say something now, anything, to make it clear —to tell you how he feels. (and how it’s been eating at him for longer than he cares to admit.)

this is it, the moment he’s been waiting for, but all he can do is breathe in the scent of your skin and the warmth of your touch. the sensation is all too familiar, like the pounding in his chest —but this time, it’s not from the heat of battle.

just how much longer he has to deal with this utterly insufferable feeling?

it’s worse now, because as you navigate through the halls of the base, he’s beginning to wonder if this is what it means to care for someone —to be vulnerable.

“here,” you say softly as you stop in front of the door to his room.

he doesn’t want this moment to end.

you glance at him then, finally meeting his eyes, and the look in them knocks the breath from your lungs. they’re hazy, yes, but there's a sharpness beneath the mask of drunkenness, a quiet intensity that makes your heart beat a little faster.

you clear your throat, breaking the silence. "do you need anything else?"

"no," he answers, almost reluctantly. "i’ll be alright."

a twinge of disappointment surges through you. right… it was foolish to expect anything different. he’s already rejected you, and you can’t help but feel a bit ridiculous for thinking it would be any other way.

you stand there for a moment, the silence between you growing thicker with each passing second, before you force yourself to nod, your voice soft as you try to mask the heaviness in your chest.

“goodnight then."

just as you turn to leave, you feel a sudden pull on your hand, your wrist tugged back with surprising gentleness.

"wait," blade suddenly says, and this time, there's no mistaking the sincerity in it. "thank you.”

his bandaged hand rests over yours, and a soft breath escapes you; flustered, you open your mouth to respond, ready to brush it off.

"oh! It's no pro—"

but you’re cut off before you can finish. he raises your hand, pressing his lips to the back of your palm in a soft, lingering kiss.

"—blem..."

your voice falters slightly as a rush of warmth spreads through you. every nerve in your body seems to spark awake all at once, making you hyper-aware of the spot from where his lips brushed against your skin. you freeze, your breath caught in your throat, unable to do anything but stand there, your hand still resting in his.

then, as if nothing happened, he steps back into his room and shuts the door behind him, leaving you standing there, still processing the unexpected moment.

safe to say you got little to no sleep that night. you roll over, staring at the ceiling, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. it feels ridiculous, embarrassing even, how many times you've replayed that scene in your head every time you close your eyes.

you couldn’t help but smile to yourself like a fool.

(“so bladie, how’d it go?” / “...”)

you hadn’t even planned on leaving the base today, let alone stepping foot into the brightly lit chaos of an arcade, but silver wolf had insisted —no, nagged, until you caved. and somehow she’d managed to drag blade (of all people) along, her smug grin all too telling as she pushed the two of you together and skipped off to “go play some gachas”

now, you stand awkwardly by blade’s side, the flashing lights casting a colorful glow over his impassive face. it’s hard to ignore how out of place he looks, his dark coat, sunglasses, and the mask covering his lower face a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere.

yet, somehow, he doesn’t seem to mind the sharp sounds of arcade machines beeping nor the kids screaming in excitement. he just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching you fumble with a stack of game tokens.

“you look thrilled,” you mutter, a sarcastic tone in your voice as you glance at him. it’s strange, though —there’s something oddly endearing about the way he’s standing there, the dark lenses of his sunglasses reflecting a faint outline of your own face. you catch yourself staring for just a moment too long, wishing you could see beyond the lens, wishing you could read his eyes—

you shake the thought off, it’s all just wishful thinking.

behind the shield of his sunglasses, blade’s eyes tracked your every subtle movement, almost unconsciously. he caught the way your expression softened as you turned toward the claw machine, how your lips curved ever so slightly when your gaze settled on that… thing.

it was maddening, how effortlessly you held his focus, how even a trivial moment like this could stir something deep in him. he told himself it was nothing, but the tightening in his chest said otherwise.

he wasn’t one to indulge in sentiment, yet something about the way you stared at that silly plush made him restless, made him want to do something about it, if only to keep that smile on your face a little longer.

would your smile grow brighter if that plush were in your hands?

“let’s go.”

“to where…?” you asked, glancing back at him, the curiosity evident in your voice.

he didn’t answer immediately, but you felt the familiar tug at your hand once again, gentle and insistent, as his gaze slips toward the claw machine where you had been staring earlier.

it’s not hard to imagine the scene as a sweet little moment, with him focused on the claw machine, trying to win you a plush like a doting partner would.

with a soft click, the claw tightens around the plush, and before you can react, it’s being lifted out of the pile, swinging toward the prize chute. you can't help but stare as he pulls the soft toy from the machine with a sense of quiet satisfaction.

(you pocket the rest of the tokens. guess he won’t be needing those… for a first-timer, he sure got lucky —must be beginners' luck, huh?)

you blink, slightly impressed. “wow, you’re good at this,” you remark, unable to hide the surprise in your voice.

without a word, he hands the plushie to you.

you tilt your head slightly, a bit unsure. “for me...?”

“it's yours. take it." he looks to the side; suddenly thankful for the mask —if it weren't for that, you'd surely see the crimson tint creeping up his cheeks right now.

you hesitate for a second longer before reaching out to take it, your fingers brushing against his, a tingle of heat pulses through you, leaving your hand feeling strangely warm.

“th-thank you," you manage to spit out, and your eyes dart away, suddenly very aware of how close he is. surely, this isn’t good for your heart!

the twilight sky stretches wide, the clouds are heavy, and you’re looking oh so earnestly at him. his heart beats a little faster, louder now, as if his body knows exactly what he wants but refuses to let him act on it.

but then, he blinks —once, twice; snapping himself back to reality. he can feel the space between you growing smaller, your presence growing closer.

his eyelids flutter shut instinctively.

and then, the soft press of your lips against his cheek.

a soft sigh escapes him, and his eyes crack open. if you could see his expression right now, you'd catch the vulnerability that flashes in his gaze. he swears he can feel the warmth of your kiss in his very bones.

though not quite the kiss he imagined… it was something. (re: you got his hopes up)

the shock of your own actions hits you like a wave. you swallow thickly, “sorry —i'll go find silver wolf.” avoiding his gaze as you fumble with the tokens in your hand. "i… i’ll pass the extra tokens to her."

without waiting for a response, you turn and hurry off, your pulse pounding in your ears, praying that the ground would swallow you whole.

that night, you lay in bed, the plushie clutched tightly in your arms. the softness of it contrasts sharply with the rush of confusion filling your chest.

why was he being so kind to you? after everything, after the way he rejected you just a few days ago, it made no sense. his actions felt contradictory.

you try to push the memory of the kiss out of your mind; impulsive decisions… often lead to mortifying outcomes. though when you glanced at him afterward, you could’ve sworn his ears were tinged with red, just peeking out from beneath his hair. nevermind, it’s probably your mind playing tricks on you.

blade, who’s as cold as the frost-kissed dusk, walks beside you through the lively festival, his dark coat a striking contrast to the vibrant reds and greens around you.

the faint scent of roasted chestnuts and spiced cider fills the air, mingling with the sound of distant carolers. he doesn’t say much, but there’s something about the way his gloved hand brushes yours, intentionally or not —that makes the chill in the air feel less biting.

you swallow, focusing on the festive stalls ahead, the decorations glittering in the night. “you don't have to stick around, you know. i can manage by myself.”

his steps slow just slightly, and he turns his head toward you, finally speaking. “you think i’d just leave you here?”

the words catch you off guard, and you fumble for a response. “i-i just meant—”

“relax.” he interrupts, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips; his hand grazing yours again. this time, his fingers linger for a moment longer, almost as if testing the waters, before retreating back into the safety of his pocket.

your cheeks flush, and you pretend to be deeply interested in a nearby stall selling hand-knit scarves. just then, his voice cuts through the festive hum. “last week… when you said you liked me,” he starts, and your breath catches.

you whirl back to face him, your heart pounding. “don’t worry about it! really, i—”

“i wasn’t rejecting you,” he says, with an unexpected gentleness in his gaze. “i like you too, [name].”

blade removes his coat, the fabric warm against the cold air as he drapes it around your shoulders, pulling you closer. you stumble, your hand instinctively pressing against his chest to catch your balance.

you look up at him, your breath quickening, as his face draws closer, his eyes locked on yours with that familiar intensity. you let your eyelids flutter shut, lips trembling, heart pounding in your chest as the space between you narrows.

but instead of the kiss you were anticipating, you feel the gentle warmth of his lips brush against your forehead.

your eyes snap open in confusion, only to meet his smirking face. oh... this asshole!

“what?" he teases, his tone deceptively casual. “you seem pretty eager,” his voice drops an octave, hand gently tilting your chin as he leans in just close enough for you to feel his breath against your skin.

you glare up at him, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. the way your lips quiver, unable to hold his gaze for long; the fact that he actually adores that flustered expression on your face... well, that’s when he realises. he’s too far gone.

what a dumbass lmfaoo

MASTERLIST.

1K notes · View notes

astonmartinii · 27 days ago

Text

other side of the moon - chapter five | formula one imagine

chapter five: enter stage left

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

one big car launch with every driver in attendance - what can go wrong?

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | SERIES MASTERLIST

whatever bright spark decided that formula one needed one big, fancy car launch must want y/n dead. here she stood in one of the many green rooms in a black dress that’s a little too tight and an absolute pain to sit down in.

on one side of the room george sits in his dressing gown being doted on five different people while he talks down the phone in a tone too loud for the crowded room. kimi, on the other hand, sits on the couch on the other side, having waved off all of the people trying to smear yet another cream on his face.

“are you just going to be haunting me all season?” george said as he hung up the phone. glaring at y/n through the mirror.

“if i’m haunting you, does that mean you did something wrong?” y/n gasps, “am i the skeleton in your closet, georgie?”

the mercedes personnel in the green room were still, almost waiting for it to hit boiling point and all spill over. george and y/n stared each other down, waiting for someone to make the next move. george steadily looked y/n up and down, not being subtle at all. y/n raised her eyebrow at the brit.

“i could get used to you in my colours,” george said with a smirk.

“bore off russell, i don’t wear anything for you. these will be seen as kimi’s colours before you know it.”

a knock on the door signalled the start of the show. george stood up and took off his robe, revealing the new mercedes racesuit for the season. the brit made his way to the door but before he left, he turned to y/n and said, “don’t get too comfortable, i have my eye on you”

“oh georgie, you always have,” y/n flirted before schooling her face, “and how has that worked out for you?”

the brit pointed to his racesuit, “better than it has for you.”

that was a low blow, but y/n was prepared to play it that way if that was the game for the season. george looked at her again, as if to challenge her, but y/n stayed silent though her stare was unwavering. she had said a lot worse about herself to herself after the crash.

with that george turned and left, calling out to alex down the corridor.

“i really don’t understand him,” kimi said, “it was only like a week or two ago he was cussing you out in monaco, then today he checks you out but then threatens you like two seconds later?”

“first lesson of the year, kimi. do not trust a word that man says to you.”

the pair linked arms and made their way out of the green room. there was a gaggle of drivers at the end of the corridor, all decked out in their racesuits except the ferrari boys who were in normal suits. the group fell silent as they all turned to see the new arrivals.

“i didn’t know it was bring your mum to work day?” alex called out as they neared the group, smiling as he came to hug her.

a french-accented voice hollered a ‘milf’ from the back of the group, y/n suspected it was pierre, but paid no mind. an offended squeak followed as y/n looked up to see max delivering a slap to the back of his head.

“i’m just dropping him off, i gotta get to my seat before i’m roped into an interview. i had to sneak in this afternoon, i swear sky sports are like stalking me!”

the group watched along as y/n leaned in to whisper into kimi’s ear, “remember what i told you. smile, be likeable and tell jokes. these people are underestimating you, let them. we’ll do our real talking in the car. good luck and try and have some fun.”

the pair did their ‘handshake’, which really was just a pinky promise, and broke apart. y/n looks back at the group one more time, smiles at max and takes her leave. just a couple paces down the corridor, a voice called out her name.

“y/n, hey!” lewis called, catching up to her quickly, “i didn’t think i’d see you back here tonight.”

“i wasn’t planning on it, to be fair. kimi is technically an adult now, but i still didn’t want to leave him on his own here of all places.”

lewis laughed as the pair looked back at the group. kimi had nestled himself next to ollie, quietly talking to each other with esteban looking over both of them. y/n caught the gaze of esteban and the frenchman gave her a quick nod before inserting himself into the conversation. the height difference between kimi and esteban was comical, but y/n was happy knowing esteban would look out for him in places she couldn’t be.

“i didn’t think you would like the whole mentor role, being so young and everything, but you seem to be doing a good job.”

“thank you lewis, but honestly he makes it very easy,” y/n looked at the group again with a fond look on her face.

lewis brought his hand to her face and made her look at him, “i thought i’d never see that look on your face again.”

y/n looked down and blushed, shaking lewis’ hand off. “i am happy. a lot happier than i expected to be, anyway.”

“i’m happy that you’re happy. i’m happy you’re back, i won’t keep my distance this time, even if you’re in the home of the enemy now.”

y/n laughed, “well i thought it was bad going back to your ex, and look at me now. so maybe they’re not as much as an enemy as you think.”

an announcement from further down the corridor cute the conversation there, lewis tries not to look bothered, but y/n can still tell.

“looks like you’re needed elsewhere, superstar,” y/n said with a wink, “try not to let charles outshine you too much.”

“he wishes.”

y/n watched him walk away and was confused. lewis had never expressed interest in her before, platonic or romantic. even when she was a young rookie with stars in her eyes, she was never on his radar. was she now? the visit in london had been weird and the way his eyes had been fixed on her since she arrived today was even weirder.

y/n didn’t really have the time to be grappling with that struggle today, not with everything else going on. the audience seemed like enough distance between her and lando, but after monaco, there was no real knowing what could happen. george was just as confusing as his compatriot, with harsh words but also a glimmer of something else too.

she needed a glass of champagne pronto.

max watched the interaction between y/n and lewis like a hawk, so focused that he didn’t realise that he had formed quite an audience. nico hulkenberg, kimi, ollie and esteban watched him try and conceal his feelings, but his face showed every thought.

“you want to make it any more obvious that you’re jealous?” nico said, nudging max to break him out of his daze.

“i’m not jealous, i just wonder what they actually have to talk about…”

“you’re not jealous you say? you didn’t even glare at him this much during 2021.” esteban chimed in.

max furrowed his brows and forced himself to look away. he already felt guilty for harbouring these feelings for y/n and now he’s faced with a curious look from kimi, making him feel even worse. he did not want to make the same mistake as lando and george had in the past. he meant it when he said he just wanted to exist with her.

“kimi, how would you feel about having max as your dad?” ollie said, hiding slightly behind esteban.

“he’s very good with the cats?”

“thanks, that’s such a glowing recommendation, kimi, thanks!”

kimi held up his hands in surrender but max couldn’t be angry at the italian - plus he did take very good care of his cats and brando. in fact, he had nearly thrown his back out, much to red bull’s chagrin, building a new cat tower so brando could watch the birds from his preferred spot. the cat had settled in well in his place in monaco while y/n had been staying, the dutchman didn’t want to think too much about what it could mean, but it was on his mind.

“i just mean i caught you googling how to make sure your cat is getting enough vitamin d because you were worried about how cloudy it’s been in monaco?”

kimi tried to backpedal, but his anecdote was overheard by more drivers, bringing them into the conversation.

“are you being for real? vitamins are just pseudoscience dude,” pierre said but isack popped his head into the circle to say, “vitamins are real? and vitamin d deficiency is actually a really huge problem.”

“thank you isack!”

“as if i’m taking health advice from a rookie,” pierre laughed. yuki took his turn to pipe up next, “i saw you eat a whole jar of peanut butter in one sitting last winter break? what do you know about health?”

“why is it gang up on pierre hour? why aren’t we focusing on the real issue here? like how pathetic max is about y/n?”

max sputtered as even more drivers joined the conversation.

“i am not pathetic. brando is practically my son. kimi back me up, doesn’t he love me?”

“he does -” kimi started defending max before charles butted in with a: “calling for help from the other son? we see how it is verstappen.”

this was a losing battle. max just hoped it stayed this light hearted but he saw lando and george approaching the group.

“max is not my dad, but i wouldn’t mind. he drove all the way to nice to pick up my parcel because i didn’t understand monaco postal charges!”

poor kimi was trying to help, but he was just making it inadvertently worse.

“this is making your pseudoadoption last year look like child’s play, oscar,” alex said, earning him a whack from charles.

“kimi is not my son, but that doesn’t mean i won’t look out for him. this is a horrible place to come when you’re already disliked. some people, not naming names, have made it clear they have a problem with him and y/n, so it’s simply my moral duty to look out for him.”

the group quietened down, looking amongst each other.

“why am i so out of the loop, who is bullying this literal child?” nico said, pulling kimi into his chest, the italian letting out a squeak as the german petted him. “so? do tell.”

for two people who were very eager to call y/n and kimi every name under the sun just a week ago, they were very silent in that moment.

“oh! we’re talking about the lovely cocktail party i threw that was ruined by lando and george!” charles blurted out, he grabbed fernando’s hand, “it was so nice, i even brought olives, but they came in spouting all this shit about y/n and kimi and seduction and older women?”

both brits scratched the backs of their necks. the cocktail party drama was not a good move from them, especially so close to the start of the season.

“it wasn’t quite like that?” george hurried out.

“you accused y/n of trying to sleep with me?” oscar said.

“you said that i was going the max verstappen route of getting with an older ‘problematic’ woman?” kimi added from nico’s side.

“you also kinda implicated yourself in y/n’s crash?” alex heaped on for good measure.

“alex!?” george and lando shouted, “whose side are you meant to be on?”

“i’m not on a “side” because i’m not fucking five, but i will point out hypocrisy and stupidity and that’s both of you. come on, it’s 2025 and you guys are still stuck in like 2017.”

“right, i feel really stupid because what the fuck are you people talking about and why wasn’t i invited to this party?” fernando said, a confused look on his face.

“lando and george are still hung up on y/n years later even though she never actually expressed interest in them, max has the best odds on actually sealing the deal and i don’t know, kimi is getting shit because he brought her back and none of them can actually regulate their emotions!” charles said, exasperated, “keep up grandpa, you’ve been here the whole time!”

“i do not have the ‘best odds’ because y/n isn’t a horse, you don’t bet on women?” max bit back.

“actually i bet on women all the time,” yuki said but when he saw how the group were looking at him he added, “ufc, duh!”

even as they were herded towards the backstage, the group continued bickering like children.

“all i’m saying is that your crush is super obvious and you need to be careful! y/n will know and will use it against you, just look at what happened with me and george!” lando hissed at max.

the dutchman glared at the brit, this really had gone too far. “can you like actually give me an example of where she ‘led you on’ i am genuinely curious,” max snipped, “quickly.”

lando immediately looked at the floor and bit his lip. max began tapping his foot with an impatient look.

“well she would be super flirty with me in the videos the team would make us film?” lando didn’t sound convinced, and max didn’t buy a single second of it.

“if that’s what you think flirting is i feel sorry for all of your ex girlfriends, you must be a horrible boyfriend - ouch!” charles was cut off by a shove from george.

“stay out of this charles!”

“i won’t stay out of this, y/n is actually a friend of mine. yeah that’s right she doesn’t hate me because i don’t assume that any girl who is fractionally nice to me is in love with me.”

“lando you basically tortured that girl her entire formula one career, do you need to do it now as well?” max said, “i think this season will be a lot easier for you if you drop this now.”

“is that a threat?”

“it’s a promise.”

all the bickering surrounding the pair ceased, tension rising in the air. the call for the mclaren boys drew lando out of his stare down with max. the brit joined oscar at the front of the queue and painted on his PR smile.

y/n had found her way to her seat, flanked by natalie pinkham on one side and jenson button on the other. there goes her plans for a quiet evening.

“so the rumours are true,” jenson said before jumping up to give her a hug, “i’ve missed you, rocky”

y/n flushed at the nickname. since her first ever race in formula one, jenson had crowned her his ‘pocket rocket’ which had eventually been worn down to just rocky. she hadn’t heard it in so long, jenson’s appearances being relegated to messages via sara or flowers that only gave away his identity with the use of rocky.

“did sky set up this seating arrangement? are you going to ambush me for an interview?”

“i can’t believe you’d think so low of me,” jenson clutched at his imaginary pearls, “and as if you can say no to me anyway.”

the pair took their seats as the show started. natalie handed her a glass of champagne and whispered in her ear, “you might need this.” well that doesn’t bode well.

the two mclaren drivers made their way out onto stage, joined by zak and andrea. y/n leaned into jenson, “i don’t understand why he insists on being everywhere, have we not suffered enough?”

jenson tried to stifle his laugh, “are you sure you don’t want to work in commentary?”

“i think it’s best i keep my opinion on these men to myself.”

the mclaren spiel followed the closely the same scripts they used when y/n still raced for them, though a healthy dose of constructors champions boasting had been added. a second questionable decision from formula one reared it’s head when nico rosberg asked his first unscripted question:

“so boys, how do you feel about the return of former mclaren driver y/n y/ln to the paddock? excited to see her?”

y/n swore she could see lando’s eye twitch from her front row seat. there was an awkward pause and y/n could feel the rest of the audience tense. even though the general public didn’t know the ins and outs of the fall out, there was definitely rising suspicion.

nico found y/n in the audience and gave her such a shit-eating grin that she almost didn’t care about the situation he just put her in.

“we’re of course over the moon to see her back in the paddock. i know i’ve harboured a lot of guilt as to how i ended up with my seat, so i’m happy that y/n can see me in action and hopefully i can continue to make her proud!” oscar said with a genuine smile, the only convincing one from the men clad in orange.

“continue to?” nico asked, “have you had confirmation of this?”

y/n’s eyes snapped to oscar who despite receiving glares from his boss, continued on.

“we spoke at charles’ cocktail party. i’ve always been a fan of hers and it was great to finally set the record straight. she was a lot more graceful than i would’ve been in her position. to be honest i was a bit of a weepy mess, but she was very supportive. i’m only slightly jealous of kimi…”

“very nice. did you get any insight on her opinion on hungary?” nico pushed, only to be cut off by zak.

“if you so desperately want her opinion on everything, you can wait until you’re on sky’s dime. this is a car launch, no? we’re confident in our car for this season and intend on winning both championships. and do you know how we’re going to do that? with the two drivers on stage right now, not one who was a flash in the pan four years ago.”

you could hear a pin drop in the venue. even lando had a shocked look on his face as he and oscar exchanged a look.

“that’s fighting talk from the man who ended her career, but what do i know?” nico said sharply but then turned to the audience, “ladies and gentlemen, mclaren!”

there was tentative applause from crowd and when y/n and oscar made eye contact she gave him a small smile. this was only the first team…

nico looked for y/n in the front row and gave her a thumbs up to which she shook her head violently. jenson burst out laughing, “well, i don’t think we’ll be having this as the car launch format again.”

“i don’t know about you but i’m throughly entertained,” natalie said, “if nico was like that with mclaren, i can’t wait for ferrari!”

the next few teams were decidedly less dramatic. y/n could see kimi and george lining up next to come on stage and she hoped the italian remembered her advice.

george walked on stage with confident strides, followed by toto and finally kimi. the italian looked out at the audience, squinting from the harsh lights but calming his features when he saw y/n. she gave him a thumbs up and got a smile in return.

“you’re loving this mum role aren’t you?” jenson said.

“you’re making me feel old, stop. but yes i would kill myself if anything happened to him, so i guess so.”

back on stage, nico had started his interview. first toto was being grilled about the hopes for the season and how life at mercedes would be without lewis hamilton. the german was clearly trying to bait his former boss into giving him a juicy soundbite.

“kimi, let’s come to you now. you’re first season in formula one and you’ve already brought in the big guns? y/n y/ln as your mentor, that’s a big statement.”

kimi looked startled and his eyes snapped to meet y/n’s. she nodded to him, urging him to answer.

“why wouldn’t i want a legend of the sport like her as my mentor? she still knows what she’s doing, and if it ruffles some feathers in the paddock at the same time, what’s the harm?”

she was so proud of her protégé. jenson choked on his champagne at kimi’s answer, “kids got balls.”

“well, well, well. you’re not beating around the bush are you? but do tell me, kimi, what’s so special about you that y/n would come out of retirement?”

“i’ll save that answer for australia, nico,” kimi said, surprised by the laughs from the audience, “but maybe i’ve just got a charm the rest of the grid doesn’t?”

“holy shit,” natalie said, “was this the strategy, y/n?”

“i told him to make them like him? are you not entertained?”

nico, for once, was speechless on stage. george huffed next to toto, waiting for his turn to talk. the german clocked onto this and a devilish smile broke out on his face.

“so george, you and y/n grew up together… do you not have charm? as far as we can tell, you haven’t spoken to y/n in years?”

y/n’s mouth dropped open. jenson was right, there’s no way this format, at least with nico hosting, was ever happening again.

“i have more than enough charm, thank you nico. are you going to ask us anymore questions about the season or is it all just tabloid questions from you tonight?”

“tabloid?! well, now that makes me think you’ve got something to hide… but as for your 2025 season, are you afraid that you might lose to an 18-year-old rookie?”

george sputtered in response, “i have no fear of losing, i just beat a seven time world champion, a rookie, no offence, has no bearing on my season.”

“that’s a big claim, george. you better hope you stick to it. it’ll be your sixth season in formula one, do you think you’ll finally be able to claim the number one driver role?”

george’s face was getting redder and redder as he tried to remain calm. he made eye contact with y/n briefly, giving her the subtlest glare he could.

“i think i made a very good case for myself for the last two seasons and toto has faith in me to lead this team back to where they should be.”

nico had a wolfish grin on his face, he was enjoying this psychological torture a little too much.

“you don’t think toto has more faith in kimi, a driver he allowed to skip an entire step on the junior ladder and is giving his formula one debut at just 18? and straight into a mercedes rather than say… a williams?”

george’s shiny mask was starting to slip. this was meant to be a fun event for fans but had descended into a nico rosberg masterclass of making everyone suffer - and for once y/n was enjoying it.

“classy as always, nico,” george said.

“it’s what i do best,” nico laughed to himself, “back to you kimi, are you intimidated at all by your senior teammate? do you think you can make a case for yourself as the number one driver?”

the italian paused for a moment, thinking to y/n’s advice - he needed people to like him.

“i’m more than happy to play a team game to bring mercedes back to the top,” he smiled to toto, “but make no mistake i’m here to win and i won’t just step aside without good reason.”

“well, this is a duo i’ll be watching closely this season. mercedes!”

the trio shuffled off of stage and y/n let out a sigh of relief, she could throw back as much champagne as she wanted now.

another couple of teams made their way past nico’s questioning, but as nico hulkenberg and gabriel bortoleto made their way off of the stage the audience held their breath. next was ferrari.

charles, lewis and fred vasseur made their way on stage, and as has become classic fashion, lewis situated himself as far from nico as possible.

“welcome, welcome. a different line up this year and much to think about, do you think you can finally bring the championship back to italy?”

fred started on what was likely a pre-written script and y/n tuned out for a second. the ferrari boys looked nothing short of glamorous in their tailored black suits with the yellow of the ferrari logo popping on the left breast. both men looked assured, no nerves, just pure confidence - the type of confidence that draws you to a person.

y/n caught lewis’ eye and he gave her a quick wink, something that did not go unnoticed by jenson beside her.

“what was that all about, rocky?” jenson whispered. y/n kept looking forward, ignoring jenson’s stare burning into the side of her head. the brit kept poking her, “i’m not going to stop until you answer me!”

y/n batted his hand away, “i don’t know what you’re talking about old man, leave me alone!”

“i saw that, hell, the whole place saw that! you are aware that is a man 14 years your senior!”

y/n downed her champagne and whispered to jenson, “listen, i don’t know what the fuck is happening! he came to my apartment and he’s being really nice? i don’t know?!”

jenson looked between the two and grabbed his own champagne. “i was teammates with that guy! you might be a grown up now but he’s really old!”

y/n slapped a hand over her mouth to stop her laughing out loud. jenson did have a point. was lewis actually flirting with her or was he just being nice? was she falling into the same headspace that lando and george were in with her?

“i am not going to get with lewis, jens. he’s just being nice, that’s all. now shut up i want to see if nico makes the brocedes breakup all of our problem.”

nico had finished his interrogation of charles and set his sights on his former teammate. y/n grabbed jenson’s hand in anticipation.

“so lewis, new team, new you? how do you feel coming into a team where charles has dominated for the last five years?”

lewis gives nico a forced smile, “i am excited for the challenge. there’s a lot of changes coming into this season, people leaving and new faces. it’s best to face a challenge head on rather than running.”

“you didn’t run from mercedes? you didn’t want to stick it out and retire with the team that gave you so much success?”

“you’d know all about running wouldn’t you nico?”

y/n dropped her glass of champagne and the rest of the audience gasped but nico did not look phased at all.

“i am happy with my decision, time will tell if you’ll be happy with yours. charles dealt with sebastian, don’t think he’ll roll over for you.”

charles looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but on stage and fred’s face would tell you he’s at the gallows rather than a car launch.

“was in your brief today to make the vibes in here as rancid as possible? as i said i am excited for the season ahead and nothing you can say today will change that.”

lewis took the lead and left the stage, leaving nico alone with a pleased look on his face. the german found y/n’s gaze again and wiggled his eyebrows. if there was ever a man you need to take the heat off of you, he was the one.

there was one final team to go and this entire nightmare of a night would be over. the final team was none other than red bull - nothing could possibly go wrong here could they?

christian, like the other team principals, started with a long-winded spiel that said a whole lot of nothing. y/n smiled widely when she caught max’s eye and he responded with an eye roll directed at christian’s rambling. the dutchman, for a second, had forgotten he was in fact on stage in front of thousands. the pair stare at each other and bite their lips to keep the laughs in.

jenson leaned in again, “not to keep questioning you, but what is happening here? and don’t lie, i know he’s the only one you kept in contact with and who you have been staying with in monaco.”

“it’s nothing! it’s something? i don’t know what it is? we’re just existing together. i think romance in the paddock is the worst thing for me right now. i need to be fully focused on kimi.”

“first of all - we’re exisiting together? that’s so fucking gross. and two - you’re still allowed to have fun?” jenson wiggled his eyebrows.

“not everyone can be the playboy of formula one, stud.”

“true. i’m not sure you have the devilishly good looks to be a playboy - hey”

y/n snatched his glass of champagne and turned back towards the stage just as max took to the microphone.

“so max, do you think there’s a chance of a fifth title in a row?”

max laughed in his signature way, “here i thought you’d gotten all of your aggression out with lewis. we’ll have to see how we line up against the other teams, but you always have to believe you can win every single race, so that’s what i’ll continue to do.”

a quick glance from nico told y/n that her peaceful night hadn’t started just yet.

“you’ll finally have your best friend back in the paddock, are you still excited even though she’ll be in mercedes uniform?”

“i think toto has another thing coming if he thinks she’ll be wearing that ugly uniform,” max said, “but it makes no difference to me what garage y/n is in, we’re like magnets, you can’t keep us a part for long.”

nico hummed, “is that why you were the only one she kept in contact with after the crash?”

“yes? it’s mostly because we’re best friends but also because i’m a decent human being.”

oh fuck.

“how do you mean, max?”

christian tried to butt in, “i don’t think we need to go into that here.”

“oh i’m more than happy to, and nico has been stirring all night, what’s just a little more to add to the pot?”

you could almost hear the audience shuffling to the edge of their seats and for the first time that evening, y/n felt some of the cameras on her. she gave them a small wave and hoped they would pan back to the actual action.

“all i’m saying is that there are a lot of victim complexes in the paddock, it’s full of people who would rather say ‘i don’t know why she doesn’t talk to me?’ rather than do some actual introspection. y/n will talk to you if you’re not an asshole, just as kimi.”

“so you’re saying there’s a truth to the rumours?”

“which rumours? you know, since your employers like to report on so many?”

nico chuckled, “well, the rumours that perhaps the brits in the paddock didn’t get on as well as we were led to believe?”

max smiled, “well, that’s not my story to tell, but i’ve found that if you ask them, they’re more than happy to give you the scoop.”

for a moment, y/n’s heart stopped, fearing that nico would take this as the chance to bring her into the fray. max seemed to sense this as well and added, “but as for me, i’m just happy she’s back in any capacity. i’ve missed my partner in crime.”

“have you spoken about formula one in her break at all? you won all four of your titles in that time?”

“i know she watched it, but we haven’t spoken about it. i respected her boundaries at the time, but i knew she was watching based on some suspiciously timed texts.”

nico laughed, “i’m not sure we can ever stay away from this sport for long.”

“i’m glad that is the case,” max said, more to himself than anyone else.

the red bull boys were ushered off of the stage as nico delivered his closing remarks and announced the musical guests.

“he’s glad that’s the case? oh he’s in deep,” jenson gasped, “you can’t tell me that’s nothing, i rebuke it right this second.”

y/n sighed, standing and heading to the backstage bar. “i really don’t want to think about it jenson.”

“but you’re staying at his house, he’s building shit for your cat and gushing about you on stage!”

“i am well aware, but i don’t really know what you want me to do about that?”

“i want you to get your man and let him treat you how you’re supposed to be!”

y/n picked up another glass of champagne, talking the biggest sip before replying to jenson.

“you’re just as bad as the girls on twitter sometimes.”

kimi bursts through the doors, back in his comfy clothes, and rushes over to y/n. she wraps the italian into a hug.

“i’m so proud of you!”

kimi blushes, rocking back and forth on his feet, “thank you, y/n! i’m so glad we’ve got this out of the way i’m ready to race now!”

jenson laughed along side them, “an eager one, this one. i remember when i had that much energy.”

the rest of the drivers flooded into the room, grabbing drinks or just taking a seat. max, much like kimi, made his way straight to y/n, also pulling her into his chest. he whispered in her ear, “i’m sorry i got carried away talking about you, i just can’t help myself.”

y/n can’t help but feel the butterflies in her stomach at the confession. she was really trying to keep her feelings out of her return to formula one, but seeing max like this was putting a real spanner in the works. the dutchman’s protective nature along side his intense respect for her made her feel special for the first time since the crash.

“i take no offence, maxy. i’ll never say no to a compliment, especially from you.”

the group moves away from the bar and as they settle into their seats backstage, max’s arm wraps around her waist. y/n knew she shouldn’t do it, not here in front of everyone but that’s what her heart wanted. the first few weeks into her return and all the drama was wearing on her and they hadn’t even made it to the paddock yet. she snuggled into max’s side, letting the dutchman brush her hair out of her face.

“y/n?” kimi said from the other side of her, “i’m really happy you’re here, and i hope you’ll let yourself have this,” kimi motioned to max, who was deep in conversation with jenson.

“don’t you worry about that, kimi.”

“you’ve punished yourself for years, please don’t keep telling yourself that you’re not allowed this. also don’t wait up for me, i’m going to crash at ollie’s”

kimi said as his departing gift as he went to catch up with ollie and watch some of the music. y/n let herself relax back into max’s hold and her eyes close, all of the pent up stress of the evening rushing out.

“are we really that boring?” jenson asked.

“do you want to get out of here, y/n?” max asked, when y/n flopped further onto him, he took that as his answer.

grabbing her bag, max took y/n’s hand in his and pulled her from the seat. the pair exchanged hugs with jenson and made a quiet exit from backstage. they tried to be as subtle as possible, but nothing is ever secret in formula one.

jenson slid in beside lewis at the bar.

“you want to tell me what your plan is with her?”

lewis looked at his former teammate in confusion.

“i saw that wink and i know you were flirting with her when you went to her apartment. what’s the plan, you’re 14 years older than her?”

“i don’t have a plan? i felt bad about how i was when she was in formula one, i’m just trying to make her feel welcome again.”

“and winking at her at a televised event is definitely going to help?”

lewis scoffed, “i don’t really like what you’re implying.”

“i’m implying that you need to watch your step, seriously. the vultures are just waiting for her to make one wrong step, don’t give them an excuse to call her a gold digger or anything along those lines.”

“and what if i said i did like her?”

“i’d ask you if you actually know her? you didn’t speak to her after the crash, you didn’t speak to her when she was in the sport so i’m confused to where this would have come from?”

“you can drop the dad act jenson, i’m just being friendly. it looks like max got in there first anyway.”

jenson hummed, “not everything is a competition.”

y/n and max climbed into max’s hire car for the weekend and finally let themselves breathe.

“that was a lot,” y/n said, slipping off her heels, “nico really was out for blood.”

“i found it entertaining, but that usually is a death wish for anything in formula one.”

the pair laughed, and as max turned the ignition, y/n’s taylor swift playlist crackled into life.

“are you heading back to your hotel or do you want to crash at mine?” y/n asked as she put her address into the gps, despite max knowing nearly every route across london to her apartment.

“a chance to avoid team duties for as long as possible? count me in!”

“so you don’t want to spend more time with me? just want to avoid your team?”

max placed his hand on her thigh, “you know i always want to spend more time with you.”

the streets were relatively clear at this time with the event still in swing. max weaved through traffic as they entered west london. the dutchman nestled his car in y/n’s spot for her pink cadillac that was still in monaco. y/n started to fiddle with her heels to put them back on, but max stopped her.

he walked round to her side of the car and picked up her up bridal style. y/n giggled and wrapped her arms around max’s neck. the pair made their way up to her apartment as fast as possible, but made sure to say hi to frank who not so subtlety gave y/n a thumbs up and a wink.

the apartment was quiet without the meows of brando who was also back in monaco with jimmy and sassy. max stopped in the kitchen to pour two glasses of water but y/n went ahead to the bathroom to wash off the grime of the event.

she slipped into bed dressed in her pjamas that consisted of some old gym shorts and one of max’s toro rosso shirts. the dutchman knocked on her door.

“come in, maxy.”

max made his way into the room, placing the glass of water on her beside table. he sat on the edge of the bed, “good night, try not to dream of me too much.” the dutchman leaned down to give her a kiss on the forehead before moving back towards the door.

“max?”

“yes?”

“will you stay with me?”

“always.”

max got under the covers and tentatively reached out to her. sensing the apprehension, y/n turned over and tucked herself under max’s chin. his arms snuck around her waist and for the first time in three years, y/n finally slept peacefully without the images of her crash.

fin.

note: sorry this took so long, i've been a bit of a writing rut but i'm back!

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